Tempting Bella (Entangled Scandalous) Read online

  Tempting Bella

  Diana Quincy

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

  Copyright © 2013 by Dora Mekouar. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson & Rima Jean

  Cover design by Liz Pelletier

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-248-7

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2013

  For my Mother

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Prologue

  OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND

  Sebastian Stanhope’s first glimpse of his future wife came minutes before they were bound for all eternity.

  He’d rushed from university in a haze of disbelief after receiving the urgent summons from his father. His father now sat across from him during the long carriage journey to the bride’s ancestral home, barely acknowledging his son’s presence, his open disdain crowding the closed space.

  Sebastian sucked air into his lungs, his unease growing as the coach-and-four closed the distance between him and the stranger with whom he would be forever intertwined. He should be grateful. Being joined to the daughter of a duke was a much better match than he, a mere mister, had a right to expect. And, more importantly, the alliance would save his family from certain financial ruin.

  A mammoth baroque edifice rose into view, dwarfing the surrounding landscape, its numerous chimneys, towers, and domes sprawling across a blue, cloudless sky. Sebastian’s stomach loosened, a faint cramp deep in his belly.

  The fortress hovered over them as the carriage jerked to a full stop on the circular drive. The heavy front doors gaped open. Sebastian alighted and strode into the clutches of a murky future, barely noticing the stone-faced butler who showed them in. Squaring his shoulders, he walked ahead of his father through the mirrored hall. His black Hessians clicked a protest against the marble floor, the sound echoing high into the endless ceilings before trembling away.

  His hand went to his cravat, adjusting it even though it had been perfectly wrought that morning. He always took care with his grooming because his appearance was not extraordinary. He stood only average in height, lacking the towering elegance of his four brothers. He’d always been different from the rest of the family. His powerful build and dark features lacked the gilded radiance of his lithe brothers. And their father.

  They were shown into a massive receiving room that smelled of beeswax and lemon. Wood surfaces shimmered, reflecting shards of sunlight from tall, arched windows at the far end of the chamber. Formal furniture in the French empire-style crowded the space, lions’ faces carved into the mahogany side tables seemed to mock him. He surveyed the chamber, every muscle in his body taut, and caught sight of a girl sitting in a window seat by the arched windows. Swinging her hanging legs to and fro, she regarded them with an expression of mild curiosity.

  He looked at the butler, acknowledging the portly man for the first time. “Will Lady Mirabella be joining us?”

  The butler nodded in the direction of the girl. “This is Lady Mirabella. His Grace will join you presently.” He bowed out of the chamber.

  For a moment, his mind went blank. Feeling the blood drain from his face, he turned to his father and murmured, “You cannot be serious.” The bride, apparently having already lost interest in them, turned her gaze to the bucolic scene outside her window.

  Cyrus Stanhope, never a patient man, was always even less so with his third son. “It is done. You will make the best of it. One day you shall thank me.”

  Nausea swelled, threatening to topple his composure. “That cannot be she.”

  His father shot him an obdurate look. “You are nine-and-ten with no serious prospects. Duty requires you do as bid.”

  Sebastian turned back to the girl. She was plain and somewhat plump, with large, dark, almond-shaped eyes and a pudgy nose. His betrothed’s full, heart-shaped mouth looked like it belonged on a doll. A fresh white dress matched her wintry skin. Anxiety stretched his chest. She didn’t deserve this. The poor girl clearly had no understanding of what they all planned for her. A booming voice from the room’s threshold startled his thoughts away from her.

  “Ah, there you are! I see you have met your future bride.” Aubrey Wentworth, Duke of Traherne, lumbered toward them. A tall man, he was almost slender except for a prominent belly, which seemed too much of a burden for his birdlike legs. Sebastian had never met Traherne, but the man had a reputation for whoring, drinking, and gaming. The latter was no doubt the reason Sebastian found himself in this predicament.

  The duke’s bleary gaze rolled over him, his loose jowls hanging like drapes beneath a florid face. “You are Sebastian.” He bounced a bloodshot glance between father and son, seeming to enjoy the contrast between the two, between light and dark. “The boy must take his looks from his mother.”

  Cyrus’s stiff lips contorted into a joyless smile. “Perhaps it is time for Sebastian to meet his betrothed. After all, there is no reason to delay.”

  Traherne’s features grew more pointed. “No reason at all. It will be my pleasure to have Sebastian Stanhope as my son by marriage.”

  Cyrus flushed beneath his polite mask. Sebastian’s gaze narrowed as he darted a look between the two older men. Their obvious mutual dislike arced through the air. The undercurrent of an unspoken conversation, one that only the two of them seemed to understand, raged between them.

  Traherne held a beckoning hand out to his daughter. “Bella,” he said, loose jowls flapping. “Come and make yourself known to Mister Sebastian.”

  The girl’s almond-colored gaze edged in on them, as though she’d just parsed that the appearance of these strangers had something to do with her. Her eyes rested for a moment on Sebastian before she rose from the window seat and came toward them.

  “There now,” Traherne said to her. “This is Mr. Stanhope, and one day you shall be obliged to obey his commands.” She hesitated.

  His gut gnarled. This was wrong. Abominably so. Yet, minutes later, after a stilted exchange of pleasantries, he found himself back in the carriage with his father while his betrothed rode in the forward carriage with Traherne.

  “How did this happen?”

  His father stared ahead. “Your betrothal settles a gaming debt. It is an incredible coup for our family.” Cyrus flicked an unseen spot of dirt from his sleeve. “I am still waiting to hear your thanks, but then again, you’ve always been an ungrateful boy.”

  He braced his jaw, well aware this marriage would save the family from destitution. His father should be
thanking him. “I see.” He gazed briefly out the window. “Traherne must owe you a great sum of blunt.”

  Even now, the man could not spare him a glance. “You have no idea. Do you realize what I have done for you?” Cyrus turned a frosty gaze on his third-born son. “He has no male heir. She is to inherit it all. A special act of Parliament assures that girl will be a duchess in her own right. You will wield the power of Traherne until your own son becomes the next duke.”

  Icy disbelief whooshed through him. “Why have you chosen me for this great honor? Why not Arthur or Edward?” The sons you love he wanted to say.

  “Don’t be absurd,” his father said. “Your uncle has no male heirs, and that ancient wife of his is unlikely to give him one. God willing, Arthur will be the next Marquess of Camryn and Edward must be available as well.”

  Ah. The heir and the spare. As the third son, this grand alliance, and the burden of rescuing the family from destitution, fell to him. The enormity of it astounded. As consort to a future duchess, untold power and prestige awaited him. Although the Traherne finances must not be particularly healthy if the duke had to resort to this farce in order to satisfy a debt.

  Confusion and incredulity clouded his ability to think. Something was amiss. He shot a suspicious glance at Cyrus. Why would the father who rarely showed him anything other than cool contempt arrange an exalted marriage for him when another of his younger brothers would do just as well?

  The conveyance jerked to a stop in front of a white stone structure. The chapel. For a brief moment, madness loomed and he contemplated bolting. Of course, he could never act so dishonorably as to break the marriage contract his father signed on his behalf. He would never allow his brothers, mother, or his father for that matter, to fall into the misery of destitution.

  Reality and acceptance settled over him. The entire family would benefit from the alliance. His younger brothers’ place at university would be assured, long-time family servants could be properly pensioned, while he endured the consequences of a loveless marriage with no hope of escape. After all these years of suffering Sebastian’s presence, Cyrus had finally found the perfect way to exact his revenge.

  The duke clapped a weighty hand on his shoulder as they entered the chapel. “I want you to know I take my daughter’s future seriously. When your father proposed this alliance between our two families, I stipulated that I would only accept you as my daughter’s husband. All of your brothers are fine gentlemen, but I quite insisted upon you.”

  Understanding hit like a slap in the face. Of course, his father would never arrange this grand alliance for him. Cyrus had no real choice in the matter.

  Traherne chuckled at the surprised look in his future son-in-law’s face. “I am a betting man, but I am not an idiot. Despite your youth, you’ve developed a reputation for your clever mind and firmness of character. It is what I want for my Mirabella.” He looked toward his daughter, who had taken a seat in the front pew, her narrow shoulders rigid. “You have the correct temperament to oversee the dukedom until my daughter’s son can inherit it.”

  His head swimming, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for your confidence in me, Your Grace. I will endeavor to live up to your high opinion of me.” He willed himself to ask the question that had troubled him from the first moment he set eyes on Mirabella Wentworth. “May I ask, Your Grace, how old your daughter is?”

  Traherne gave the girl a fond look. “Bella is in her thirteenth year. Sadly, she is plain, but the girl will be a peeress in her own right. That should be recompense enough for you. And she is young enough to be biddable.”

  Practically a child. And she appeared even younger with her round face, pudgy form, and complete lack of customary female curves. Nausea bubbled into his chest. Gulping a wretched breath, he swallowed down the sensation, his face breaking into a cool sweat. He darted a look at the girl, who now stood to the side of the altar with her wide arms folded tight across her flat chest. Her full face pale, she focused on something on the floor, an unreadable expression on her face. He realized he hadn’t heard her speak. Did she even comprehend what was happening? He could learn to live with a dowdy wife, but what if she was simple as well?

  Wrongly guessing at the trail of his thoughts, Traherne bared his crowded teeth in a knowing smile. “You impudent pup.” The smell of vodka blasted Sebastian’s face. “I know young flesh has its appeal, but there is to be no wedding night until my daughter is ten-and-seven. Until then, you must slake your desires elsewhere. Has Stanhope not explained any of it to you?”

  Rivulets of perspiration scurried down his back. “He has not, Your Grace.”

  Traherne’s generous eyebrows rose. “Then allow me to. For all intents and purposes, you become my heir after today. You will return to Cambridge posthaste to continue your studies. Traherne assumes all costs of your education. Once you complete your university studies, a tutor will be employed to accompany you on a grand tour of the continent.” He clapped Sebastian’s shoulder again. “You will assume most of the ducal duties until my grandson, your son, comes of age. You will move at the highest levels of government. You must be educated in a way that does credit to your new station in life.”

  He mopped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. His own father was merely the second son of a marquess and he himself was untitled, but would now one day assume the reins of one of the largest dukedoms in the realm. The Traherne holdings were of enormous consequence, the political clout unparalleled. He should be pleased, honored even.

  He discreetly tugged at his cravat, trying in vain to improve his airflow. Mirabella Wentworth was ushered to the altar. The duke’s firm hand touched his shoulder, urging him toward his bride. Sebastian’s fine lawn shirt clung to clammy skin underneath his waistcoat. Forcing his tense jaw to relax, he stiffened his spine and went to it.

  Upon reaching his bride, it occurred to him that he should reassure her. He forced a smile, but it did not have the desired effect. She squinted back at him, suspicion edged her gaze in a way that made her appear older than her years. She might be young, but perhaps life with a father like Traherne had taught the girl to be wary. Disheartened by the thought, Sebastian turned to face the vicar, barely registering the murmur of words that made them man and wife. All he heard were shackles snapping shut around his future.

  When it was over, the groom headed back to university while the bride returned to the nursery. After a while, as memories will do, the events of the day faded into a gossamer sort of thing. In the years that followed, Sebastian sometimes wondered whether the dreamlike afternoon wedding had ever happened at all.

  Chapter One

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  SIX YEARS LATER

  “It is time for you to take your wife.”

  Sebastian cocked a dark eyebrow. “Where would you like me to take her?”

  The Duke of Traherne pushed to his feet, the red in his ruddy face deepening. Planting his hands wide on the enormous wooden desk in his study, he leaned over to peer into his son-in- law’s face. “Damn your insolence, boy!” The shadows from the afternoon sun danced across his flapping jowls. “You take my meaning and do not pretend you don’t.”

  Sebastian walked over to the sideboard to pour a glass of water. He forced a deep inhale, taking in the rich aroma of books and leather intermingled with stale cigar smoke. Glancing out the window, he watched a coach-and-four amble along the tidy Mayfair street and suppressed a mad impulse to run after it and jump aboard. It didn’t matter where its unknown inhabitants were headed, as long as it provided a reprieve from Traherne’s dark-paneled study. His gaze followed the conveyance, watching the tenuous chance of escape slip out of sight.

  He turned toward his wife’s father, ready to face the man’s palpable sense of growing outrage. “I am not here to discuss Mirabella.” He gestured toward the documents on the duke’s desk. “I have personally invested in a number of properties, including two factories near Manchester and one in Stockport. They a
re sound investments. I propose we attach Traherne funds to the same interests. The papers have been prepared. All they require is your signature.”

  “To hell with estate matters.” The older man’s scarlet face emphasized the broken blood vessels in his bulbous nose. “Married six years and you’ve yet to get your hands on her apple dumplin’ shop. What’s wrong with you, boy?”

  He swallowed down the disgust at Traherne’s vulgar reference to his own daughter’s anatomy. Leveling a direct gaze at the duke, he said, “Please refrain from referring to my wife in such a coarse manner.”

  Plopping back in his chair, he rested his elbows on the armrests. “What is it about you? Bella is already nine-and-ten. You were to consummate the marriage two years ago.”

  Sebastian took the seat across from Traherne’s desk. “What my wife and I do, and when we do it, is none of your concern.”

  “Or if you do it at all. You have not even laid eyes on her since your wedding day.”

  “Upon her seventeenth birthday, my wife wrote to me from her finishing school and requested to go abroad. I acquiesced.”

  “I should never have allowed it.”

  “It was not yours to allow or disallow,” he said quietly. “She is my wife. I alone command her now.” And he would give her as much freedom as was in his power. It was the least he could do after what they’d all done to her.

  Traherne’s eyes widened at Sebastian’s impudence. “She’s been abroad for two years! This is preposterous.”

  A burning sensation unfurled in his chest. “On that we agree. Preposterous is a word that could be rightly applied to this marriage you and my late father arranged.”

  Traherne shook his head with obvious incredulity. “Most youngbloods would be grateful to be consort to a duchess and to wield real power.” He slammed the rosewood desk with his hand, unsettling the tangle of papers upon it. One broke free and sailed to the ground. “Any man of sound mind would be thrilled to know his son would one day be a duke.”

  Sebastian resisted the urge to tidy the disordered documents strewn about duke’s enormous wooden desk. “I have done my part in this devil’s bargain. When the time comes, I will do my duty. I already oversee Traherne’s vast holdings. Pray sign the papers so I may go about my business.”