Leslie Lafoy
Authors: Her Scandalous Marriage
Praise for Leslie LaFoy’s
Delicious Historical Romances
“The lures of LaFoy’s writing are not just great characters, fantastic storytelling, and heightened sexual tension, but also the subtle ways she plays on your emotions so that you are completely invested in the book. No reader . . . can ignore the deep and intense emotions that emanate from the pages of this masterful romance.”
—
Romantic Times
(4½ stars, Top Pick)
“Leslie LaFoy delivers wonderful, witty characters, and breathless romance.”
—Celeste Bradley, author of
The Rogue
The Perfect Desire
“So exciting I could not put it down.”
—
Fallen Angel Reviews
“Leslie LaFoy wraps up her
Perfect
trilogy in winning style.”
“As always, LaFoy’s absorbing plots and multifaceted characters and their sexual chemistry will please fans of romantic historicals.”
—
Booklist
“Grand mistress of adventure LaFoy delivers a fast-paced read with a luscious love story.”
—
Romantic Times
(4½ stars, Top Pick)
The Perfect Seduction
“
The Perfect Seduction
is incredibly delectable and satisfying!”
—Celeste Bradley, author of
The Rogue
“Romance, emotion, marvelous characters—no one does it better than Leslie LaFoy!”
—Maggie Osborne, award-winning author of
Shotgun Wedding
“
The Perfect Seduction
is a perfect blend of heart and soul and wit.”
—Mary McBride, author of
My Hero
“I was seduced by the first page.”
—Marianne Willman, author of
Mistress of Rossmor
“LaFoy’s remarkable characters utterly seduce the reader.”
—
Booklist
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles
By Leslie LaFoy
The Perfect Seduction
The Perfect Temptation
The Perfect Desire
Scandalous
Marriage
Leslie LaFoy
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE:
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
HER SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE
Copyright © 2006 by Leslie LaFoy.
Cover photo © Shirley Green
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-34770-7
EAN: 9780312-34770-3
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / May 2006
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Joan Hohl and Marcia Evanick
Wonderful writers
Extraordinary friends
One 
CAROLINE STOPPED FIDDLING WITH THE DRAPING OF A
gown and watched as the black vehicle rolled to a stop in front of her shop. A town coach that fancy didn’t belong in this part of London. God only knew why the man climbing out of it was studying her sign, but his pinched nose and curled upper lip clearly indicated his disdain. Proving, Caroline decided, that some days were doomed from the moment you opened your eyes in the morning.
Mrs. Hobson had been waiting for her to open so she could change her mind about the fabric for her walking outfit—for the third time that week. Mrs. Ferrell had come in on her heels to complain about a side seam that hadn’t withstood, much less contained, what had to have been, at the very least, a thirty-pound weight gain. She’d no more than stomped out when Mrs. Smythe had sashayed in with all four of her daughters for the final fittings on the dresses they were to wear to a cousin’s wedding next week. Caroline had seen poodles less pampered than the Smythe girls. And less inclined to bite.
Now . . . Well, if the stranger ever stopped scowling, he’d be an incredibly handsome man. Tall, dark haired,
pleasingly chiseled jaw and well defined, rather high cheekbones. Not young, but not middle-aged yet, either. He had long, straight legs, a narrow waist, and a well-proportioned chest and broad shoulders. In short, he was a tailor’s dream walking about in custom leather boots. And obviously there was a grateful tailor somewhere because the suit the man was wearing was well made out of a very fine—very expensive—wool cloth. Given the quality of the suit, the hat he wore was most likely made of the finest beaver.
Yes, all in all, the man coming through her shop door was a man of means and good taste, a man who moved with a natural grace and power.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said a bit breathlessly as he cleared the threshold and removed his hat. “How may I be of assistance?”
“You might summon the owner of this establishment.”
His voice would be very rich and deep and pleasant if the haughty edge to it could be chipped away. “I’m the owner,” she supplied, thinking that he had the most kissable mouth she’d ever seen. What would he taste like? She wondered? What flavor was carnal delight?
“You are Miss Caroline Dutton?”
He knew her name? Good Lord, had Wilamina Ferrell been serious when she’d threatened to contact her solicitor? “Yes,” Caroline admitted, her heart thumping. “How may I be of assistance to you, sir?”
“I am Drayton Mackenzie, Duke of Ryland.”
Ryland?
Well, that said volumes. Her heart settled back to a normal beat. “And you are here because . . . ?” she asked coolly.
“Because I am cursed.”
“I’m afraid that I can’t help you,” she countered as she went back to adjusting the pins on the dress of the eldest
Smythe poodle. “But I have heard of a woman in Whitehall who will cast and remove spells for a bottle of gin.”
“I’ve been cursed by your father.”
“Haven’t we all,” she quipped, tweaking the fabric and then leaning back to study the effects of the change.
“From the grave.”
Why didn’t she find that surprising? Why did she care enough to even wonder? “I must admit that I’m impressed.”
“I am not here to impress you, madam.”
That I’m-better-than-you manner of his was really insufferable. She glanced over at him. No, no one appeared to have broken his nose for it. Unfortunately. “Good, because you haven’t impressed me at all.”
At least not favorably in any sense other than the purely physical,
she silently added. Carrying the dress through the curtain that separated workroom from showroom, she clarified, “I was referring to the awe inspired by my late father’s ability to make people dance to his tune despite his passage to the Great Beyond.”
Drayton clenched his teeth and watched the curtain settle into place behind her. Yes, dear old Cousin Geoffrey had been one of the best at pulling strings. Damn him. As though it weren’t bad enough that Geoffrey had played people as puppets while he lived, he’d transferred the paddles to a barrister at his death so the manipulation could continue for the next decade.
Maybe even longer, God forbid. Not that it was going to be hellishly difficult to meet the requirements where Caroline Dutton was concerned. She was pretty. She was tall and she was breathtakingly shapely. Add in flawless, fair skin, honey blond hair, strikingly blue eyes, and a deliciously saucy defiance . . .
