The Baron's Inconvenient Bride: Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall, #4

By Gemma Blackwood

In his haste to find a marriage of convenience, an arrogant baron proposes to his sworn enemy…

Lady Jemima Stanhope has a secret she cannot share, even with her husband. Especially with her husband. Because that husband is the incorrigible rake, Lord Northmere.

Northmere is the last man on earth Jemima wanted to marry, which is perfect. At least she knows he'll leave her to investigate her brother's death in peace.

Now, if only she could stop thinking about him. How can a man be so unbearable, and yet still charming, generous, and perilously romantic?

Ralph Morton, Baron Northmere, has secrets of his own. One of the most carefully hidden is that Lady Jemima has always entranced him. Now she is his – in name only. How can he nurture the marriage he wants when she is determined to keep him at arm's length?

And if she discovers the truth about his family, will she ever return to his side?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Blackwood
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9798223078845

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lady Jemima Stanhope stood at the door to the Duke of Loxwell’s private library, clutching the letter in her hand so tightly she risked tearing the paper. She raised her fist, swallowed, and knocked. The staccato rap cut through the air, far louder than she had intended.

Jemima prided herself on her cool temperament, but calm was impossible today. As she waited for the duke’s response, she took a moment to breathe deeply and quiet her pounding heartbeat.

The duke, her elderly guardian, was a whimsical man growing more eccentric by the day. Jemima knew his peculiar habits well enough to wrap him around her little finger when she wanted something inconsequential, such as a new dress or a permission to stay an hour later at a ball.

Her task today was different. It was a matter of life and death. If she failed to persuade the duke—

No. She would not contemplate failure.

I will succeed, she told herself, glancing at her reflection in the window. Outside, night had fallen, and moonlight picked out the ordered flowerbeds beloved of the old duchess. In the darkly mirrored glass was a tall girl with blonde hair pinned back in studious severity. Her expression was resolute. Only her eyes betrayed a hint of desperation.

For Bernard’s sake, she told her reflection, I will succeed.

Come in! called the duke.

Jemima entered the library. The duke was sitting in his favourite place, a high-backed leather armchair with claws cut into the ends of the wooden arms. Combined with his craggy eyebrows, his searching eyes, and his deep rumble of a voice, it made him appear much more imposing than he truly was.

That forbidding face broke into a fatherly smile when he saw her. Ah, my dear Jemima! Have you come to help me answer these letters? He picked up a handful of correspondence from the low table at his side. You know how things are these days. I can no longer keep track of who is the current Marquess of Kirkwall, and who was the father of Lord This or That...

I will be happy to draft you some replies, Your Grace, said Jemima. The duke had once boasted the sharpest diplomatic mind in England, but those days were long past. She had been helping him keep up with his social correspondence since she arrived at Loxwell Park. But I wish to speak to you about a more important matter.

Of course! The duke adjusted his spectacles and leaned towards her. How can I be of service?

Jemima tucked her hands behind her back so that he could not see how fretfully they clasped at the letter. I wish to go to London.

London! repeated the duke, all astonishment. But the London Season will not begin for some months yet. Besides, Cecily is expecting you at the wedding.

I will stay for the wedding, of course, said Jemima. Even her pressing matter could not pull her away from Cecily's side. The duke's daughter had always treated her like a sister, and her kindness would certainly be repaid. But after that, I must have your permission to go.

The duke lowered his eyebrows. Are you unhappy here, my dear? What need have you to leave us?

I am not at all unhappy, said Jemima, though that was not entirely true, but I have urgent business in London. If the duchess cannot chaperone me, I will write to my married friends and ask them to do it. I do not wish to appear ungrateful, Your Grace, and I shall return the moment my business is concluded, but I really must go.

What business is this? asked the duke, scratching his chin thoughtfully. When Jemima hesitated, his gaze turned stern. I am your guardian, Jemima. Any business of yours is business of mine.

This was precisely what Jemima had hoped to avoid. She was acting based on no more than a foolish dream – but act she must, and the duke would never understand.

I have received a letter from a comrade-in-arms of my late brother, she said. He claims to have some information for me. He believes... To her horror, a sob shook her voice. He believes Bernard may still be alive.

The duke's face softened. My poor girl, he breathed. Give me your hand.

Jemima obeyed. There was comfort in his warm grip, but it was not enough.

She knew how hard the duke and duchess tried to make her feel a part of their family, but it was never enough. Guilty as she felt, she could never let their love fill the hole in her heart.

In the aftermath of their parents' death, Jemima and Bernard had been as close as two siblings could be. He was her accomplice in mischief, her confidante, her worst tormentor, and her dearest friend.

When he left to make his name as an officer among the occupying forces in France, her heart had broken into pieces. When he was killed, those pieces shattered into dust. All the kindness and care of the Duke and Duchess of Loxwell and their daughter, Cecily, could not persuade Jemima to move on from the loss of Bernard.

Outwardly, she had lived life to the full. She had tossed her mourning clothes away the second she could, knowing that he would not want her to wear black for him. But inside, the flame of his memory was always alight in her heart. She lived only because he would have wanted her to carry on.

And now she had a letter from one Lieutenant Worston claiming that Bernard's death was not what it seemed. She had to answer it – even if it meant defying the duke.

Let me see this letter, said the duke, adjusting his spectacles. Jemima passed it over reluctantly.

The duke's face grew grey and taut as he read. To Jemima's horror, anger flashed in his rheumy eyes. This is a despicable piece of work! My child, I am so sorry you have been exposed to it. This Worston is surely after your fortune. I myself received a similar letter a few weeks ago, and I hoped my reply was sharp enough to put him off.

He mentions nothing about any reward, said Jemima. He simply needs my help –

To secure Lord Arden’s safe return from lands unknown, by means unknown, after being dead for two years – and all at a hefty cost! Ha! The duke folded up the letter and slapped it down onto the table as though the unfortunate lieutenant would feel the blow. Jemima, listen to me. You are a wealthy young woman who has suffered a tragic loss. There are men in this world who will think you are vulnerable, and this Worston is one of them. Rest assured that he wants your money, and nothing more. The duke took off his spectacles and wiped them on a handkerchief, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "The cruelty of it! To offer hope where there is none! Well, I am pleased to say that you are not an unprotected young girl. You have Loxwell behind you, my dear, and I will not see you taken in by a charlatan!"

But, Your Grace! Jemima protested. Surely I owe it to my brother to uncover the truth about his death? Even if Lieutenant Worston’s claims are false – which I admit is quite possible, for if Bernard had been alive all these years, what could have kept him from my side? – even then, I must speak to the man and find out what he has to say.

You will do no such thing, said the duke. His glare softened. You are young, my child, and do not understand the ways of the world. There is no need to be ashamed that you were taken in. He sighed and placed his hand over the letter. Jemima tracked the movement with her eyes, desperately afraid that he would tear her last hope to shreds. But the duke’s next words were more than sufficient to distract her.

The fact is that there was indeed more to your brother's death than you were told. This Worston must know a piece of the truth, and is hoping to use it to carve himself off a chunk of your fortune.

More? Jemima repeated. What more? When Loxwell did not respond, she dragged up a chair and sat in front of him, resisting the urge to tuck her knees up to her chest like a child. Your Grace, please! Don't keep it from me any longer!

Loxwell sighed, every hollow of his face growing deeper. Can you bear to hear it, Jemima?

For Bernard's sake I can bear anything, she answered, chin lifted proudly.

The duke's fingers tightened on Lieutenant Worston's letter, creasing the paper. The story you know – that your brother was killed in an accident with a barrel of gunpowder – is the official story, but it is not the truth. At the time, you were deemed too young to hear what really happened. I did not agree with keeping it from you, but it was a matter of national security. Sometimes, even a duke can be overruled. The fact is that Bernard Stanhope, Lord Arden, was an agent of the crown.

A spy? Jemima gasped. The duke nodded gravely.

He was undertaking an important mission to gather evidence against a French noble who was suspected of working against the English forces occupying France after Napoleon’s defeat. Lord Arden entered the noble's castle one night to meet an informant, and was betrayed.

Jemima's hands clenched into fists, clutching up handfuls of her skirts. Which noble? Betrayed how? And why –

The duke held up a hand. I should not have told you even that much. The information is highly sensitive. I was never given any names or details. Believe me, when a duke is told that he cannot know the full story, a young maiden has no hope of uncovering any more!

But Lieutenant Worston said –

Enough of this Lieutenant Worston! thundered the duke. Jemima, your grief for your brother is natural, but you must not let it lead you into folly! Do you think Worston can tell you any more than your brother's commanding officer told me? If he truly knows anything – which I doubt – it will be no more than you now know yourself.

But I must try, Jemima pleaded. Bernard would try for me, I know it. Your Grace, I am not as naïve as you think I am. I can take care of myself in London. I am sorry to say that if you do not give me permission, I will go to London anyway. I have friends I can stay with, and I have money –

Friends, perhaps, said the duke. Money, certainly not. You forget that I control your fortune until your twenty-first birthday. Now, if you still feel the same way in two years’ time when that birthday arrives, I will not stop you. Until then, you are my responsibility. He leaned forwards to pat her hand. You have had a shock. I do not hold your rashness against you. Such a passionate character is admirable, but it must be tempered with good sense. Go and rest and think over what I have told you. You can be all the more proud of your brother now that you know his death was so brave!

On the contrary, Your Grace, said Jemima. What you have told me only lends Lieutenant Worston's claims greater weight. If Bernard merely disappeared into a French castle, there seems to be every chance that he did not die at all.

The duke sank back into his chair with a deep sigh. If Lord Arden were alive, why would he not write to you directly? Do you think he would have let you suffer his loss for all these years? No. He loved you and would never abandon you. You are grieving, my child, and you are not thinking things through. Leave me now. Some quiet contemplation will soon make things clear. He held the letter towards her. I advise you to take this and throw it on the fire. Think no more of Lieutenant Worston. It will do you no good to dwell on fantasies.

Jemima dropped a curtsey. She knew better than to argue any further. She left the room meekly, as though she had accepted the duke's arguments.

Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. Jemima was already seeing things more clearly than she had in years.

There was no question of waiting until her twenty-first birthday. If Bernard were alive, and somehow unable to contact her, the situation must be urgent. Even if he were dead, she owed it to his memory to find out the truth.

But as long as the duke controlled her money, Jemima was trapped at Loxwell Park.

There was only one way to gain independence before she came of age, and it meant doing something Jemima had always vowed she would never do.

She had to marry. And fast.

Chapter 2

G entlemen, my fate is clear, said Ralph Morton, Baron Northmere, as his three closest friends listened with expressions of horror and woe. I must marry before the month is out.

Surely not! said Robert, the Earl of Scarcliffe, whose wedding to Lady Cecily Balfour would take place the following morning – and was a love match of the most scandalous kind. There must be some other way. Northmere, I do not want to see you tied down for the sake of mere convenience. A marriage based on affection is so much more desirable –

Yes, Scarcliffe, interrupted the Duke of Beaumont, with a wry smile. We are all aware of how happy you are with Lady Cecily. Believe me, my own engagement to Anna is a source of the greatest joy. But harping on about the pleasures of love will not help our dear Northmere.

It is all very well for you fellows, said Ralph, and I am pleased for you, though I never saw the appeal of love myself. But I never imagined I would marry for anything but duty. It hardly matters that duty has come calling sooner than expected. He leafed through the two letters he had just received, one from his mother and one from his younger sister, and groaned. But the timing could be better, I admit! I have no-one in mind at all. And it seems she must be an heiress, or all is lost. He turned his sister's letter over as though he might find his salvation written on the back. One month to find an heiress! Even our tussle with the highwaymen had better odds.

Let me see those letters, said Lord Jonathan Hartley, the fourth member of their tight-knit group. Perhaps there is some other solution your sister has missed. Daisy is a clever girl, but she is easily carried away.

If you were not a married man, I would take issue with that familiar tone when you speak of my sister, growled Ralph, but let him take the letters. Hart had just married his childhood sweetheart after many years of separation, and no woman held a candle to Isabella in his eyes. Besides, Ralph’s three closest friends thought of Daisy as fondly as they would a sister of their own.

Hart scanned the two letters with his quick, clever eyes. So. Your problems are twofold. He held up a finger. One: your mother has abandoned your stepfather, Lord Peyton, in favour of the rather undesirable Sir Everard Ramsay.

Ralph put a hand over his eyes. This is the final straw. I mean it! No man was ever cursed with such a mother.

On the contrary, many men have rather enjoyed being cursed with your mother, Northmere, said Beaumont, to general amusement. Ralph did not join in the snickering.

If there was a soul in England who did not have some lingering doubts over my legitimacy, they have now been enlightened, he groaned. The moment this news breaks, I will be unmarriageable. Who will trust my mother now when she says I am my father's son?

"We all do, said Robert, gripping his shoulder. Besides, by all accounts, your mother was besotted with your father. He may be the only man she ever truly loved. Nobody will seriously claim that you are not the rightful baron."

But people will suspect it, countered Ralph. Which is just as bad.

I was not finished, said Hart, holding up a