Julia Justiss - Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

Praise for Julia Justiss

FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

‘An enjoyable read with absorbing characters and a slice of English history.’ —Debbie Macomber, New York Times best-selling author

A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

‘Justiss captures the true essence of the Regency period in this sweet, gentle romance. The characters come to life with all the proper mannerisms and dialogue as they waltz around each other in a “most unconventional” courtship.’

—RT Book Reviews

ROGUE’S LADY

‘With characters you care about, clever banter, a roguish hero and a captivating heroine, Justiss has written a charming and sensual love story.’ —RT Book Reviews

THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

‘Justiss rivals Georgette Heyer … by creating a riveting young woman of character and good humour … [The] complexity and depth to this historical romance, and unexpected plot twists and layers also increase the reader’s enjoyment.’ —Booklist

THE COURTESAN

‘With its intelligent, compelling characters, this is a very well-written, emotional and intensely charged read.’ —RT Book Reviews

MY LADY’S HONOUR

‘Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.’

—All About Romance

Where a girl’s reputation was concerned, it wouldn’t do to trust any man … especially one as undeniably charming as Mr Anders.

His sincere-sounding compliments, combined with the devilishly appealing trait he had of seeming to focus his entire attention on what one said, made him very hard to resist.

She’d had a potent lesson on the terrace in just how easy it was to fall under his spell. Tantalising as she—still, alas—found the notion of kissing him, it would be dangerously easy to be lured into improper behaviour.

So she would just have to resist him.

Upon that firm conclusion, she entered the parlour to find Papa finishing his sherry. Beside his chair, sipping a sherry of his own, stood Mr Anders.

And another of those annoying thrills rippled through her …

JULIA JUSTISSwrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry and editing an American Embassy newsletter she returned to her first love: writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, RT Book Reviews magazine’s Best First Historical, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne Du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her website at www.juliajustiss.com

Previous novels by the same author:

THE WEDDING GAMBLE

THE PROPER WIFE

MY LADY’S TRUST

MY LADY’S PLEASURE

MY LADY’S HONOUR

A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL

SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

THE COURTESAN

THE THREE GIFTS

(part of A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas anthology) THE UNTAMED HEIRESS ROGUE’S LADY CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH (part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology) THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE (part of Silk & Scandal mini-series) A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH WICKED WAGER FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

Julia Justiss

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of my mother, who read all my books and proudly displayed them on her shelves and who taught me a woman can do anything

A shake to his bad shoulder brought Greville Anders awake with a gasp. Through the stab of sensation radiating down his arm, he dimly heard the coachman say, ‘Here we be, now, sir. At yer destination. Ashton Grove.’

Trying to master a pain-induced nausea, Greville struggled to surface a mind he’d submerged in soothing clouds of laudanum to ease the agony of a long, jolting coach journey. The late-winter air spilling through the door held ajar by a man in footman’s livery helped dissipate the mental fog.

England. He must be back in England. No place else on earth had this combination of chilly mist and a scent of damp earth.

Like a tacking sail that suddenly catches the wind, his vacant mind filled. Yes, he was in England, at Ashton Grove, the home of Lord Bronning. The manor where, at the intervention of his noble cousin, the Marquess of Englemere, he was to stay after being transferred from his berth on the Illustrious to the Coastal Brigade, while the Admiralty sorted out the matter of his—illegal—impressment. And he finished healing.

Unfortunately, that also meant he must now attempt to convince his unsteady limbs to carry him from the vehicle into the manor, hopefully without having his still-roiling stomach disgrace him. Taking a deep breath, he staggered into the early evening dimness, then proceeded at a limping gait up to the entry and through a door held open by the butler.

Perspiration beading his forehead from the effort, he was congratulating himself on his success at reaching the stately entry hall when an older, balding gentleman walked forwards and bowed. ‘Mr Anders,’ the man said, giving him a strained smile. ‘Delighted to welcome you to Ashton Grove.’

The gentleman’s expression was so far from delighted that Greville bit back a smile before the unmistakable, swishing sound of skirts trailing over polished stone prompted him to carefully angle his head left.

That uncomfortable manoeuvre was rewarded by a vision lovely enough to raise a red-blooded sailor from the dead. A category into which, after the Illustrious’s action with that Algerian pirate vessel off the coast of Tunis, he’d very nearly fallen, he thought wryly before giving mind and senses over to the sorely missed pleasure of gazing at a beautiful woman.

For the first time in a long while, parts of his body tingled pleasantly as he took in an angelic vision of golden hair and a petite form wrapped in a flattering gown, just a hint of décolletage tempting one to peek down at an admirably rounded bosom. As he raised his gaze to the perfect oval of her face, large blue eyes stared back at him over a small, pert nose and plump rosebud-pink lips that were currently pursed. She frowned.

Greville suppressed a sigh. Angels generally did frown at him.

Long-inbred habits of gentility prompted him to attempt a bow, awkward as it was with the thick bandage still binding his chest and the fact that his equilibrium hadn’t yet adjusted to having a surface beneath his feet that remained firmly horizontal. ‘Lord Bronning, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘And …?’

‘My daughter, Miss Neville. Welcome to our home. I trust Lord Englemere made your journey as comfortable as possible—under the circumstances, of course,’ Bronning said, casting him a troubled glance.

The lovely daughter merely inclined her head, her frown deepening. Greville hadn’t seen his own face in a glass for months, but in his ragtag sailor’s gear, with an unkempt beard and what he supposed must be the pallor induced by his lingering fever, doubtless he looked nothing like the sort of gentleman Miss Neville was accustomed to receiving in her father’s grand hall.