Lords of Passion

by Maggie Robinson, Virginia Henley, Kate Pearce

Genres: Historical Fiction; Victorian Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Readers will float away on the literary flair of these escapist tales, each touched with just the right amount of eroticism.-- Publishers Weekly "Beauty and the Brute" by Virginia Henley It's been three years since Lady Sarah Caversham set eyes on arrogant Charles Lennox--the husband her father chose for her to settle a gambling debt. Now Charles has returned, unaware that the innocent ingénue he wed is determined to turn their marriage of convenience into a passionate affair. . . "How to Seduce a Wife" by Kate Pearce Louisa March's new husband, Nicholas, is a perfect gentleman in bed--much to her disappointment. She longs for the kind of fevered passion found in romance novels. But when she dares him to seduce her properly, she discovers Nicholas is more than ready to meet her challenge. . . "Not Quite a Courtesan" by Maggie Robinson Sensible bluestocking Prudence Thorn has been too busy keeping her cousin Sophy out of trouble to experience any adventures of her own. But when Sophy begs Prudence's help in saving her marriage, Pru encounters handsome, worldly Darius Shaw. Under Darius's skilled tutelage, Pru learns just how delightful a little scandal can be. . . "These three talented authors show the many sides of desire. . . enough to please any reader seeking pleasure."-- Romantic Times, 4 Stars "Readers will delight as fantasies are played out and passion is given free rein." -- Romantic Times, 4 Stars

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 353

Sample

My feet are freezing! Lady Sarah stepped down from the carriage and hurried into Caversham Park Manor. A servant helped to remove her cloak and boots and handed her a pair of velvet slippers. “Thank you so much. Is Mother in her sitting room?”

“Yes, dear, she’s waiting for you.”

Sarah walked quickly, hoping the fire was blazing bright in her mother’s parlor. She curtsied as she had been taught to do. “I hope you are well, Mother. I was so surprised when you sent the carriage to school for me. Are my Christmas holidays starting early?”

“They are indeed, Sarah.” Margaret, Countess of Cadogan, held a rustling paper in her hand. She gave her slim, pale daughter a critical glance. “I’ve had a letter from your father in The Hague. Don’t stand so close to the fire,” she said impatiently. “Do sit down; I have something important to tell you.”

Sarah curled her toes inside her slippers.

“Your father wants us to join him in The Hague.”

“When?” asked thirteen-year-old Sarah, her eyes as big as saucers. She had never been farther than her school in Reading.

“We are to take ship immediately. It is wonderful news. I will be able to spend Christmas with my family in the Netherlands.”

“So it is Father’s Christmas present to us,” Sarah said in wonder.

Her mother did not tell Sarah about the other Christmas present he had in store for her. It would be far better for her daughter to learn of it when she arrived at the Court of Holland. That way, Sarah would have no option but to accept it gracefully.

Thirty miles away in Oxford, eighteen-year-old Charles Lennox, Earl of March, slapped his female companion on her bare buttocks. “Wake up, Fanny. It’s time you got the hell out of here. I’m due to attend class in less than an hour. It’ll take me that long to wash the stink of strumpet off my nether regions.”

The buxom lass sat up in bed and swung her legs to the floor. “There’s no need to hit me, m’lord. Is it a class that teaches manners?”

“Cheeky wench! Watch your mouth if you want to enjoy my favors again. I know a dozen females eager to share my bed.”

Fanny picked up her petticoat from the rug and quickly moved out of his arm’s reach.

“That’s because you have royal blood in your veins. They want to see if you’re as good in bed as your ancestor, King Charles II,” she taunted.

“I’m longer, both in size and endurance,” Charles drawled.

“Ha! Nothing like blowing your own horn.”

“I’m not likely to do that when I have wenches like you to do it for me.”

Suddenly the door to his room opened, and his tutor, Henry Grey, hurried inside. He addressed the plump female struggling into her smock without looking at her. “Better wrap up warmly—it’s freezing out there.”

“Henry, old son, what brings you here at such an early hour?”

Grey waited until the girl left before he brandished an envelope. “A letter from your father. It’s marked URGENT.”

“Then open the damn thing and read it to me.”

Grey pulled back the curtains and slit the wax seal with his thumbnail. He scanned the letter quickly and conveyed its message. “His Grace wants to see you in The Hague. He orders you to take ship immediately.” King George I had recently appointed the Duke of Richmond ambassador to the Netherlands.

“At last!” Charles whooped. “My college days are over. How bloody fortuitous that my father and I agree that a well-rounded education should be based on the Grand Tour. I couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present!” He climbed out of bed. “Pack our bags, Henry. I shall go and bid a fond farewell to that insufferable swine, the dean. Then I shall demand a refund of next term’s tuition from the skinflint treasurer.”

“Damnation, Cadogan, you’ve the devil’s own luck. You’ve won every hand we’ve played for the last sennight.” Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, pushed his chair back from the gaming table and wiped his brow. “Stap me! I’m wiped out—you’ve had the lot!”

General William Cadogan glanced at his darkly handsome opponent. He was the illegitimate son of the late King Charles II, who had impregnated his mistress, Louise de Keroualle. “Would you like me to tally up, Your Grace?”

Richmond waved a negligent hand. “By all means, let me know the damage.”

The dashing Irish general didn’t take long. He had a damn good idea of what the duke had wagered and lost in their endless games of écarté. The duke was a heavy drinker, which was the main reason for his losses. The general set the seven score cards down on the table, one for each night they had played. “I tot it up to a little over ten thousand guineas.”

“What?” Richmond howled. “Are you jesting?” By the benign look on Cadogan’s face, Charles Lennox knew he was serious. He downed the glass of gin sitting before him. “I don’t have it. You’ll have to accept my marker.”

The men sitting at the table, who had been observing their deep play, began to murmur. Richmond flushed darkly. A gentleman always paid his gambling debts. His shrewd mind quickly inventoried his assets. Land was out of the question—the aristocracy accumulated property; it never relinquished it. Besides, the Earl of Cadogan already owned the hundred-acre Caversham estate on the outskirts of Reading.

Horses were the next thing Richmond thought of. His family seat, Goodwood, at the foot of the South Downs, had a racing stable of Thoroughbreds. The thought of parting with his horses made him feel physically ill.

He looked across at General Cadogan. “You have a daughter, I believe.”

“I do, Your Grace. Her name is Sarah.”

“How would you like to make Sarah a countess? My son, the Earl of March, is without a wife.” Lennox believed no man could resist such a magnanimous offer.

But the Earl of Cadogan, who was Marlborough’s top general, and largely responsible for Britain’s victories in the War of the Spanish Succession, was a shrewd negotiator. That was the reason he had been given the diplomatic duties concerned with resettlements among Great Britain, France, Holland, and Spain.

“My daughter, Lady Sarah, has a dowry often thousand pounds. If I gave you my daughter and her marriage settlement, I would have to pay you ten thousand instead of you paying me ten thousand.” He raised his hands in appeal. “It doesn’t fly, Your Grace.”

“Charles is heir to my Dukedom of Richmond and all the estates that encompasses,” Lennox pointed out. “Lady Sarah could become a duchess.” Surely it’s not necessary to remind you that we have royal blood?

“A marriage between my daughter and your son, and heir, could be the solution.”

Cadogan paused for emphasis. “Without the marriage settlement, of course.”

“Curse you, general. You’re not negotiating with the enemy here!”

“Since we are civilized gentlemen, I propose a compromise, Your Grace.”

“Let’s split the difference,” Richmond suggested. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage along with a dowry of five thousand.”

The other men at the table leaned forward in anticipation of Cadogan’s answer.

“Done!” The general’s reply was heartfelt. He raised his hand to a servant. “Drinks all around. We must toast this historic union.”

The Duke of Richmond raised his glass. “Here’s to you and here’s to me, and if someday we disagree, fuck you, here’s to me!”

All the gentlemen roared with laughter and drained their glasses.

“I shall send for my daughter immediately.”

“And I shall summon my heir,” the duke declared.

“The Green Lion is a lovely name for a ship,” Sarah exclaimed as they boarded at the Port of London.

“I only hope our cabin is warm. This is a dreadful season to be crossing to the Netherlands,” Lady Cadogan said with a shiver.

“I’m glad I’m wearing my woolen dress and cloak. This is so exciting!”

The pair was shown below to their cabin, and when their trunk arrived, it took up most of the space between the two bunks.

“Such cramped quarters,” the countess complained. “It’s a good thing we will be arriving before dark tomorrow. But at least the cabin is warm.”

“Oh, I think we are under way.” Sarah grabbed hold of the bunk rail as the vessel swayed. She was bursting with excitement. “May I please go up on deck and watch as the Green Lion navigates through the Thames?”

“If you must, Sarah. But when the ship approaches Gravesend, you must come below decks immediately. Daylight will soon be gone, and the wind will be so fierce, it could easily blow you overboard,” her mother cautioned her.

The grave warning did not deter Sarah; it made her more eager to go up on deck.

“Thank you, Mother. I’ll be careful.”

Sarah climbed the stairs that led onto the deck and pulled her cloak tightly about her. She watched the docks recede slowly, but soon lost interest in looking back. She much preferred to look ahead and made her way to the very front of the vessel. She stood in wonder as the banks of the river widened. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with sea air, as if the smell of tide wrack were the elixir of life.

She lifted her face to the cold breeze as she heard the gulls and terns screaming overhead. What an exciting life to be a sailor! Sarah stood enraptured as the ship reached the estuary and headed out to sea. She became aware that the light was fast fading from the day, and the moment the ship sailed into the North Sea, the wind whipped her cloak about and she remembered that she must go below.

The fierce wind was against her as she lowered her head and began to run. Suddenly she collided with someone, and the impact knocked the breath out of her.

“You clumsy, idiot girl! Watch what you’re about for Christ’s sake.”

Sarah paled as she stared up into the furious face of a young man. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped.

“Sorry, be damned!” He blocked her way. “You haven’t the brains of a bloody baboon, barreling down the gangway like a loose cannon.”

“I have to get below—I promised Mother.”

“We all want to get below decks to a warm cabin, damn your eyes.”

“You are frightening the girl, Charles. Let her pass,” Henry Grey said quietly.

Charles Lennox grudgingly stepped aside. “The witless girl needed a lesson. I hope you remembered to bring that bottle of rum. It’s colder than a whore’s heart tonight.”

When the Countess of Cadogan and Sarah stepped from their carriage at the Court of Holland, a liveried attendant ushered them inside. Margaret’s father had been Chancellor of the Court before he retired, and the servants showed her great deference.

When they arrived at the suite of rooms that had been assigned to General Cadogan, he flung open the door and welcomed them warmly.

“Margaret, my dear, I hope your voyage wasn’t a rough one.”

“It was tolerable. December is no month to be at sea.”

“It was an absolute necessity, my dear. We couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip away.” He looked at his young daughter and gave her a hug. “Were you seasick?”

“No, Father,” she said breathlessly.

“That’s my girl. Take off your cloak and let’s have a look at you.”

Sarah removed her cloak and bonnet. She smoothed her hands over her flattened hair. “I must look a fright.”

“Nay, child. The wind has put roses in your cheeks.”

Sarah blushed with pleasure at the compliment.

William raised his eyes to his wife. His daughter’s figure was slight and her face extremely pale. “I hope you’ve brought her a decent dress to wear tomorrow.”

“You gave me such short notice, there was no time to have a new gown made. In any case, it’s cold. A woolen dress will suffice.”

“Have you told her?” William asked.

“I thought it best to wait until we arrived. You may have that pleasure, my lord.”

Told me what? Sarah went very still. She had an ominous feeling that her mother was being sarcastic. She doubted that pleasure would be involved. She couldn’t find the words to ask, but the apprehensive look in her eyes questioned her father.

“We’ll wait until after dinner,” he said heartily. “Sarah looks like she could use some food. There’s nothing like a thick broth to warm the cockles of your heart. After dinner, Sarah and I will have a private chat.”

“I’ll go and unpack.” She sensed that her parents had something to discuss that concerned her. Something was in the air, and she took refuge in the short reprieve.

When she lifted the lid of the trunk that had been delivered to the bedchamber, she stroked her hand over the rich material of her mother’s gowns. One was purple velvet, embroidered with gold, and another was black, quilted brocade decorated with crystals.

Sarah carefully lifted them from the trunk and hung them in the wardrobe, along with two other day dresses and the lovely whalebone panniers that went beneath. Her own clothes had been packed on the bottom, and as a result were slightly creased. As well as flannel petticoats and knitted stockings, she had brought only two dresses. One was oyster-colored wool with a cream frill around the high neck, and the other was gray with fitted sleeves that ended in white ruffles around the wrists. She wished that she had panniers to hold out her skirts. They would help disguise how thin she was, but her mother had decreed that she was still too young for grown-up fashions.

Sarah hung her dresses next to her mother’s and sighed with resignation at the contrast between the rich, fashionable gowns and her own plain attire.

Since the hour was late and the ladies had been traveling for the past two days, the trio ate dinner in Cadogan’s suite. Tonight for some reason Sarah’s appetite was nonexistent.

Her mother gave her a critical glance. “You must eat more. You will never fill out if all you do with food is push it about your plate.”

Her father changed the subject. “What are you learning at school?”

“Latin,” she said softly.

“Latin? What the devil good will Latin do you? Surely French would be better for a young lady of fashion.”

I don’t feel like a young lady of fashion. “We say our prayers in Latin.”

“I wager you have some uncharitable names for the nuns.”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “We call them the Sisters of the Black Plague.”

Cadogan threw back his head and laughed. It tickled his Irish sense of humor. “By God, I warrant they teach you not to spit in church, and very little else.” He bent close.

“I think a change of schools is in order. What d’you say, Sarah?”

“Oh, I would love it above all things.”

When they finished eating, the earl gave a speaking nod to his wife and she excused herself so that her husband could have privacy for the chat with his daughter.

Cadogan led his daughter to a chair before the fire and sat down opposite her. “The time has come when we must think about your future, Sarah.”

She nodded but made no reply, knowing there was more to come.

“I have no son, so I want the very best for my daughter.” He paused to let his words sink in. “For some time now I have been searching for a suitable match for you. I would never consider any noble of a lower rank than my own.”

Sarah’s blue eyes widened. You are talking about finding a future husband for me.

“Not only must he be titled, he must be heir to wealth and property.”

You married a lady from the Netherlands. I hope you don’t look for a match for me here. She clasped her hands together tightly. I want to live in England.

“I have been offered a match for you that surpasses all my expectations. It is an undreamed-of opportunity that will raise you to the pinnacle of the aristocracy. A premier duke of the realm has asked for your hand in marriage for his son and heir.”

Sarah sat silently as questions chased each other through her mind. Who? Where? When? But most puzzling was why?

William Cadogan’s face was beaming. “The Duke of Richmond is offering marriage with his son, Charles Lennox, the Earl of March.” He leaned forward and patted her hand. “Sarah, my dear, you will be the Countess of March, and the future Duchess of Richmond.”

“I . . . I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “Are we to be betrothed?”

Her father waved a dismissive hand. “You are to be wed, not betrothed!” He loosened his neckcloth. “Fortunately, Richmond and his son are here at The Hague.”

“So we will be able to meet each other and see if we suit?” she asked shyly.

“Of course you will suit! The marriage contracts have already been drawn up. You will meet each other at your wedding . . . tomorrow.”

Sarah was stunned as a sparrow flown into a wall. “Tomorrow?”

“Only the thought of starting my Grand Tour has sustained me through the rigors of the nightmare journey to get here. Holland is as cold as the balls on a brass monkey. I’d like to go straight to Spain, then sail the Mediterranean all the way to Constantinople, Turkey. At the moment I crave sunshine, and look at Grey here, he’s pale as a corpse.”

The Duke of Richmond poured his son and his tutor measures of gin. “Scotch whiskey does a better job at warming the blood, but gin is the best Holland has to offer. My apologies, gentlemen.”

Charles did not miss the mockery in his father’s voice.

“So—you’re done with Oxford, are you? Absorbed all the culture and knowledge that august seat of learning has to offer, I presume?”

“The university is all very well, especially the cricket, but it cannot broaden the horizons and equip one for life as the Grand Tour must surely do.”

“Have it all planned out, do you?” the duke enquired.

“Absolutely. I’ve thought of nothing else for the past year. After Turkey, there’s Athens, Venice, Rome, Spain, Portugal. I might skip Germany and take in the Balkans. With the letters of reference and introduction to the royal houses and the envoys you will provide, I warrant it will take the best part of three years.”

“To say nothing of the letters of credit drawn on the Bank of England I will provide,” Richmond said dryly.

Charles swallowed nervously. “Well, that goes without saying, Father.”

“Remind me again—what it is you intend to study in the great cities of the world, besides drinking, gaming, and whoring?”

With tongue in cheek, Charles replied, “I intend to follow in your footsteps, of course.” He paused for emphasis and then continued. “I shall study language, art, architecture, geography, and culture.”

“Mmm, do you suppose you could spare time from getting pissing drunk and acquire some filial gratitude, a modicum of deference, and a few manners while you’re at it?”

“Things you acquired from your father, no doubt.”

“My father had impeccable manners and a great deal of charm. He also had shrewd common sense along with his sensuality. You could do worse in a role model.”

“Thank you for your advice.” He finished his gin. “It’s all settled then? I don’t want to hang about wasting time. When may I leave?”

Richmond smiled. “You may leave anytime you please, after tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What’s going on tomorrow?”

“You’re getting married, Charles.”

“What?” His dark brows drew together. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“I have arranged for you to marry. The ceremony will take place tomorrow.”

“Who am I to marry, pray?”

“Lady Sarah, the daughter of the Earl of Cadogan, Marlborough’s top general.”

Charles jumped to his feet. “I won’t do it!” he shouted.

Richmond shrugged. “Suit yourself, my boy. No wedding, no Grand Tour.”

“Margaret, surely you packed something for Sarah that is more flattering than this gray dress. She looks like she’s wearing an institutional uniform,” Cadogan complained.

Sarah smoothed the folds in the gray skirt and felt rather forlorn.

“Go and put on your other dress, Sarah,” her mother admonished her. The countess was gowned in her rich purple velvet with gold leaves embroidered on the stomacher.

When his daughter left the room, Cadogan said, “You had better move to the London residence and enroll Sarah in an elite finishing school for ladies. She needs classes in music, dancing, and all the social graces. She must learn how to attract a gentleman and hold him in the palm of her hand. By the time the young Earl of March returns from his Grand Tour, she should be an accomplished lady of fashion who can hold her own, not only at Court, but in all aristocratic, high-class society.”

Sarah returned wearing the oyster-colored gown with the cream frill around the neck. Her pale blond hair and alabaster skin blended in with the shades of her dress, and it would have been charitable to say she looked like a colorless stick.

The general masked his despair and reminded himself that his daughter had gentle manners and a sweet amenable disposition. Upon occasion he had even caught a glimmer of his own Irish humor, despite Margaret’s efforts to stifle any spark of droll wit.

“For privacy, the nuptial vows are to be exchanged in the Earl of Richmond’s suite. As ambassador to the Netherlands he has the most luxurious chambers in The Hague.” He checked the time. “You had better take Sarah there now, and I will make sure the Anglican cleric is on his way.”

The duke’s personal manservant opened the door to Richmond’s apartment. Charles was standing before the fireplace, in conversation with his father and the ambassador’s legal secretary. Both father and son were richly garbed in brocade coats and satin breeches as befitted the significant occasion. When the ladies entered, the duke welcomed them with a warm smile.

“Countess Cadogan, do come in, and please be at ease.”

Charles glanced at the countess, then his eyes swept back to the door expectantly. A full minute went by while he waited impatiently. He glanced back at his father. “Where the devil is she?”

Richmond extended his hand. “I believe this is Lady Sarah, the bride-to-be.”

Charles stiffened as he stared in disbelief at the girl who stood beside the splendidly gowned countess. His eyes moved down from the crown of her head to her spindly ankles, then back up to her pale, pinched face. “You surely don’t expect me to marry this dowdy chit of a girl!” He looked down his aristocratic nose at the rail-thin creature. “She’s flat as a board—how old is she?” he demanded.

The Countess of Cadogan’s lips tightened at the young earl’s insulting remarks, but she bit her tongue rather than retort with words that might offend the Duke of Richmond.

Sarah blanched, and a white, bloodless circle appeared about her mouth.

Richmond gave his son a fierce look that would have felled a less arrogant youth. He pressed a powerful fist into the small of the groom’s back and propelled him forward. “Lady Cadogan, may I present my son, Charles?”

Margaret did not smile but sketched what barely passed for a curtsy.

“Charles Lennox, at your service, my lady,” Richmond’s son said through his teeth.

Sarah stood, stiff as a stick of wood, and stared. She recognized the bully who had cursed at her on board the Green Lion, and icy fingers clutched her heart. This cannot be real; I must be having a nightmare. Surely my parents don’t want this monster to be my husband?

The door opened and Earl Cadogan came into the chamber accompanied by the Anglican cleric. Sarah took a step toward her father, as the hope that he would save her lifted her heart. “Father, I want to go home,” she pleaded.

“And so you shall, my dear. You are so young, you will be a wife in name only. Once you have exchanged your wedding vows, your bridegroom is embarking on his Grand Tour, and you are returning to London to attend an academy for ladies.”

Sarah’s hope shattered and left her feeling hollow and abandoned.

Her father took her arm and led her forward.

The Duke of Richmond forced his son to stand beside her.

The minister stood before them and intoned an abbreviated version of the Solemnization of Matrimony. The vows they exchanged were forced. When Sarah opened her mouth and gasped, it was taken as consent. Charles was silent for a long, stretched-out minute. When his father thumped his spine, he gave a surly, “I will,” then added, “against my better judgment and at my fathe. . .