Lords of Passion Read online

  Also by Virginia Henley

  “Smuggler’s Lair” in Lords of Desire

  “Christmas Eve” in Let It Snow

  Also by Kate Pearce

  Simply Insatiable

  Some Like It Rough

  Simply Shameless

  Simply Wicked

  Simply Sinful

  Simply Sexual

  Also by Maggie Robinson

  Mistress by midnight

  Mistress by Mistake

  Lords of

  Passion

  VIRGINIA HENLEY

  KATE PEARCE

  MAGGIE ROBINSON

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2010 by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  “Beauty and the Brute” copyright © 2010 Virginia Henley

  “How to Seduce a Wife” copyright © 2010 Kate Pearce

  “Not Quite a Courtesan” copyright © 2010 Maggie Robinson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, and educational or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018; Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

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  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6234-9

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-6234-5

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: December 2010

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Also by Virginia Henley

  BEAUTY AND THE BRUTE

  by Virginia Henley

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  HOW TO SEDUCE A WIFE

  by Kate Pearce

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  NOT QUITE A COURTESAN

  by Maggie Robinson

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Beauty and the Brute

  VIRGINIA HENLEY

  Chapter One

  Caversham Park Manor, Reading, England

  December 1, 1719

  My feet are freezing! Lady Sarah stepped down from the carriage and hurried into Caversham Park Manor. A servant helped to remove her cloak and boots and handed her a pair of velvet slippers. “Thank you so much. Is Mother in her sitting room?”

  “Yes, dear, she’s waiting for you.”!!!

  Sarah walked quickly, hoping the fire was blazing bright in her mother’s parlor. She curtsied as she had been taught to do. “I hope you are well, Mother. I was so surprised when you sent the carriage to school for me. Are my Christmas holidays starting early?”

  “They are indeed, Sarah.” Margaret, Countess of Cadogan, held a rustling paper in her hand. She gave her slim, pale daughter a critical glance. “I’ve had a letter from your father in The Hague. Don’t stand so close to the fire,” she said impatiently. “Do sit down; I have something important to tell you.”

  Sarah curled her toes inside her slippers.

  “Your father wants us to join him in The Hague.”

  “When?” asked thirteen-year-old Sarah, her eyes as big as saucers. She had never been farther than her school in Reading.

  “We are to take ship immediately. It is wonderful news. I will be able to spend Christmas with my family in the Netherlands.”

  “So it is Father’s Christmas present to us,” Sarah said in wonder.

  Her mother did not tell Sarah about the other Christmas present he had in store for her. It would be far better for her daughter to learn of it when she arrived at the Court of Holland. That way, Sarah would have no option but to accept it gracefully.

  Thirty miles away in Oxford, eighteen-year-old Charles Lennox, Earl of March, slapped his female companion on her bare buttocks. “Wake up, Fanny. It’s time you got the hell out of here. I’m due to attend class in less than an hour. It’ll take me that long to wash the stink of strumpet off my nether regions.”

  The buxom lass sat up in bed and swung her legs to the floor. “There’s no need to hit me, m’lord. Is it a class that teaches manners?”

  “Cheeky wench! Watch your mouth if you want to enjoy my favors again. I know a dozen females eager to share my bed.”

  Fanny picked up her petticoat from the rug and quickly moved out of his arm’s reach.

  “That’s because you have royal blood in your veins. They want to see if you’re as good in bed as your ancestor, King Charles Stuart,” she taunted.

  “I’m longer, both in size and endurance,” Charles drawled.

  “Ha! Nothing like blowing your own horn.”

  “I’m not likely to do that when I have wenches like you to do it for me.”

  Suddenly the door to his room opened, and his tutor, Henry Grey, hurried inside. He addressed the plump female struggling into her smock without looking at her. “Better wrap up warmly—it’s freezing out there.”

  “Henry, old son, what brings you at such an early hour?”

  Grey waited until the girl left before he brandished an envelope. “A letter from your father. It’s marked urgent.”

  “Then open the damn thing and read it to me.”

  Grey pulled back the curtains and slit the wax seal with his thumbnail. He scanned the letter quickly and conveyed its message. “His Grace wants to see you in The Hague. He orders you to take ship immediately.” King George had recently appointed the Duke of Richmond ambassador to the Netherlands.

  “At last!” Charles whooped. “My college days are over. How bloody fortuitous that my father and I agree that a well-rounded education should be based on the Grand Tour. I couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present!” He climbed out of bed. “Pack our bags, Henry. I shall go and bid a fond farewell to that insufferable swine, the dean. Then I shall demand a refund of next term’s tuition from the skinflint treasurer.”

  The Hague, Holland

  November 28, 1719, three days earlier

  “Damnation, Cadogan, you’ve the devil’s own luck. You’ve won every hand we’ve played for the last sennight.” Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, pushed his chair back from the games table and wiped his brow. “Stap me! I’m wiped out—you’ve had the lot!”

  General William Cadogan glanced at his darkly handsome opponent. He was the illegitimate son of the late King Charles, who in his old age had impregnated his mistress, Louise de Kerouaille. “Would you like me to tally up, your grace?”

  Richmond waved a negligent hand. “By all means, let me know the damage.”

  The dashing Irish general didn’t take long. He had a damn good idea of what the duke had wagered and lost in their endless games of écarté. The duke was
a heavy drinker, which was the main reason for his losses. The general set the seven score cards down on the table, one for each night they had played. “I tot it up to a little over ten thousand guineas.”

  “What?” Richmond howled. “Are you jesting?” By the benign look on Cadogan’s face, Charles Lennox knew he was serious. He downed the glass of gin sitting before him. “I don’t have it. You’ll have to accept my marker.”

  The men sitting at the table, who had been observing their deep play, began to murmur. Richmond flushed darkly. A gentleman always paid his gambling debts. His shrewd mind quickly inventoried his assets. Land was out of the question—the aristocracy accumulated property; it never relinquished it. Besides, the Earl of Cadogan already owned the hundred-acre Caversham estate on the outskirts of Reading.

  Horses were the next things Richmond thought of. His family seat, Goodwood, at the foot of the South Downs, had a racing stable of Thoroughbreds. The thought of parting with his horses made him feel physically ill.

  He looked across at General Cadogan. “You have a daughter, I believe.”

  “I do, your grace. Her name is Sarah.”

  “How would you like to make Sarah a countess? My son, the Earl of March, is without a wife.” Lennox believed no man could resist such a magnanimous offer.

  But the Earl of Cadogan, who was Marlborough’s top general, and largely responsible for Britain’s victories in the Wars of Spanish Succession, was a shrewd negotiator. That was the reason he had been given the diplomatic duties concerned with resettlements among Great Britain, France, Holland, and Spain.

  “My daughter, Lady Sarah, has a dowry of ten thousand pounds. If I gave you my daughter and her marriage settlement, I would have to pay you ten thousand instead of you paying me ten thousand.” He raised his hands in appeal. “It doesn’t fly, your grace.”

  “Charles is heir to my Dukedom of Richmond and all the estates that encompasses,” Lennox pointed out. “Lady Sarah could become a duchess.” Surely it’s not necessary to remind you that we have royal blood?

  “A marriage between my daughter and your son, and heir, could be the solution.”

  Cadogan paused for emphasis. “Without the marriage settlement, of course.”

  “Curse you, general. You’re not negotiating with the enemy here!”

  “Since we are civilized gentlemen, I propose a compromise, your grace.”

  “Let’s split the difference,” Richmond suggested. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage along with a dowry of five thousand.”

  The other men at the table leaned forward in anticipation of Cadogan’s answer.

  “Done!” The general’s reply was heartfelt. He raised his hand to a servant. “Drinks all around. We must toast this historic union.”

  The Duke of Richmond raised his glass. “Here’s to you and here’s to me, and if someday we disagree, fuck you, here’s to me!”

  All the gentlemen roared with laughter and drained their glasses.

  “I shall send for my daughter immediately.”

  “And I shall summon my heir,” the duke declared.

  * * *

  “The Green Lion is a lovely name for a ship,” Sarah exclaimed as they boarded at the Port of London.

  “I only hope our cabin is warm. This is a dreadful season to be crossing to the Netherlands,” Lady Cadogan said with a shiver.

  “I’m glad I’m wearing my woolen dress and cloak. This is so exciting!”

  The pair was shown below to their cabin, and when their trunk arrived, it took up most of the space between the two bunks.

  “Such cramped quarters,” the countess complained. “It’s a good thing we will be arriving before dark tomorrow. But at least the cabin is warm.”

  “Oh, I think we are under way.” Sarah grabbed hold of the bunk rail as the vessel swayed. She was bursting with excitement. “May I please go up on deck and watch as the Green Lion navigates through the Thames?”

  “If you must, Sarah. But when the ship approaches Gravesend, you must come below decks immediately. Daylight will soon be gone, and the wind will be so fierce, it could easily blow you overboard,” her mother cautioned.

  The grave warning did not deter Sarah; it made her more eager to go up on deck.

  “Thank you, Mother. I’ll be careful.”

  Sarah climbed the stairs that led onto the deck and pulled her cloak tightly about her. She watched the docks recede slowly, but soon lost interest in looking back. She much preferred to look ahead and made her way to the very front of the vessel. She stood in wonder as the banks of the river widened. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with sea air, as if the smell of tide wrack were the elixir of life.

  She lifted her face to the cold breeze as she heard the gulls and terns screaming overhead. What an exciting life to be a sailor! Sarah stood enraptured as the ship reached the estuary and headed out to sea. She became aware that the light was fast fading from the day, and the moment the ship sailed into the North Sea, the wind whipped her cloak about and she remembered that she must go below.

  The fierce wind was against her as she lowered her head and began to run. Suddenly she collided with someone, and the impact knocked the breath out of her.

  “You clumsy, idiot girl! Watch what you’re about for Christ’s sake.”

  Sarah paled as she stared up into the furious face of a young man. “I’m … I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped.

  “Sorry, be damned!” He blocked her way. “You haven’t the brains of a bloody baboon, barreling down the gangway like a loose cannon.”

  “I have to get below—I promised Mother.”

  “We all want to get belowdecks to a warm cabin, damn your eyes.”

  “You are frightening the girl, Charles. Let her pass,” Henry Grey said quietly.

  Charles Lennox grudgingly stepped aside. “The witless girl needed a lesson. I hope you remembered to bring that bottle of rum. It’s colder than a whore’s heart tonight.”

  When the Countess of Cadogan and Sarah stepped from their carriage at the Court of Holland, a liveried attendant ushered them inside. Margaret’s father had been Chancellor of the Court before he retired, and the servants showed her great deference.

  When they arrived at the suite of rooms that had been assigned to General Cadogan, he flung open the door and welcomed them warmly.

  “Margaret, my dear, I hope your voyage wasn’t a rough one.”

  “It was tolerable. December is no month to be at sea.”

  “It was an absolute necessity, my dear. We couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip away.” He looked at his young daughter and gave her a hug. “Were you seasick?”

  “No, Father,” she said breathlessly. “That’s my girl. Take off your cloak and let’s have a look at you.”

  Sarah removed her cloak and bonnet. She smoothed her hands over her flattened hair. “I must look a fright.”

  “Nay, child. The wind has put roses in your cheeks.”

  Sarah blushed with pleasure at the compliment.

  William raised his eyes to his wife. His daughter’s figure was slight and her face extremely pale. “I hope you’ve brought her a decent dress to wear tomorrow.”

  “You gave me such short notice, there was no time to have a new gown made. In any case, it’s cold. A woolen dress will suffice.”

  “Have you told her?” William asked.

  “I thought it best to wait until we arrived. You may have that pleasure, my lord.”

  Told me what? Sarah went very still. She had an ominous feeling that her mother was being sarcastic. She doubted that pleasure would be involved. She couldn’t find the words to ask, but the apprehensive look in her eyes questioned her father.

  “We’ll wait until after dinner,” he said heartily. “Sarah looks like she could use some food. There’s nothing like a thick broth to warm the cockles of your heart. After dinner, Sarah and I will have a private chat.”

  “I’ll go and unpack.” She sensed that her parents had something to di
scuss that concerned her. Something was in the air, and she took refuge in the short reprieve.

  When she lifted the lid of the trunk that had been delivered to the bedchamber, she stroked her hand over the rich material of her mother’s gowns. One was purple velvet, embroidered with gold, and another was black, quilted brocade decorated with crystals.

  Sarah carefully lifted them from the trunk and hung them in the wardrobe, along with two other day dresses and the lovely whalebone panniers that went beneath. Her own clothes had been packed on the bottom, and as a result were slightly creased. As well as flannel petticoats and knitted stockings, she had brought only two dresses. One was oyster-colored wool with a cream frill around the high neck, and the other was gray with fitted sleeves that ended in white ruffles around the wrists. She wished that she had panniers to hold out her skirts. They would help disguise how thin she was, but her mother had decreed that she was still too young for grown-up fashions.

  Sarah hung her dresses next to her mother’s and sighed with resignation at the contrast between the rich, fashionable gowns and her own plain attire.

  Since the hour was late and the ladies had been traveling for the past two days, the trio ate dinner in Cadogan’s suite. Tonight for some reason Sarah’s appetite was nonexistent.

  Her mother gave her a critical glance. “You must eat more. You will never fill out if all you do with food is push it about your plate.”

  Her father changed the subject. “What are you learning at school?”

  “Latin,” she said softly.

  “Latin? What the devil good will Latin do you? Surely French would be better for a young lady of fashion.”

  I don’t feel like a young lady of fashion. “We say our prayers in Latin.”

  “I wager you have some uncharitable names for the nuns.”

  Sarah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “We call them the Sisters of the Black Plague.”

  Cadogan threw back his head and laughed. It tickled his Irish sense of humor. “By God, I warrant they teach you not to spit in church, and very little else.” He bent close.