Rogue's Kiss (Scandalous Miss Brightwell Book 2) Read online

  Rogue’s Kiss

  Scandalous Miss Brightwells (Book 2)

  Beverley Oakley

  Contents

  Author’s Note about the series

  Rogue’s Kiss

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

  Free Book

  Also by Beverley Oakley

  About the Author

  Author’s Note about the series

  The Scandalous Miss Brightwells

  Wicked and lively Fanny and Antoinette Brightwell have made spectacular marriages—despite scandals and the treachery of a disappointed suitor determined to besmirch their reputations.

  So, who better to play matchmaker when a deserving candidate waltzes into their orbit?

  Here are the first four stories in the series, each following on from each other, although each can be read as a stand-alone.

  As a bonus, I’ve included both the sizzling version of book 1 (Rake’s Honour) as well as the longer, slightly sweeter version which is Rake’s Redemption and which I’ve slotted in after The Accidental Elopement.

  So, pick your heat rating and choose either. Or, you might just like to see what changes occurred between the initial writing of the book, and its later incarnation, and read both.

  1. Rake’s Honour

  The beautiful Brightwells—clever Fanny and her easily-led sister, Antoinette—battle scandal and spurned suitors to achieve gilded marriages against the odds. A love match in Fanny’s case and a very satisfactory compromise in Antoinette’s.

  “Fanny and Fenton's story is full of drama, humor and sizzle.” ~ Amazon reader.

  Read for FREE in KU or buy here.

  2. Rogue’s Kiss

  How bold would a potential suitor be if he were told the lie that the young lady he desires has only six months to live?

  “A great read - one which will leave you sighing for more.” ~ 4 Out Of 5 Hearts From Cariad Books

  Buy here.

  3. The Wedding Wager (formerly titled Devil’s Run)

  A rigged horse race - with a marriage and a lost child riding on the outcome.

  Can the matchmaking Brightwell sisters avoid scandal and disaster as they try to rescue two tortured souls and unite their passionate hearts?

  “Very intriguing Austen-esque novel with well developed characters and story line. The best historical romance novel I've read in a while.” ~ Amazon reader.

  Buy here.

  4. The Accidental Elopement

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the series as much as I enjoyed writing about these two scandalous sisters and their matchmaking conquests!

  Read for free in KU or buy here.

  Rogue’s Kiss

  Chapter 1

  “ARE yer asking to be killed?!”

  It might have been a line from the dramatic romance novel Thea was reading to her aunt in the plush confines of their carriage but the fact that the shout was from taciturn John Coachman went beyond dramatic.

  “What the devil are you playin’ at? Off the road, lassie!”

  Before Thea had time to see for herself what might have so agitated their normally mute and sullen driver, his next uncharacteristic expletive was cut short by the strangled cry of an unseen woman.

  With a screeching of horses and harness, the carriage lurched to a sudden halt, but it was the wail of an infant that really distressed Thea as she picked herself up from the carriage floor, trampling accidentally on the extravagant floral confection she’d dislodged from her aunt’s head, which earned her a cuff over the ear.

  “Aunt, have you no heart?” she cried, scrambling to look through the window. “A child has been injured!” Her less than gentle benefactress’s propensity to lashing out whenever she was displeased was the least of Thea’s concerns right now.

  “An urchin with a careless mother by the sound of it.”

  Horrified that her aunt was more interested in the injury to her headdress she was now examining rather than any peasant, Thea put her head out into the drizzling rain, saying anxiously over her shoulder, “If someone has been injured we must offer our assistance!”

  “Utter carelessness!” Aunt Minerva rapped on the roof, then leaned across to shout over Thea’s shoulder through the open window. “Move along, John, unless we have killed some person.”

  Another bellow from what could only be a very tiny infant was the final straw. Thea pushed open the door but her attempt to leap to the ground was impeded by a meaty hand clapped upon her shoulder.

  “Get right back inside, my girl! There could be footpads lurking in the forest.”

  The suggestion the older woman might be afraid of anything was as out of character as Thea’s refusal to obey, but not even a pack of wolves would hold Thea back from assisting a poor little mite, if required.

  “It’s a child, Aunt. A child!” Tearing herself free, she leapt onto the road and ran to the front of the carriage.

  “John! Tell me what’s happened?” She halted, staring about her, confused.

  Where was the squalling infant? There’d been a woman, too, for Thea had distinctly heard her scream and John had addressed her, directly.

  Dusk was falling, and in the gloom, the trees of the nearby surrounding forest appeared ghost-like. A little more than a decade ago, when Thea had been a child visiting her aunt, she’d been chilled to see the bodies of the highwaymen who lurked in these woods hanging at the nearby crossroads. These were safer times but coaches were still fair game in these parts, where they were several miles from the nearest town on a winding stretch of road.

  The sudden distinctive mewling of the ghostly child brought Thea’s investigations round to the other side of the carriage where John Coachman stood uncertainly a few feet from a young woman weeping as she huddled over a bundle of blankets.

  Aunt Minerva put her head out of the window and, perhaps reassured by the strength of the infant’s lungs, called out, “It’s the woman’s own fault if she ran in front of us! Thea, offer her a coin if she looks like she’s going to be difficult.”

  Thea ignored her. If the child had been injured by their carriage, she’d never forgive herself. She leaned forward to put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of pale skin, shining golden hair and frightened, tearful eyes before the girl—for she was little more than that—hastily covered her face with her veil.

  “Are you injured? Is the baby all right?” Thea asked. There was no carriage in sight yet this was not a young girl from the ranks of the poor and unwashed, judging by the pleasant waft of orange water and the pristine linen worn by both mother and child.

  The young woman rose to her feet. Though she was plainly dressed, her half boots and round gown were fashionable and of the highest quality. The baby’s blanket was hand embroidered, as was the collar of its frilled lawn shirt.

  Ignoring her, the young woman gripped her child closer to her chest while she darted a panicked look in the direction from which she’d come. Thea’s attention, meanwhile, was diverted by the tear-filled blue eyes of the tiny tot who gazed at her from his mother’
s arms. When it raised its little fists, she noticed with a start of surprise a tiny sixth finger on its left hand.

  Hesitantly she repeated her offer of help for the young woman looked on the verge of fleeing. Meanwhile Aunt Minerva was rapping once more on the roof of the carriage, demanding in plaintive tones that they’d never get home before nightfall.

  Long shadows fell across the road and to Thea’s fanciful imagination the landscape was rapidly acquiring the eerie look that came at dusk in places highwaymen frequented.

  Only when she followed the direction of the woman’s gaze did she notice another veiled woman, older and stouter, on the other side of the road. This female’s large hands were placed uncompromisingly on her Pomona green upholstered hips, the bosom of her unfashionable velvet pelisse thrust forward. Thea thought she seemed undecided as to whether to approach from the copse of trees that partly concealed her but when it was clear she’d been observed, she marched across the dusty, rutted road and gripped the elbow of what was apparently her shocked and frightened charge.

  “Leave be, Miss Eliza, for it’s too late to change your mind and you’ve only yersel’ to blame for all the trouble you’ve got yerself into.”

  The young woman pulled away, her face contorted with distress. “I can’t leave him yet! He fell from my arms, did you not see? We must consult Dr Raine. Only he can satisfy me that Gideon was not injured.”

  “Weren’t my fault,” John the coachman declared in the midst of all this, his serge greatcoat flapping around his legs in the stiff breeze. He looked as frightened as the girl as he pointed a stubby, accusing finger in her direction. “Ran right in front of me, she did, heading for them trees over there, though what she’d find other than footpads, I don’t know.”

  The young woman seemed intent on hiding her identity, holding her shawl up to her face, covering all but her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she whispered, turning her back on the stout woman who’d made a move to wrest the child away from her. “I won’t give him away.”

  “Are you ladies in distress?”

  Thea hadn’t been aware of the approaching high-perch phaeton coming from the direction of the town that was their destination. Startled, she looked up at the driver who addressed them from his lofty perch, just as her aunt issued from the carriage and stomped around the front to demand what was going on.

  Thea ignored her. If the equipage didn’t turn heads, the young man who spoke, peering down at them as he held the reins loosely in one hand, certainly did.

  Thea’s skin felt suddenly warm and her throat constricted. For a moment she could only stare. The dying rays illuminated a face that was as aesthetically pleasing as it was supremely confident. Lightly curling brown hair was brushed back from a high forehead while a fashionable line of sideburns highlighted sharp cheekbones. The shape of his lips, slightly quirked, was decidedly arresting, Thea thought, as his light grey eyes regarded Thea with similar interest.

  “I… I’m not sure.” It was rare for Thea to not know what to say. She was generally obedient to her aunt but she also knew her own mind. However, it was so extremely rare to come face-to-face with that almost mythical species, a handsome young man, that she was robbed of speech. Having been to no more than a couple of balls at the local Assembly Rooms near the hamlet where she lodged with her aunt, Thea was used only to being amidst neighbours where the mostly elderly gentlemen were obliged to ask her to dance in order to complete a set. It was quite another matter to address a gentleman—indeed, the most handsome one she’d ever set eyes on—that she was at a complete loss, though she made a valiant attempt to concentrate on the matter at hand.

  “This young woman…” Thea glanced to her left and her hand flew to her mouth as she appealed to John. “Where did she go? Panicked, she contemplated the possibility the darling baby might be injured. “Why, she was afraid her child had suffered harm but now they’ve both gone!” Of the older woman there was also no sign.

  John Coachman, still standing at Thea’s left, seemed more concerned with defending his driving than worrying about the young woman’s disappearance. He wrapped his muffler more tightly around his neck as he adopted a look of moral rectitude. “Ran right in front of me, she did,” he repeated, “dropping ’er baby on the ground after she’d ‘ad it out wiv that gypsy lass.” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the hill opposite the woods, which rose up, overlooking the town.

  When Thea squinted into the sun, following the direction of John’s stubby finger, she saw a ragged figure on the summit of the hill. Tall and slender and dressed all in black, the young woman appeared to be focused on the gathering on the road below her. A stiff breeze gusted through the trees and the shawl that covered her head fell away, revealing a blaze of copper hair haloed in the rays of the sun just before it dipped below the horizon. The woman turned quickly and the magnificent hair was shrouded again in her black shawl as she slunk into the trees.

  “Saw the pair of ’em fightin’ over who’d put their poor wee mite in the basket when there’s only room for one,” John muttered. “Sinners.” He sucked on his gums and shook his grizzled head. “Sinners, all of ’em.”

  “Get back in that carriage, Thea!” Aunt Minerva’s command cut the air like a whip as she turned with a curt nod at the gentleman who was yet to introduce himself, and headed back towards the dark confines of her equipage, repeating her demand over her shoulder for Thea to join her.

  “Sinners?” Thea repeated, not understanding John until, without stopping to think, she put her hands to her cheeks as she blurted out, “Of course! The new foundling home’s just opened and it has a bell to alert the authorities when a baby is placed in the basket.” Immediately the words were out, she realised this was not a subject to mention in company with a handsome young man, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. She blushed and muttered, “Well, that’s what Mary told me this morning, only she didn’t say why anyone would want to put a baby into a basket in the woods when surely it can get all the fresh air it needs in its mother’s arms.”

  “Perhaps some babies just need more fresh air than others,” suggested the young man with a smile. Tossing aside the reigns, he leapt to the ground.

  Thea, with strongly beating heart, was admiring his magnificence as he rose from a beautifully executed bow before being taken by surprise as she found her hand suddenly in possession of his.

  “Mr Sylvester Grayling, at your service,” he murmured, his gaze travelling the length of Thea with patent admiration before adding the information that he, too, had witnessed the tussle over whose child would occupy the basket hanging from the post as he’d crested the hill. “I’d have placed bets on the gypsy woman in black. She was infinitely keener to be rid of her burden than the soft, blonde lass who turned tail and ran with her babe, right in front of your carriage.”

  Thea bit her lip. “I think I’m going to cry,” she whispered. “How terribly sad to have to give up one’s child.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” the young man agreed with heavy irony. “Ah well, we all have difficult choices if we’re to make the best of the few short years we’re given, eh?” He grinned again before executing another flourishing bow. “And now I must leave, for it’s late and your companion is understandably anxious to get into town before the sun is well and truly set. Forgive me for casting a pall over the lively but far too short occasion of making of our mutual acquaintance. Nevertheless, it has been diverting to meet under such unusual circumstances.” He continued to eye Thea appreciatively before adding with a sigh, “Alas, I must continue my journey in the opposite direction though might I be permitted to know your name, Miss…?” He looked questioningly at Thea.

  “Miss Brightwell.”

  He nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Brightwell. And I’m sorry for your distress though I’m sure there’s no need to concern yourself over the wee babe.”

  Thea bit her lip and glanced across to make sure her aunt was out of earshot before she confided, “I’m afraid I shan’t
sleep a wink until I’m satisfied it’s all right. I do so love babies.” She sighed. “I would love to have a dozen of them some day, you know.”

  She jumped, her embarrassment that she may have spoken unwisely compounded when her aunt bellowed from not three feet away, “Get inside the carriage this minute, Thea, and stop conversing like a common trollop in the street!”

  Thea sent the young man an apologetic glance as she gathered her dark travelling pelisse about her and called back, “I was just thanking Mr Grayling for stopping to see if we required his assistance, Aunt Minerva.”

  “The only assistance required by me is from a girl with her head glued on who knows her place. Now get back inside before it’s suddenly midnight and we’re overrun by highwaymen.”

  “No highwaymen these days, let me assure you, Madam.” Mr Grayling spoke bolsteringly for Aunt Minerva’s benefit, his smile and tone causing a most odd and unprecedented mix of feelings surging through Thea. Her brothers had died young and she had only one male cousin. Conversing with anyone of the opposite sex, much less remotely eligible as Mr Grayling assuredly was, judging by his interest, was a breathtaking experience.

  “I take it you’re headed for Bath?” he added with a nod in the direction they were travelling.

  Thea tried to keep her voice steady beneath his steady gaze and hoped she didn’t blurt out something completely inappropriate—like what beautiful grey eyes he had. Instead she managed, “My cousin, Lady Quamby, has invited us to lodge with her for several weeks while we take the waters and…and enjoy something of the novelties Bath has to offer.”