A life of deceit…
On the surface, Jenny Dell appeared the model lady,
but nothing could have been further from the truth.
For her, every word and every act was a deception.
Until she met Brant Claremont, the Duke of Strachen,
and learned firsthand about love based on a lie.
“No matter how much any one of us pretends to be someone else, in the end we always are what we are.”
“Ahh.” For whatever reason, Brant relaxed. “Then you are a fatalist? You believe that we can never change from what we’re born? That our destiny remains always the same, with no hope of growth or improvement?”
“No, no, no! It’s not so complicated as that, Your Grace. I only meant that no matter how many changes you may make for the world to see, you are still at heart, or in your soul, the same creature you were born. That’s what I know,” Jenny said with conviction.
She did believe it. How could she not, when so much of her life was unabashed deception? If she didn’t believe in herself independent of whatever new identity she’d concocted, why, then, she’d have nothing at all.
Praise for bestselling author
MIRANDA JARRETT
“A marvelous author…one of romantic fiction’s
finest gems…each word is a treasure, each page
an adventure, each book a lasting memory.”
—The Literary Times
“Miranda Jarrett knows how to put life and love
into her pages and make you believe every word!”
—Rendezvous
“Ms. Jarrett’s ability to always draw the reader>
into a fast-paced tale peopled with likable and
realistic characters and a thrilling plot
is a crowning achievement.”
—Romantic Times
The Golden Lord
Miranda Jarrett
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
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
Epilogue
Prologue
Harrow Public School
Middlesex
1788
T he five boys sat cross-legged in a tight circle on the attic floor, the lantern in their center shaded so that just enough light filtered through to show the cards clutched in their hands and the hoarded heaps of coins before each of them. It was late, very late, and long past the six o’clock lock-up for the night, but no one would dare consider leaving this game.
Brant, as usual, had made sure of that. Through the sheer power of his personality, he’d made being asked to these clandestine games the most desirable invitation in the entire school, and the staggeringly high stakes that could gobble up a term’s allowance in a single hand of cards only served to increase Brant’s own mystique.
But why shouldn’t it? Brant Claremont was the sixth Duke of Strachen, Marquess of Elwes, admired as much for his wit as for his daring on the cricket field. As an orphan, he had only a distant, disinterested guardian to answer to, and his two younger brothers had been sent so far away that there wasn’t even a hint of fraternal competition. To the other boys in his form, Brant’s life seemed as close to perfection as any mortal British male could wish for.
Only Brant himself knew otherwise. Still months shy of his sixteenth birthday, he already understood all too well the terrifying obligations that his wastrel father’s death two years before had thrust upon him, along with the dukedom and a string of mortgaged, decaying properties.
Not that any of that mattered here in the chill of this drafty attic. Now Brant smiled as he leaned forward, the lantern turning his fair hair as gold as the guineas heaped before his crossed legs. He was winning, winning deep, and he did not want his luck to turn just yet.
“Your play, Galsworthy,” he said, his voice deceptively languid. “Draw or show. Any time before Michaelmas will do.”
The others sniggered nervously while the Honorable Edmund Galsworthy scowled down at his hand. “I say, Claremont, that’s cutting it a little rough,” he grumbled. “Not all of us are so deuced quick with ciphering as you are.”
“That’s why we call him the Golden Lord, Galsworthy,” said another boy, obviously with a better hand of his own. “He can turn pasteboard cards direct into
