Scorned & Craved: The Frenchman's Lionhearted Wife (Love's Second Chance Series: Tales of Damsels & Knights Book 6) Read online

  Scorned & Craved

  The Frenchman’s Lionhearted Wife

  Bree Wolf

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  London, 1808 (or a variation thereof)

  Four Years Earlier

  Lady Juliet, daughter to the late Earl of Goswick, did not dare believe her eyes. She tried not to stare but to keep her gaze averted and merely glance at the stranger through lowered lashes.

  Yet…

  Was it possible? A pirate! He had the look of a pirate, did he not? Not that Juliet had ever laid eyes on a pirate before. Considering the sheltered life she had lived, she knew next to nothing of the world.

  Yet…

  The man’s dark green eyes seemed to spark with something almost devilish, matching that sinfully wicked smile that curled up his lips as he shifted his attention from Juliet’s newly discovered stepsister Violet to her.

  Juliet immediately dropped her gaze and retreated another step toward the window, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. If only there was a way to hide from the man’s inquisitive gaze, for the way his eyes swept over her made her feel…

  …vulnerable,

  …lightheaded,

  …and strangely out of breath.

  “Lady Silcox, may I speak to you?” Violet addressed Juliet’s mother, urging her as well as her husband Lord Cullingwood out of the drawing room…

  …leaving Juliet alone with…

  …the pirate!

  Juliet knew she ought to protest. After all, the door had yet to close. Violet still stood upon its threshold, exchanging a few whispered words with her cousin.

  Her cousin, the pirate!

  Who pronounced her stepsister’s name Violette!

  Juliet shook her head as bright spots began to dance in front of her eyes. None of what had happened today made any sense, and a part of her wondered if perhaps she was still asleep, lost in a dream that felt…too real.

  Again, Juliet dared a peek at the tall, dark-haired stranger with the roguish smile. He wore his hair unfashionably long and tied at the nape of his neck, his chin covered in a mild stubble that gave him a most dangerous allure. He stood tall with broad shoulders and large hands, and the way he moved made Juliet think of a feline she had once seen in a zoological garden.

  Yes, he was no doubt a dangerous man, and she ought to object to being left alone with him.

  Yet, she did not, for a traitorous part of her wanted to know more about this pirate—this Frenchman!—who had so unexpectedly found his way to London and into her life.

  And then the door did close, and they were alone.

  Juliet felt ready to faint on the spot, and she pinched her eyes shut against the bright spots that returned with full force, their light almost blinding. Was her new-found stepsister mad? Why would she leave her alone with a man like that, cousin or not?

  For a long moment, silence lingered as she fought to regain her composure, her thoughts focused inward so that she did not even hear him approach.

  “Will you not look at me, Cherie?” he asked in a deeply tantalizing voice.

  Instantly, Juliet’s eyes flew open.

  Shocked to find him so close, no more than a few steps from where she stood, she stumbled backward until her back hit the window, her breath coming fast as she stared up into his face.

  The corners of his mouth curled upward. “Do I frighten you?”

  Juliet swallowed. “N-No, s-sir,” she stammered before reminding herself that she was a lady and ought to hold her head high. “I…I am merely surprised that my sister—stepsister — deemed it right to leave us alone together.” Her face felt as though it were on fire, and it was a considerable effort for her not to drop her gaze.

  Instead of being offended as a true gentleman would be, the Frenchman chuckled. “Violette knows that I would never lay a hand on you…without your permission.” The dark look in his eyes whispered of daring and temptation, and Juliet could not help but wonder what he would do if she were…to give her permission.

  Not knowing how to reply, Juliet drew in an unsteady breath, her mouth opening and closing as she desperately searched for something to say.

  A half-sided grin came to his face before he took yet another step closer. “I hear you’re about to be married, non?” His brows rose in a challenging gesture.

  Juliet felt her hands begin to tremble for the mere thought of her impending nuptials never failed to make her feel sick to her stomach.

  “I hear you are to marry an old man,” he continued, measured steps moving him ever closer, his dark gaze never once leaving her face.

  Juliet bit her lower lip, aware that she simply ought to step around him and leave. Why then could she not bring herself to move?

  Barely an arm’s length in front of her, the French rogue lowered his head down to hers and whispered, “Do you think your future husband will honor your wishes and not lay a hand on you without your permission?”

  Feeling the faint brush of his warm breath against her lips, Juliet felt herself begin to sway. Her knees threatened to buckle at any moment, and those dreaded bright spots once again hindered her vision. “You are…not to speak of such things,” she managed to say, doing her utmost to hide her mortification, her temptation even, behind righteous indignation. “A gentleman would never address a lady thus, and we are not even acquainted in the least.” She lifted her chin a fraction. “I do not even know your name.”

  The rogue grinned then dipped his head in a greeting gesture. “Henri Duret, Mademoiselle, at your service. You may call me Henri.”

  Juliet barely kept herself from curtseying. “You’re French?”

  Again, he grinned. “What gave me away?” he asked, his French accent now thicker than before.

  Juliet tried her best to ignore his mocking tone. “And you’re…a pirate?”

  “A privateer,” h
e corrected, a touch of pride in his voice that surprised her. “For God and country and above all my family.”

  His words pleased her; although, she knew they ought not. “You’re Violet’s cousin?”

  He nodded. “Not by blood.” Something warm and deeply affectionate came to his green eyes. “But she is like a sister to me, and I would give my life to see her safe.”

  Juliet swallowed; her throat dry as she tried her hardest not to allow his words to weaken her resolve. “Is that why you’re here? To protect her?”

  His eyes searched hers, and then he inched closer, and for a shocking moment, his gaze dropped to her lips. “Here in London? Or here in this room?”

  Her breath lodged in Juliet’s throat as she felt the tips of his fingers touch her arms, then trail lower, running along the fabric of her sleeves.

  “Ma chère cousine asked me to speak to you,” he whispered in that voice of his that never failed to send unfamiliar sensations dancing across Juliet’s skin. “She asked me to give you a reason to choose differently.” His gaze held hers, teasing, daring, challenging, as his hands moved from her arms and reached for her waist.

  Juliet drew in a sharp breath. “I am betrothed,” she defended herself. “My stepfather arranged this match for me and—”

  “Though he did not ask your opinion, n’est-ce pas?” Henri whispered as his hands settled more firmly upon her waist.

  “He did not,” she managed to reply and then surprised herself by tilting up her head to meet his eyes more fully. All of a sudden, she could not seem to look away as though those green eyes of his were a beacon she did not dare let out of her sight.

  “Do you wish to marry the man he chose for you?” Henri questioned her as his hands slid farther onto her back. “Perhaps as an innocent lady you’re not aware of the intimacies shared between husband and wife.” A dark chuckle rumbled deep in his throat as he urged her closer, urged her to bridge that last bit of distance between them. “Would you care for me to enlighten you, Cherie?”

  Warning bells went off in Juliet’s head. Innocent or not, she knew very well that this was her last chance to escape the drawing room unscathed.

  To escape Henri Duret unscathed.

  And then the moment passed, and instead of rushing out the door, Juliet found herself taking that last step…closer.

  A wickedly triumphant smile curled up Henri’s lips before he slowly lowered his head to hers. “You are a rare treasure, Cherie. Any man would enjoy kissing you.” His lips brushed against hers in a feather-light touch, and Juliet felt herself respond in a way she would never have expected. Her eyes closed, and her hands came to rest upon his broad chest. “But would you enjoy every kiss bestowed upon you?”

  Again, his lips returned to brush against hers. Only this time, they lingered, their touch no longer feather-light but with a tentative depth. “Be warned,” he whispered against her mouth, “for an arranged match is rarely of a passionate nature.” One hand grasped her chin before he nipped her lower lip.

  Juliet gasped at the sensation, and heat shot into her cheeks.

  “Be certain of what you want, Cherie. Be very certain,” Henri whispered huskily before words became obsolete and his mouth claimed hers without consideration for her innocence or any measure of restraint.

  Juliet completely lost herself in his kiss. It was wild and passionate and dangerous like the man himself. She knew next to nothing about him, and yet, she felt oddly complete and almost at peace in his arms.

  For the first time in her recent memory, Juliet felt her heart beat not with dread or apprehension or a sense of foreboding, her impending nuptials to her stepfather’s oldest friend a constant threat looming upon the horizon.

  No, for the first time, the rapid thud against her ribcage made her feel strong and daring and…

  …hopeful.

  Henri’s left hand moved into her hair, and she could feel pins come loose before they fell to the floor. He grasped a fistful of her tresses and gave a soft tug, tilting her head back.

  Then he deepened his kiss, his other arm slung around her, holding her pressed to his body so she could feel his heartbeat as though it were her own.

  Perhaps in this short, precious moment, it was.

  It was also in this very moment that Juliet realized that she had to accept Violet’s daring offer to escape the match her stepfather had arranged for her. There had to be more to life than duty and sacrifice, didn’t there?

  Juliet desperately hoped that it was so.

  Chapter One

  Stuck

  London, 1812 (or a variation thereof)

  Four Years Later

  All of London seemed present at tonight’s ball. Lights sparkled everywhere, and the delicate notes of the orchestra mingled with the soft swaying of the many couples determined to dance the night away. Joy rested upon their features as they laughed and smiled and chatted animatedly. Ladies batted their eyelashes, bestowing precious smiles upon gentlemen, who bowed gracefully and offered their arms to the ladies of their choice.

  Happiness and delight lingered in the air as well as the hope and promise of a future most desired.

  Standing on the edge of the ballroom, Juliet heaved a deep sigh, wishing she could be one of them, wishing she still had a future.

  Four years ago, she had agreed to her stepsister’s daring plan, and, yes, it had freed her of the threat of marriage.

  Marriage to an older man.

  Marriage to someone she had not wanted.

  Marriage to…anyone.

  “Are you unwell tonight, my dear?” her mother asked, a concerned look upon her face. Kindness and understanding rested in her eyes as she placed a gentle hand upon Juliet’s arm. “You seem distraught.”

  Again, Juliet heaved a deep sigh. What was she to say? “I am well, Mother. Please do not worry.” She tried to smile but could see that her mother was wise to it.

  “Is there no one you would consider marrying?” her mother inquired, her hands grasping Juliet’s and holding them tightly. “Yes, a love match is something every woman desires; however, other joys can be found in marriage.” Her hands held Juliet’s tighter, and a wide smile came to her face. “You could be a mother. Motherhood is such a joy. Will you truly deny yourself the experience?”

  Once, Juliet had hoped that perhaps despite everything, she might still find love or at least affection in marriage. However, that dream had left her long ago. “Do not pretend, Mother, that I could simply choose a husband.” She sighed and glanced around the large ballroom. “You know as well as I do that very few men would consider marrying me after what happened, and those that would…”

  Four years ago, her stepsister Violet had used her husband’s influence to force Juliet’s fiancé, Lord Dowling, to accept her decision to change her mind. Juliet had cried off, and her stepfather’s oldest friend had gritted his teeth and not said a bad word about her as he bowed his head in defeat. Others had seen to it that he would comply, for Violet’s husband, Lord Cullingwood, was an influential man and he had threatened Lord Dowling with severe repercussions should he not oblige.

  At first, everything had seemed so promising. Freed from her impending marriage, Juliet had been able to breathe again. Hope had returned to her heart…until reality had caught up with her.

  Despite Lord Dowling’s courteous acceptance of her change of heart, the ton did not forgive those who broke the rules. To break a marriage agreement was something that was simply not done, or if it was, those involved would never be able to recover fully.

  A mark remained.

  Something that tainted Juliet.

  Something that made her undesirable to most.

  “What about Lord Hastings?” her mother suggested as she turned to look at the man in question, who was presently guiding Miss Hawthorne across the dance floor. “Did you not dance with him a fortnight ago? Did you not find him amiable?” Her mother’s gaze returned to her, a pleading look in her eyes.

  Juliet knew that h
er lack of happiness weighed heavily upon her mother’s heart. Yet, what could be achieved by pretending? “He spoke kindly to me, yes, but that was all. I have no way of knowing if he would even want to marry me.”

  More importantly, Juliet did not wish to marry him.

  With her reputation far from sparkling, the only men who seemed to show a small measure of interest in her were not unlike her former fiancé. They were either of advanced age or possessed some other quality or lack thereof that hindered their chances of a fortunate match. In the end, it meant that she was no one’s first choice.

  Perhaps not even their second.

  “I do not wish for a husband who only marries me because he has no other option,” Juliet told her mother, lifting her chin with the last bit of pride she had left. “You, yourself, know what marriage to an uncaring man is like, Mother.”

  Sadness and regret lingered in her mother’s eyes as she nodded. “Of course, my dear.” She patted Juliet’s hand and cast her a warm smile. “Of course, I would not want that for you.”

  While her mother had been married twice, she had not found love in either union. Not with Juliet’s late father, Lord Goswick, nor with Violet’s late father, Lord Silcox.

  Yes, she had become a mother and always loved her children—Juliet as well as her younger half-brother Jacob—with all her heart. Still…