Undone By His Kiss

By Anabelle Bryant

A most delicious challenge…

Experience has taught Emily Shaw that men are best avoided, so she's determined to take her place in society alone and unrestrained by marriage. Renting a room in the heart of London, she establishes a Women's League to promote equality between the sexes and teach women to be independent.

Jasper St David isn't looking for distractions, but he's fascinated by beautiful, fiercely opinionated Emily when she moves into the office above his. And when he learns of her determination never to succumb to male charms, he can't help but see it as a challenge! After all, Jasper's always found nothing more tantalising than the thrill of the chase

Fans of Regency romance will adore Anabelle Bryant’s Regency Charms series:

1. Defying the Earl
2. Undone by His Kiss
3. Society’s Most Scandalous Viscount
4. His Forbidden Debutante

Praise for Anabelle Bryant

Praise for Anabelle Bryant:

'Anabelle Bryant’s books just keep getting better! Duke of Darkness is the epitome of what a romance novel should be – sexy, steamy and heart wrenching.' -Elder Park Book Reviews

'[Anabelle Bryant's] storytelling rivals any established author in the market' 5* for 'To Love a Wicked Scoundrel' from historicalromancelover.blogspot.co.uk

'This book was sweet, enjoyable, and absolutely fantastic. Romance lovers, this is a must read book.' - 5* from Farah (Goodreads) for 'To Love a Wicked Scoundrel'

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins UK
• Release date: Aug 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781474035927

Anabelle Bryant

Anabelle began reading at age three and never stopped. Her passion for reading soon turned into a passion for writing. Happy to grab her suitcase if it ensures a new adventure she finds endless inspiration in travel, especially imaginary jaunts into romantic Regency England. A firm believer in romance, Anabelle knows life doesn't always provide a happily ever after, but her novels always do. She enjoys talking to her fans. Visit her on Facebook or at AnabelleBryant.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Let’s go another round. Jasper St. David motioned to the comely serving girl as she bustled past their corner table, a tray and pitcher in hand. The clock hadn’t struck nine and the less than respectable tavern where he celebrated with his comrades offered hours of inane idleness.

You’ve spent your coin on the last three. I’ll pay this time. Benedict Hampden, Viscount Kellaway, drained his ale and spun the tankard on the tabletop with a quick flick of the wrist before trapping the glass under his palm and righting it. I suppose new money burns a hole in one’s pocket so feel free to settle the dinner tab.

We’re celebrating, Jasper admonished. And I’ve every right. Having suffered months of penny-pinching under my brother’s perspicacious scrutiny, wealth offers freedom in spades.

Tread with care, Oliver Nicholson, a loyal friend, chimed in. You’ve just signed an annual lease on upper Bond Street. You’re about quality now. The monthly payments are sure to impact your finances.

Minuscule worries, at most. Jasper finished off what remained in his glass before snapping his eyes across the room in search of more drink. The office opens to business next week. Everything has proceeded swimmingly, although I haven’t met the tenant abovestairs. The landlord mentioned some type of charitable organization leased the adjoining space. I can only hope it doesn’t equate a coven of mawkish old biddies coming and going while I confer with clients.

Now that would prove challenging. How is Dashwood handling your new venture? Isn’t he affronted you’ve chosen to operate a financial advisement business? It’s hardly the expectation of the brother to an earl, most especially a wealthy, somewhat troublesome brother whose elder is a prime twig. Kellaway’s raised brows expressed undisguised speculation.

Oliver leaned closer as if anxious for Jasper’s response, though the conviviality of a nearby table combined with the clatter of plates and silverware annihilated any hope of carefree conversation within the crowded establishment.

Convenient of you to omit your involvement with said conundrums. Jasper’s answer prompted a smile from both men. Dash has been cured of pride, despite he worries over reputation and considers me a Jack Pudding; but like many things, timing is key, gentlemen. Dear brother is away on his wedding trip, and I’m not concerned. Once he returns, he’s sure to be about heir-making. Beaufort and I were boiled up to a jelly to find an available office in an ideal location. It was too rare an opportunity to pass. The words prompted him to straighten his posture and square his shoulders. Astute perception and daring courage; that, my friends, is what led me to success in my investments. I plan to apply the same acuity to all areas of my life. He donned a grin as generous as his purse and neglected to voice the inner motivation that fueled his actions more than any other interest.

This venture presented the ideal opportunity to prove to all associates, his brother, the sixth Earl of Dashwood, most especially, that he was responsible and indeed knowledgeable although most everyone considered his new wealth a lark, his investment a stroke of luck more than insightful entrepreneurship.

And is Beaufort as enthusiastic? He’s already swimming in lard, what desire could he have to join this endeavor?

Distraction, mostly, I presume. We’ve been friends since university and fairly inseparable given I’ve come to London. Jasper dismissed the question with a nonchalant shrug. A few minutes passed in silence and then a server appeared, took their order and scurried away. It’s amazing what a pocket full of coin can do for respectability. I’ve purchased a keen phaeton, two high-steppers, and an extensive wardrobe in less time than it took to deposit my monthly draft in the bank.

Until your brother’s ship docks, then the spending will cease. Kellaway turned a wry smile.

Rubbish. Once Dashwood returns, he plans to restore Kirby Park and explore the benefits of newly-wedded bliss. I’m the last person he’d want for company and that serves my purpose well. He waved off Kell’s concern without further thought, confident he’d never become enamored by the trappings of success and new money.

I suppose acquiring clients presents the most difficult challenge. Oliver’s expression grew curious. What exactly will you do at this business anyway?

Jasper huffed a hasty breath, his tolerance worn thin. He’d explained his objective twice over and yet for some reason, neither friend considered his venture with serious intent. Either that or they were too kind to mention they believed his approach held little potential for success. Financial advisement. He stressed the words as if his life depended on their comprehension. When he received blank stares in return, he gestured with impatience. Suggesting how a bloke should invest his coin. The last words came out in a harsher tone than intended, but the need to stress his determination hammered the explanation home.

The serving girl arrived with their ale and while Oliver distributed the tankards across the table, Kellaway dropped a few shillings on her tray. She thanked him with a wink and ample view of her bosom.

She’s a tempting armful, wouldn’t you say?

Were you listening? Jasper aimed a pointed glare in Kellaway’s direction.

Of course. Kell took a swig of ale, although his eyes followed the serving girl’s skirts as she sashayed through the tavern. You wish to tell people how to spend their money. Good luck with that.

It’s advisement. Frustration caused the words to slice through the raucous chatter surrounding their table. Investment opportunity so the client will increase personal wealth.

What if your advice is wrong? What if the bloke loses all his money and returns to Bond Street to plant you a facer? This came from Oliver who’d remained noncommittal until his present facetious comment.

That’s not how it works. Jasper clenched his teeth to invoke patience, the words forced on a raw scrape of voice.

Are you sure? Oliver tossed a pouch of coins onto the wooden tabletop. It settled with a dull thud. Were I to give you my purse and you bought shares in some hare-brained invention that never reached fruition, I’d be damned angry about it. He scooped up the pouch and returned it to his pocket. No disrespect, Jasper.

The corky comradeship of only minutes before had evaporated and Jasper no longer wished to remain. A sudden need for fresh air and quietude forced him to stand despite he hadn’t touched his fresh drink.

Where are you going? his friends objected in tandem.

I expect Dash to poke holes in my dreams. He’s been doing it for so long, no matter I recovered our family solvency. But the two of you doubt my ability as much as he. Does everyone consider me a beetle-head?

No one called names, Jasper. Sit down, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.

The scowl on Kell’s face caused Jasper to pause, but only for a heartbeat. Then he turned and grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall, nearly upturning a chair in his hurry to the door.

Emily Shaw approached the fine brick building on upper Bond Street with pride and confidence. Chin held high, her eyes admired the sleek glass-paned window of the lower office and fashionable mahogany door flanked by white plaster columns. The brass knocker glistened in the slanting sunlight.

Her heart beat harder.

This was her dream realized.

Proof of her hard work.

No longer would her charitable league sit in the parlor of the Nelson Square town house she shared with her mother and voice hope-filled whispers over tea and biscuits. A legitimate meeting place cemented her dedication to the cause and with membership growing, a true assembly was needed where determined women could plan their future and prepare for happily settled spinsterhood without the burden of a man’s interference.

Emily smiled from the heart, satisfaction heating her face and likely flushing her cheeks pink. Her eyes skittered higher to the double windows of the upper office, the space she’d leased for a year’s term.

The landlord, a compact, bald man with an outlandish mustache, had been gracious and considerate, hardly asking a question or prying into her business as to why a woman of twenty-three years would need to reserve a two-room office on one of London’s busiest thoroughfares. Nor did he question her funding or insinuate she’d need a gentleman’s advisement. Instead, the landlord had smiled and pressed the key into her hand with a twinkle in his eye and wish of good fortune.

If only all males could show such restraint of curiosity and overbearing advice. Not so, unfortunately. Having little use for men and their intrusive opinions served as a freeing proposition. She’d mastered the impulse to follow in the traditional path of gentle ladies. Her nose wrinkled with the thought. Gentlemen who wielded authority and wealth proved the worst of all, bullying through society by virtue of title and purse. That very sentiment brought her to form her league nearly two years prior. That, and the determination to live as an independent, beholden to no one.

If only her mother could adopt the same vein of enlightened thinking.

With a small shrug, she dismissed the lugubrious threat to her joy, and paused at the entrance of the office building. The door stood locked with the bottom tenant nowhere to be seen. It would appear they’d share the same hall and entry. She hoped the gentleman was a bearable sort, although she had no intention of interacting with him or his clients. The lettering across the large wood-framed window read Inventive Investment. A silhouette of a dove flew below the inscription. She gave it no further consideration and inserted her new key in the lock, a thrill of anticipation and accomplishment straightening her spine with a ripple of pride.

She nearly floated up the narrow stairwell to find the office space and meeting room exactly as she’d remembered when she signed the lease two days past. The landlord must have been in, as a packet of documents was left on a side table along with a vase full of fiddleheads. How very pleasant and thoughtful.

Making haste to the sink in the kitchen area, she refilled the vase and strode to one of the windows overlooking the busy street below. Carriages rushed past on their way to a plethora of appointments, couples strolled on the sidewalks, some carrying packages and other’s meant for a leisurely day out. A few older gentlemen congregated on the corner, deep in conversation.

This is what independence felt like. She breathed in deep and held the emotion tight inside. This represented the freedom for which her soul yearned and heart ached. Later, when she returned home, she would be reminded of every reason she needed the league to survive, but for now when she could stand in her office, every decision in her command, she couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world.

Tears filled her eyes with sentimental relief. She’d done it…accomplished independence and a true purpose to her days. And no one, no man, would ever take it away from her.

Chapter 2

Jasper surveyed the pedestrian traffic through the large window at the front of the newly opened office space. Why doesn’t someone come in? The question was laced with barely contained impatience, his eyes flicking left and right as people bustled by without a glance in his direction.

Randolph Beaufort, friend and business associate, sat at his desk across the room, his hands folded behind his head and feet propped atop the marble as if he hadn’t a care. I suppose it will take a little time for our business to become popular. Not to worry. We only opened this morning.

Jasper turned, intent on finding something to do rather than watch people not entering. It may be a good time for us to review the information I’ve gathered for referral. He settled behind his desk, adjusted his inkwell and blotter, and opened the top drawer to remove a long file full of papers and notations. Mr. Nasmyth has contacted me concerning his ideas for a steam hammer. If he manages to perfect the design, his invention could revolutionize factory work. He withdrew a folder paper from the portfolio and opened its contents flat on the desktop. He’d like us to secure investors so he might continue his progress with the project.

Sounds like a smart chap, despite he’s from Scotland. Randolph let loose a chuckle before straightening in his seat and adjusting his silk waistcoat. A very fine dresser, he smoothed his palm down each side of the tri-color embroidery embellishment and then matched eyes with Jasper across the room.

Were we to have a client… Jasper cleared his voice and restarted. When we have clients, I believe Nasmyth’s design should be our strongest suggestion. He will need further collateral to fund his project and the outcome for all involved would equal wealth once he succeeds. I haven’t believed as vehemently in any invention since the mousetrap.

Clever, the way we snapped that idea up and walked away with the cheese. Randolph laughed at his joke and then both men slue their eyes to the front where a gentleman paused to read the lettering on the window glass.

Jasper held his breath, willing the man to enter, yet after a tormenting moment, the passerby continued down Bond Street in no particular hurry.

It will take time. Randolph’s attempt to soothe his disappointment did little aside from reassure he was a loyal comrade.

It’s the waiting, I suppose, that has me at sixes and sevens.

Well, it’s barely two o’clock. Are you up for a little nuncheon before we continue our business pursuits? Randolph stood and snatched his hat from the corner of the desk.

We may as well. Jasper agreed, although his tone sounded cross as crabs. I’m hungry and a full bread-basket always improves the day. He patted his stomach to underscore the sentiment and made for the door.

Emily tapped her wooden gavel gently against the escritoire situated at the center of the sitting room in the town house she shared with her mother. She’d moved the furniture and arranged an assortment of chairs, then requested refreshments from the housekeeper. A female needed to be independent in many ways, not just the obvious. It hadn’t been too difficult to drag the writing desk forward and she’d only needed to stop twice to tug at her sleeves and adjust her bodice, the encumbrance of her gown an additional challenge to the feat.

I call the League of Virtuous Equality to order. She tapped her gavel a second time and donned a wide smile. I’ve exciting news, ladies. Her eyes scanned the eight members seated in a horseshoe around the desk. I’ve secured a verified meeting place for our organization. An office where we can enroll new participants, pursue our goals, and further exercise independence without interference from males. As our core belief states, equality in all things. Saying the words aloud ignited a delicious flutter of excitement to the announcement and she straightened her posture with pride.

The room erupted in reaction. Gasps intermingled with jovial comments, while questions and demands for details were voiced.

Our new address… Emily paused to regain control of the room, although another fulsome smile threatened to surface. Our new address is located on upper Bond Street at the heart of the business sector. Not only will the league be easily accessible, but we’ll be highly visible. A shining example to all women and proof life extends far beyond the social expectation to marry and produce children.

My heavens, Emily, an office in such prime position must demand an exorbitant rent. Our dues are less than a trifling and meant to compensate for tea leaves. However will the league survive? Margery Danford, the oldest of the ladies at twenty-eight, worried about finances more than any other member. The history she’d shared when joining their league related a modest upbringing with few advantages or choices for that matter. Her heart’s desire was to own a hat shop where she could sell her creative designs and why shouldn’t her dream be realized?

Money, no matter it poses a distasteful subject, should not be of concern. I’ve been honest with each of you. She slid her gaze from one woman to the next. Finances need never be a debate. Emily would by no means confess her mother and she possessed coin to spare. She flicked a glance downward, her butter-yellow gown unpretentious and serviceable more than the cut of fashion. Money served as a tool for all the right reasons and not something to be wasted on indulgences.

Perhaps we should take a collection or solicit donations, Thomasina Gordon piped up, forever the problem solver and thinker of their group.

"Asking for donations undermines our main purpose of establishing independence and would only prove to men— Emily intoned the word to emphasize her odious opinion —that women are forever dependent upon their services."

Some services are necessary, I would think. Cynthia Maddox suppressed a giggle given the forbidden topic.

Ladies. Emily’s fingers itched to tap her gavel. Let’s not detract from our purpose today. Having a legitimate meeting place establishes our league as a force within the social order. It ensures our cause, to motivate women in pursuit of virtuous equality free of societal pressure and instead, promotes the belief that females have as much decision in their future as any male in London.

Or beyond. Forever dreaming, Portia Edmonstone voiced the words and shared a brilliant smile.

Portia yearned to travel the world, unencumbered by a chaperone or escort. Her parents treated her as if she was daft and her sisters were all settled with two or three babes, making her view of the future appear all the more outlandish. Portia’s life’s hurtle was daunting, yet proved more so than anyone else’s in the room, that a league devoted to encouraging independence was a timely and valuable necessity.

I realize we normally meet twice a week, Emily continued, imbued by the reality members needed to make excuses for their absence or risk the censure of parents and siblings. But I propose we come together tomorrow in celebration and exploration. We can gather at the Bond Street office and reaffirm our cause with a toast.

You aren’t suggesting liquor? A few ladies murmured the same concern, although Margery’s question sounded most aghast.

Of course not, ladies, I shall provide tea, although someday we will need to learn spirits and their distorting effects. Every iota of information is valuable and may provide solutions for someone’s journey toward independence.

Rapid applause circulated the room, a plethora of plans taking shape. Emily, encouraged more than she’d been in some while, basked in the reverie. She’d return the meeting to order in a few minutes. Thomasina had prepared a presentation on banking to share this afternoon. Her father forever fell asleep with his ledgers open and she’d gleaned extensive knowledge by peering over his somnolent form. These scraps of information reclaimed from the male world offered their league empowerment.

Matters couldn’t be better. Well, with the exception of her mother of course, but in the meantime Emily would absorb the joy of accomplishing yet another step to progress.

Two hours later, when the ladies had departed and Emily had managed to replace all the furniture, she settled in an overstuffed chair near the fire, a cup of chamomile tea in hand, and reviewed the day with secret delight. Having a meeting place for the league would benefit everyone, but Emily most of all.

It had nothing to do with the sitting room upheaval twice a week. She didn’t mind the work, despite Mary, the housekeeper, reprimanded her sternly. She begrudgingly consented to a blow at equality that gentlemen possessed natural strength in their physique, where lifting a rug or repositioning a desk required minimal effort.

Women were strong in other ways. More important ways. Emotionally, indeed. Males, often regaled as the backbone of society, were lacking in strength of heart and moral fiber. She lived with daily proof of the supposition.

Financial considerations presented no worries either. Her father had left them with deep wealth though she had little care for the money. Oh it served a purpose, sending her to the finest schools and affording the comfortable town house she called home, yet Emily would never feel beholden. The black line of a bank register had little to do with the ease of one’s heart. She enjoyed spending the funds left by her father for no other reason than the knowledge she worked toward good with the distasteful reminder of his existence.

Startled by footsteps in the hall, she shook the contemplation away and turned to see her mother enter.

Has everyone gone? Bianca Shaw hesitated within the doorframe, as if waiting for Emily to confirm what she likely observed from her bedroom window upstairs.

Yes. Emily produced a smile. The league left over an hour ago. Come. Would you like some tea? I can ring for Mary to bring us a fresh pot. She hemmed her lower lip waiting for her mother’s decision.

That sounds fine. Bianca spoke without inflection.

Doing as she suggested, Emily watched her mother settle in the chair closest to the hearth and lace her fingers in her lap, her posture perfect. You look lovely. Is that a new gown? It was foolish prattle, really. Bianca rarely left the house and when she was forced to do so, it was not for a trip to the dressmaker.

One never knows who might come to call. A lady must always look her loveliest. Her mother’s umbrageous tone secured Emily wouldn’t disagree.

Yes, of course. If only one could erase the depth of sadness in her mother’s eyes or fine creases of perpetual worry marring her skin.

Mary entered with the tea kettle and a fresh tray of scones, the distraction provoking a sigh of relief. Some subjects were better not discussed. A prickling of unease warned Mother wasn’t in a reasonable mood. Are you hungry? Emily nudged the plate with her fingertip. Apricot is your favorite.

No, thank you. Her mother touched the button at the neck of her gown. Your father always complimented my figure. I wouldn’t wish to gain an ounce by indulging in sweets.

Cautious of how to proceed, Emily adopted a gentler tone and matched her mother’s eyes. But he’s gone now.

Bianca rose from the chair and walked to the front window, a favorite location in the house. Eventually, she broke the long-drawn silence. Your league is filled with such pretty girls. It’s a pity no one holds an interest in falling in love. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to be adored by a man? It’s wrong to portray men as the enemy. It disrupts the natural order of things. Marrying well is every woman’s purpose.

So she’d pricked her mother’s disposition and now she’d pay the cost. Emily struggled to keep emotion at bay despite her intellect rebelled at each word. Not at all. We’re a league of equality. We wish to experience the same opportunities offered to gentlemen, not to exclude them from our lives. Marriage is certainly an option if it becomes the lady’s choice, not obligation or duty. She didn’t add she needed a man to meddle in her life the same way a mouse needed a cat. You’ve persisted with this conversation before, as if the answers will change when I’ve experienced some revelation or come to my senses. Her mother had never voiced these accusations, but Emily believed them true. She perceived it in every disappointed glance or censorious word. Rising from the chair to meet her mother eye to eye, she took a few steps before stalling with hesitation and her mother pounced on the pause to reprimand her further.

I once considered your attitude immaturity more than confusion, but it’s been years now and you haven’t altered your thinking. You believe you understand everything concerning relationships, but the knowledge you protect so close to your heart would fill a thimble.

The words were spoken in such a vehement tone Emily didn’t dare contradict