A Shocking Delight Read online

  Raves for the Novels

  of Jo Beverley

  “Ms. Beverley’s opulent descriptions of the glittering ton with their witty dialogues and lively dalliances set against a dark background of intrigue continue to elevate this series beyond the normal historical romance.”

  —Smexy Books

  “A fabulous, intelligent tale.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Extraordinary storyteller Beverley mixes witty repartee, danger, and simmering sensuality with her strong and engaging characters, including a fetching Papillon, in this delightful, delicious gem of a book.”

  —Romantic Times (top pick)

  “With wit and humor, Jo Beverley provides a wonderful eighteenth-century romance starring two amiable lead characters whose first encounter is one of the best in recent memory. The tale is filled with nonstop action.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “[E]nchanting . . . a delightful blend of wit, intrigue, and emotional victories.”

  —The State (Columbia, SC)

  “[Readers] will be engrossed by this emotionally packed story of great love, tremendous courage, and the return of those attractive and dangerous men known as the Rogues.”

  —Joan Hammond

  “[Beverley] can be counted on to come up with clever and creative ways of mixing passion and intrigue to create a beguiling love story.”

  —Booklist

  “A delightful, intricately plotted, and sexy romp.”

  —Library Journal

  “I found myself enjoying every minute of the relationship in this story of love, hope, and increments of witty humor. As usual, a Malloren novel is a keeper.”

  —Rendezvous

  “A well-crafted story and an ultimately very satisfying romance.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Jo [Beverley] has truly brought to life a fascinating, glittering, and sometimes dangerous world.”

  —Mary Jo Putney

  “Another triumph.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Wickedly delicious. Jo Beverley weaves a spell of sensual delight with her usual grace and flair.”

  —Teresa Medeiros

  “A fast-paced adventure with strong, vividly portrayed characters . . . wickedly, wonderfully sensual and gloriously romantic.”

  —Mary Balogh

  Also by Jo Beverley

  Available from New American Library

  REGENCY

  THE ROGUE’S WORLD

  Lady Beware

  To Rescue a Rogue

  The Rogue’s Return

  Skylark

  St. Raven

  Hazard

  “The Demon’s Mistress” in In Praise of Younger Men

  The Devil’s Heiress

  The Dragon’s Bride

  Three Heroes (Omnibus Edition)

  THE MALLOREN WORLD

  Seduction in Silk

  An Unlikely Countess

  The Secret Duke

  The Secret Wedding

  A Lady’s Secret

  A Most Unsuitable Man

  Winter Fire

  Devilish

  Secrets of the Night

  Something Wicked

  My Lady Notorious

  MEDIEVAL ROMANCES

  Lord of Midnight

  Dark Champion

  Lord of My Heart

  OTHER

  Forbidden Magic

  Lovers and Ladies (Omnibus Edition)

  Lord Wraybourne’s Betrothed

  The Stanforth Secrets

  The Stolen Bride

  Emily and the Dark Angel

  ANTHOLOGIES

  “The Raven and the Rose” in

  Chalice of Roses

  “The Dragon and the Virgin Princess” in Dragon Lovers

  “The Trouble with Heroes” in

  Irresistible Forces

  SIGNET SELECT

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published by Signet Select, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Copyright © Jo Beverley, 2014

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  SIGNET SELECT and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  ISBN 978-0-698-14411-8

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for Jo Beverley

  Also by Jo Beverley

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from The Dragon’s Bride

  Chapter 1

  London

  May 13, 1817

  Lucy Potter sat in the library of her home hoping that this was the day when everything would change. Or rather, that on this day, her life would return to the way it used to be—without her beloved mother, alas, but with her father once more a part of her life.

  One year ago Alice Potter, only forty years old, had died from influenza. Lucy’s father had covered her mother’s portrait here in the library with black crepe. Six months ago, he’d drawn the cloth back so it only framed the painting in black. Surely today he would remove the dark shroud entirely, and Lucy hoped that would signal another change.

  That he would cease avoiding her.

  She knew why he did it. When she looked in a mirror, she saw a face almost identical to the pretty one in the portrait hanging above the fireplace. Blond hair, full lips, and big blue eyes, though Lucy’s own no longer showed such unbridled expectation of joy and delights.

  The Honorable Alice Stanley had been eighteen when the portrait was done, and newly launched into the beau monde. Lucy was now twenty-one, but she looked as young as her mother had been in the portrait, making her appearance a challenge, even before the resemblance had caused her to be cut off from her father.

  Her mot
her had never expressed annoyance at having the sort of looks that made people think her empty-headed, but Lucy would have welcomed having her father’s blunter features. When she went out with him about the City of London—when she had used to do so—even sober gowns and a cap beneath a plain bonnet hadn’t overcome her pretty face.

  She was far from empty-headed, however, and fascinated by business, so she had persisted. In time her father had been able to let her conduct some small pieces of business herself, choosing cargos at auction and finding good markets for them and also identifying unmet needs and seeking sources of goods, sometimes from distant lands.

  She’d loved it, and planned her life around it. But her involvement in the exciting City world had died with her mother.

  Her father had soon returned to his businesses, working all hours as he tried to drown his grief, but he’d never again invited her to go with him or discussed business with her. He’d spoken to her only out of necessity, and if he dined at home, it was always with guests present.

  Now Lucy tried to concentrate on the latest issue of The Gentlemen’s Magazine, but she was listening for his footstep. Surely he must come.

  She’d marked the day by putting aside the grays and violets of half mourning, with no regret. She didn’t like to think she was vain, but such colors didn’t suit her. She’d chosen a favorite gown that was more than two years old. The cerulean blue was bright, but the cut was simple. Not too shocking a transition, she hoped. She might have worn a pale gown, but her mother was dressed in white in the portrait, so that wouldn’t do.

  The library clock struck two.

  She had a pale sprigged gown ready to wear tonight, when she would mark the end of her official mourning by attending an assembly ball at the Crown with friends. She intended to dance every dance. She had hoped her father would escort her there, but he still hadn’t come.

  Lucy looked at the portrait, wondering whether it would be a sin to pray to it, as some did to saints. Surely her mother must be a saint. Surely she must want her husband and only child to regain happiness. She had risked all to achieve her own.

  Alice Stanley, second daughter of Viscount Blount, had been presented at court and was about to take her place in society and find a good husband. With beauty, fine birth, and a dowry of nine thousand pounds, her path must have seemed smooth.

  Instead, she’d set eyes on lowborn Daniel Potter in an inn yard—at that moment in his shirtsleeves and loading boxes into a cart—and instantly lost her sanity. Within days they had been meeting in secret and within weeks they’d been off to Gretna Green.

  Lord Blount could well have cast his daughter off and even destroyed the portrait, but he’d given it to her along with her dowry. He had not, however, seen or communicated with her again. That had been a sadness, but it hadn’t overwhelmed Lucy’s mother’s happiness here on Nailer Street in the City of London.

  Until last year.

  Lucy pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to blow her nose. If her father came, he mustn’t find her weeping! But she’d often thought she’d been orphaned on that cruel day. What was she to do if this was the new pattern of her life? What if things didn’t change today?

  When the door opened she looked up, afraid to hope.

  It was him!

  She straightened, smiling but trying not to let her flaring hope show.

  “Good day, Papa.”

  “Good day, pet.” He walked forward, looking surprisingly at ease. He glanced once at the portrait, his expression somber but not agonized, then back at her. “I’ve had an enquiry for your hand.”

  The words were so unexpected that they made no sense. But he was here, coming to sit in his big leather chair that faced hers across the fireplace, looking—yes, truly—as if the darkness had passed.

  He wasn’t a big man, for he’d been raised in a foundling home where skimpy food didn’t build height and bulk, but these days dressed in the finest clothes, and his wiry frame was elegant. Beneath the elegance he was physically strong, but, more important, he had strength of mind, cleverness, and wisdom. He’d built his vast fortune from nothing and she admired him above anyone in the world.

  She pulled her wits together enough to say, “A marriage proposal, Papa? And made through you? From whom?”

  “An unknown party represented by a lawyer called Polyphant.”

  She chuckled. “How ridiculous.”

  Wonder of wonders, he shared her smile. “Isn’t it, pet? But intriguing. Polyphant represents a titled gentleman.”

  “That’s even more ridiculous!”

  “Some fool of a lordling,” he agreed, “broke through folly and seeking a rich dowry. All the same, there are many men of business who’d pay to see a daughter married into the nobility, to have noble grandchildren.”

  “Not you, Papa.”

  “You don’t think it’d be a feather in a foundling’s cap to have a grandson inherit a title?”

  His eyes twinkled with the joke.

  How long was it since she’d seen that twinkle?

  “You’ll have to make do with nephews,” she teased back. “The Honorable Jeremy Fytch, who will one day be Lord Caldross, or Percival Stanley, due to be Viscount Blount.”

  He didn’t seem amused. “Plenty of City daughters would be happy to exchange a handsome dowry for a coronet, pet.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “You have a very handsome dowry.”

  “Too handsome! You’d no need to increase it.”

  “No reason not to with business prospering as it did during the war, and you helping me from time to time.”

  “Then I thank you again, especially as the thirty thousand is mine now that I’m twenty-one.”

  “I was probably rash to make it so, but you’ve always been a sensible girl.”

  Still, he seemed uneasy, and she didn’t know why. Did his grief in some way play a part?

  “Tell me more about this odd proposal, Papa.”

  “There’s nothing more to it. The solicitor assures me that Lord Penniless is of good character and health and will treat you with loving consideration.”

  “I’m sure I should be moved to tears of gratitude. But instead I wonder: How could a stranger even know the size of my dowry?”

  “He could assume that my only child would be generously dowered, but there are lists for sale.”

  “Lists! Like auction catalogues? How shabby. But how do the list makers know?”

  “It needs only one person to spread the word.”

  “Leland spread the word?” she asked, unable to believe their solicitor would do such a thing. Daniel Potter could hide his thoughts and feelings from most people, but not from her. “Papa! Surely you didn’t?”

  His raised chin was acknowledgment. “No reason to keep it secret, pet. I’d like to see you in your rightful sphere.”

  “My rightful sphere?”

  “The nobility. Your mother wanted to see you in her world. She’d have wanted you to take up your aunt Caldross’s invitation to enjoy a Mayfair season now that your mourning’s over.”

  Lucy wanted to protest that—forcefully. Her mother had never said anything to indicate that she wanted her daughter in the nobility, and though she’d kept in contact with her sister, they’d never been close.

  But the loss of his wife had put some odd ideas in her father’s head. He’d blamed himself, as if influenza couldn’t have afflicted his wife if she’d married as she ought to have. He’d fretted that he could have done more to make her life perfect in all ways. That wasn’t true. He’d always done everything possible to compensate for all she’d given up for him.

  The wood burning in the hearth here was testament to his efforts. Most people in London used coal, but her mother had loved the wood fires of her childhood home in Gloucestershire, so when Lucy’s father had renovated and expanded this London house he’d had suitable fireplaces installed. Throughout the colder months cartloads of prime wood arrived from the country and were stock
ed in a shed at the end of the garden.

  “This was her world, Papa,” Lucy said gently, “and this is my rightful sphere. This house, this street, the City. I’m perfectly content with my life.”

  “Sitting alone, reading a dry magazine?”

  “I was out all day yesterday with friends and this evening we go to the assembly at the Crown. This issue of The Gentlemen’s Magazine is juicy with information.”

  He gestured that away. “It’s time you were wed, pet. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to end up an ape-leader, but you’re well on your way. You’ve had plenty of suitors but dismissed all of them.”

  Lucy felt under attack, an attack she’d never expected. It had to be another aspect of grief, but how to deal with it?

  She kept her manner light and used an argument he would have to respect. “Remember, Papa, that Mama wanted me to love as she loved. I’ve not yet met a man who appeals to me in that particular way.”

  “Which worries me. By now you should have fallen into a dozen foolish adorations.”

  “You’re disappointed that I’ve not run silly over delivery boys and carters?”

  He didn’t laugh. “It’d only be natural. Look at your friend Betty acting the idiot over that groom at Blackley’s.”

  “That was years ago. She was fifteen!”

  “But at fifteen, you did nothing like that.”

  “And you reproach me for it?”

  “Not reproach.” He was looking harried, but that was how she felt. “I’d have made sure you didn’t do anything foolish. But I’ve taken up too much of your time with my affairs. I blame myself.”

  “I love being involved with your affairs.”

  “And that’s not natural. I want your happiness.”

  “I am happy,” she protested, beginning to feel frightened. “I have my friends, my interests, and my reading. There’s a most interesting piece here about merchant stations in Jakarta. Let’s talk of that.”

  Of business and opportunities, and exotic products from distant lands.

  “Not now, pet. I have something else to tell you.”

  Some other blow hovered. What could it be?

  “I’m going to marry again.”

  The words hung there, unbelievable. “What?” Lucy managed at last.

  “Don’t be like that, pet. It’s a year since your mother died.”