Kasey Michaels - Regency Vows

She pushed away from him. “Let me out of the coach.”

“Damn you, Katherine.” In the dim light she could see the frustration in his eyes. The pain. “I’m asking your forgiveness.”

“No—damn you, James. You say you love me, but you—” her voice caught “—all you want is to own me. Possess me.”

He trapped her face in his hands. “You’re damned right I want to possess you,” he said harshly, so close she could feel his breath against her lips. “For Christ’s sake—you possess me, Katherine. Down to my very last drop of blood. You own me, body and soul. You want to know why I did what I did? That is why. Because I love you, and I don’t want to live without you, and I knew that given the chance you would turn away from me and never look back.” His voice tore. “And now I will never know if by some bloody miracle you might have chosen me, anyway.”

He was such a fool. “I chose you days ago. Weeks ago.” She paused. “I love you.” She practically spat the words.

His hands tightened. “Katherine—”

“But I can’t surrender. I can’t.”

“I don’t want your surrender,” he said roughly. “I want your choice.”

Her heart ached as if it should be mangled and dead, but it pounded fiercely with life.

Her choice. His feelings were unmistakable, and yet—

“A ship can only have one captain,” she said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

He searched her eyes. “Then I shall be your captain,” he said, smoothing his thumbs across her face, “and you shall be mine.” The raw hope in his voice said more than he ever could have—this man who had once nearly killed her and then appointed himself her savior, and failed at both. This man, who made her senses come alive and made her hope again, who made her daughter find the happy things.

“I love you, James.” A great weight lifted off her heart as she spoke the words.

Her name exhaled from him as he pulled her into his arms and held her as if she were the only thing keeping him alive.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax in his embrace.

* * * * *

‘Julia London writes vibrant, emotional stories and sexy, richly drawn characters.’

—New York Times bestselling author Madeline Hunter

‘The Last Debutante is another successful merger of witty writing and passionate romance that gracefully delivers everything romance readers could want.’ —Booklist

‘… London’s story is satisfying as it builds on the excellent chemistry of the leads, gracefully unfolding with the perfect amount of tension.’

—Publishers Weekly review of The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

‘Exceptionally entertaining … sinfully sexy’

—Booklist on The Dangers of Deceiving a Viscount

‘As London explores the intricate, authentic-feeling relationships blossoming among the players, her masterful ability to bring characters to life makes this romance entirely absorbing.’

—Publishers Weekly on The Dangers of Deceiving a Viscount

‘London’s love story is tense and tender, held aloft by endearing, dynamic characters.’

—Publishers Weekly review of The Perils of Pursuing a Prince

JULIA LONDONis the New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of historical romance, contemporary romance and women’s fiction with strong romantic elements. She is a six-time finalist for the RITA ®Award of Excellence in romantic fiction and the recipient of RT Bookclub’s Best Historical Novel. She lives in Austin, Texas.

Dear Reader,

I am so excited to present The Trouble with Honour to you! This is my first book for Mills & Boon, but I have written many historical romances, almost all of them set in the Regency period. I love the pageantry of the era and how society and the concern for appearances ruled the gentry. But I imagine that, human nature being what it is, there were those who did not like to live by the rules, who chafed at being ruled at all and who dared to break the rules.

In this series about the Cabot sisters, I introduce four young, privileged women who are expected to aspire to a very good marriage and not much else. But when their fortunes begin to change, these four are determined to break the rules that bind them and define happiness on their own terms. However, when one is raised in the lap of luxury, and learns nothing more taxing than some intricate stitching, one may not be equipped to circumvent the rules. One’s attempts to do so may go very, very badly. I hope you enjoy the Cabot sisters and their shenanigans as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Happy reading,

Julia London

For my mother,

who instilled a love of books and reading

in me from the beginning

CHAPTER ONE

THE TROUBLE BEGAN in the spring of 1812, in a gaming hell south of the Thames, a seedy bit of Southwark known to be thick with thieves.

It was beyond comprehension how the old structure, originally built in the time of the Vikings, had become one of the most fashionable places for gentlemen of the Quality to be, but indeed it had. The interior was sumptuous, with thick red velvet draperies, rich wood and low ceilings. Night after night, they came from their stately Mayfair homes in heavily armed coaches to spend an evening losing outrageous sums of money to one another. And when a gentleman had lost his allotted amount for the evening, he might enjoy the company of a lightskirt, as there were ample private rooms and French women to choose from.

On a bitterly cold night, a month before the start of the social Season—when, inevitably, the gentlemen would eschew this gaming hell for the Mayfair assembly rooms and balls that had become a spring rite for the wealthy and privileged—a group of young Corinthians were persuaded by the smiles and pretty pleas of five debutantes to have a look at this gaming hell.

It was dangerous and foolish for the young men to risk forever marring the reputations of such precious flowers. But young, brash and full of piss, they’d been eager to please. They did not allow the hell’s rule of no women to deter them, or that any number of mishaps or crimes could befall the young women in the course of their lark. It was a bit of adventure in the middle of a gloomy winter.

It was in that Southwark gaming hell where George Easton first made the acquaintance of one of those debutantes: Miss Honor Cabot.

He hadn’t noticed the commotion at the door when the young bucks had arrived with their prizes, flush with the excitement of their daring and overly proud for having convinced the man at the door to give them entry. George had been too intent on divesting thirty pounds from Mr. Charles Rutherford, a notorious gambler, in the course of a game of Commerce. He didn’t realize anything was amiss until Rutherford said, “What the devil?”

It was then that he noticed the young women standing like so many birds, fluttering and preening in the middle of the room, their hooded cloaks framing their lovely faces, their giggles infecting one another while their gazes darted between the many men who eyed them like a paddock full of fine horses.

“Bloody hell,” George muttered. He threw down his cards as Rutherford stood, the poor lass in his lap stumbling as she tried to stop herself from being dumped onto the floor.