Rosemary Rogers - Bride For A Night

“A passion-filled, globe-spanning affair…”

—Publishers Weekly on Scoundrel’s Honor

“[A] perfect beach book.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bound by Love

“Sizzling sensuality, seduction and danger…

come together with a powerful, skillfully told

love story…vintage Rosemary Rogers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandalous Deception

“From the high roads of England to the French

countryside, this is a classic sexy, adventure romance…

Rogers continues to play on the timeless themes of the

genre, providing a wonderful, albeit nostalgic, read.

You can go home again.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Daring Passion

“The queen of historical romance.”

—New York Times Book Review

“Rogers’ legion of readers will be delighted to find that

her latest historical romance features the same brand of

arrogant, bold, and sexy hero; stubborn, beautiful, and

unconventional heroine; and passionate plot that first

made this genre wildly popular in the early 1980s.”

—Booklist on Sapphire

“Her novels are filled with adventure, excitement,

and always wildly tempestuous romance.”

—Fort Worth Star-Telegram

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my family, my loyal readers.

Thank you for always being there!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SLOANE SQUARE WAS not the finest neighborhood in London, but it was respectable and comfortably situated next to the more fashionable areas. As a rule it was occupied by members of the ton who clung to the fringes of society, or those who preferred to avoid the bustle that spilled throughout Mayfair.

And then there was Mr. Silas Dobson.

Claiming the largest mansion on a corner lot, Mr. Dobson was what was delicately known as an “upstart.” Or for those less kindly disposed, as an ill-bred mushroom who reeked of the shop despite his fortune.

He might eventually have been forgiven for his unwelcome intrusion among his betters had Silas been willing to fade quietly into the background and accept that he would always be inferior to those born into the aristocracy.

Silas, however, was not the sort of man to fade into any background.

As large as an ox, with a barrel chest and meaty face that was ruddy from the sun, he was as loud and crass as any of the hundreds of men who worked in his numerous warehouses spread throughout the city. Even worse, he made no apology for the fact he had crawled out of the gutters to make his fortune in trade. The youngest of twelve children, he had started as a dockhand before beginning to invest in high-risk cargos and eventually purchasing a number of properties that were rented out at an exorbitant fee to various shipping companies.

He was a bully without manners who had managed to insult nearly every resident in Sloane Square at least a dozen times over the past ten years.

And while he wasn’t stupid enough to believe he could ever pass as a gentleman, he was willing to use his obscene wealth to foist his only child onto society.

An impudence that did nothing to endear him to members of the ton.

Of course, their ruffled feathers were somewhat eased by the knowledge that, for all of Dobson’s wealth and bluster, he couldn’t make his tiny dab of a daughter a success.

Oh, she was pretty enough with large emerald eyes set in a perfect oval face with a delicate nose and full, rose-kissed lips. But there was something quite…earthy in her gypsy curves and unruly raven curls.

It was, however, her awkward lack of charm that ensured that she would remain a wallflower.

After all, there were always those gentlemen of breeding who were notoriously short of funds. Being a member of nobility was an expensive business, especially if one was a younger sibling without the benefit of large estates to offset the cost of being fashionable.

With a dowry well over a hundred thousand pounds, Talia should have been snatched off the marriage mart her first season, even with a boorish father who promised to be a yoke of embarrassment around the neck of his prospective son-in-law.

But, when a man added in the fact that the female was a dreaded bluestocking who could barely be induced to speak a word in public, let alone dazzle a gentleman with practiced flirtations, it all combined to leave her a source of amused pity, someone who was avoided like the plague.

Society members took pleasure in Talia’s failure. They smugly assured themselves it would be a blow to the odious Mr. Dobson and an example to other encroachers who thought they could buy a place among the aristocracy.

They might not have been so smug had they known Silas Dobson as well as his daughter did.

The son of a mere butcher did not acquire a small financial empire unless he possessed the unbridled determination to overcome any obstacle. No matter what the sacrifice.

Well aware of Silas Dobson’s ruthless willpower, Talia shuddered at the sound of her father’s bellow as it echoed through the vaulted rooms of the elegant house.

“Talia. Talia, answer me. Damned, where is the child?”

There was the muffled sound of servants rushing to provide the master of the house with the information he desired, and with a sigh Talia set aside the book on China she had been studying and cast a rueful glance about her temporary haven of peace.

Arched windows overlooked the sunken rose garden and a marble fountain that sparkled in the late May sunlight. Heavy shelves filled with leather-bound books lined the walls, and the coved ceiling high above was painted with an image of Apollo in his chariot. At one end a walnut desk was set near the carved marble fireplace that was flanked by two leather chairs. And the floor was covered by an Oriental carpet that glowed with rich crimson and sapphire.

It was a beautiful library.

Rising from one of the chairs, Talia smoothed her hands down the teal skirt of her simple muslin gown, wishing she had changed into one of the fine silk dresses that her father preferred.

Not that he would ever be pleased with her appearance, she wryly acknowledged.

Silas’s disappointment in not having a son and heir was only surpassed by his disappointment in possessing a daughter who looked more like a gypsy than one of the elegant blonde debutantes who graced the London ballrooms.

Braced for her father’s entrance, Talia managed not to flinch as he rammed open the door to the library and regarded her with an impatient glower.

“I might have known I would find you wasting your day hiding among these damnable books.” His disapproving gaze took in her plain gown and lack of jewelry. “Why did I spend a fortune on your finery if not to be out preening yourself like the other silly chits?”

“I never asked you to spend your money on my clothing,” she softly reminded him.

He snorted. “Oh, aye, I suppose you would as soon go about looking like a charwoman and have all of society think me too clutch-fisted to properly provide for my only child? A fine thing that would be.”