Lord Greville's Captive. Nicola Cornick
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Anne grabbed the hilt of the sword. It came free of the scabbard with a satisfying hiss of metal.
She spun around. Simon had started to move toward her, but he was too late. As he took the final step she brought the tip of the blade up to rest against his throat like a lover’s caress. Simon stopped abruptly. The smile in his eyes deepened to something like admiration.
“I cannot believe,” he said, “that I was so careless.”
Lord Greville’s Captive
Harlequin® Historical
Praise for international bestselling author and RITA®Award finalist Nicola Cornick
The Rake’s Bride
“Vivid detail…rollicking tug-of-war…subtle humor…”
—Publishers Weekly
Bluestocking Brides
The Notorious Lord, One Night of Scandal and The Rake’s Mistress
“Intense sexual tension between best friends who are discovering they’re actually in love…very entertaining…a highly readable series.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“The Notorious Lord…magically weaves dialogue between a spunky heroine and an irresistible rake that had me hooked through the entire book.”
—Romance Junkies
“Vivid evocations of the Regency…richly drawn and believable characters which you will hate to say goodbye to when you reach the final page.”
—CataRomance
Deceived
“Masterfully blends misconceptions, vengeance, powerful emotions and the realization of great love into a touching story.”
—4½ stars from Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Nicola Cornick
L ORDGREVILLE’S CAPTIVE
Available from Harlequin®Historical and NICOLA CORNICK
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“The Rake’s Bride”
Miss Verey’s Proposal #604
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Lady Allerton’s Wager #651
The Notorious Marriage #659
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Wayward Widow #700
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*The Notorious Lord #759
*One Night of Scandal #763
*The Rake’s Mistress #767
A Regency Invitation #775
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Prologue
Grafton, Oxfordshire, England
Summer 1641
It was high summer and the village of Grafton was garlanded for a feast to celebrate the betrothal of the Earl of Grafton’s only daughter to the eldest son of Fulwar Greville, the Earl of Harington. This dynastic match was no surprise, for the two Earls were old friends, one-time comrades in arms and godfather to each other’s children. It was a day of great rejoicing.
In her chamber in the west wing of the old manor house, Lady Anne Grafton’s women were helping her dress for the banquet.
‘Do you like Lord Greville, Nan?’ Anne’s young cousin Muna asked, as she slid the petticoats over Anne’s head in a ruffle of white. ‘He seems to me quite stern and cold.’
‘Like his sire,’ commented Edwina, Anne’s former nurse, with a shiver. She pulled Anne’s laces tight. ‘They do not call him the Iron Earl for naught.’
Anne laughed, stopping abruptly as the pull of the laces stole her breath. ‘Oof! Edwina, you are smothering me!’ She slipped obediently into the red velvet gown that her nurse was holding for her. ‘Uncle Fulwar is the kindest man in the world,’ she said, muffled. ‘As for Lord Greville—’ She stopped. The truth was that she did not know Simon Greville well, for all that their fathers had served together in the wars on the continent. Simon was eight years older than she and already a battle-hardened commander who had been commended for his bravery. Muna was right—there was something distant and a little stern in his demeanour, as though all that he had seen and done in his life had already made him older than she by far more than years.
In the week that the Earl of Harington and his son had been at Grafton, Anne had not spent any time alone with Simon. It was not expected. It might be her hand in marriage that he had come to sue for, but it was her father’s permission he needed, not hers.
And yet, there had been a moment that had taken Anne quite by surprise. Simon had ridden in late one evening when the full moon was rising high over the tall crops in the fields. Anne had, naturally, been curious to see him; although she understood that it was her duty to marry this man, there was a part of her that hoped that she might find him personable as well. Thus it was that she had been leaning out of the mullioned window, in a most hoydenish fashion, when the horses had clattered over the drawbridge and into the courtyard.
She had known that she should draw back in all modesty, but something had held her still, watching. The air had been warm from the heat of the day and full of the scent of honeysuckle. There had been no sound except the flutter of the doves settling in the cote.
Simon Greville had swung down from the saddle and then he had looked up, directly at Anne’s window. Instinct had prompted her to draw back. Curiosity had held her still. He had a hard, handsome face tanned deep by the sun, and he had raised his plumed hat and brought it sweeping down in a low bow. His hair was thick and dark, and a wicked smile had lit his eyes as he looked upon her. To her astonishment Anne had felt a shiver run all the way down her spine. All thoughts of duty flew straight out of the window. She had a suspicion that it might be an absolute pleasure to marry Simon Greville.
‘Look at my lady’s face!’ Edwina said now, her own beaming. ‘You like him well enough, do you not, my pet, and quite right