The Pleasures of Passion (4) (The Sinful Suitors) - Softcover

Jeffries, Sabrina

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1501144464 ISBN 13: 9781501144462

Publisher: Pocket Books, 2017

Synopsis

Complete with the signature charm, “delectably witty dialogue...and scorching sexual chemistry” (Booklist) she is known for, New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries is back with the fourth romance in the Sinful Suitors series!

When Niall Lindsey, the Earl of Margrave, is forced to flee after killing a man in a duel, he expects his secret love, Brilliana Trevor, to go with him, or at the very least wait for him. To his shock, she does neither and sends him off with no promise for the future. Seven years and one pardon later, Niall returns to England disillusioned and cynical. And being blackmailed by the government into working with his former love to help catch a counterfeiter connected to her father doesn’t improve his mood any. But as his role as Brilliana’s fake fiancé brings his long-buried feelings to the surface once again, he wonders who is more dangerous—the counterfeiter or the woman rapidly stealing his heart.

Forced to marry another man after Niall was exiled, the now widowed Brilliana wants nothing to do with the reckless rogue who she believes abandoned her to a dreary, loveless life. So having to rely on him to save her father is the last thing she wants, much less trusts him with....But as their scheme strips away the lies and secrets of their shared past, can she let go of the old hurt and put her pride aside? Or will the pleasures of their renewed passion finally enable them both to rediscover love?

About this title

About the Author:

Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of several Regency-set historical romance series, including the Royal Brotherhood, the School for Heiresses, the Hellions of Halstead Hall, the Duke’s Men, and the Sinful Suitors. When she’s not writing in a coffee-fueled haze, she’s traveling with her husband, caring for her adult autistic son, or indulging in one of her passions: jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, music, and costume parties. With more than nine million books in print in twenty languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world. She always dreams big.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

The Pleasures of Passion One

London

September 1830

Impatiently, Niall paced the drawing room of the Margrave town house, waiting for his mother to be ready so they could go to dinner at Clarissa’s. This was his first time in town since his pardon and subsequent return to England a month ago, but some things never changed.

Mother still didn’t know the meaning of being on time. And she was worse than ever now that Father was dead and Clarissa had married one of his childhood friends—Edwin Barlow, the Earl of Blakeborough. There was no one around any longer to reel Mother in.

His newly hired valet entered the room. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but when I was unpacking the trunk you shipped from Portugal, I found this envelope at the bottom.” He held it out. “I wasn’t sure if it was important.”

As Niall took it and saw the script written in his father’s hand, he wondered why he would have kept an old letter with his other correspondence. Only after he opened it and a newspaper cutting fell into his hand did he remember.

A few months after his arrival in Spain, Father had sent him the article from La Belle Assemblée, a ladies’ magazine. It was the Provincial News section—a list of births, deaths, and marriages outside London.

And Niall remembered its contents word for word:

Cheshire

Married. At Chester, Mr. Reynold Trevor, son of Captain Mace Trevor, to Miss Brilliana Payne, of London, only daughter of Sir Oswald and Mariah Payne.

Father’s accompanying letter had only said, I thought you would wish to know.

Bree had married within scant months after Niall’s departure.

Niall felt the pain of the loss of her anew, the years having barely dulled it. Clearly Father had been right—Bree had merely been waiting for a better offer. Mr. Trevor might not have been heir to an earl, but he’d been wealthy enough to own an estate in good condition, and his father had some standing in society. Apparently those two things had sufficed to prompt Bree to throw Niall over.

If she’d ever even loved him at all.

Now, as then, Niall noted that Bree’s mother hadn’t been listed in the cutting as the late Mariah Payne. So Father had been right about that, too. All that nonsense about Bree not wanting to marry because of her sickly mother had been naught but an excuse.

“My lord?”

With a start, he realized his valet was asking him something. “Sorry, I’m woolgathering. What is it?”

“Is the letter to be kept? Is it important?”

In a surge of temper, he crumpled the cutting in his fist and tossed it into the fire. “It’s naught but a bit of inconsequential old gossip.”

Inconsequential gossip that had destroyed him after he’d read it. But he was past all that now.

Granted, Bree had taken him by surprise a couple of weeks ago when she’d shown up at Stoke Towers, Edwin and Clarissa’s estate in the country, and then at the wedding of his cousin Warren to Delia Trevor. How could he have known that Bree’s husband was Delia’s brother? Or rather, had been Delia’s brother before the man’s tragic death a year ago.

Niall had practically fallen apart at his first sight of the widowed Bree—no, Mrs. Trevor now—looking lovelier than ever, with a lusher figure and a haunting sadness in her chocolate-brown eyes. She was even out of mourning, which meant she was available again.

He gritted his teeth. Not to him. She hadn’t sent him so much as a word in all these years. If not for Father, he wouldn’t even have learned that she’d married. If not for running into her at the wedding, he wouldn’t have known she was widowed and had a son. Clearly she didn’t give a damn about him anymore.

If she ever had.

Niall’s valet cleared his throat. “One more thing, sir. Shall I lay out different attire for when you return from dinner? Will you be attending St. George’s this evening?”

Niall had been made an honorary member of St. George’s Club by virtue of being Edwin’s brother-in-law. And by virtue of what he’d done to protect his sister, though no one knew about that except Edwin and Warren.

“I may, if Edwin wants to. But if I do go, I’ll just wear this.”

“Very good, sir.” With a nod, his valet left.

Niall glanced at the clock, then swore. Stalking out into the hall, he called up the stairs, “Mother! We were supposed to be at Clarissa’s half an hour ago!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

A lump caught in his throat. Mother might be flighty and prone to exaggeration, but he’d missed her. The separation from his family had been a particularly hard part of his exile in Spain and then Portugal. And he still couldn’t get used to how much older Mother looked now.

“I don’t know what you spent your time abroad doing,” she added as she made her slow way down the stairs, favoring her bad hip, “but I swear it has turned you into quite the grump.”

“Sorry, Mother.” He hurried up to offer her his arm. “It’s just that this isn’t one of your society balls, where you can show up whenever you wish. This is dinner with your daughter and her husband. Whose company we both happen to enjoy.”

Apparently madly in love, the pair were happily expecting their first child. And that made all the sacrifices of his last seven years worth it.

Even losing Bree.

He grimaced. He’d never really had her. He’d just thought he did.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said. “Clarissa knows how I am. She won’t fret a bit over our being late. Besides, one always hears the best gossip late in the party, so there’s no point in showing up early.”

“Not early, Mother—on time. And is hearing gossip the only reason you go to dine with your daughter?”

“Of course not. I do enjoy a good meal, and Edwin’s cook is exceptional.”

God, he hoped so. One thing he missed about Spain and Portugal was the food there—excellent cheeses, well-spiced dishes, and exotic fruits. It had spoiled him for the usual British mutton stews; he’d give anything for a good dish of paella or pulpo. Hmm, perhaps he should look for a Spanish cook. . . .

“I also wish to hear how Clarissa is feeling these days,” Mother went on. She shot him a sly glance. “She is carrying my first grandchild, you know.”

That was Mother Code for When are you providing me with a grandchild?

Thankfully, she was easy to distract. “So, the best gossip comes later on, does it?”

A bright smile lit her face. “Oh yes! Why, we might even coax Lord Fulkham to tell us intimate details about the king’s death.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial air. “If anyone should know them, it’s the undersecretary of state for . . . for . . .” She waved her hand. “Important things of some sort.”

“For war and the colonies. But Fulkham isn’t the sort to gossip. And why would he be at this dinner?”

“How should I know? But he accepted the invitation.”

“There were invitations?” Niall had thought this was just an intimate family dinner. “Who else was invited?”

“Well, Lord Fulkham’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Vyse, for one.” She cast him a knowing glance. “A very pretty woman, you know. And quite an eligible widow.”

He groaned. That was Mother Code for When are you getting married? He hadn’t considered the possibility that Clarissa and Mother might use this dinner for matchmaking.

“Though sadly,” Mother continued, “she’s not rich. The widow you ought to consider is Mrs. Trevor—her aunt has provided her with a nice dowry, and frankly, you could use the funds for Margrave Manor.”

Niall grimaced. God, was she invited to this deuced dinner?

“I haven’t met her yet,” his mother rambled on, “so I don’t know if Mrs. Trevor is pretty enough for you—or young enough, for that matter. But—”

“Stop it, Mother. I don’t want any more nonsense about how I require a wife. I need time to settle in. Besides, I prefer to pick my own, not have one shoved at me by you or Clarissa. Not even a rich widow.”

“I’m only saying—”

“I know what you’re saying. I’m saying to leave it be. If I need your help with finding my countess, I’ll let you know.” And that was never going to happen. Mother would choose him a wife based on rank alone, which was the last thing he wanted.

She sniffed. “Good heavens, but you’re prickly these days.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “So, Fulkham and Mrs. Vyse will be there this evening. Anyone else I should know about? How many is Clarissa expecting?”

“Ten.”

“Ten!”

“Or perhaps fifteen.” She tapped her chin. “I’m not sure, actually. I confess I wasn’t paying much attention once she started rattling off names. Except for Fulkham and Mrs. Vyse, the others sounded dreadfully tedious. Sadly, it won’t be the usual fun people. The Keanes are at their new estate in Hertfordshire. And Warren and Delia are still on their honeymoon in Italy.”

He let out a breath. So none of Delia’s family would be there. Thank God. Surely that meant Bree wouldn’t be there, either.

Not that it mattered if she was. After the horrors he’d witnessed in Portugal during the ongoing bloody conflict between the British-backed liberals and the absolutists, he desired only one thing: peace. Not a two-faced female who wanted, as Father had said, “the advantages of being a countess.”

No, this time round he would find a woman who actually cared about him, who could help him put the images of his exile out of his mind. This time he wouldn’t fall into the trap Bree wove with her soft words and shy, entirely false smiles. Let the widowed Mrs. Trevor look elsewhere for a husband. He was out of the running.



Brilliana Trevor stood in the Blakeboroughs’ drawing room, listening with rapt attention as Lord Fulkham and Lord Blakeborough debated the merits of planting oats over barley. She wished she could take notes, but that just wasn’t done at a dinner party.

Clarissa frowned at her husband as she passed by. “Honestly, Edwin, can’t you talk about anything but estate matters? Poor Brilliana must be bored to tears.”

“No, indeed!” Brilliana said. “Now that I’m managing Camden Hall, I’m trying to learn everything I can about how to look after it.” Especially since she no longer had to worry about losing it to creditors.

“Very wise,” Lord Blakeborough said. “I wish more ladies would take an interest. Even Clarissa has a broader knowledge of such matters than the average wife.”

“Ah, but that’s because you include her in your estate affairs.” Bitterness edged into Brilliana’s voice. “Even when I tried to get my late husband to involve me, he wouldn’t. He always said not to worry my pretty head about it.”

“It is a very pretty head, to be sure,” Lord Fulkham said.

She stared him down. “Sadly, the prettiness of my head isn’t much help when it comes to knowing what to plant or how to manage tenants. Sir.”

A faint smile tipped up the corners of his lips. “Touché, Mrs. Trevor.”

What an odd response. Other men were offended when she wasn’t flattered by their empty compliments.

Unsurprisingly, Clarissa said, “Lord Fulkham, I do hope you’re not one of those gentlemen who think women are only good as ornaments.”

“Certainly not. Though I do believe Mrs. Trevor would be better off hiring an estate manager than trying to acquire such extensive knowledge in a matter of weeks.”

“I agree,” Brilliana said. “But, sadly, I can’t yet afford one. Besides, the more I learn, the more I can teach Silas when he’s older. Camden Hall will be his one day, after all.”

“Ah, yes,” Lord Fulkham said. “I forgot you have a son. How old is he now?”

“Sixteen months. I’m hopeful that by the time he’s old enough to assume responsibility for it, the estate will be self-sufficient.”

Clarissa’s husband, Lord Blakeborough, smiled broadly at Brilliana. “An admirable aim. I have some books I can loan you.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” How nice to have at least one man here who didn’t assess her just by her appearance.

“And I’m always happy to answer your questions, too,” he added. “Ask me whatever you wish.”

“Or better yet,” Lord Fulkham said with a veiled glance, “you should ask Margrave once he arrives. I daresay he knows plenty on the subject of estate management, since he’s spent most of the past month trying to get his own property in order.”

Brilliana’s heart dropped into her stomach. Niall was coming here. For dinner. Oh, Lord. The least Clarissa could have done was give her some warning.

Fixing her with a hard look, Brilliana said, “I assumed that your brother was still at Margrave Manor in the country.”

Clarissa’s smile was suspiciously bright. “Oh, didn’t I mention that he came to town yesterday? He and Mother are probably on their way now. Mother tends to be late to everything, you know.”

Aunt Agatha, Brilliana’s aunt by marriage, said, “I’m afraid I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your mother.”

Lord Blakeborough chuckled. “It’s not so much a pleasure as an experience. The dowager is a cross between a whirlwind and a lunatic.”

Clarissa tapped his arm with her fan. “I can’t believe you’re calling my mother a lunatic!” She shot Aunt Agatha a furtive glance. “You’ll give Lady Pensworth the wrong impression, after I invited her expressly to meet Mama. I thought they’d enjoy each other’s company.”

“Why, because we’re both old widows?” Aunt Agatha asked tartly.

But Clarissa wasn’t flustered one bit. “Because you both have a wealth of knowledge about the inner workings of society. We younger ladies can benefit from your advice.”

That seemed to mollify Aunt Agatha. “Well then. I am always happy to counsel young ladies. Especially ones who appreciate the value of age and experience.”

Astonishing. No one else parried Aunt Agatha’s jabs so effectively. But then, Clarissa had a wonderfully deft hand for managing people. Which made Brilliana even more curious to meet her mother.

Niall’s mother. It dawned on Brilliana that she was about to meet the very woman he’d resisted introducing to her years ago.

Back then she’d resented that, but hadn’t entirely blamed him for his caution. Of course, that was before she’d heard why he had dueled—because of some woman rumored to be his paramour. He and Mr. Whiting, known to be a notorious seducer, had apparently fought over this other woman’s affections.

No wonder the wretch had refused to tell her the reason for the duel. He’d known she would then see him for the lying, cheating scoundrel he was. The whole time he’d been courting her secretly by day, he’d been bedding some light-skirt by night.

Not that anyone had told her about it directly, since young ladies weren’t supposed to know that such women existed. She was lucky she’d managed to hear the gossip about the duel itself, and had it confirmed as true.

She had Niall’s father to thank for that. The late Lord Margrave, whom she’d turned to briefly after Niall’s exile, had made it quite clear what sort of fellow his son was. She could only imagine what would have happened to her if she’d fled with Niall to Spain—a steady descent into ruin and degradation. At least she’d been spared that.

Jus...

About this edition

• Publisher: Pocket Books
• Publication date: 2017
• ISBN 10: 1501144464
• ISBN 13: 9781501144462
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 400