A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance) Read online

  A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  EMILY HONEYFIELD

  Copyright © 2019 by Emily Honeyfield

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames

  Table of Contents

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  A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames

  Introduction

  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

  The Irresistible Lady Behind the Mask

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

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  A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames

  Introduction

  Lord Ernest Bannerman is soon to become the new Earl. On his father’s deathbed, he will find out that his dying wish is to marry the gossiping Lady Grace Bragg, extend the family line, and honour his name. Ernest wants nothing more than to uphold his father’s legacy, therefore he accepts this fate, until one night he finds his significant other into the flames. He will fight his every instinct to love her, trying to stay true to his promise. Will he eventually break his vow and escape from this love triangle, or he will be forced to spend a miserable life, for the sake of honour—for the sake of the dead?

  Lady Diana Harrington is a woman of immense bravery, strong character, and stunning beauty. When she beholds the man who rescued her from the burning fire, she is fascinated, but soon the excitement fades when she finds out that he is to be married. Their attraction is strong like a magnet and the heroine cannot hide her desire for Ernest anymore. Will she find the strength to repress her feelings or will she surrender to their passionate love?

  A story filled with passion, intrigue, dilemmas and tension that the readers will be unable to put down. Will the heroes follow the social rules and expectations? Will they choose to listen to their heart, or their head and moral commitments?

  Chapter 1

  It had been just three months since the death of the late earl, Lord William Bannerman, who’d passed after a brief, horrific illness—one that had sent his son, Ernest Bannerman, into a strange state of solitude and sadness. He’d found himself—on the brink of his own earldom, poised to rule over his father’s people—unable to do basic things, like stand or eat.

  His younger sister, the 15-year-old Rose, had been devastated as well, yet had forced herself from the depths of inner turmoil to yank him up by his proverbial bootstraps and tell him, her eyes fierce, that it was up to Ernest to uphold their family’s title.

  “I would do it if I could,” she’d stammered. “But Father counted on you to be the man he raised.”

  It had been a whirlwind of chaos after their father’s death. Now, three months later, Ernest found himself in his finest suit, seated like a statue at the edge of the seat of his carriage (the one his father had traditionally taken to balls), directly beside his now-fiancée, the entirely glamorous Lady Grace Bragg. The woman seemed a foreign being to Ernest, with her long, glossy blonde curls and her doe-like eyes. She swept her thin fingers through those locks and blinked over at him, her mouth curved into an almost evil smile.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she demanded, in the style of a woman who wanted everyone to stare at her. “You’re looking quite stupid, you know.”

  Ernest forced his eyes away. He cleared his throat and said, “I really dislike balls.”

  “Darling,” Grace said, splaying her hand across his knee, “you know it’s entirely necessary for us to appear together, the first time engaged. We must put forth a brave face to your earldom, regardless of how idiotic some of them appear.”

  Ernest arched his brow. “Idiotic?”

  Grace let out a little giggle. “How can I phrase it any other way? They’re simply not as smart as you are, my earl. How did I become so lucky to find myself as your fiancée?”

  The carriage yanked to a halt outside of the rural mansion. Grace coughed to herself, muttering, “I really detest the countryside,” before batting her eyelashes toward Ernest, seemingly waiting for him to remove himself from the carriage. On cue, the driver pulled the door open, bringing the whipping spring wind in from the moors.

  Ernest felt he was walking to his death. He marched from the carriage and then brought his elbow out, allowing Grace to stitch her own arm through it. He could almost feel the falseness of her smile beaming off of her as they walked toward the staircase. Around them, mutterings informed Ernest that they were noticed. “There he is. The new earl. How wretched, this is his first appearance since his father died.” “And yet, still so handsome!” “Yes, like his father was. Before.”

  Grace whispered under her breath, “Make sure you stand up straight, darling. I know how you’re apt to fall into your own head in these scenarios. Remember. Project a confidence. An idea that you know what you’re doing.”

  Ernest forced himself not to roll his eyes. Still, he did as he was told, yanking his shoulders back and bowing his head in greeting to several of the couples walking up the steps. They grinned back at him, clearly enamored with their new earl. Ernest felt entirely not up to the task. However, as his sister had said, he had to do his father’s bidding.

  Ernest and Grace stepped through the foyer and into the grandeur of the ballroom. Although it was a countryside estate, the finery was second to none. A glittering chandelier the size of a carriage hung from the ceiling; an orchestra flung their bows over their violins and cellos, sweat pooling from their foreheads.

  Women dressed in immaculate gowns of all colours whirled across the ballroom, their partners’ hands at their backs. Ernest had never appreciated social occasions like this, had always lurked in the background when his father had demanded he attend. Now, the brand-new earl at 28 years old, this was his world. How ill it would have been for him to deny it. And Grace, of course, wouldn’t hear of it.

  Lord Adam Garrison approached; a burly friend of Ernest’s father, with shaggy grey hair and an enormous scar down the side of his cheek, burst through the crowd to discover the young earl. He smacked together his palms, both of which were similarly scarred, and then shook Ernest’s hand as he blurted, “My boy—or should I say, my lord. Terribly sorry.”

  “Only understandable,” Ernest offered, genuinely pleased to see h
im. “You’ve known me since I was just a wee lad. I’m sure it’s quite strange to see me take this title.”

  “And this must be your new fiancée,” Lord Garrison went on, not seeming to hear Ernest fully. Perhaps it was due to Ernest’s fear, skating through his words. He felt it impossible to pretend that he wasn’t as anxious as he was.

  “May I introduce you to Lady Grace Bragg,” Ernest heard himself say, impressed that how firm his voice sounded.

  Grace did what she was meant to: she curtsied a bit and offered her hand, giving Lord Garrison a small grin. Everything she did, she did with unique style and—dare he think it—grace. Of course, she’d been fully educated to do just as such. It had essentially been her training to one day become a countess.

  “What a unique pleasure it is to finally meet you!” Lord Garrison enthused. “Lord Bannerman—the former, of course—was entirely pleased at the prospect of you and his son marrying. I know he spoke of it a great deal.” His eyes returned to Ernest as he allowed Grace’s hand to drop. “He would be terribly proud to see you with such a lovely woman on your arm.”

  Suddenly, Rose pushed through the crowd, all spunk and red curls and wild, green eyes. Ernest felt an immediate drop in anxiety. She tapped alongside Lord Garrison, beaming up at him. “How marvelous to see you again, Lord Garrison,” she cried, ever the loud, precocious one.

  “Rosie, darling. How beautiful you’re looking, as ever,” Lord Garrison. He bowed his head. “I was just complimenting your brother and his new fiancée. What good tidings, after such wretched news about your father.”

  Rose didn’t skip a beat. “I know it’s a real pleasure for me to see Ernest so happy,” she assured him, her words dribbling with sarcasm.

  Ernest reminded himself to reprimand her later. Thankfully, Lord Garrison didn’t seem to pick up on her tone, feeling her statement to be entirely truthful.

  The music shifted. Ernest swam with sudden panic, knowing it was up to him, now, to ask Grace to dance. Grace swept her little shoe against his foot, then pressed down hard upon his big toe. He cleared his throat and turned to her, bowing his head and saying in a firm, yet false voice, “My darling, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

  He felt Rose’s eye-roll. It seemed to beam off of her, making the air taut with tension. Grace flashed a smile, agreeing and slipping her porcelain hand into his. Everything about it felt entirely wrong. But within seconds, they had stitched themselves into the centre of the brimming crowd, taking up the steps of the dance.

  Grace was an immaculate, fluid dancer, and she kept her face just-so—on the brink of a delicious smile. Prior to their engagement, Ernest had heard several men speak in hushed whispers about how beautiful, how entirely perfectly Grace was, in their eyes. “No man could ever say no to her,” they’d said. “She has the world in the palm of her hands.”

  “Darling, your eyes look lost again,” Grace said now, in a voice low enough to ensure no one could hear.

  “How could they be lost? I’m just looking around the room,” Ernest offered.

  “You have to remain confident,” Grace returned. “These people, they can sense weakness from a mile away. Lord Garrison, he looked all but flustered when you mentioned how strange it was, you taking your father’s position. You must demand respect. I would have thought your father would have burned this information into your skull.”

  Ernest toyed with several responses. He burned with the desire to tell her that, no, his father hadn’t busied himself with training Ernest for the earldom; rather, their relationship had had depth and emotion, had centered around literature and art and morals. They’d spoken endlessly about how to become an honest, worthy man, the sort that left behind a legacy that mattered and that altered the course of mankind. Nothing of that conversation had had the slightest to do with how to operate socially at countryside balls.

  “Rose is clearly up to her tricks,” Grace continued, scoffing.

  “She’s fifteen, darling,” Ernest pointed out. “Whatever tricks she has, she’s allowed to use them. You were something of a wild child at fifteen, if I remember correctly.”

  “I wasn’t apt to poke fun at members of society with higher social standing than I,” Grace retorted, knocking her head to the side to make her blonde curls quake. “She looks at me like she’s about to say something deliciously evil. You absolutely must speak with her, Ernest. If we’re going to enter into a proper union…”

  “I really think you’re overreacting.” Ernest’s words were heavy with a sigh.

  When the song ended, another parade of the upper echelon of the London elite approached, shaking Ernest’s hand and greeting Grace with glittering eyes. Grace played her part seamlessly, dipping into frequent little curtsies and tossing her head back, letting out melodic laughter.

  Ernest tried to find solace in her beauty, in the smooth line of her perfect, thin neck, in the natural curves of her frame. He sensed himself to be the envy of countless men at the ball—could feel the darkness of their eyes upon him, the whispered words of confusion that they, themselves, hadn’t been blessed with such a title and woman. All they could do was curse God himself.

  Yet, Ernest felt wholly that he didn’t want it.

  His eyes flashed toward the far end of the ballroom, landing upon Rose, who’d laced her hands over her cheeks. Her shoulders shook. He pulled his hand from Grace’s lower back and boomed to the collection of onlookers, along with Grace herself, that he had something to attend to. Grace’s eyes were solid as bricks. He felt sure he would pay for this.

  But moments later, he appeared beside Rose, wrapping his arm around her. The music felt like a scream. Rose’s little body quaked. She dropped her hands to the side to reveal eyes like pools, filled with tears.

  “Rose, follow me,” Ernest murmured. He tugged at her elbow, directing her toward the shadowy doorway, the canal between dark halls and the vibrant belly of the ball. Rose dragged her toes as she walked, allowing her tears to drip down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to fix herself.

  “Ernest, I’m terribly sorry,” Rose whispered, sniffling. “You’re meant to be out, socializing, displaying yourself as this—this—”

  “Don’t worry yourself about it,” Ernest said. “What is it?”

  Rose furrowed her brows. “I can’t imagine that he’s really gone, Ernest. Every single day for the rest of our lives, he won’t be here. It’s one thing to hear everyone say how sorry they are. I hear how ridiculous I sound in response. ‘Oh, that’s all right. We miss him, but we’re going to make it through.’ How foolish! It’s absolutely a lie. I don’t know what to do without Father.”

  Ernest felt the honesty like a stone in his stomach. Without thinking, he yanked a handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to her, seeing in his sister’s expression the very same look his father had worn throughout his final days, as he’d cooked to death with fever in his deathbed.

  “And it’s another thing to be entirely an orphan, now,” Rose whispered. “The pity they’re casting upon us. It’s staggering. How many times I’ve heard people whispering about me—saying, ‘Oh, how wretched. Her mother died in childbirth, and now, at just fifteen, her father has passed. What will become of her?’”

  “You mustn’t listen to what others say.” Ernest shifted his weight, watching as Rose mussed her makeup with his handkerchief. His stomach felt sick, as he knew Grace would make it a mission later to tell him just how wild Rose looked—untamed and entirely unlike a girl meant to be displayed as the new earl’s younger sister.

  Rose sniffed again and stretched the handkerchief back across Ernest’s palm. She blinked tired eyes into the crowd, directly back toward the small circle Ernest had just abandoned. Somehow, Grace’s laughter pierced through the low hum of conversation.

  “She really is wretched, Ernest,” Rose said, her voice scratchy.

  Ernest hadn’t the words to respond. He knew Rose was correct—Ernest’s very moral code felt challenged with his union t
o Grace. Yet, it had been his father’s dying wish—one of very few—that Ernest settle with Grace, the first daughter of his father’s best friend, Lord Bragg. Ernest had promised his father that such a thing wouldn’t be difficult for him, that he would extend the family line and unite with the Braggs. At the time, Ernest had felt a unique pleasure, knowing he was giving his father one of the only things he truly wished for.