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“I shall keep to my own bed after the sham vows are recited, and you shall keep to yours!
“Or anyone else’s bed you fancy, for all I care!”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Nicholas demanded, his eyes angry.
Emily propped her fists on her hips. “Well, if you didn’t understand what I said, my lord, perhaps it is you who needs a governess. Since we are to have a loveless union and it is all for outward show, there will be no consummation of it. Do you understand that, sir, or need I make it plainer still?”
For a long moment fraught with tension, Nicholas said absolutely nothing. “I did promise that you could have whatever you wanted,” he at last said softly. “Whether you believe it or not, I am a man of my word. Just be certain you really want what you demand…!”
Praise for Lyn Stone’s recent books
The Highland Wife
“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue, humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”
—Romantic Times
Bride of Trouville
“I could not stop reading this one.…
Don’t miss this winner!”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Knight’s Bride
“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”
—Publishers Weekly
#599 THE LOVE MATCH
Deborah Simmons/Deborah Hale/Nicola Cornick
#600 A MARRIAGE BY CHANCE
Carolyn Davidson
#602 SHADES OF GRAY
Wendy Douglas
Marrying Mischief
Lyn Stone
Available from Harlequin Historicals and LYN STONE
The Wicked Truth #358
The Arrangement #389
The Wilder Wedding #413
The Knight’s Bride #445
Bride of Trouville #467
One Christmas Night #487
My Lady’s Choice #511
The Highland Wife #551
The Quest #588
Marrying Mischief #601
Other works include:
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Beauty and the Badge #952
Live-In Lover #1055
This book is dedicated to my good friends Julie and Mike Hammersley, and their incredible band, Auburn. You have England on the dance floor. Nashville’s next! Thank you so much for your friendship, encouragement and inspiration.
Contents
Chapter One
Southern Coast of England—1856
She had only meant to tug the gate open. Yet here she stood with the old broken latch in her hand and the rotten boards of the neglected little portal collapsed at her feet. She peeked inside. Emily Loveyne could scarcely believe that she, the vicar’s own daughter, was breaking into the Bournesea Estate.
With a disgusted sigh, she raked away enough of the overgrown ivy and morning glory vines to squeeze through. Obviously no one had used this as an entrance or exit for years. She had when she was a child accompanying her father on his Sunday afternoon visits when her ladyship still lived.
The small gardener’s gate had been the nearest way in on their approach from their cottage, and had led them directly past the roses, once inside. Her father did love roses. They still enjoyed the beauties grown from cuttings Lady Elizabeth had given them for their
