“Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?”
At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling that she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.
“It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,” he said. “And in love.”
“In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?”
Dev folded his arms across his chest. “It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s debacle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.”
“She thought I tried to seduce you?”
“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.”
The Marriage Truce
Ann Elizabeth Cree
MILLS & BOON
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ANN ELIZABETH CREE
is married and lives in Boise, Idaho, with her family. She has worked as a nutritionist and an accountant. Her favorite form of daydreaming has always been weaving romantic stories in her head. With the encouragement of a friend, she started putting those stories to paper. In addition to writing and caring for two lively boys, two cats and two dogs, she enjoys gardening, playing the piano and, of course, reading.
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
Chapter One
D evin St Clair, the fifth Marquis of Huntington, stood at the window of his bedchamber in Henslowe Hall and watched the Earl of Monteville’s carriage come to a halt in the circular drive below. He let the curtain fall and turned, a scowl on his brow. The prospect of the forthcoming ball was about as appealing as a stay in Newgate. Particularly now he knew the party from Monteville House had arrived. He had no desire to spend an evening under the same roof as Sarah Chandler.
‘Dev?’ His younger sister Jessica stood in the doorway. She was dressed for the ball in a pale pink gown, her thick dark hair pulled back in a knot, a few tendrils framing her pretty, delicate face. He felt a little tug at his heart. She looked much too young to be going to her own betrothal ball.
She smiled at him. ‘Are you ready? I thought perhaps you would not mind escorting me down.’
‘Of course not. Although I am surprised Adam is not fighting me for the honour.’ A smile lit his usually cool face. ‘You look lovely, Jess.’
‘And you look extremely dashing.’ She eyed his black coat and black silk breeches. ‘Oh, Dev! I am so glad you are here. I know it cannot be at all easy for you.’
He raised a brow. ‘I will own it was a trifle inconvenient of you to fall in love with the man whose future estate runs with Monteville House, and a cousin of the Chandlers to boot.’
A chagrined expression crossed her face. ‘I tried very hard not to.’
He moved forward and looked into her face. ‘I am only teasing you a little.’ He took her gloved hand in his. ‘Don’t look so worried, Jess. I quite like your young man, and I never would have consented to the match if I didn’t think he would make you happy. And I promise to behave myself.’
She tried to smile. ‘I am hardly worried about that. You have never done anything wrong, no matter what anyone says. It is entirely Lord Thayne’s doing!’ Her hazel eyes clouded with a touch of anger, before filling with concern. ‘It is only—I don’t want you to be hurt again.’
He pressed her hands lightly before releasing them. ‘There is nothing to worry yourself about. It is in the past.’ Which was precisely where he intended to keep all of it, especially the Chandlers. ‘Come, we must go down or Adam will think you’ve changed your mind.’
She gave him another little smile as he held out his arm. She placed her hand lightly on the sleeve of his coat.
But as they descended the winding staircase of Lord Henslowe’s country seat, the sounds of laughter and chatter drifting up from the ballroom below, his mouth curved in a bitter smile. It was going to prove devilishly difficult to keep the Chandlers where he wanted them. He had found it impossible to completely avoid Sarah Chandler a month ago in London, and now she was going to be under his nose again for an entire evening. It should be no problem, he would just make certain to stay on the opposite side of the room.
Sarah Chandler stood in one corner of Lady Henslowe’s ballroom, partially hidden by a Grecian column entwined with ivy and silk flowers, and wished, not for the first time this evening, that she could go home. Pleading a headache and quitting the ball would, however,
