Anna Campbell: A Scoundrel By Moonlight

‘Known for her sexy, smart, and often scandalous romances, Campbell doesn’t disappoint … Her intelligent characters and their sensual cat-and-mouse games add to the mystery and poignant emotions …’

– RT Book Reviews

‘An entrancing, evocative romance.’

– JoyfullyReviewed.com

‘Campbell immediately hooks readers, then deftly reels them in with a spellbinding love story fuelled by an addictive mixture of sharp wit, lush sensuality, and a wealth of well-delineated characters.’

– Booklist

‘No one does lovely, dark romance or lovely, dark heroes like Anna Campbell. I love her books,’

– Sarah MacLean, New York Times bestselling author

‘With its superbly nuanced characters, impeccably crafted historical setting, and graceful writing shot through with scintillating wit, Campbell’s latest lusciously sensual, flawlessly written historical Regency … will have romance readers sighing happily with satisfaction.’

– Booklist on What a Duke Dares

ANNA CAMPBELLwas the sort of kid who spent her childhood with her nose buried between the pages of a book. She decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. When she’s not writing passionate, intense stories featuring gorgeous Regency heroes and the women who are their destiny, Anna loves to travel, especially in the United Kingdom, and listen to all kinds of music. She has settled near the sea on the east coast of Australia, where she’s losing her battle with an overgrown subtropical garden.

Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through her website at www.annacampbell.info.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Praise

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Copyright

Mearsall, Kent

May 1828

“Avenge me.”

The raspy whisper stirred Nell Trim from her grief-stricken haze. She straightened in the hard wooden chair beside the narrow bed. Around her, tallow candles guttered. Outside the cottage’s mullioned windows, the night was dark and quiet.

She rose to smooth her half sister’s covers. “Shall I fetch Father?”

“No.” Dorothy grabbed Nell’s hand. The late spring air was warm and Dorothy’s fever had raged for two days, but the fingers that closed around Nell’s were icy with encroaching death. “Listen … to me.”

Nell stared helplessly into the girl’s ashen face. Once Dorothy had been the village belle. Now her skin was gray and dry, and her large blue eyes sank deep into their sockets. She was eighteen years old and looked three times that. “Dr. Parsons said to rest.”

Dorothy’s cracked lips turned down. “There’s no time.”

Nell’s heart cramped with futile denial. “Darling …”

Her half sister’s hold tightened, stifling the comforting lie. “We both know it’s true.”

Yes, they did. Dr. Parsons had relinquished all hope after Dorothy had lost her baby. Nell still shuddered to remember the sea of blood gushing from her half sister’s slight body.

Since then, Dorothy had lingered through agony. Looking into her drawn face, Nell knew that lovely, vivacious, heedless Dorothy Simpson wouldn’t last the night. “I’ll get you some water.”

Irritation shadowed her half sister’s face. “I don’t want water. I want your promise to take up my cause.”

Nell frowned. “But you don’t know who assaulted you.”

For months, Dorothy had hidden her pregnancy, until even her unworldly schoolmaster father had noticed. In tearful shame, she’d confessed that a stranger had attacked her.

Dorothy’s bitter smile was out of keeping with the frivolous girl Nell knew. But of course, frivolity had brought disaster, hadn’t it?

“It wasn’t exactly … assault.”

Horrified, Nell snatched her hand free. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

Ever since hearing that Dorothy’s pregnancy resulted from violence, Nell had been angry. This hint that the story wasn’t exactly as presented—hardly surprising, Dorothy was often unreliable with the truth—left her bewildered. “You went … willingly?”

Dorothy’s expression conveyed a strange mixture of shame and pride. “I loved him.”

“Was it one of the village boys?” Nell felt queasy. Had someone they knew taken advantage of Dorothy? It seemed the most obvious answer, yet Dorothy had always scorned Mearsall’s lads as yokels.

A grunt that might have been a dismissive laugh. “Don’t be silly.”

“Then who?”

Dorothy’s gaze fixed on some distant horizon. Unbelievably Nell heard a trace of her sister’s old conceit. “A great gentleman. A man who could give me everything I wanted.”

“Everything except a wedding ring,” Nell said sharply, unable to reconcile Dorothy’s boasting with this pain and disgrace.

Tears filled Dorothy’s eyes. “I knew you and Papa would scold. That’s why I said I’d been forced.”

Despairingly, Nell stared at this wayward girl she loved so much. Dorothy was seven years younger, more child than sister. When Nell was five, her soldier father had died fighting the French. Widowed Frances Trim had then married the considerably older William Simpson, as much to provide security for her daughter Nell as for companionship. Since Frances’s death ten years ago, Nell had cared for her half sister like a mother.

“Oh, Dorothy,” Nell said, a world of regret in the words. She could hardly bear her guilt at failing to keep a closer eye on her sister.

Convulsively Dorothy clutched Nell’s hand. “Don’t be cross.”

“I’m cross with the man who did this to you.” That was an understatement. She’d like to see the wretch hanged.

Before this unknown blackguard had got his filthy paws on her, Dorothy had been an innocent, although easily flattered. A man wouldn’t need much town polish to convince Dorothy, who’d never been past Canterbury, of his credentials as a lord.