Enticing the Rogue

By Roxie Brandon

Fleur Grenville, just lost her father, Baron White. She has never been more alone in her life. But life is about to throw her a curveball when her guardian decides that what is best for her is for them to be joined in holy matrimony.

Desperate she makes a run for it, straight into the arms of the Duke of Darbyshire. He suggests an arrangement that she is unable to decline. One that ultimately could lead to freedom from her guardian and his unwanted attentions.

She does not expect that her affections will shortly become his for the taking. But the Duke holds a closely guarded secret and soon both their pasts will threaten to pull them apart...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxie Brandon
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005801090

Roxie Brandon

Roxie Brandon is an author of historical and contemporary romance, beauty and fashion books.Her romances range in setting from Medieval times to the Twentieth Century.She loves walks in the countryside and having afternoon tea with family and friends.

Book preview

ENTICING

THE ROGUE

Copyright © 2021 Roxie Brandon All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ONE

Fleur Grenville was flabbergasted. She stared at the man in front of her with disbelief.

Marriage? Why should we marry?

I am your guardian. I must live here. This is your home. Where else would you go?

Where else would she go? The words echoed in her mind, but somehow she was unable to grasp their meaning. There was a life for young women and someday, when her heart was not so heavy, she would return to it. She knew that the vicar had spoken of it when he had met with her to plan her father, Lord White’s funeral service. The local aristocracy had, with delicacy, assured her that she would be welcome to join them for the Season in London next year, once her time of mourning ended. She had been too weary with the emotional weight of her loss to notice the speculative, cool glances they had given to Mr Blackmore, but those images returned to her now as he stood in front of her, implacable and confident.

I intend to stay here, of course, she finally replied. This is my home. Our ancestors have always lived here.

A chit of eighteen cannot live on her own, Mr Blackmore said dismissively. We shall be married in London after we visit your father’s solicitor to discuss your inheritance. It will be a simple wedding, naturally, as you are in mourning but a quiet honeymoon will not be out of place I believe. Not Paris or Italy, of course, but perhaps Scotland.

For an instant, she saw a flicker of rapacious desire glimmer in his pale blue eyes. How had she ever failed to notice that his eyes were such an icy shade of blue, as if the cold had frozen out all the colour? He was not ill-favoured, although as a man in his late forties, he was not impressive to a girl of eighteen. He was stocky in build, with large, square hands that seemed to emerge from his tight cuffs like weapons leaving their sheaths. He had bristly dark hair; she wondered for the first time if perhaps he used colour in it. It seemed too unlikely that a middle-aged man would reveal no strands of white or grey in his hair.

I do not intend to marry, she said, making the effort to remain calm although she could feel her heart hammering against the wall of her ribs like prey locked in a cage.

Nonsense, of course we will marry. You are a young girl with a great inheritance. I have taken on the responsibilities that would naturally fall to the head of the household.

My father was the head of the household! Fleur exclaimed.

Your father, he reminded her, grasping her wrists painfully in his thick, powerful hands, was a dying man. I let him die in peace so that he would not be troubled by the affairs of business, which he was not capable of managing. I did not do so with no intention of profiting from my labours. I am not an altruistic man, my dear Fleur. I will be a just husband. Obey me and you will be well treated. But never forget that I am your master.

Never had she been spoken to with such familiarity. It was clear to her that this was only a glimpse of what was to come. Her eyes filled with tears.

Do not think that I am a man to be moved by a woman’s pathetic humours, Roger Blackmore continued with a snort.

You are hurting me Mr Blackmore, she finally whispered.

I’ll do worse than this if you fail to heed my warning. Tomorrow we will journey to the city; we will stop overnight at an inn. We will obey conventions and ensure that there shall be no scandal attached to our union. The next morning, we will leave the inn for London. You will continue to dress in mourning until we are married. After that, you will dress modestly in subdued colours. After a year has passed, I expect you to dress in the manner of an heiress. I intend to be congratulated for having a beautiful and fashionable wife. You will no doubt have borne a child by that time, but I require you to maintain your beauty.

Releasing her wrists, he raised his hand. Uncertain of his intentions, she shrank back. Mr Blackmore smiled, amused by her trepidation. He trailed one finger along the slender line of her jaw, stroking her full lower lip with his fingertip.

You are a most beautiful young woman, he said in a hoarse voice. "We shall have