Bronwyn Scott - Valerian Inglemoore

‘Philippa—’ he began, in a ragged voice.

She didn’t give him a chance to beg, to explain, to persuade. ‘You have gravely overstepped the boundaries of polite society.’

‘I didn’t do it alone,’ St Just responded, his eyes hot, gleaming dark with unslaked need.

‘How dare you try to implicate me in your base conduct?’ Philippa flamed. ‘Let me remind you that this is not some decadent European court filled with women who are dying of lust for your attentions.’

He had the audacity to give another throaty laugh. ‘You’re just angry because you liked it.’

Author Note Author Note About the Author Title Page Dedication Prologue 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 Epilogue Copyright

I had such a good time writing Philippa and Valerian’s story! I am a fan of reunited loves. But I also thoroughly enjoyed researching the plot surrounding them. This was a perfect opportunity to explore some interesting angles on Cornwall. Here are some:

The mining industry:The fuse Valerian considers investing in was real! It was patented at that time by the gentleman named in the story. Mining was also the perfect backdrop for Lucien’s evil attempt to establish a mining cartel (mining cartels did come to pass about twenty years later).

Trist House in Veryan:Trist House was indeed owned at that time by a man who did re-do the landscaping and remodel the folly where Philippa and Valerian have a very hot kiss. Quarry rock is authentic too. Philippa and Valerian also see a Monkey Puzzle tree there. Research suggests that Trist House was one of the first places in Britain to attempt to grow the Monkey Puzzle tree, otherwise known as a Chilean Pine.

The Balkans:I am a history buff, and absolutely loved creating Valerian’s experience in Negush. The Phanariot-led uprising did occur. I liked the Phanariot backdrop so much that I’m bringing it back with Lilya and Beldon’s story in a forthcoming novel.

Enjoy this book. I hope you find it to be an entertaining, passionate and informative story.

Readers can stay in touch on my website, www.bronwynscott.com, or at my blog, www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. I love hearing from my readers.

BRONWYN SCOTTis a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Cover

Excerpt ‘Philippa—’ he began, in a ragged voice . She didn’t give him a chance to beg, to explain, to persuade. ‘You have gravely overstepped the boundaries of polite society.’ ‘I didn’t do it alone,’ St Just responded, his eyes hot, gleaming dark with unslaked need. ‘How dare you try to implicate me in your base conduct?’ Philippa flamed. ‘Let me remind you that this is not some decadent European court filled with women who are dying of lust for your attentions.’ He had the audacity to give another throaty laugh. ‘You’re just angry because you liked it.’

Author Note

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Copyright

London, June 1820

Valerian Inglemoore, the Viscount St Just, had a secret, a dreadful secret that caused him to tremble in guilt and self-loathing as he stood alone on Lady Rutherford’s veranda, gazing at the paper lantern-lit garden beyond the balustrade, but not really seeing it.

His secret was all consuming, too consuming to spare a glance for the elegant town garden with its fountains and well-laid paths that wound through knot gardens and small privet hedges.

Under normal circumstances, the garden would have been quite enticing. But tonight, his secret was nearly too much to bear. He was twenty-one and he was in love with Philippa Stratten, Baron Pendennys’s daughter, and she was in love with him. She was to meet him here tonight.

But nothing would ever come of it.

That was the secret.

Tonight, he was breaking it off with her, at her father’s request. Tonight, he had to convince her after two months of stolen kisses and clandestine meetings that his affections were nothing more than a young man’s fleeting fancy. He didn’t know how he’d manage. He loved her so much.

After tonight, he’d never take her in his arms, never feel her run her fingers through his hair, as if it were the rarest silk. The last two months had been heaven. He’d danced with her at her début in April and every night since. They’d made a habit of heated kisses in curtained alcoves, and taking long walks in gardens during Venetian breakfasts and afternoon teas. It had been simple enough to manipulate time alone with her. He was an avid botanist as well as a horseman. It was plausible enough to say they were going off to look at a certain variety of flower or to see a new colt in the stables.

Oh, yes, they’d fallen madly in love with each other. One could almost say it was love at first sight except that he had known Philippa for years. She was his best friend Beldon’s sister. The threesome had spent school holidays roaming the Cornish coast together. He’d known since his first visit home with Beldon that his heart could belong to no other.

Behind him, the Rutherfords’ ballroom played host to three hundred of London’s finest dancing away the night in their silks and satins, champagne never more than a footman’s tray away. But he cared not a whit. His heart was breaking.

‘Valerian.’ A familiar, dear voice spoke his name in the darkness. He drew a final breath, praying for the strength to give her up. It would be for her own good, although she’d never believe it.

He turned towards the sound of her voice, letting her beauty overwhelm him as it always did. The effect was no less devastating tonight. This evening, her beauty was at its zenith, shown to perfection in the pale blue fabric of her gown. In the moonlight, the fabric appeared to shimmer when she moved. A soft summer breeze drew the thin fabric of her gown against her body, reminding Valerian of the fine figure beneath the filmy layers of summer chiffon.