Devil in Her Dreams: Tenacious Trents

By Jane Charles

Devlin Barrett was never meant to be Viscount Marston, but when his older brother and father die within a day of each other, Devlin not only inherits the title, but three younger sisters, all of marriageable age, and must retire from his former profession.  He is unprepared for the responsibility thrust upon his shoulders and determines the best way to care for his sisters, and see that they are happy is to marry them off quickly as possible.  He knows what is better for them, even if they don't agree. And until they are settled, his life, and future, is on hold. Unfortunately, the lady he wishes to make his wife, refuses to wait until he is free.

Louisa Whitton needs to find a husband of her own choosing before Christmas, and is left with only three months to accomplish her goal. She failed to land one during the Season and the little season is her last hope. While visiting her sister in the country before returning to London she meets the perfect gentleman, thus foiling the plans her grandfather has of her wedding a man of his choice, and probably a vicar like her father.  However, Marston refuses to even think about courting her until his sisters are wed and has the audacity to ask her to wait.  Louisa knows her grandfather will never agree to a long courtship and sets out to find the perfect substitute for Marston during the first week of the little season.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane Charles
• Release date: Dec 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781507018309

Jane Charles

Jane Charles has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many fiction novels she has read over the years and her love for them never died.  Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance.  What turned into a hobby became a passion, which has been fully supported by her husband, three children and three cats. JaneCharlesAuthor.com Jane can be contacted at: [e-mail] Twitter and FB: JaneACharle  

Book preview

Chapter 1

August, 1813

Devlin Bartlett spotted his prey. No visit to Bentley Manor was complete without teasing Lady Madeline Trent unmercifully. She was strolling along the brick walk, sidestepping the puddles from the recent rainfall. The gold in her blond hair gleamed from the bright sun, and for a moment he wished he could have thought of Madeline as something more than a younger sister. Instead, he would have his fun and then seek out his old friend and former colleague, John Trent, to deliver the message from the Home Office one last time. His life as a courier and spy had come to an end. But he wouldn’t dwell on the reasons now. It was too glorious a day and a certain lady needed his attention.

He fell into step behind her. It wasn’t like Madeline to stroll calmly. Where was the bundle of energy that usually radiated off of her being? The lady before him exuded tranquility.

As he came closer, her scent wafted back toward him. Devlin closed his eyes and inhaled a light fragrance that reminded him of warm, lazy June afternoons, and of moonlight and wicked promises.

It had been months since they had seen one another. Could Madeline have changed so much? He had never been drawn to her like this before—the way a man is drawn to a woman.

A grin pulled at his lips and narrowed the distance between them. Coming up from behind Devlin put his hands over her eyes. Guess who?

The woman stiffened. What the devil?

The sound of her voice was all wrong and Devlin had a sneaking suspicion the lady he’d just accosted was not Madeline. He let his hands drop, and she turned to face him, her jaw tight, eyes narrowed. This most certainly was not his childhood nemesis but an entirely different delectable creature. Her eyes were blue, for one. There was also a spray of delicate freckles across her nose, and her lush lips were far more kissable than Madeline’s had ever been. She also shared a remarkable resemblance to Lisette. Could the two be related? Devlin shook away the thought.

Devlin is the name. Many people have confused it with devil, though I can’t for the life of me understand why. He linked his hands together behind his back. Of course, the spellings are similar.

Her eyebrows rose, and her mouth relaxed. He hoped it wasn’t because she intended to scream for help.

Do you often sneak up on unsuspecting young ladies walking in gardens?

I apologize. He bowed his head toward her. I thought you were Madeline.

So, it is only my friend you attack? She tilted her blond head with the question.

Devlin stepped back, affronted, and put a hand over his heart. That was hardly an attack. Simply a prank.

The lady before him folded her arms across her chest and the right side of her mouth tipped up. A prank? You seem to take great liberty with Madeline. Are you courting her?

No.

She shook her head. I didn’t think so.

What was that supposed to mean?

I am sure she would have mentioned you.

Devlin stuck his right leg out, pointed his toe and executed the perfect court bow from days gone by. Devlin Bartlett, Viscount Marston, at your service. He would have kissed the back of her hand, but it was not offered and she still had her arms folded over her ample breasts.

Devlin righted himself. Usually when a gentleman introduces himself the lady follows suit.

Miss Louisa Whitton. She stuck her hand out as if to shake his. Very unusual.

Devlin gently grabbed hold, turned it, and placed a kiss on her exposed wrist. This intriguing creature dared him to want to do all sorts of delectable things considered scandalous in polite society. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Louisa Whitton.

She yanked her hand back as if she was burned, the light taint of a blush stained her cheeks as her last name struck a chord. Whitton?

She took a deep breath and sighed. Yes. My grandfather is the Duke of Danby and my father is his fifth child, third son, and Vicar Whitton.

Apparently she was used to people noting her lineage.

Miss Whitton tilted her head as if to study him. Your Christian name is rather uncommon.

My mother thought it sounded romantic. He leaned in to whisper. She was addicted to gothic and horrid novels.

It is lovely. She bit her upper lip. Was she trying not to laugh?

The staff, while I was growing up didn’t always get it right, however. There were several occasions they called me Devil or Demon. It is really unfair, I tell you.

Somehow I think they got it right. A dimple appeared at the corner of her lovely mouth.

Devlin put a hand over his heart. You wound me, dear lady. I was nothing but the most enchanting and delightful child.

Louisa seriously doubted Lord Marston had ever experienced an angelic moment in his life. The hint of mischief in his warm brown eyes was in complete contrast to the offended demeanor he tried to put forth. Why hadn’t Madeline ever mentioned this gentleman to her? More importantly, why hadn’t Madeline set her cap upon him? There must be something about Lord Marston that made him an impossible candidate for marriage, because she couldn’t imagine her friend letting him slip through her fingers otherwise. Apart from his carefree and highly inappropriate behavior toward a young lady to whom he had not been properly introduced, there was something intriguing in his manner. Or, perhaps it was simply the fact that he stood tall, a head above her, with broad shoulders yet a lean frame as if he hadn’t allowed any portion of his body to go soft.

Louisa’s face heated. Goodness, she should not be thinking about his lean frame. She didn’t know anything about him.

Marston, is that you?

Louisa and Lord Marston turned toward the voice of her brother-in-law, John Trent. Elizabeth, Louisa’s sister and John’s wife, walked by his side.

John. Lord Marston grinned before a perplexed look came to his face. Lise—,

Marston, John interrupted. Allow me to introduce my wife, Elizabeth Trent.

Louisa narrowed her eyes at the stranger. He’d almost called her sister Lisette. This triggered a suspicion of exactly how Marston knew her brother-in-law, and sister for that matter. Not that they were any the wiser. As far as those two were concerned, they thought she still believed they’d met in France, after her sister became a widow of course. However, Louisa had learned the truth, the complete truth, this last Christmas after listening through secret panels and at doors at Danby Castle.

Thank goodness she had, or otherwise she would have been more worried about the stack of special licenses on her grandfather’s desk. He had not yet determined who her husband would be, and thus, he had set her aside for the moment.

She didn’t dare think grandfather had forgotten. No, there were still a handful of Whitton grandchildren of an age to be married, and, if Louisa didn’t take matters into her own hands soon, her grandfather would see her married to a virtual stranger before this year was at an end.

It is an honor. Lord Marston bowed before Elizabeth. When he straightened, he kept glancing between the two women.

We are sisters, Louisa finally clarified.

Two lovely sisters, indeed, Marston replied. Trent, how did you meet your bride? I thought you were roaming the Continent until recently.

Louisa folded her hands before her and adopted a pleasant smile, waiting to hear the lies spill forth from her brother-in-law’s lips.

While I was traveling in the south of France, John began to explain. I made the acquaintance of Elizabeth.

Marston nodded, and Louisa fought not to let her mind wander. She’d heard the story so many times she could recite it herself. Still, she kept an interested expression while John told a blatant lie. Worse, Marston listened intently, as if he believed every word. If what she suspected was true, he knew it was a lie, too. But, until she knew for certain, she would continue to put forth the demeanor that had served her well through the years. She behaved as the perfectly