The Changeling Bride

CRITICS PRAISE
RT BOOK REVIEWS
REVIEWERS’ CHOICE AWARD–WINNER
LISA CACH!

“Ms. Cach’s writing is open, bawdy, and laugh-out-loud funny.”

—
RT Book Reviews

DREAM OF ME

“Wonderfully exotic, dark, haunting, and powerfully sensual paranormal historical romance.”

—
Booklist

COME TO ME

“Funny and sexy, yet touching—a brilliantly constructed dark fairy tale!”

—Christine Feehan,
New York Times
Bestselling Author

DR. YES

“
Dr. Yes
[is] a truly fun and thrilling read!”

—
RT Book Reviews

GEORGE & THE VIRGIN

“Lisa Cach has once again delivered a story filled with comedy and charm . . . A complete delight!”

—Romance Reviews Today

THE WILDEST SHORE

“Cach’s descriptive writing is brilliant . . . A book that’s romantic, sexy, and a lot of fun!”

—All About Romance

“Cast aside civilization and allow yourself to be swept away into a new kind of women’s fantasy.”

—
RT Book Reviews

THE MERMAID OF PENPERRO

“Cach’s beautifully crafted, erotically charged scenes and light humorous touch will please fans.”

—
Booklist

“A wonderful and engaging tale with unique twists that offer happy surprises . . . [Cach’s] ability to create toe-curling sexual tension makes for a must-stay-up-and-read-till-dawn story.”

—
RT Book Reviews

OF MIDNIGHT BORN

“A mix of magic, romance and humor,
Of Midnight Born
delights the reader’s imagination . . . [It] kept me glued to my seat, turning pages, till the very end.”

—Romance Reviews Today

BEWITCHING THE BARON

“With complex and colorful characters, lush detail and a compelling story, Ms. Cach weaves a story rich in humanity and emotional intensity.”

—
RT Book Reviews

The Wish

The perfect marriage, Elle mused, was an arranged marriage. No emotional agonies, just a commitment to a partnership with a firm basis in financial stability. The divorce rate was proof enough that marriage based solely on love led primarily to misery.

She stopped again and thrust the slip of paper the strange woman had given her into the air. “I’m redeeming my coupon!” she said to the towering Douglas firs. “I want my free husband. Give me a man who is civilized, owns a very big house, and doesn’t expect me to dote on him.” The trees dripped in response. She titled her head back, looking up into the dark, greenish black branches, the hood of her parka sliding off. “Do you hear me?”

Drops plopped on her face, making her blink. She lowered her head and pulled the hood back up. She gave the paper another little shake at the forested gloom. Nothing happened. Quiet and solitude surrounded her. The trees appeared unimpressed.

Other books by Lisa Cach:

OF MIDNIGHT BORN

MY ZOMBIE VALANTINE (anthology)

A MAGICAL CHRISTMAS PRESENT (anthology)

DREAM OF ME

COME TO ME

DR. YES

GEORGE & THE VIRGIN

A MOTHER’S WAY (anthology)

WISH LIST (anthology)

THE WILDEST SHORE

THE MERMAID OF PENPERRO

BEWITCHING THE BARON

Lisa Cach

The
Changeling
Bride

To Mom and Dad.

DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

March 2011

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016

Copyright © 1999 by Lisa Cach

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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

ISBN 13: 978-1-4285-1188-0
E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0933-7

The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us online at
www.dorchesterpub.com
.

Prologue

England, 1790s

“I do not think I can go through with it.”

She gave him no answer. He had not expected one.

“The entire arrangement galls me. I feel like a bull on the auction block, going to the highest bidder. A man should not be reduced to such a thing.” Henry paced in front of his great-grandmother, who sat like a shrivelled gnome under layers of shawls. He was not certain she remained capable of either seeing or hearing him, and it had been at least two years since she had spoken. She had always been a good listener, though, and he liked to think some part of her listened still.

“I should not balk, I know. A marriage of convenience has never been a dishonourable arrangement.”

He dropped into the chair across from her, the wooden joints creaking under his weight. “But I wonder what Grandfather would have thought if he had seen the new
Earl of Allsbrook going hat in hand to a merchant, bartering his title for cash?” He paused, considering that idea.

“Perhaps he would not have disapproved. He always, after all, put duty before all other considerations, pride included. Pity Father did not share his view.”

He looked at his great-grandmother, at the wrinkled face and the half-closed eyes that never seemed to blink. Even when he was a child, she had been old and mysterious, and had spent all her time in her suite of rooms, doing he knew not what.

“Of course, there are the girl’s sentiments to be considered as well—not that I think she is old enough to know her own mind on the matter. She is not in the least bit eager for this marriage.”

He briefly lost himself in the recollection of the shouting match he had been unable to avoid overhearing between father and daughter. It had been during his first and only visit to his betrothed, and although the sliding doors to the drawing room had been closed, his fiancée’s voice had carried through the wood with piercing stridency. “I will not have him! He will spend all my money on his stupid farms and stick me away in his decrepit old house, where I will never see my friends and never have new clothes, and the air will smell of sheep.”

A bellow of rage from her father had drowned out any further complaints. When Henry was introduced to his betrothed half an hour later, she was white-faced and red-eyed, but outwardly compliant. That was, until her father had left them alone together.

“If you insist on this marriage,” she had warned him, her lips tight over the words, “I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell.”

Henry tried to shake the memory from his mind. “She is perhaps not as bad as she seems,” he said, more to himself than to the silent figure in front of him. “She is pleasing in form and face. She has an eye for fashion.
She has been taught proper behavior, and her father assures me that she knows well the running of a house. And I cannot forget the money.”

A silence lengthened, broken finally by a log shifting in the fire. As if the thought were dislodged from some hidden depth by that falling piece of wood, he added softly, “And yet, I could have wished for a happy marriage.”

Chapter One

Present Day

Elle had the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were following her as she made her hasty way up the wet sidewalk. She was not late for work, but the sense of being watched made her feel exposed and vulnerable, and she hurried through the rain to reach her building.

This wasn’t the first time this week that she had felt as if she was being followed when she came downtown, as if someone hidden from view was tracking her every step. She wanted to laugh at the foolishness of the idea, but couldn’t. Either someone really was stalking her or some essential part of her personality was cracking and falling apart. Neither conclusion was reassuring.

“Hey, lady, spare a quarter?”

Elle almost tripped, surprised by the slurred demand. She’d been so busy checking over her shoulder for the unseen pursuer that she hadn’t noticed the derelict
hunched in the doorway. She sidestepped quickly, averting her eyes from the stick figure in ragged clothes.

“Lady, lady! Spare a quarter for a veteran?” he called, accusation in his voice.

Elle hurried her step. She hated being harassed by street people.

She had made it to the end of the block and was waiting for the walk signal when she felt a tug on her sleeve. Startled, she turned quickly, jerking her arm away from the unknown hand. It was the derelict from the doorway, staring at her with wide green eyes that were incongruously beautiful. Those eyes locked her in place, drowning her in shades of pale green and gold.

“Wanna come with me?” he asked.

She hardly heard what he said, too engrossed in wondering how he had eyes so clear and perfect, when his face was ravaged by age and life on the streets.

His proposition finally broke through the spell his eyes had cast on her, and Elle stepped back in disgust. He started to laugh, the remaining teeth in his mouth yellow and rotting, his tongue sliding over them in a parody of lasciviousness.

The signal changed, and she dashed across the street, not looking back until two blocks later, when she reached the building where she worked. There was no sign of him.

Wilhelmina Regina March—Elle or Ellie to those with half a hope of becoming her friend—decided that this day that had started so badly with the transient was showing no signs of improvement. Not that it was a day any worse than the one before, or more dispiriting than she anticipated tomorrow being.

She thought this as she sat at her desk, which itself sat like a coral atoll in a sea of burgundy carpeting. It was alone in the reception room but for a hunter green couch
and a brass spittoon that pretended to be a planter. The silence of the room buzzed in her ears.

She swiveled at the hub of the circular station, her ergonomically correct chair rolling easily across the sheet of plastic beneath her feet, making a quiet clickety-click. She reached up and adjusted the delicate black headset she wore, its tiny microphone hanging near the corner of her mouth.

She pressed a button next to the blinking light on her phone. “Conner, Conner, and Polanski,” she said, her diction perfect, her tone pleasant yet impersonal. “How may I direct your call?” She stared at the empty couch as she transferred the call, then swiveled to look through the windows at the gray, heavy sky. The high walls of her circular pen cut off half the view, so all she saw were the tops of cranes in the industrial district near the river, silhouetted against the ever-present bank of clouds. It would rain again by the time she left for the day.

There came another softly blinking light on the phone. “Conner, Conner, and Polanski,” she said for the hundredth time today, her phone voice carrying the conversation without conscious thought. “How may I direct your call?”

When she had taken this job she’d told all her friends that it was just for the money, and for no more than a year. She had said it was only to support herself and pay off some of those student loans until she got on her feet with a
real
career.

Three years later and she had a small collection of cheap business suits appropriate for the lobby of an investment firm. She was running out of excuses in her own mind for staying on and didn’t know herself what it was that kept her locked in her padded chair.

“Conner, Conner, and Polanski.” Two and a half more hours and she could go home. Tatiana would be waiting for her. At least that was one bright spot she could count on. “How may I direct your call?”