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KAT MARTIN

‘Kat Martin is one of the best authors around!

She has an incredible gift for writing.’

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‘This steamy trilogy opener is an enjoyable mixture

of tension and romance…make[s] the next

books worth waiting for.’

—Publishers Weekly on Royal’s Bride

‘Royal’s Bride is so good, I have high hopes for the rest of this series!’ —Romance Reader at Heart

‘Kat Martin dishes up sizzling passion and true love,

then she serves it up with savoir faire.’

—Los Angeles Daily News

‘Ms Martin keeps you burning the midnight oil as she

sets fire to the pages of Heart of Fire… Don’t miss this fabulous series! It is definitely a winner.’ —Reader to Reader

‘[Reese’s Bride] is hot, sexy and mesmerising. The pages are rich with history, taut with tension and steaming with passion.’ —RT Book Reviews

‘I loved this book! Kat Martin is a consummate

storyteller and this book is terrific!’

—The Romance Reader’s Connection on Royal’s Bride

Rule’s
Bride

THE BRIDE TRILOGY

Kat

Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my editor, Susan Swinwood, for her help

with this series. It’s a pleasure to work with you.

Prologue

Boston, 1857

They say good things come to those who wait, but Rule Dewar wasn’t so sure. Standing in the long marble hallway at Griffin Heights, his employer’s palatial estate on the outskirts of Boston, Rule waited nervously while the stonefaced butler rapped on the study door.

Ignoring the urge to adjust the knot on his cravat and smooth his hair, he straightened at the sound of muffled footsteps approaching from the opposite side of the door. The door swung open and the man inside the study smiled, clearly anticipating his visitor’s arrival.

“Rule! Come in, my boy. I appreciate your stopping by on such short notice.” Howard Griffin, head of Griffin Manufacturing, makers of high-quality armaments, welcomed him into the study, a vast, book-lined chamber that took up a goodly portion of the west wing of his mansion.

Rule walked past him into the room. “It wasn’t any trouble. I was just going over some of the design change proposals you asked me to look at.”

Griffin, in his early forties and nearly as tall as Rule, had a solid build and reddish-brown hair. He walked over to a pair of polished mahogany doors and slid them open. Hidden within was a sideboard lined with bottles of expensive liquor and cut-crystal decanters on gleaming silver trays.

“So what did you think of the new designs?” Griffin asked as he took down a pair of crystal glasses and set them on the sideboard.

“I agree with your assessment. I believe eventually the smooth bore will be replaced entirely by the rifled barrel. Which means we should consider changing the percentages of each kind of musket now being produced.”

Griffin smiled, clearly pleased, though Rule had the impression business was not what the man had asked him there to discuss.

“Care for a whiskey?” The older man held up a decanter filled with golden-brown liquid. “Or perhaps you would rather have something else.”

Rule preferred brandy, a slightly less potent beverage, but the Americans seemed to like the stronger liquor and he had grown accustomed to the taste. “Whiskey is fine.”

Griffin poured both of them a drink and handed one of the glasses to Rule, who took a sip, the burn of the alcohol easing a little of his tension. Not all, though. Giving in to the urge, he ran a hand over his wavy black hair to smooth the windblown strands back into place. It wasn’t every day his boss, the wealthy owner of the company, invited him into his home.

Griffin didn’t ask him to sit down but guided him toward a window overlooking the garden. Though early in the year, spring blossoms had begun to peek through the soil, and the winding brick pathways were meticulously maintained.

Griffin swirled the liquor in his glass. “In the time you’ve worked for me, Rule, you’ve done an excellent job. I made a wise decision in hiring you.”

“Thank you, sir.” In spite of the fact he was only four-and-twenty, he had been given an impressive amount of responsibility, mostly a result of his Oxford education, which seemed to impress the Americans, but also because of his pedigree.

Rule wasn’t stupid. Being an English aristocrat gave him entry into the top levels of society on both sides of the ocean. Being the brother of a duke opened an amazing number of doors and Rule was willing to use every advantage to further his career.

Griffin turned to stare out the window. In the distance a marble fountain sprayed water into the bright spring sunshine. There was something in his manner that seemed in contrast to his usually dynamic nature.

“I believe you’ve met my daughter, Violet.”

“Yes, sir, on several occasions. Lovely girl.”

“She is young yet, only sixteen, and a bit of a tomboy. My fault, that. I never had a son, so I indulged her.”

Rule’s gaze followed Griffin’s to a huge sycamore on the right side of the fountain. Beneath the branches, Violet Griffin sat in a rope swing, laughing as she pushed herself higher and higher into the air, her full skirt and petticoats billowing out around her stocking-clad ankles. She had a heart-shaped face, a boyish figure and hair the color of new copper pennies.

“As I was saying, she is young yet, but she looks a great deal like her mother—God rest her soul—and in time I believe she’ll turn into quite a beauty.”

“I’m sure she will.” Rule sipped his drink, having no idea how the gangly young girl would look when she grew up and wondering where the conversation was leading.

Griffin turned. His gaze zeroed in on Rule’s face. “Unfortunately, I won’t be around to watch that transformation.”

Rule’s head came up. “Sir?”

“I’m dying, Rule. There is no easy way to say it. I’ve been to a number of physicians, all of whom agree. I’m dying and there is no way to keep it from happening.”

The breath lodged in Rule’s lungs. For the first time he noticed the slightly yellow cast to Griffin’s skin, the faint purple hollows beneath his eyes.

He swallowed. “What…what is it, sir? What sort of illness has afflicted you?”

Griffin’s eyes looked bleak. He shook his head. “Some kind of liver malfunction. Nothing they can do to stop it.”

Rule’s chest was squeezing, making it difficult to breathe. Howard Griffin was one of the most vital men he had ever met. An aura of power and authority seemed to follow him wherever he went. They didn’t know each other well, and yet Rule had enormous respect for him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I find myself utterly at a loss for words. You say these doctors are certain?”

“I’m afraid so, yes, and as much as I would like to pretend otherwise, it is time I accepted the fact and made plans accordingly.”

Rule steeled himself. “Whatever you need, you know you can count on me.”

Griffin’s lips faintly curved with something that looked like satisfaction. “That is what I’d hoped you would say.” He turned back to the window. “Though I doubt what I am going to ask will remotely resemble what you might be thinking.”

Rule made no comment.

“Whatever fate holds in store for me, my foremost concern is the welfare of my daughter. I need to know her future will be secure. I need to be certain she will be well cared for and that she’ll have the sort of home a woman wants. In short, I need to find her a husband.”

Rule’s stomach knotted. Surely Howard Griffin wasn’t thinking of him as a candidate for his daughter’s hand in marriage?

“She likes you, Rule. In fact, I believe she even harbors some sort of schoolgirl crush on you.”

“You are not thinking—”

“Actually, I am, but don’t look so horrified. What I am about to propose isn’t quite what you think.”

“I understand your fears, Mr. Griffin, but as you said, your daughter is only sixteen.”

“And yet it is my duty as her father to arrange for her future, to ensure she marries well and is happy and well cared for. If there were more time, of course, I would do things differently. Unfortunately, time isn’t something I have.”

Rule could only imagine how the man must feel. He had a daughter he loved and now he would never see her grow into a woman. “I see your dilemma, sir, but I’m afraid…”

“My choices are limited, Rule. I need to make arrangements for her future, though in some ways she is still a child. Which is the reason I would require her future husband to wait until she has reached her maturity before the marriage is consummated. She would have to be at least eighteen.”

Rule found himself shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir. As much as I respect you, if you are asking me to marry your daughter, I’m afraid I’ll have to—”

“Before you give me your answer, at least hear me out.”

The man was dying. The least Rule could do was be polite enough to listen. He gave a curt nod of his head. One thing was sure. No matter how much he admired Howard Griffin, he wasn’t about to get married and especially not to a sixteen-year-old girl.

“Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you what I am proposing. Perhaps when I am finished, you will no longer look at me as if I have already lost my wits.”

Rule managed a smile. Damn, he bloody well liked this man. He hated the thought of him dying so many years before his time.

It was a shame he would have to refuse him.

Seated on an ornate gold velvet settee in her bedroom, Violet Griffin sat next to her cousin and best friend, Caroline Lockhart. Eyes red rimmed from crying, Violet blew her nose into a lace-trimmed handkerchief and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“It isn’t fair,” Caroline said. “You’ve already lost your mother. You don’t deserve to lose your father, too.”

Violet sniffed, wiped away fresh tears. She had been crying for days, ever since her father had called her into his study and told her the terrible truth—that in less than a year, he would be dead. “Father says life is never fair.”

“I suppose not, but it certainly should be.”

Violet looked up at her friend. “F-Father wants me to marry. He says it’s the only way he can die in peace.”

Caroline’s pale blue eyes widened. Blonde and fair and an inch taller than Violet, she shifted on the sofa, the skirt of her pink taffeta tea gown making a rustling sound as she moved. “Dear Lord, you are only sixteen!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Caroline bit her lip. “So whom does he want you to marry?”

“The Englishman, Rule Dewar. You remember him. He came here for supper several times and on another day came to luncheon. You met him at luncheon.”

Caroline’s expression turned dreamy. “It isn’t as if I would forget. I have never seen a more beautiful man.”

Violet just nodded. “That is what I thought the first time I saw him. He has the most amazing blue eyes and his hair is so black it looks blue.” She glanced down at her lap then back at her friend. “Do you think I should marry him? Father wants to make sure my future is secure before—before…”

“Your father loves you very much,” Caroline said softly.

“I know he does.” Violet dabbed at a tear escaping down her cheek. “So should I? Papa has always asked so little of me and it would please him so greatly.”

“Do you think…Does Rule want to marry you?”

“I don’t know. Father says he does.”

“It’s an odd name—Rule. Where do you suppose it came from?”

“Father says it was his great-grandfather’s name, inherited from the mother’s side of the family or some such thing. He says the two of them have already come to a financial arrangement that would take care of both of us. He says Rule wouldn’t actually…he wouldn’t actually become my husband until I turned eighteen.”

Caroline nodded. “You mean he won’t demand his husbandly rights before you are old enough.”

“I suppose.” Violet twisted the damp handkerchief in her hands. “Until then, he is going back to London to manage the plant we own there.”

Caroline smoothed her pink taffeta gown. “So do you want to marry him?”

Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to marry anyone. Not yet, at any rate. But if I have to get married…well, then, I guess I would choose Rule.”

Caroline grinned. “Can you imagine? The man is the brother of a duke! If you marry him, you’ll be the envy of every girl at Broadmoor.”

Mrs. Broadmoor’s Academy for Young Ladies, which both girls currently attended, was the most exclusive finishing school in Boston. Violet didn’t particularly like the place. She preferred a different sort of education, the kind her father had already provided: math and history, science and geography, French, Latin and Greek.

But she was determined to be the lady her father always wanted her to be, so she applied herself with equal purpose to her studies at the academy.

Tears welled. Now it wouldn’t matter if she graduated at the top of her class. Her father would never know.

She took a shaky breath. Whether he knew or not didn’t matter. Violet would know, and pleasing him now was more important than ever.

There and then, she made her decision.

“I’m going to do it, Carrie. I’m going to marry Rule Dewar.”

Caroline let out a girlish squeal, slid over and hugged her. “You’re going to be a bride! I can hardly believe it!”

Violet stared down at the handkerchief in her lap and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Neither can I.”

Two weeks passed. It seemed the blink of an eye to Rule. It was Saturday, a warm spring day he tried to see as a positive omen for the monumental decision he had made. Standing in the vast gardens at the rear of the Griffin mansion in front of a flower-covered arch above the altar, Rule stared up the aisle at the future Mrs. Rule Dewar.

She looked exactly like what she was, a naive young girl barely out of the schoolroom. Even in an elaborate wedding gown fashioned of endless rows of white Belgian lace, she was a gangly, boyish young woman. Hardly ready for marriage and certainly not the sort Rule would choose if she were.

In truth, marriage was the last thing he wanted.

But Howard Griffin was beyond persuasive, and the deal he had offered was more than anything Rule could have dreamed. After Griffin’s death, once the marriage was consummated, he would inherit half of Griffin’s fortune and become half owner of Griffin Manufacturing. The other half would belong to Violet, the woman soon to become his wife.

The laws were different in America and his bride’s fortune would remain her own, but together they would be a powerful force in the financial world.

And there was an added benefit. Aside from the money and ownership of an extremely successful company, Rule would be fulfilling his father’s greatest wish. The late Duke of Bransford was convinced that an alliance with the Americans would carry the Dewar family securely into the next century, and Rule had promised to see it done.

Marriage and a business that spanned the Atlantic would certainly be a satisfactory means of making that happen.

His gaze ran over the few rows of seats filled by Griffin’s friends and family, an intimate gathering that would have been a spectacular affair if Violet were older and the wedding not a hurried event that was only a means to an end.

He wondered how many people in attendance knew the circumstances of the wedding and thought that Griff, as Rule was now supposed to call him, had probably spoken to most of them and explained the situation. Rule thought the majority would sympathize with a dying father’s desire to ensure his only child’s future and agree with his decision.

At the top of the steps leading down from the terrace, Griffin extended his arm and Violet rested a white-gloved hand on the sleeve of his satin-lapelled, black broadcloth tailcoat. She was even more petite than he had realized, and earlier he had noticed that her eyes were a pretty leaf-green. There was a sprinkling of freckles on her nose, he had observed as he had proposed, very gallantly, on bended knee in the drawing room in front of her father.

She was little more than a child and part of him rebelled at the notion of making her his wife, even in name only. He fought an urge to turn and run, board the fastest ship he could find back to England. But the die had been cast, the future laid out for him like a juicy piece of meat, and he had been unable to resist.

By the end of the ceremony, he would be on his way to becoming an extremely wealthy man. In the meantime, until the dismal occasion of his father-in-law’s passing, Rule would be employed at a lavish salary as head of the London branch of Griffin Manufacturing and live in high style in the city.

The organ began to play the wedding march, returning his attention to the moment. Walking next to her father, Violet managed a half-hearted smile and started down the aisle to where he stood waiting. Rule reminded himself he wouldn’t truly be a husband for at least several years, wouldn’t have to face that sort of responsibility until he was ready.

Pasting on a smile he hoped looked sincere, he thought of the future he was securing for himself, the fulfillment of the promise he had made his father, and prepared to greet his bride.

Violet kept the smile fixed on her face as she made her way down the aisle. Only close family and a few intimate friends were in attendance. Quite enough for Violet, who just wanted this day to end. On the morrow, Rule would sail for London and her life would return to normal. At least for a while.

She refused to think of the months ahead and the terrible fate awaiting her father. Instead, she focused her attention on the man she would marry. Rule gave her an encouraging smile and her heartbeat quickened, began a steady thrumming inside her chest. Good heavens, he was handsome! She had never seen a man with eyes so blue and fringed with a double row of thick black lashes. She had never seen more beautiful lips, full and pleasingly curved. Winged black brows formed a faultless arch over each of his magnificent eyes, his nose was straight, and his smile flashed an even row of perfect white teeth.

When she reached his side, he took her trembling hand in his larger, warmer one, and his smile widened, carving dimples into his cheeks. Goodness, she had never seen a face assembled with such perfection.

And he was going to be her husband!

The thought made her knees start to tremble. As her father handed her into Rule’s care, she stiffened her spine and told herself she was doing this because her father wished it, but deep down she wasn’t completely sure.

For long minutes she stood there rigidly as the minister performed the marriage ceremony. Rule repeated his vows and she hers, and then it was over and he bent and kissed her cheek.

Violet suppressed a flicker of disappointment. She had never been kissed. She thought she deserved at least that much from the man who was now her husband.

“Well, Mrs. Dewar,” he whispered softly, his warm breath feathering goose bumps across her skin, “how does it feel to be married?”

She looked up at him. “So far I have no idea. What about you?”

Rule laughed, a deep, rich, musical baritone. Of course his laughter would be perfect, just like the rest of him.

“You’re exactly right—I haven’t a clue, either. I don’t feel the slightest bit different.”

“Maybe it takes a while.”

He smiled, seemed to relax. “Perhaps.” She loved his accent. It fit so well with his immaculately tailored clothes, expensive leather shoes and snowy cravat.

“I believe your family has planned a wedding celebration. Perhaps now that the worst is over, we’ll be able to actually eat.”

Violet laughed. She hadn’t expected that. That he would be able to make her laugh. It made him seem less formidable, more approachable. “I’m starving. I was afraid to eat anything earlier. I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep it down.”

He smiled. “Exactly so.” He continued to smile, and she thought, Could this beautiful man actually be my husband? But as he took her hand and placed it on the sleeve of his coat, she knew that it was so.

Weaving their way through a small barrage of wellwishers, they made their way from the garden back inside the house. Rule kept her close at his side and she appreciated his effort to play the role of dutiful husband. As the afternoon progressed, she told herself that everything would work out. That her father’s judgment had never proved wrong before and she should trust that judgment now.

The hours seemed to have no end but finally the guests departed, all except Rule, her father and Aunt Harriet, her mother’s sister and one of Violet’s few close relatives. As she stood next to Rule and the small group who remained, a wave of exhaustion hit her and she swayed on her feet.

“Are you all right?” Rule asked, his hand going to her waist to steady her.

Violet managed to smile. “I’m fine.A little tired, perhaps.”

He glanced at the clock above the marble mantel in the drawing room. “The others have mostly gone and I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave, as well. I have some packing to finish before I head down to the ship.”

Violet felt torn.

She was married, but her husband was leaving. She wasn’t sure when she would see him again.

On the other hand, she wasn’t ready to be a wife and she wasn’t sure how long it would take before she would be.

“We’ll walk you out to your carriage,” her father said, and the group made its way in that direction, ending up outside on the wide front veranda.

“Have a safe voyage,” Violet said, not sure what sort of farewell was appropriate under the circumstances.

Rule bowed over her hand, lightly pressed his lips against the back, and she could feel his warm breath through her glove. “Goodbye, Violet.”

She watched him descend the steps and climb into his carriage, then, as if he had never been there, he was gone.

Her father’s hand settled gently on her shoulder. “He’ll be good to you, dearest. He has given me his word he will see to your every need.”

She only nodded. What about love? she thought. The word had never entered her mind until that very moment and certainly wasn’t part of any conversation she’d had with her father. Love wasn’t a necessary part of marriage, she knew, and yet…

For some strange reason, as she watched Rule’s carriage depart, a lump formed in her throat.

“Rule will make you a very good husband,” her father confirmed. “When the time is right.”

“I’m—I’m sure he will.” She watched Rule’s carriage disappear through the massive iron gates that bore the tall, golden image of a griffin—the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle—and felt oddly depressed.

“Come inside, sweetheart,” said her aunt Harriet, a silver-haired woman in her fifties with an unshakable loyalty to her and her father. “You must be tired after such a trying day.”

Violet just nodded. She felt drained and strangely bereft. She had a husband who wasn’t there and soon her father would also be gone.

As they crossed the front porch and went inside the house, Violet clung to Griff’s arm, wishing things could be different and fighting not to weep.

One

London, England

Three years later

“Rule, how good of you to come!” His hostess for the evening, Lady Annabelle Greer, floated toward him across the elaborately decorated ballroom in the London mansion she shared with her husband, Travis. “And I see you have brought Lucas with you.”

Her gaze shifted across the room to where his best friend, Lucas Barclay, made conversation with a delectable young widow he had only just recently met. Rule and Luke had attended Oxford together. Beyond that, they were shirtsleeve relatives of a sort. Rule’s oldest brother, Royal, the Duke of Bransford, was married to a cousin of Luke’s brother’s wife.

Rule returned his attention to his hostess. “It’s good to see you, my lady.” With her light brown hair and clear blue eyes, Annabelle Townsend Greer was nearing thirty and the mother of three children, yet she was still a beautiful woman.

“I’m surprised you came. You are usually too busy working.” She tapped her painted fan against his shoulder. “Don’t you know it is highly improper for a member of the aristocracy to labor for money like a commoner?” She grinned. “But then, none of you Dewars have ever given a fig for propriety.”

Rule grinned back. “I might say the same for you, my lady.” He could still recall rumors he had heard of the torrid affair that had resulted in Annabelle’s marriage to Travis Greer, a former lieutenant in the British cavalry, confirmed bachelor and his brother Reese’s best friend.

Anna just laughed. “I admit to being a bit outrageous at times. Not recently, though.”

Rule smiled. “No, not since your husband had the courage to take you in hand.”

Anna grinned at the ridiculous remark. If anything, it was the other way round. Travis walked up just then, a well-built man with sandy-brown hair and small, gold-rimmed spectacles who was clearly in love with his wife. A respected journalist with the London Times, he wrote articles about whatever war the country might be fighting at the moment.

The empty sleeve of his coat bore testimony to the price he had paid when he was in the cavalry with Reese.

“Good to see you, Rule.” Travis glanced around the ballroom, the mirrored walls reflecting images of dozens of elegantly dressed men and women. “So which of these lovely ladies has managed to capture your attention? I heard you ended your…association with the beautiful and intriguing Lady St. Ives.”

Rule took a sip of his champagne. “News travels fast.”

“I assume you’re on the prowl again.”

He was indeed on the lookout for a new, more interesting mistress. He had grown tired of Evelyn Dreyer, Viscountess St. Ives, and several weeks back had ended the affair. It wasn’t Evie’s fault, he knew. For some time now, he had been feeling restless and bored, in search of something but not quite certain what it was.

Travis’s gaze shifted away from him and moved around the ballroom. “Or could it be that you are finally on the hunt for a wife?”

The sip of champagne Rule had taken nearly spewed from his mouth. He shook his head. “I’m definitely not looking for a wife. At least not at the moment.”

No one in London knew he was married. Not even his family. He would have to tell them, of course, and soon. Should have done it long ago. But telling them would make it real. It would force him to admit it was past time he did his duty, went to Boston and retrieved his wife.

The thought had him excusing himself and heading for the liquor table for something stronger than champagne.

Luke caught up with him there. “The crowd is beginning to thin. How about we head over to the club? Or we could go to Crockfords, do a little gambling.” Luke was nearly as tall as Rule, with dark brown hair and keen brown eyes. He had a scar through his right eyebrow that gave him a rakish, dangerous appearance women seemed to find attractive.

“Or if you are up to it, we could stop by Madame Lafon’s.” Luke grinned lasciviously at the pun, but Rule shook his head.

There was a time the elegant bordello had been one of his favorite ways to spend an evening. Lately, the notion of bedding one of the house’s beautiful harlots held little appeal.

“How about Crockfords?” he said. “I’ve been on a bit of a lucky streak lately. Perhaps it will hold.”

Luke smiled. “Crockfords it is.”

The one thing Rule wasn’t ready to do was go home. If he did, his conscience would nag him. He would think about the money Griff had left him when he died, the profitable investments from his lavish salary and the promise he had made. Though he had kept track of Violet through her aunt, Harriet Ardmore, he hadn’t been back to see the girl since the day they were wed.

He had planned to be there when her father died, but Griff had passed with very little warning, leaving Rule no time to make the monthlong crossing from London to Boston. He’d sent a letter to Violet, of course, expressing his condolences, then was careful to write her a short note at least every other month.

But it wasn’t the same as assuming his role of husband.

As he made his way out of the ballroom and stepped into the cool night air, he told himself it was time he kept his word. In the next week or two, he vowed, he would book a trip to Boston.

It was past time he went to collect his bride.

Rule ignored the sinking in the pit of his stomach.

Violet stepped off the clipper ship Courageous, grateful to once again be standing on dry land. At last, she was in London. She tightened her hold on the reticule hanging from her wrist and glanced at her surroundings. The docks buzzed with activity: stevedores unloading cargo, passengers disembarking from an endless line of ships along the quay, merchants hawking their wares to a herd of newly arrived, unsuspecting prey.

Gulls screeched overhead, their raucous cries mingled with the clatter and clank of ships’ rigging, sounds Violet had grown so accustomed to she barely noticed.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Her cousin, Caroline Lockhart, hurried along beside her, next to Mrs. Cummins, a lady of impeccable credentials who had been paid to act as their traveling companion.

“It is quite a bit different than I imagined,” Violet said, peering up at the skyline marked by tall church spires and a haphazard array of roofs dotted with chimney pots. “Everything looks older than I thought but that only seems to make it more charming.”

Though the area around the docks was certainly not the best. The buildings here were dilapidated and in need of repair, and aside from the travelers, most of the people on the streets were dressed in shabby clothes.

“I’ll hire us a carriage,” offered Mrs. Cummins, a bigboned, sturdy woman with iron-gray hair. They would be parting company soon, once Violet arrived at the residence belonging to her husband.

Husband. The word left a bad taste in her mouth. She hadn’t seen Rule Dewar since their wedding day three years ago.

Oh, he had sent an occasional note but clearly he had no intention of fulfilling his duties to his wife.

And Violet was extremely glad.

She had been so young when she had met him. Young and impressed with his extravagant good looks. And she’d been grieving for the father she would soon have to bury. Griff wanted her to marry and she would have done anything to please him—even wed a man she didn’t know.

“All right, girls, here we are.” Mrs. Cummins led them toward a ramshackle coach pulled by two tired-looking bay horses. The driver tipped his hat as he jumped down from the box and began hefting their steamer trunks into the boot at the rear of the vehicle.

Mrs. Cummins, very conscientious in her duties, watched the proceedings with a discerning eye. She had taken the job as companion in Aunt Harriet’s place since Aunt Harry turned green at the mere thought of four long weeks at sea.

The substitution was fine by Violet, who had been living mostly on her own since her father died. Desperate to fill her days with something more than sadness and grief, she had begun taking an interest in her father’s Boston munitions factory.

Growing up, she had spent a great deal of time there, learning about the business of making muskets and pistols, enjoying the hours with her father, playing the role of surrogate son.

“Come, girls,” Mrs. Cummins called out to them. “Let us get ourselves inside. This isn’t a good place to dawdle.”

The coachman held open the door and waited for each of them to climb into the worn leather interior. Violet settled herself in the seat, adjusted her conservative navy-blue traveling gown and tightened the strings of the matching bonnet beneath her chin, but her thoughts remained on her father.

In the beginning, he had been concerned that an interest in business might not be wise for a young lady, but soon it became apparent she was far more excited about making money than she was about playing the role of wealthy, pampered young lady.

Then, six months after Griff had died, Mr. Haskell, head of the Boston branch of the company, had suddenly taken ill and been forced to retire. Aunt Harry had nearly suffered an apoplexy when Violet told her she planned to take over Mr. Haskell’s duties, but Violet assured her that she would keep her role completely secret, and eventually her aunt had bent to Violet’s very strong will.

Mrs. Cummins’s worried voice drew her attention. “Dear me, what has happened to that address?” Her chubby hands dug frantically through her reticule. “I can’t seem to find the paper it was written on.”

“Number six Portman Square,” Violet told her, knowing the address by heart. It was printed at the top of Rule’s gold-embossed personal stationery, there on each of the very few letters she had received in the past three years.

Mrs. Cummins rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Driver, did you hear that?”

“Aye, madam. Number six Portman. ’Tis a bit o’ a ride, but I’ll get ye there safe and sound.”

“I hope it doesn’t take too long,” Caroline said with a weary sigh. “I am beyond ready to take off my shoes and put my feet up for a while.” Like Violet, Caroline was also nineteen. The two were alike in other ways, as well. Each was a bit too outspoken and unfashionably wont to do as she pleased, but Violet was better at disguising her nature than Caroline, who didn’t much care what other people thought of her.

She glanced outside the window, checking the angle of the sun. The afternoon was waning and all of them were tired. Echoing Caroline’s sentiments, Violet could hardly wait to reach their destination.

Her thoughts returned to the man she had wed and a tendril of anger slipped through her. Rule Dewar had the gall to marry her, then completely abandon her. He had given her father his word, had promised that he would provide for her, and though she had plenty of money and servants enough to staff a large part of Boston, it was hardly what her father had intended.

And it certainly wasn’t what Violet wanted. She wanted a husband who loved her, a man she could count on. She wanted a family and children. She had played the fool once for Rule Dewar. Not again.

A faint, bitter smile lifted her lips. Rule was about to get his comeuppance. He would retain whatever sum her father had left him, but he was about to lose his half interest in Griffin Manufacturing.

Violet couldn’t wait to see the look on his handsome face when she told him she was there to obtain an annulment.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually Violet and her party arrived at Rule’s London residence, a narrow, four-story brick structure with a gabled slate roof. It sat among a row of similar residences, all of them situated around a small park planted with bright spring flowers enclosed by an ornate wrought-iron fence. Clearly, it was a very exclusive neighborhood, befitting Rule’s station as the brother of a duke.

The thought stirred a trickle of irritation. How ridiculous it was to marry a man for his noble bloodlines. Why, Rule Dewar hadn’t even had the integrity to keep his word!

Not like Jeffrey, she thought, his handsome image popping into her head. Blond hair and warm brown eyes, a nice, sincere smile. Jeffrey Burnett was twenty-eight, nine years Violet’s senior, a man of some means she had met six months ago at a party given by a friend of Aunt Harriet’s. Jeffrey was an attorney who worked a great deal in the shipping business. Since Griffin shipped armaments around the world, they had something in common.

They had become friends of a sort, and eventually Violet had confided the truth of her hasty, ill-considered marriage. A few weeks later, Jeffrey had revealed his very strong attraction to her and his interest in making her his wife.

Of course all of that was moot at the moment.

First she had to obtain an annulment, which would make possible her second reason for coming on such a long journey.

She wanted to sell Griffin Manufacturing.

The driver jumped down and pulled open the carriage door, jarring her back to the present.

“We’re ’ere, ladies.”

Mrs. Cummins gave the man one of her imperious looks. “You’ll need to wait, sir, while I make certain this is the correct address. If so, I shall be needing your services again.”

“Aye, madam.”

Mrs. Cummins would be leaving Violet and Caroline there, though there was a chance they would be turned away. She had no idea what Rule Dewar would do when she appeared uninvited on his doorstep.

As they reached the top of the brick stairs, Violet stood anxiously next to Caroline while Mrs. Cummins knocked on the ornate front door. A wispy, gray-haired man, apparently the butler, pulled it open. He looked down his long beak of a nose as if he couldn’t imagine what three women would be doing on his employer’s front porch.

“May I help you?”

Violet spoke up—she was, after all, Rule’s wife. “I am Mrs. Rule Dewar. I am here to see my husband.”

The butler was frowning, his bushy white eyebrows drawn nearly together. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Then allow me to explain,” Mrs. Cummins said, thrusting her big bosom forward as she made her way closer to the door.

“This is Mrs. Dewar. She has crossed the ocean to see her husband. Now please go and find him and tell him that we are here.”

The man was shaking his head, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land, when Violet stepped past him into the foyer.

“Where is he?” she asked firmly.

The butler looked helplessly around for assistance as the other two women followed her inside.

“I am afraid…I am sorry, but his lordship is not at home.”

His lordship? She thought his brother was the one with the title.

“When is he expected to return?” Caroline asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Sometime after supper. It could be quite late. Lord Rule rarely keeps me informed of his whereabouts.”

Violet shared a glance with Caroline, whose eyes had rounded at the reference to Rule as a lord. “My cousin and I will each need a room,” Violet said. “Please show us upstairs to our quarters, if you would.”

“B-but I can’t do that!”

Violet drilled him with a glare. “Why not?”

“Because I…because I…”

“Keep in mind that as his lordship’s wife, from now on you will also be answering to me. I hope you don’t mean for us to get off on a wrong foot.”

The old man’s pale eyes widened. For several long moments, he just stood there.

Caroline leaned toward her. “He doesn’t seem to know Dewar has a wife,” she whispered. This had not gone unnoticed by Violet.

“Which shall make an annulment all the easier,” she whispered back. “I am waiting,” Violet pressed.

The butler cleared his throat. “I’ll have Mrs. Digby, the housekeeper, show you both upstairs.”

Violet just smiled. She turned to their traveling companion. “You have done a very fine job, Mrs. Cummins. Caroline and I have both arrived safely, just as you promised. Which means your duties are ended.”

Reaching into her reticule, Violet pulled out the bank draft she’d had prepared to be given as final payment once they reached London.

The older woman looked uncertain. “I don’t know…You haven’t even spoken to your husband yet. And this man doesn’t seem to know who you are.”

Violet forced a smile. “My husband has always been a very private person. But you may rest assured he will be delighted to see me.” Now that was a bald-faced lie.

Mrs. Cummins reached out and tentatively took the bank draft Violet held out to her. “I could stay with you a few more days if you like.”

“No! I mean, that won’t be necessary. Caroline will be staying for the next several days until I am settled. Go and enjoy your family. That is the reason you traveled all the way to London, is it not?”

Mrs. Cummins smiled. “Well, if you’re certain…”

“I am quite certain. Thank you again for everything.”

“You have the address where I can be found, should you need me.”

Violet patted her reticule. “The information is right in here.”

“All right, then. I believe I shall do as you suggest. I am eager to see my mother and the rest of my family.” With a wave and a final farewell, Mrs. Cummins trundled out of the foyer. A footman was sent to bring in their luggage, and a few minutes later a woman appeared who looked very much like Mrs. Cummins—gray hair, big bosom, rounded hips.

“I’m Mrs. Digby, my lady. I’ll show you and your cousin upstairs to your rooms.”

My lady? It appeared marriage to the brother of a duke gave her a title, as well. Goodness, she had no idea. “Thank you.”

Their luggage was brought up to their rooms and as soon as Violet closed the door, a quick rap sounded and Caroline rushed in.

“My lady! I can hardly believe it. I thought Rule’s brother was the one with the title.”

“He is. I don’t know how it works. Rule never mentioned anything when he was in Boston.”

“Probably because Americans don’t use titles.”

“I suppose.”

“I wonder where he is.”

“I have no idea.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But he is certainly in for a surprise when he gets home.”

Caroline grinned. “Oh, my, yes—he certainly is.”

Two

Rule drained his brandy glass and set it on the table in front of him. He and Luke had made the social rounds, then ended the evening playing cards at White’s, his gentleman’s club. It was late and tomorrow he had work to do.

Rule slid back his chair. “I’m afraid I am out, gentlemen.” He shoved his cards into the center of the table. “Looks as though I wound up even—which, with Luke playing, I consider a win.”

Luke just laughed. “You’re headed home, then?”

“I’m done in. I’ll see you at the end of the week.” The Marchioness of Wyhurst was holding a ball in honor of her daughter Sabrina’s birthday. Rumor was the marchioness was determined to find the girl a husband, but so far the elegant blonde had refused every suitor who had dared knock at her door.

Rule blew out a breath, wishing he had sent his regrets, though he couldn’t quite say why. But Lady Sabrina had been a good friend to the Dewars, and it was, after all, the lady’s birthday.

He released a sigh, still uncertain why it was that staying at home was beginning to hold such a strange appeal.

Making his way to the door of the club, he called for his carriage and left the building. As he settled himself inside, he pulled the bow of his cravat, letting it drape around his neck, removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit.

The next sound he heard was the latch snapping open and the door swinging wide.

“We’re ’ere, guv’nor,” said the coachman, a burly man with a short brown beard who stepped back so that he might depart the carriage. “Good night, milord.”

He climbed to the street. “Good night, Bellows.” Leaving the coachman to his late-night duties, he headed for the door. Light spilled from a window in the drawing room and he thought that Hatfield must have accidentally left a lamp burning. The old man was getting quite old, but Rule wouldn’t fire him. Hat had been a loyal employee of the family for too many years.

He reached the door and was surprised when it swung open. Hatfield stood in the entry, gray hair standing on end, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

“What is it, Hat? I told you not to wait up.”

The butler straightened, looking more like his old self again. “You’ve a guest, my lord. Two of them, actually.”

Rule frowned. “A guest? I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it?”

“Your wife, sir.”

Silence fell in the entry. “My…my wife is here?”

Hat nodded, moving the strands of hair hanging over his wrinkled forehead. “Yes, my lord. She arrived from America late this afternoon with her cousin, a Miss Caroline Lockhart.”

“I see.” Of course he didn’t see at all and all he could think was, Bloody hell, what am I going to do now?

“Your wife, sir…she’s waiting for you.”

“Violet is…My wife is waiting for me? She is up at this hour?”

“Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”

His mind was spinning, trying to sort things out. Violet was in London, had crossed the Atlantic to reach him. He started walking toward the drawing room, wide awake now, no longer feeling the least effects of the alcohol he had consumed.

As he strode into the room, she sat bolt upright, her eyes bright and blinking, glanced around for an instant as if to recall where she was, straightened and shoved to her feet. She was smaller than he remembered was his first impression, petite but shapely. In truth, she was different in every way than he recalled.

Except for her glorious copper hair, the likes of which he had never seen.

He groped for something to say. “Violet. I cannot believe you are here.”

She gave him a chilling smile. “It took a while to reach London. But at last, here I am.”

He couldn’t seem to make himself move. “So you are.”

He did move then, closing the distance between them, reaching out to take both of her hands. She wore no gloves, he noticed, and realized that aside from the bridal kiss on her cheek, he had never actually touched her without the barrier of some sort of clothing.

“Welcome to London,” he said. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more proper greeting.”

Violet drew her hands from his and looked him over, head to foot. For the first time, it occurred to him that his cravat was undone and dangling round his neck; his collar was missing, shirt unbuttoned and his hair slightly mussed.

Violet, on the other hand, looked…well…

Violet Griffin Dewar was beautiful.

“It must have been quite an evening,” she said, those leaf-green eyes he remembered taking in his dishevel.

He flushed like a schoolboy. “Not really. I stopped by to see friends and wound up playing cards at my club.”

“You were gambling? I didn’t realize you were a gambler.”

His embarrassment faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I rarely gamble. I was simply passing time.”

“Yes, well, you certainly managed to do that.” She glanced up at the clock over the mantel, the hands pointing to the lateness of the hour, condemning him.

“I am certain you are tired,” she continued. “I shall leave you to find your bed. I just wanted you to know I was here and to say that I would like to speak to you first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, of course.” His gaze ran over her. In the yellow glow of the lamp on the table, he saw that in the past three years her features had softened, the sharp angles smoothed into feminine lines and curves. Her cheeks were as pale as cream and heightened by a touch of rose. A full bosom swelled above her tiny waist, her neck was slender and as graceful as her hands. Her lips were fuller than he recalled, beautifully curved and a lush shade of pink.

No longer the boyish young girl she had been at sixteen, Violet had matured into a woman. She was everything her father had predicted and more, the sort of female any red-blooded male would want in his bed.

And she was his wife.

A trickle of desire filtered through him, tightening his groin. He cleared his throat, ignored the thickening in his loins. It was merely that the hour was late and he hadn’t had a woman in weeks.

“My condolences on the loss of your father. He was a very great man.”

“Thank you.”

“I am truly sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. If only you had sent word ahead—”

“My decision was made somewhat quickly. Any letter would have arrived at the same time I did.” She gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

His return smile was weak. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.” He should have left for Boston months ago. He hadn’t considered it a breach of his word until that very moment. The notion did not sit well.

Violet lifted her chin. “I shall see you in the morning, then.”

Rule nodded. “I’ll have Hat rouse one of the chambermaids and send her in to help you undress.”

“Hat, I presume, is your butler?”

“It’s Hatfield, actually. I’ve always called him Hat.”

“Of course.”

Rule stood by as she collected her skirts and swept gracefully from the drawing room. As she disappeared through the door, a rush of air escaped his lungs.

God’s blood, his wife had come to London! He still couldn’t believe it. He would have to tell his family, try to explain why he had kept his marriage a secret.

Rule thought of facing his two brothers and their wives—worse yet, his aunt Agatha, the matriarch of the family—and inwardly he groaned.

Violet pushed through the door of her bedroom to find Caroline still fully dressed and asleep on top of the bed. Her cousin jerked awake as Violet stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.

Caroline blinked owlishly then grinned. “Tell me what happened. I won’t be able to sleep a wink until I know.”

Violet released a weary breath. She had only slept in fits and starts on the sofa and jousting with Rule had left her edgy and drained.

“He was quite the gentleman. But then he always was.”

Rule had accepted her arrival more graciously than she had expected. Oh, he had been surprised to see her—wildly so. But he had recovered his composure quickly and played the willing host.

Which perhaps she should have expected. His smooth, sophisticated manner had been one of the things her father had admired.

“What does he look like? Is he still so very handsome?”

Handsome was a very pale word to describe a man who looked like Rule. “He is handsome. Beyond handsome, to be truthful. He is even taller than I remember.”

“With those lovely blue eyes and those wonderful dimples?”

“That would be him—though I didn’t see the dimples tonight. I don’t think he found anything the least bit humorous about my unexpected arrival.”

Caroline grinned. “Well, then, if you are still set on tossing him over, maybe you should give him to me.”

Violet laughed. “Once I am rid of him, I don’t care what he does.”

Caroline arched a golden eyebrow. “On second thought, I don’t want your leftovers. I think I shall find a man of my own.”

Violet bit back a smile. “Good idea.” Their tastes in men had always been different and even though Rule was quite a beautiful specimen, he was merely a man. Violet had learned the hard way there was more to a relationship than physical beauty.

“Did you tell him?” Caroline asked, sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you say you wanted an annulment?” Both of them were still fully dressed. And both were exhausted.

“I would rather have a good night’s sleep and face him in the morning.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.”

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“That will be the chambermaid, here to help me undress. I didn’t know you were still awake.”

“I’m glad someone is here. She can help us both.”

And so a full-figured, brown-haired woman in her late twenties walked into the bedroom, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“Me name’s Mary. Mr. ’Atfield, sent me ta ’elp ye.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Violet turned, presenting her back so that Mary could unfasten the buttons. In minutes, she was rid of her clothes, dressed in a long white nightgown and neatly tucked beneath the covers. Caroline waved farewell as she departed the room, and Mary followed her down the hall to help her undress and get settled for the remainder of the night.

The door softly closed and Violet stared up at the blue silk canopy above the bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead, exhausted from the tension of the day, in minutes she drifted into a deep, all-consuming slumber.

Rule lay awake, staring into the darkness. His wife was there—Violet was in London.

Now that he was over the shock, and the notion had begun to settle in, he felt an odd sort of relief. His decision was made. He could start living up to the promise he had made to Howard Griffin.

And Griffin had certainly lived up to his.

Violet was as beautiful as her father had envisioned, though not in the typical sense. She was petite, but not slim, her green eyes a little too large for her lovely heart-shaped face. Her flame-colored hair was amazing, but not in the current vogue, and there was a confidence about her that hadn’t been there when she was sixteen.

It shone in the way she moved, the firm set of her chin, the way her eyes flashed, revealing a hint of stubbornness she couldn’t quite hide. And there was something more, a sensuality that hid beneath the surface, a deeply rooted passion, he suspected. He was drawn to it, intrigued by the thought of exploring it.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had piqued his interest as Violet had, or stirred his lust in quite the same manner.