Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed
No Man's Mistress! After being kidnapped by highwaymen, Fiona Chapman is a tarnished woman, or so the gossips have it. Nevertheless, she's not about to succumb to the seduction of her rescuer, the beguiling Major Luke Wolfson. After all, isn't he one of her abductors' cohorts?Yet when her new role as governess is retracted, Fiona is greatly tempted by Luke's offer to make her his mistress. But she won't submit–not unless he's prepared to make her a much more honorable proposal…
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Disentangling herself from his embrace, Fiona raised her hands, intending to fumble beneath her collar for the clasp of the locket. But her fingers were arrested in mid-air and held steady at her shoulders.
‘What are you doing?’ Luke asked quietly.
Fiona shook him off, attempting to step back, but he gripped her elbows, jerking her against him.
‘You mistake my character, sir. Thank you for your kind offer, but I still intend to keep a roof over my head by teaching children rather than sleeping with gentlemen,’ she said with faux sweetness.
‘Gentlemen? How many lovers do you anticipate having, Fiona?’ he rasped.
‘None …’ She flung back her head, her tawny gaze clashing with eyes that gleamed between lengthy jet-black lashes.
It is a surprising truth, borne out by my own experience, that when a familiar door slams in one’s face another might unexpectedly open and eventually lead to a far happier place …
In my novel Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed, the first in a duet of Regency novels, Fiona Chapman’s refined existence is rudely curtailed when she’s forced to flee from her unpleasant stepfather. Undaunted, Fiona sets off to the West Country on an adventure. Only fate has far more in store for her than braving the horrors of being governess to a stranger’s children. Her reputation and her virtue … even her life … come under threat before she reaches her destination in Devon.
Luke Wolfson is devilishly handsome—the sort of fellow Fiona might once have dreamt of marrying when younger. But she is determined to keep the major at arm’s length, despite his acting as her knight errant at every turn. Fiona has no intention of succumbing to a rogue’s practised charm, even if danger and scandal leave her vulnerable to his offer of carte blanche.
It seems Wolfson has acquaintances and secrets that should shock a gently bred young lady to the core, making her avoid him at all cost. Besides, a future as a gentleman’s mistress is not for Fiona—especially as Wolfson’s paramour has made it clear she’s not about to give him up without a fight.
I hope you enjoy reading about Luke’s pursuit of Fiona, and the passionate and emotional battle they endure while falling in love and finding happiness.
MARY BRENDAN was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.
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‘So, you are happy to be travelling all alone, then, Miss Chapman?’
‘I am, ma’am,’ the young lady answered through lightly gritted teeth. She had been asked the same question, in the same scandalised tone, about five minutes previously. Even before then two other women, and a gentleman, had made similar enquiries, couched in a slightly different way. Each interrogator had in turn professed a concern for her welfare rather than an interest in her business. In the close confines of the mail coach Fiona Chapman could not escape the ladies’ judgemental eyes or the fact that they were whispering about her behind their gloved fingers. Only the middle-aged farmer had not returned to the subject of her lack of a companion after his initial remark.
A triumphant blast of the driver’s horn proclaimed the rattling contraption to be approaching a watering hole. Miss Chapman’s fellow passengers stirred excitedly at the prospect of stretching their legs and having some refreshment. A few minutes later, from under the brim of her chip-straw bonnet, she watched them all alighting. The farmer, who had introduced himself and his wife as the Jacksons, had sat opposite Fiona, accidentally banging his tweedy knees against hers every time the coach leapt a rut. Now he kindly held out a hand, helping her to alight onto the cobbles of the Fallow Buck public house. Fiona gave him a rather wistful smile because he reminded her of her late papa with his wispy salt-and-pepper hair and rotund girth straining his waistcoat buttons. But Anthony Chapman had been older, Fiona guessed, than this fellow. Her father had died of a heart attack a few years ago at the age of fifty-two and the sad occasion had been the catalyst to Fiona making this journey.
‘Don’t be paying heed to my wife, miss.’ Mr Jackson patted Fiona’s hand before letting it go. ‘She’s a worrier and not only on her own account. We’ve two daughters, you see, so know a bit about what girls get up to.’ He slid Fiona a startled look. ‘Not that I think you’re up to anything, my dear Miss Chapman,’ he burst out. ‘Oh, no... I wasn’t suggesting...or prying...’
