Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride. Elizabeth Rolls

>She was a respectable, unmarried, probable virgin—his sisters’ governess, his stepmother’s companion. In a word: forbidden. Untouchable. Dangerous.

      Some dangers were worth risking.

      He drew her closer, one arm sliding about her waist, bringing her to him so that the small rounded breasts just brushed against him. A taste. Just one taste of those sweet berry-stained lips…

      His lips touched hers and her wits whirled.

      Warm, firm lips feathered and caressed, promising ravishment and yet teasing with light touches before settling properly…

      His control shook as he felt the flowering of her lips, the softening as they opened. Quelling the urge to ravish her mouth, he took it gently. Honey, sweet wild honey, intoxicating—and her very hesitance, even clumsiness, seemed to make it all the sweeter. All the more dangerous…

      With his final, fading shred of sanity and control Julian pulled back, breaking the kiss.

      ‘This,’ he informed her, ‘is not a good idea.’

      Award-winning author Elizabeth Rolls lives in the Adelaide Hills of South Australia, in an old stone farmhouse surrounded by apple, pear and cherry orchards, with her husband, two smallish sons, three dogs and two cats. She also has four alpacas and three incredibly fat sheep, all gainfully employed as environmentally sustainable lawnmowers. The kids are convinced that writing is a perfectly normal profession, and she’s working on her husband. Elizabeth has what most people would consider far too many books, and her tea and coffee habit is legendary. She enjoys reading, walking, cooking, and her husband’s gardening. Elizabeth loves to hear from readers, and invites you to contact her via e-mail at [email protected]

      LORD BRAYBROOK’S PENNILESS BRIDE features characters you will have already met in HIS LADY MISTRESS.

       Recent novels by the same author:

      HIS LADY MISTRESS

      A COMPROMISED LADY

       Author Note

      Julian, Lord Braybrook, has been buzzing around in my head for some years now. He originally appeared in HIS LADY MISTRESS, and several of you asked if ‘that rake who took Verity out onto the terrace’ would ever get his own story. At the time I was writing A COMPROMISED LADY, and when Julian managed to muscle in on the action there too I knew the only way of dealing with him was to write his story.

      LORD

      BRAYBROOK’S PENNILESS BRIDE

      Elizabeth Rolls

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Joanna Maitland,

      who showed me such a good time in Braybrook’s territory, and beyond.

      Chapter One

      Julian Trentham, Viscount Braybrook, bit his tongue, figuratively speaking, and reminded himself that his stepmother, Serena, considered tact the best way to deal with his wayward half-sister. Telling Lissy she sounded like a second-rate actress in a bad tragedy was not tactful.

      ‘But it isn’t fair, Mama!’ said the Honourable Alicia furiously. ‘Julian only met Harry for five minutes yesterday and—’

      ‘Half an hour,’ said Julian, sitting down on a sofa. ‘Long enough to ascertain that, apart from his post as Sir John’s secretary, he has no prospects.’ He eyed the tabby cat seated on Serena’s lap out of the corner of his eye. The blasted thing was convinced he adored cats. It couldn’t have been more mistaken.

      ‘Five minutes!’ repeated Lissy, ‘and poor Harry is declared unsuitable. Whatever that means!’

      ‘Amongst other things, it means you’d run the fellow aground inside of a month,’ said Julian, unmoved. ‘Have sense, Lissy.’

      The cat stretched, brilliant green eyes fixed on Julian.

      Lissy glared. ‘I would not!’

      Serena chimed in. ‘Lissy dear, I feel quite sure that charming and pleasant as Mr Daventry may—’ She made a grab for the cat, but it was already flowing off her lap. ‘Oh, dear. Now, where was I? Yes, Mr Daventry, I am sure he is not at all well off, so—’

      ‘What does money matter? And anyway, he has an income!’ protested Lissy.

      ‘Two hundred a year?’ Julian suppressed a snort. ‘And, no, money doesn’t matter. Just as long as you learn to manage without it. Otherwise you will find it matters a great deal when the bailiffs take your furniture and the landlord kicks you into the street.’

      ‘Harry has his own house,’ said Lissy. ‘In Bristol. He told me.’

      ‘A man of property, then,’ said Julian. He watched, resigned, as the cat strolled with offensive confidence towards him. His setter bitch, Juno, sprawled at his feet, lifted her head and then lowered it with a doleful sigh.

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t marry Lissy,’ piped up six-year-old Davy from the corner, where he was endeavouring to put together a puzzle map of Europe. ‘I’m going to marry Mama.’

      Somehow Julian preserved a straight face. ‘Excellent notion, old chap,’ he said. ‘Only not unless you want to land in Newgate!’

      Lissy looked as though she might have giggled, had she not been trying so hard to look affronted.

      The cat sprang into his lap and made itself comfortable. Very comfortable; its claws flexed straight through his buckskin breeches.

      ‘Never mind, dear,’ said Lady Braybrook to her youngest son. ‘You won’t want to marry me when you are old enough anyway.’

      ‘No, indeed,’ said Julian. ‘After all, Lissy no longer wishes to marry me. Do you, Liss?’

      ‘I never did!’ exploded Lissy.

      ‘You proposed to me when you were about five,’ said Julian, reminiscently. ‘It was most affecting.’ He turned to Davy. ‘Why don’t you trot off to the kitchens and see if Ellie has something for you to eat?’

      Davy leapt to his feet, scattering Europe to the corners of the drawing room, and decamped before his mother could veto this excellent idea on the grounds of education or indigestion.

      As soon as the door shut behind him, Lissy burst out again. ‘It isn’t fair, Julian! Why should you have any say in it?’

      ‘Probably because I am your guardian,’ he said. ‘For my sins,’ he added. ‘Calm down, Lissy. You’re too young to be thinking of marriage.’

      ‘I shall be eighteen soon!’ she cried, making it sound like a death sentence.

      ‘You turned seventeen less than three months ago,’ Julian pointed out. ‘You’re not precisely on the shelf.’

      ‘What if it were one of your rich, titled friends?’ she countered. ‘Like Lord Blakehurst?’

      Julian blinked. ‘Since he’s married, I’d shoot him! Believe it or not, I would refuse my consent to any binding betrothal until at least next year.’ The cat in his lap rolled, displaying its belly in furry offering. Resigned, Julian kneaded the shameless creature.

      Lissy stared. ‘But, why?’

      ‘Because you’re too young,’ he said. ‘And don’t tell me again that you’re nearly eighteen!’

      Deflated, Lissy said, ‘But we love each other. It isn’t fair. Just because he isn’t wealthy—’

      ‘Lissy—Daventry can’t afford to marry