A Bride Unveiled Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  “We could all use a little more

  Jillian Hunter in our lives.”

  —The Oakland Press (MI)

  Praise for The Bridal Pleasures Series

  A Duke’s Temptation

  “A sinfully sexy hero with a secret, a book-obsessed heroine in search of her own happy-ever-after ending, a delightfully clever plot that takes great fun in spoofing the literary world, and writing that sparkles with wicked wit and exquisite sensuality add up to an exceptionally entertaining read worthy of ‘Lord Anonymous’ himself.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “With humor and charm, sensuality and wickedness, Hunter delights.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Ms. Hunter’s Boscastle series is one of the few historical romance series that I read. You’ll find lively characters, unusual plots, and an underlying sense of fun.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “An unusual duke and a naive country gentlewoman sound like a typical historical romance, but Ms. Hunter makes it so much more. These characters turn the ordinary into something special and kept me glued to the book.”

  —Night Owl Romance

  “This is the first in what looks to be a very promising, and extremely seductive, new quartet. Most of the focus is on the main couple, Samuel and Lily. This is as it should be; however, a bit of danger and suspense makes enough surprise appearances to keep things intriguing. Few can resist a novel by Jillian Hunter!”

  —Huntress Book Reviews

  More Praise for the Novels of Jillian Hunter

  “One of the funniest, most delightful romances I’ve had the pleasure to read.”

  —Teresa Medeiros

  “An absolutely delightful tale that’s impossible to put down.”

  —Booklist

  “A sweet, romantic tale . . . full of humor, romance, and passion. Historical romance that is sure to please.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “A lovely read.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  “Enchanting . . . a fabulous historical.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “[It] bespells, beguiles, and bewitches. If romance, magic, great plots, and wonderful characters add spice to your reading life, don’t allow this one to escape.”

  —Crescent Blues

  “Romantic and sexy. . . . Read it—you’ll love it!”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Jillian Hunter’s ability to touch chords deep within readers’ hearts is what sets her apart and makes her and everything she writes a keeper.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Ms. Hunter pens unique, fascinating stories that draw the reader right in. Impossible to put down.”

  —Rendezvous

  “A master at wringing emotion from every page, Ms. Hunter explodes onto the scene with an extraordinary tale that combines brilliant writing with sizzling sexual tension.”

  —The Speaking Tree

  The Bridal Pleasures Series

  A Duke’s Temptation

  SIGNET SELECT

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, October 2011

  Copyright © Maria Hoag, 2011

  All rights reserved

  ISBN : 978-1-101-55847-8

  SIGNET SELECT and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http:­/­/­us.­penguingroup.­com

  This book is dedicated to Susan Boyle

  and to all the unsung heroines

  she has inspired.

  Chapter 1

  Monk’s Huntley

  England 1808

  Miss Violet Knowlton had suspected for years that something was wrong with her. It wasn’t until her thirteenth summer, however, that the hidden flaw in her nature came to light. Before then she had considered herself to be an obedient girl, a fortunate one, even though she had lost her parents so long ago she had no memories of them to mourn their loss.

  Her aunt and uncle, Baron and Lady Ashfield, had cocooned her and raised her as their own. They had moved from bustling Falmouth to the obscure hamlet of Monk’s Huntley to shelter her from the wickedness that she had been warned waited outside the door to snatch up an unwary girl.

  As Violet grew older she would stare out her bedchamber window and wonder what form this wicked threat would take. Would it be a man? A beast? She had lived under the impression that all girls were in danger of this unknown menace. If only her guardians had
explained why they would sometimes stop talking when she entered a room unannounced. If only they had confessed that they meant to protect her from herself, she might have understood that she could never let down her guard.

  It was a cause destined to fail.

  It was two months before her thirteenth birthday when she looked from her window and first noticed the boy in the abandoned graveyard that lay between her uncle’s manor house and the woods. Twilight had fallen, and the boy seemed to be engaged in an energetic duel, although for the life of her, Violet could not see his opponent.

  Three days went by before she spotted him again. This time it wasn’t quite dusk and she realized that he was fighting alone. After that she began to keep a vigil, propped on a stool, hoping for a glimpse of his intriguing figure.

  She couldn’t have described him in any detail to anyone. He looked tall from her vantage point, furtive and full of energy. He wasn’t a ghost. She saw him once in the daylight, charging past the crypts with a sword over his head. He ran as if his life were something out of an adventure novel, as if he had dragons to slay or that meant to slay him.

  Sometimes he appeared and disappeared like a wizard before her eyes. She wondered who he was and where he lived and why he was not afraid to play in the churchyard that everyone else in Monk’s Huntley knew to avoid. She spent hours wondering about him, because she was lonely and despaired of making friends with the other young ladies in the village. The girls who’d grown up in the parish refused to allow a newcomer like Violet into their circle. The harder she tried to impress them, the more they drew away from her, until she gave up trying.

  Her closest female companion, in fact her only one, was Miss Winifred Higgins, the governess Violet’s uncle had hired at the spring fair. She was a comely redhead with a beguiling warmth, and just as Violet was starting to feel close to her, Miss Higgins revealed a startling confidence of her own—she had lied to Baron Ashfield about her credentials. She was not a twenty-year-old etiquette school graduate experienced in the moral guidance of young girls.

  As it turned out, Miss Higgins had never attended school and had run away from home. While Violet sat on the garden wall sketching dragonflies, her governess was being led astray by the bricklayer’s son in the hedgerow. She swore to Violet that this was true love.

  “How old are you really, Miss Higgins?”

  She stared at Violet. “Nineteen.”

  “Honestly?”

  “I shouldn’t have told you anything,” Winifred said, her eyes scornful.

  “I told you about the boy.”

  “Don’t go near him,” Winifred warned her. “At least not by yourself.” She frowned. “I’m almost eighteen. I suppose you’re going to tell your uncle that I lied.”

  “No.” Violet couldn’t imagine losing her only female friend. “Are you going to tell him about the boy?”

  “I haven’t seen any boy yet.”

  “But you do believe he exists?”

  Miss Higgins shrugged. “Why not?”

  There were advantages, Violet learned that summer, to having a governess who was not only negligent in her duty but in one’s debt. Soon Winifred granted Violet the small freedoms that had previously been forbidden her. She did not complain when Violet walked barefoot in the garden. She allowed her ward to wander farther from the manor grounds to sketch, until the day they walked to the slope that overlooked the church ruins.

  They stood in silence, staring down at the rows of moss-stained graves that had looked oddly romantic from Violet’s window. They stood in the shade of the tall yew trees that by tradition guarded the deceased, and Winifred whispered, “Why would anyone choose to frequent a place like this?”

  “To find buried treasure,” a cheerful voice answered from behind them.

  Winifred gave a scream that was shrill enough to awaken an army of ghosts from their eternal slumber. She swayed in the ankle-high ferns that covered the slope. Violet caught her by the arm. She might have screamed herself had she not recognized the stout young gentleman standing behind her, a shovel balanced on the shoulder of his brass-buttoned coat.

  It was only her neighbor Eldie—Eldbert Tomkinson—the son of the parish surgeon. He talked to her every Sunday after church and often came to the manor to play chess with her uncle. He could repeat entire poems backward. He had drawn a historical map of Monk’s Huntley on his bedsheet.

  Violet thought that he was too clever for his own good, although, to his credit, he said he believed that she had seen a boy sword fighting in the churchyard. But he wasn’t that boy, and for a moment she could not help feeling disappointed that he was only unexciting Eldbert.

  “What is he doing here?” Winifred whispered, studying Eldbert’s shovel in suspicion.

  “He’s convinced that there’s buried treasure in the graves, but he’s afraid to look by himself.”

  “I am not afraid,” Eldbert said. “I need another person to hold my map and read my compass while I dig, if you want to know the truth.”

  None of them had ever ventured this close to the ruins.

  It was only a matter of days before Violet and Eldbert met again and combined their courage to slide down the embankment into the churchyard. Violet landed against a grave with her pencils and sketching book intact, Eldbert, his shovel, and his small map beside her.

  It was also only a matter of time before their mutual neighbor and nemesis, the Honorable Ambrose Tilton, realized he had not seen them lately and set out to learn why. As the heir to his father’s viscountcy, Ambrose would soon be regarded as a prize catch among the unmarried maidens of Monk’s Huntley. In Violet’s opinion, however, he was a mean-spirited spoilsport.

  Violet tolerated Ambrose for Eldbert’s sake. She never understood why Eldbert put up with Ambrose’s taunts and condescending smugness, until finally Eldie let it slip that Ambrose took regular thrashings from the older boys at school and was too ashamed to tell his father or the schoolmaster.

  “But he’s big,” Violet said in disbelief.

  “He’s afraid,” Eldbert said. “Some boys just are, and you ought to feel sorry for him, Violet.”

  So Violet did, except when Ambrose made a point of being the most obnoxious person in England. “Are you looking for that boy with the sword again?” he shouted down the slope. “He doesn’t exist, you know! Neither does that buried treasure! I hope you realize how stupid you look!”

  The boy did exist, and Violet was determined to find out who he was, although she wasn’t sure she would have been courageous enough to explore the church ruins without Miss Higgins standing guard on the slope, and Eldbert beside her. She certainly would not have ventured into the sunken remains of the private mausoleum where the earl and his household had been laid to rest over a century ago.

  “Do you want to go into the catacombs?” Eldbert asked her.

  “No. Isn’t that where the plague victims are buried?”

  “Yes,” he said, brushing a lock of his cropped black hair from his spectacles. “The grave diggers piled them one on top of another.”

  “How ghastly.”

  They moved as one, stealing between clumps of grass and cracked gravestones. Violet read only a few of the names and epitaphs on the tombs that she passed. She refused to believe that death ended like this, in decay and abandonment. She was glad that Eldie’s mother had been laid to rest in the burial grounds on the other side of the village.

  His voice startled her. “This would be the River Styx,” he said, poking his shovel at the stream that meandered into the skeletal remains of the roofless chapel and down the steps that led into the subterranean vaults. An enormous stone pillar had been positioned across the entrance. She gazed down into the airless black crypts and felt a shiver go down her back. It wasn’t a shiver of fear. It was of excitement.

  “Well, if this is the River Styx, then we are standing at the gate of the underworld, and I hope that nobody is home.”

  He turned his head. “What is that noise?”


  She listened to the sounds of the trickling stream and her heart beating and then ever so faintly heard the scraping of metal against stone. “I think something is living in there, Eldbert,” she whispered.

  “A fox, probably. Or restless spirits. Maybe something worse. Let’s explore another day.”

  “We’re not supposed to be here, anyway.”

  “No,” he agreed, and pulled her up the stairs by the hand. They had made it to the top and stumbled into the yard when a grinding echo rose from the depths of the sunken vault. Eldbert started for the embankment. Something compelled Violet to turn.

  “Eldbert,” she whispered. “Look. It’s him.”

  The boy’s head was lowered when he emerged from the vaults. But as he climbed the steps he grew tall and straight. He swaggered through the tufts of grass toward her.

  She was too stunned to move. His blond elf locks hung below a strong chin. From where she stood it seemed that his eyes caught the light like crystals. He was dressed oddly, in elegant nankeen trousers, a striped shirt, and a ragged yellow jacket that he wore with such panache it could have been an ermine-lined cloak.

  Eldbert bumped up against her, his voice low with panic. “He’s from the pauper palace.”

  “From where?”

  “The palace,” he said. “Let’s get away as fast as we can.”

  She felt her sketchbook slipping to her side as Eldbert nudged her again. Eldbert was right. He was always right. The boy might be intriguing, but that didn’t mean he was polite, and as for being from the palace, well, she couldn’t hold that against him.

  “I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” she said quickly. “We only hoped to make friends. I’ve seen you sword fighting and I was so impressed that . . . that . . . My name’s Violet Knowlton, and this is my neighbor, Eldbert Tomkinson. We shouldn’t be here at all.”