The Earl's Secret Bride Read online

  Cover Copy

  Secrets can be titillating…

  Secrets can be dangerous...

  Will Rosamonde’s secrets kill her, or save her?

  Lady Rosamonde Raven was a girl of seventeen when the Earl of Winterly rescued her from tragic death. Six years later, he arrives at her father’s country estate for a house party and she is still irresistibly attracted to him. Unfortunately, her father has agreed to a betrothal between her and an arrogant marquess who is more than twice her age. She is shocked at her father’s decision, but even more so, she’s shocked to learn exactly how evil the marquess truly is. There is only one man she trusts with disclosing the truth—Winterly.

  There is only one woman Winterly is now set on—Rosamonde. When his lady entrusts the truth of her betrothal with him, he devises a plan. A secret marriage. He simply can’t step away from her during her greatest time of need, only when she is kidnapped by the marquess, he must ride out and save her a second time. Flying into a storm of danger, dark secrets, and deadly assignations, he enters a veritable house of terror.

  Can he find and rescue his lady before he loses her forever? Or is he already too late?

  Also by Joanne Wadsworth

  The Matheson Brothers Series

  Highlander’s Desire, (Book 1)

  Highlander’s Passion, (Book 2)

  Highlander’s Seduction, (Book 3)

  Highlander’s Kiss, (Book 4)

  Highlander’s Heart, (Book 5)

  Highlander’s Sword, (Book 6)

  Highlander’s Bride, (Book 7)

  Highlander’s Caress, (Book 8)

  Highlander’s Touch, (Book 9)

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  Highlander’s Claim, (Book 11)

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  Highlander’s Champion, (Book 6)

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  Regency Brides Series

  The Duke’s Bride, (Book 1)

  The Earl’s Bride, (Book 2)

  The Wartime Bride, (Book 3)

  The Earl’s Secret Bride, (Book 4)

  The Prince’s Bride, (Book 5)

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  THE EARL’S SECRET BRIDE

  by Joanne Wadsworth

  Regency Brides, Book Four

  Table of Contents

  Cover Copy

  Also by Joanne Wadsworth

  THE EARL’S SECRET BRIDE

  A Tragic Night Never Forgotten

  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

  Regency Brides Series

  The Duke’s Bride - Book 1

  The Earl’s Bride - Book 2

  The Wartime Bride - Book 3

  The Prince’s Bride - Book 5

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  Other Series by Joanne Wadsworth

  The Matheson Brothers Series

  Joanne Wadsworth

  Copyright: The Earl’s Secret Bride

  A Tragic Night Never Forgotten

  Along the forest road through Bampton Grange, Cumbria, England, 1805.

  Lady Rosamonde Raven stuck her nose against the window as she and her mother, the Countess of Hillhurst, traveled the darkened forest road to London, her breath fogging the glass. Twisting layers of mist swirled a murky yellow-gray from the lamp atop their carriage. She’d traveled this road to town from their country estate dozens of times and it wasn’t unusual for the mist to be this thick so close to the change in seasons. Soon winter would be fully upon them and travel made far more difficult. She’d be in London by then though, attending her first Season as a debutante. Bouncing on her seat, she couldn’t refrain from allowing her excitement its release.

  “Rosamonde, please cease jiggling about and sit back like a lady ought to.” Mother’s words should have sounded abrupt, but they were laced with love, a smile in her eyes. “Put your gloves back on and fold your hands in your lap, my dear child. The tips of your fingers are turning blue, the same as your nose now is since being pressed against the window. I don’t want you catching a chill. It would ruin your first ball in a week’s time if you were sneezing on every gentleman who asked you to dance.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Smiling, she eased back into the plush blue squabs and tugged her dainty white gloves on. Their carriage wasn’t cold, not when they’d only recently stopped at the last inn along the route for a meal, their coachman having added hot coals to the brazier which emitted a lovely heat near her slippered feet. “Tell me all about your first Season. Did you dance with Father at your debut ball?”

  “I did.” Mother pressed a gentle hand over her chest. “He appeared so dashing and handsome and I was already in love with him by then. We’d known each other during our childhood, of course. I enjoyed quite a bit of freedom that night compared to so many of the young ladies debuting.”

  “What do you mean by freedom?”

  “During the first week of my debut, my parents hadn’t yet traveled down from the country. I’d been staying with Flora and her family in her parents’ townhouse. Flora has always been one of my dearest friends, her mother chaperoning us both. Seventeen, I’d been at the time, only a month shy of turning eighteen.”

  “I can’t imagine attending my debut ball without you.”

  “I will be there every step of the way.” Mother squeezed her hand, her gaze turning thoughtful as she glanced out the window, old memories clearly stirring. “During my first ball, my parents had already made it quite clear that they wished for me to wed a titled gentleman, that I wouldn’t be permitted to marry the third son of an earl, which your father was.”

  “This is before Father’s two elder brothers passed away?”

  “Yes, and in order to discourage my infatuation with your father, my father had swiftly entered into negotiations with a gentleman he deemed acceptable for me to marry.”

  “Who was that gentleman?” As a child, her mother had told her the story about how her father had spirited her away to Gretna Green so they might wed, which she’d thought incredibly romantic upon hearing.

  “His name shall always remain a secret.” Mother crossed her heart. “Your father bade me to never speak of his name and I have always abided by his decision. I simply knew I couldn’t marry any other man, other than your father, so when he was unable to procure a blessing from my parents, he rode for the townhouse where I was staying and stole inside. He kidnapped me, although I was rather willing to be kidnapped, and together we traveled by carriage for nigh on five days so we might reach the Scottish border before my parents heard of what had happened.
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  “But your parents eventually forgave Father for kidnapping you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but only following the deaths of your two uncles, once your father had become the Earl of Hillhurst.” Mother lifted her gaze to the ceiling and blew a kiss toward the heavens. “May your uncles forever rest in peace.”

  “I wish I could’ve met both my uncles and my maternal and paternal grandparents. Why must death come so soon to those we love?”

  “There is no rhyme or reason. It is simply the way of life, my dear. No one knows when their time will end on this Earth, which is why we must take every day given to us and embrace it.” Leaning forward, Mother kissed her brow. “My child, let us speak of happier times now. Are you eager to see Lady Olivia, Flora’s daughter?”

  “Incredibly eager.” Her mother’s dearest friend, Flora, had become Lady Winterly after her marriage to an earl, and Flora’s daughter, Olivia, had become her best friend in the years since. “It has been so incredibly long since Olivia and her mother both last stayed with us. Olivia spoke in her last letter of visiting Madam Gonnier’s shop in town and having a dozen beautiful new gowns made for the Season. May we visit the same dressmaker too?”

  “What a wonderful idea. Of course we may.” Her mother cupped her cheek. “Your father has given me complete freedom with your wardrobe for this coming Season while we’re in town. He will join us as soon as his negotiations with the Marquess of Roth are all in order.”

  “I wish…” She released a long sigh, unable to finish what she wanted to say. It was best not to go against Father’s wishes regarding his decision to unite their family with the Marquess of Roth’s by way of her marriage to the older gentleman. She understood why she would soon be betrothed to the marquess whose property abutted theirs. Father had explained that he intended to ensure she continued living comfortably and that their family’s social position remained strong. He also wished to be on better terms with their neighbor following a disagreement that had spanned over thirty years. She’d asked her father what disagreement that had been, only he hadn’t wished to delve into it. Let bygones be bygones, he’d said. Deep in her heart though, she’d always hoped to marry for love since her own parents had, not to wed a man who had already buried two wives and five children. Goodness, but the marquess was the same age as her father, which made her shudder. Unfortunately, that was often the way with marriages within the ton, particularly when a titled gentleman required a young wife to bear him an heir. She only hoped she might be able to enjoy at least one Season before her father announced her coming betrothal to Lord Roth. She longed to be able to enjoy her debut, being able to see the glitter and experience the thrill of the balls to come, the sparkling gowns worn by the ladies, the jewels adorning their necks, and the chance to dance with Olivia’s brother who had become the new Earl of Winterly following the sad passing of Olivia’s papa several months ago. She’d always had a secret attraction to Olivia’s brother. Winterly and her brother, Avery, had formed a strong friendship.

  “What it is you wish for, my dear?” Mother quirked a brow, the pretty blue feathers atop her hat fluttering. “You’ve got the strangest look on your face.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No, you must tell me.”

  “Well, Lord Roth can be so stern.” She bit into her bottom lip. “He’s always grumping and growling, as if he can’t find anything to be happy about.”

  “I agree, but perhaps all he needs is a lady’s gentle touch to remedy that sternness. He has suffered a great deal of loss over the years.”

  “Speaking of that loss. His late wives hardly ever left Rothgale Manor. I certainly never saw them in the nearby village or at any local gathering. I fear that even though Roth lives on our neighboring property, that I might never get to see you as often as I’d like.”

  “He has promised your father that you will be permitted to visit us, as often as you wish.”

  “Why is he so interested in me? Roth could take his pick from any of the unwed ladies of the ton?”

  “That is true, but well, the two women he wed gave him only daughters, of which none survived beyond three years of age. I gave your father four sons before I birthed you and Roth believes that you would follow in my suit by giving him plenty of sons.” Mother took a deep breath and let it slowly out again. “You would wish for naught and hold the title of the Marchioness of Roth. You’ll have all the wealth you desire at your fingertips.”

  “Yes, of course.” She released a heavy sigh. Wealth meant very little if one didn’t have happiness too. Yet neither of her parents seemed willing to change their minds on the issue of who she’d wed, and she’d been taught that she must respect her parents’ decisions, that she place her family’s welfare and interests above her own. Her marriage would certainly aid in dispelling the long-standing disagreement between their families, whatever that disagreement happened to be. It was a shame her father wouldn’t speak of it. Doing so might give her more clarity.

  “Rosamonde, don’t forget that your father is the one who has the final say on your impending betrothal, and his decision is currently made.” Mother squeezed her hand. “An alliance will be sought with Lord Roth, unless of course you hold affection for another gentleman. If there is another, then speak now so we are aware.”

  “There is no other.” Being smitten with a man like Winterly who’d never thought of her as anything other than Avery’s little sister didn’t count. Winterly was also eight years her senior and wasn’t on the lookout for a wife, not when he was still settling into his new duties as the Earl of Winterly. It could be years before he even entered the marriage mart in search of a wife. Hot tears pricked behind her eyes, and not wanting to distress her mother any further, she cast her gaze out the night-shrouded window. At least before she became a wife and a mother herself, she would enjoy time with Olivia and partaking of all her first Season could—

  The carriage swerved and she bounced off her seat and smacked into the door.

  “Rosamonde, are you all right?” Mother pulled her into her arms, resettled her on the squabs and ran her hands over her. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “My head.” She touched the back of her head and came away with wet fingers. Blood coated them.

  “Turn around so I might see the injury.” She gave Mother her back and she dabbed the spot with a handkerchief. “It is a small cut, thankfully. Nothing too major. Remain still while I apply some pressure. Hopefully that’s all that will be needed to cease the flow of blood.”

  “Yes, Mother.” She held perfectly still as the carriage bumped along the road again, Mother’s hand firm upon the back of her head. “What do you think that swerve was all about?” she asked.

  “Hmm, perhaps the driver needed to divert a fallen branch or such along the road. All must be well since we’re moving along again.”

  Thump.

  She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, the same as Mother did.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  The coach slowed, decreasing speed, the trees either side of their carriage becoming less of a blur as they came to a complete stop.

  “I wonder if we lost a valise during that swerve?” Frowning, Mother peered out the window. “There is no other reason for the coachman to halt.”

  The horses whinnied and the harnesses jangled.

  “Smithy, Jonesy?” Mother called to the driver and the footman up top. “Please inform us of what is going on, and be quick about it.” No answer. Mother’s frown deepened. “Hold this handkerchief, Rosamonde. I’ll take a look outside.”

  “Perhaps they’ve both gone back along the road to retrieve the fallen luggage?” She slid her fingers under her mother’s fingers on her head and held the cloth in place, while Mother opened the door and poked her head out.

  “Yes, that could be what they’ve done. Such a thing has happened before, although someone always remains with the coach. I don’t see them.” The hoot of an owl echoed through the trees and Mother plopped back onto the se
at. Wrapping her white lacy shawl tighter around her shoulders, Mother eyed her. “We’ll give the men a minute or two and if they haven’t returned, we shall go outside and find them.”

  “Let me take a look too.” Her mother wasn’t wearing her eyeglasses and her eyesight wasn’t the best for seeing into the distance without them. She swung her hand from the back of her head and since only a few drops of blood coated the cloth, she handed it back to her mother and clutching her skirts, hopped down onto the gravelly dirt road.

  “Rosamonde, stay within my sight.” Mother was on her feet again, grasping the doorway.

  “It’s so hard to see much of anything with this heavy mist.” The thick fog drifted all about, along with the stagnant stench of muddy water from the ditch alongside the road. Nighttime insects buzzed about the lamp atop their carriage, the seat where their driver and footman should be, completely vacant. She shivered as the horses rattled their harnesses, their reins not secured but flapping loose down the side of the coach. She crept to the rear where the trunks were stowed on the back—none appeared missing. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Smithy, Jonesy!”

  No answer echoed back through the gloomy soup.

  Again she yelled their names, and still no answer.

  “We’ll need to go and look for them. There is no other choice. I’ve got your cloak.” Mother stepped down onto the road beside her with her cloak and swept the warm woolen garment over her shoulders. “We’ll stay close together.”

  The thunderous rumble of hooves shook the ground and she clutched Mother’s hand as out of the misty darkness three enormous men in black coats, their faces covered with heavy black fabric with only slits for their eyes, pulled their horses up before them.

  “Back into the coach now.” Mother shoved her toward the door then snapped a look at the highwaymen. “What have you done to our servants?”

  “They won’t be returnin’, milady.” The man who spoke peeled his head covering away and eyed Rosamonde up and down. “Well, well, what have we here? Ye be a pretty wee thing.”