Regina Scott - The Husband Campaign

A Marriage of Necessity

The moment John, Lord Hascot, encounters a young woman sheltering in his abandoned stable, his future is sealed. To prevent scandal—and protect Lady Amelia Jacoby from her parents’ ire—he must propose. John’s ability to trust vanished when his former love married his twin brother. Yet he offers Amelia everything she could want—except affection.

Amelia sees John’s true nature shine through when he cares for his horses. But the brooding aristocrat seems determined to keep her at arm’s length. Little by little Amelia will turn Hollyoak Farm into a home, but can she turn a marriage of convenience into a joyful union?

The Master Matchmakers: Wedding bells will ring when downstairs servants play Cupid for upstairs aristocracy

“I married you, Amelia.

I will honor our vows.”

How could she help him understand? Amelia stood and approached him. “And if you cannot? ‘Forsaking all others,’ the rector said. Your wife is to have all your love and devotion.”

“And a husband should have all his wife’s,” John replied. “Do you tell me you’ve held nothing back?”

She stiffened. “No, nothing! I’ve never loved another.”

“And do you claim to love me?”

Amelia swallowed, her gaze falling to the black-and-green carpet even as she halted a few feet from him. “Perhaps not yet.” Her voice sounded so small. “But I’m trying.”

He moved to close the distance between them and touched her cheek, drawing her attention back to his face. Standing so close, she could see that gold flecks danced in the dark eyes, as if some part of him still clung to light, to hope.

“I know you are trying, Amelia,” he murmured. “You’ve turned this place into a home. You may well have saved Firenza’s life. I admire your efforts.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “Admiration is not love.”

REGINA SCOTT

started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages, including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.

She and her husband of over twenty-five years reside in southeast Washington State with their overactive Irish terrier. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet, and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com, or connect with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorreginascott.

The Husband Campaign

Regina Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A new commandment I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

—John 13:34

To my dear Kris, who knows what it’s like to rearrange a life for those you love, and to the Lord, who is so much better at arranging things than I’ll ever be.

Contents

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Chapter One

Hollyoak Farm, Peak District, Derbyshire, England

July 1815

Why was the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance sleeping in his stable?

John, Lord Hascot, pushed a lock of rain-slicked dark hair out of his eyes and raised his lantern to peer more closely through the shadows. He hadn’t visited the crumbling, thatched-roof outbuilding near the River Bell since he’d first purchased the Derbyshire property five years ago. He and his horse Magnum wouldn’t be out this direction now if his horse Contessa hadn’t gone missing. Only a chance late-afternoon thunderstorm had driven him to seek shelter.

He hadn’t expected to find the place inhabited, and by Lady Amelia Jacoby, daughter of the Marquess of Wesworth, no less. Even if he hadn’t recognized the plum-colored riding habit of fine wool, he would have known those elegant features, that pale blond hair. In the light from the lantern, he could see golden lashes fanning her pearly cheeks.

He’d never mastered the rules of London Society, but he was fairly certain they didn’t cover how to properly react to a lady found sleeping in the straw. Some might expect him to take Magnum out in the rain from the opposite stall where he’d made his horse comfortable and leave her to her peace. He rejected the idea. For one, he refused to mistreat Magnum. For another, how could he call himself a man and abandon a defenseless woman in a storm?

John snorted. What, was he being chivalrous? He’d thought that habit long broken. He ought to wake her, order her to take her troubles elsewhere. Lady Amelia’s concerns were none of his affair.

The storm made the decision for him. Thunder rolled, shaking the stable. With a squeal of fear, a white-coated mare threw up her head from the next stall. With a cry, Lady Amelia jerked upright. It was either comfort her or her horse.

He had more faith in his ability to comfort the horse.

As she climbed to her feet, he handed her the lantern, then turned to the other stall before she could question him.

“Easy,” he murmured, moving slowly toward the mare. He kept his muscles loose and his face composed.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Lady Amelia staring at him. He didn’t dare take his gaze off the mare. He stroked her withers, murmured assurances in her ears. He could feel the horse relaxing, settling back into the stall.

Turning, he found Lady Amelia’s pretty mouth hanging open. Very likely no one had ever favored her horse over her.

Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Lord Hascot?”

John inclined his head. “Lady Amelia.”

Lightening flashed, and she glanced up with a gasp. John came around the wall before thinking better of it.

“Easy,” he said, putting a hand on her arm and taking the lantern back from her before she dropped it in the dry straw. “It’s just a storm.”

She nodded, drawing in a longer breath this time as if trying to settle herself, as well. Odd. He could feel the dampness in the wool of her habit, yet the mare had been dry, and now he noticed a sidesaddle slung over the low wall separating the stalls. Had she seen to her horse’s comfort before her own?

“Forgive me,” she said. “I shouldn’t be so timid. I simply wasn’t expecting such a storm. Will it pass soon, do you think?”

The quick recitation sounded breathless. He couldn’t blame her if she was nervous. Very likely he wasn’t the most comforting sight to a well-bred young lady. He didn’t bother with navy coats and cream trousers when working. His tan greatcoat covered a rough tweed jacket and chamois breeches that were more practical for a horse farm. And he’d been told more than once that his black hair and angular features could be intimidating. Particularly when he scowled.

He could feel himself scowling.

“Summer rains generally pass quickly in the peaks,” he told her. “Best to wait it out.”

She nodded, then hurried to the other stall. “Did you hear that, Belle?” she murmured, stroking the mare’s mane. “We’ll just wait a moment, and then we’ll be able to go back to Lord Danning’s. There’s my sweet girl.”