How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride Read online

  How To Woo…

  A Reluctant Bride

  (Romantic Historical Short Story)

  by Lyndi Lamont

  A marriage contract, nothing more… until darkly handsome Evan Channing and demure Lydia Blatchford meet. Yet the rules are simple for an arrangement such as theirs. There should be no misunderstanding, no illusions of anything more.

  But the rules are about to change when Evan is gifted with an intriguing copy of the Kama Sutra. He sets out to win his highborn bride, blending seductive heat with exotic lessons in lovemaking. With a little help from Sir Richard Burton’s new, provocative translation of ancient wisdom on seduction and arousal, the cold marriage bed of an arranged union is about to combust into a blazing flame of desire.

  (Previously published under the title Love… By the Book)

  4 Angels… “a scintillating mix of lust and sexual exploration… Ms. Lamont has done a very nice job of bringing a bit of the exotic into her writing.” —Dawnie, Fallen Angel Reviews

  Disclaimer: This is a short 16,000 word (app. 30 page) romantic short story with bonus material.** It is not a full-length novel.

  Contains scenes of Victorians breaking society’s rules, hot marital sex and ancient wisdom from the Kama Sutra.

  ** Bonus Material consists of an excerpt from A Marquess for Christmas by Vivienne Westlake, Regency Erotic Romance.

  Copyright 2007, 2012 by Lyndi Lamont

  Cover Art by Lacey Savage, copyright 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1, Engagement

  Chapter 2, Courtship

  Chapter 3, Consummation

  Chapter 4, Revelation

  About The Author

  Bonus Material

  Chapter 1, Engagement

  “The man who is ingenious and wise, who is accompanied by a friend, and who knows the intentions of others, as also the proper time and place for doing everything, can gain over, very easily, even a woman who is very hard to be obtained.” —The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana

  London, June 1885

  She wasn’t quite the perfect English rose but she’d do.

  Evan Channing stood next to the fireplace in Lord Blatchford’s parlor and studied his fiancée as she sat on the settee talking to his mother. Lydia Blatchford wore blue tonight, bringing out the color of her pale eyes. She looked beautiful, yet untouchable, in her fashionable silk gown. The low-cut bodice revealed the smooth white skin of her shoulders and a hint of cleavage. The lines of the gown showed off her firm breasts and small waist, and the bustle emphasized her rounded hips.

  When she looked up, he smiled at his intended across the room. Her lips curved slightly in answer and a blush stole up her face, adding color to her porcelain complexion before she turned away. Tonight her dark blonde hair had been curled into a fashionable upswept hairstyle, softening her appearance. When he’d met her before, her long mane had been pulled back into a bun. He wasn’t sure the curls suited her, but of course, he’d prefer to see her hair down, spread around her on his bed. His pulse raced at the thought she’d soon be his.

  He could hardly wait to peel off her layers of clothing, revealing the woman underneath, her smooth skin and generous curves. Taller and larger boned than most women, she’d fit perfectly against his own lanky frame. Perhaps he’d find an opportunity to steal a kiss tonight. Surely that was allowed to an engaged couple.

  “Stop staring.”

  Evan started and turned to see Lydia’s brother Harry standing beside him. “Sorry.”

  Harry raised a blond eyebrow. “You should be. If you weren’t already betrothed to my sister I’d have to call you out for the way you were undressing her with your eyes.”

  Evan’s face grew warm and he tugged at his tight collar. “I’m glad it’s all settled, but let me tell you, once a man is determined to marry, the waiting becomes devilish hard.”

  Harry laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I can only imagine.”

  “Your turn will come,” Evan assured him.

  “I know,” Harry grumbled. “Obligation to future generations, carry on the family name, all that rot.”

  Evan chuckled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Buck up, you’ve time yet to sow a few more wild oats.”

  “Not if Mama has anything to say about it. I’ll be expected to dance attendance on Phoebe when she makes her come out next spring.”

  “Ah, yes,” Evan replied, glancing at Harry’s younger sister who truly was the perfect English rose. Small and petite, with flaxen hair, a rosy complexion, vivid blue eyes and a flirtatious manner. “I expect you’ll be busy warding off hoards of beaus.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Harry replied in a gloomy tone. “The sooner we get that one married, the better.”

  Evan said nothing, just thanked his lucky stars he was marrying Lydia instead. He had no use for silly young chits who thought the world revolved around them just because they were pretty. Females like her were far too much trouble.

  No, he much preferred a serious, intelligent, sensible girl. Like Lydia. He’d expected her to kick up a fuss about marrying a merchant, especially one with the taint of Indian blood. But so far as he knew, she hadn’t. He was a lucky man.

  *

  How was she going to make it through dinner seated next to him?

  Lydia glanced across the room at Evan Arthur Channing, scion of a fabulously wealthy merchant family. Her fiancé, soon to be her husband.

  They had met but once, when her brother brought Mr. Channing home to discuss the financial arrangements with her mother. One highborn bride with entrée into polite society in exchange for an unspecified amount of cash to shore up the family coffers. At least he was dressed respectably. In fact, the black evening suit fit him so perfectly, she was sure he’d been to see her brother’s tailor. And no doubt paid Harry’s bill as well since her brother was also resplendent in a new suit. Leave it to Harry to land on his feet, no matter what.

  She frowned and glanced away. That wasn’t fair. None of this was Harry’s fault. No, blame landed squarely on her lying, cheating wastrel of a father who’d ruined the family’s name and finances. And it was her ill luck to be the one to pay the price of restoring them.

  Just being in the same room with Evan disconcerted her. It might have been his dark good looks, the sleek black hair, deep olive skin and liquid brown eyes. Those eyes that studied her as if she were some sort of scientific specimen. He seemed to see inside her, right to her cowardly soul.

  She turned to check her appearance in the drawing room mirror, an excuse to avoid his intense gaze. Earlier her maid had somehow managed to shape her hair into a curly, fashionable style. It would not last the evening, if experience were any guide, but for the moment it looked good. Her visage stared back, skin wan, eyes wary. What did he think of her appearance tonight? Despite her deep resentment at being forced to wed to save her family from ruin, she couldn’t help but worry what he would think.

  “Stop fussing, you look lovely tonight.”

  Lydia turned and smiled at her sister Phoebe, who truly was beautiful in her pale pink gown. “As do you.”

  “But I am not the one being devoured by a pair of dark eyes.”

  Lydia felt a flush on her cheeks. No man had ever looked at her with lust in his eyes, and she found it both alarming and exhilarating. “Then it is not my imagination?”

  Phoebe laughed softly. “No, dearest, your intended can barely take his eyes off you. I begin to envy you your merchant prince.”

  “Shall we trade places, then?” Lydia kept her tone
light, disinterested.

  Phoebe laughed and shook her blonde head. “It is far too late for that! Besides, it was not me he came to woo.” After her parting shot, Phoebe drifted away.

  With a start, Lydia realized it was true. There had never been any notion of Evan having to choose between the sisters. She had been the one in his sights from the start.

  When she saw him moving in her direction, she forced a smile to her lips. This wasn’t what she had wanted, this arranged marriage to a stranger, but she’d be a fool to think she could marry for love. How had she, plain, overly tall Lydia of the straight hair and wan complexion, ever let herself dream of romance? That was for pretty, petite girls, like her sister. Whose brilliant debut would be made possible by the dashing of Lydia’s own hopes and dreams.

  Stop it. You won’t do yourself any good by descending into bitterness. What’s done is done.

  Evan sketched a short bow. “Good evening, Miss Blatchford. May I escort you to dinner?”

  “Yes, of course.” She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her into the dining room. She liked the fact that he was so tall. She never felt gangly around him, though she was more than a bit nervous.

  The table was set for seven—four Blatchfords and three Channings. Lydia found herself seated between Evan and her brother Harry. She glanced across the table at Evan’s mother and uncle. Frederick Channing was half-Indian, with a darker complexion than Evan’s light brown. In his late forties, he was still vigorous and handsome, in an exotic way. In contrast, Selina Channing was fair, with graying blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

  “I am so glad we could lure you back to town for this occasion, Mrs. Channing,” Lydia said. “Evan tells me you prefer the seaside to the bustle of London.”

  Selina Channing laughed. “Indeed I do. There isn’t much that can budge me from my cottage by the sea in summer, but the engagement of my only son…” She gave Evan a fond look. “I couldn’t be happier. In fact, I don’t expect you’ll see much of me after the wedding.”

  “I hope you will not be a stranger, ma’am,” Lydia protested.

  “Mama is not overly fond of town,” Evan said. “But she knows she is welcome any time.”

  “Of course,” Lydia echoed.

  Mrs. Channing waved a hand. “I’ll come when you need me. But the town house is yours to run as you see fit, my dear. It probably needs a bit of redecorating.”

  Lydia smiled at her warmly. “I look forward to the challenge.” Her prospective mother-in-law seemed like a pleasant woman, not the interfering type at all, so that was one worry put aside.

  If only she could stop worrying about the man she was about to marry.

  All through dinner, she was aware of his presence at her side. His quick smile, pleasant manners, his long, long fingers that occasionally brushed her hand. Then there was his deep voice murmuring in her ear during the meal. It mattered not what he said, the very sound of his voice sent alternate waves of heat and cold through her. She was barely able to eat a bite, though she’d drained her wineglass more than once before the champagne toast was served. She drank it as well.

  Now, feeling a bit woolly-headed, she walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air where a slight breeze cooled her heated face. The men were still having their port in the dining room while her mother and Phoebe sat and visited with Mrs. Channing. Lydia knew she should go back inside and converse with her future mother-in-law.

  Lydia was eager to learn more about Evan’s childhood. She knew his father had died when he was a babe in arms, murdered during the Sepoy Uprising, and Mrs. Channing’s Indian in-laws had protected her and the infant Evan from a similar fate. She must have loved her husband greatly, for she had never remarried.

  It was a tale worthy of one of her favorite romance novels, but she wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. Thank heavens it was a small gathering. She’d never have been able to deal with a crowd tonight.

  When the men entered the room, her gaze flew to Evan. He looked around the room, frowning, until he spotted her standing by the open door. A smile creased his face as he headed straight for her. She clutched the doorjamb as her heart started pounding.

  “There you are,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I feared you’d left.”

  “I just needed some fresh air,” she explained.

  “Are you well?” he asked, taking her hand solicitously. Heat radiated from him, shooting up her arm.

  “I’m fine, just a bit warm.”

  “I am, too” he said, guiding her to the railing looking over the small garden at the back of the house. The scent of roses and honeysuckle wafted up.

  “Since our engagement is official, I’ll send the announcement to the Times tomorrow, and then speak to the vicar about having the banns read. Shall we set a date now?”

  She stiffened, staring straight ahead. Official. The word pounded in her head. Once the announcement was published, there would be no backing out. She closed her eyes, not knowing what to say.

  “Lydia?”

  Gently, he grasped her chin and turned her head toward his. When she looked up, his expression was concerned.

  “What’s wrong, my dear?”

  Everything. But she could not say so. In truth, she was afraid of the weeks to come. Of what this marriage would mean. How it would change her life.

  He moved his hand to her shoulder. “Are you apprehensive?”

  She managed a jerky nod.

  “So am I,” he whispered.

  She stared at him in astonishment. “Truly?”

  “Truly. This is a big step for both of us. I realize we don’t know each other very well. If you’d like a long engagement—”

  “No. Waiting will just make things worse.”

  He quirked a dark brow. “How so?”

  Taking a step back, she spread her hands. “It will just give me more time to dread—”

  She broke off at the injured look on his face. “Forgive me, but surely you understand this marriage was never my preference.”

  He turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I know, but I hoped you had become resigned to it.”

  “I have. At least I have tried to be,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Perhaps it would be best just to plunge ahead. Once the banns have been read thrice, we can wed almost immediately.”

  He turned back, a frown still marring his forehead. “Will that give your mother enough time to plan?”

  She shrugged. “All I need is a new gown.”

  “But won’t society think it odd we married in such haste?”

  She looked him in the eye. “Let me make one thing clear. I do not give a fig for what society thinks. If you supposed you were marrying a social butterfly, let me banish that notion right now.”

  He smiled at her. “Harry said you were sensible, but this surprises me. I’m happy to agree to a short engagement.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “The sooner I can make you mine, the better.”

  Her heart pounded and her breath caught as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers for but a second before backing away. She drew in a deep breath. Her first real kiss and it had been over almost before it was begun. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  “Shall we go inside and discuss the wedding plans with your parents?”

  “Not yet. There is something else I’d like to say.” It was now or never.

  “Yes, my dear, what is it?”

  She licked her lips then plunged ahead. “I know how things work in arranged marriages. I won’t expect fidelity from you.”

  His shocked expression surprised her. “Is that what you think, Lydia? That I’m marrying you with the intention of cheating on you?”

  “Perhaps not now,” she said. “But in a few years… I won’t cut up a fuss if you decide to take a mistress. As long as you are discreet.”

  “How very…sophisticated of you,” he said, his tone dry enough to parch a desert.


  She took a deep breath before continuing. “And once I’ve produced the requisite heir and spare, I assume I’ll be free to seek my pleasure elsewhere.”

  The thunderous look on his face startled her and she stepped back.

  “You will do no such thing,” he said fiercely, reaching for her. “Our union may not be a love match now, but I fully intend to see it turns into one.”

  Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his embrace, trapping her arms between them as his encircled her shoulders and waist. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her with a heady combination of passion and anger. Her resistance crumbled in the face of his onslaught. She clutched at his lapels and returned his kiss, even parting her lips when his tongue probed them. Overwhelmed by the sensations his lips provoked, she let her eyes drift shut as she clung to him.

  When he let her go, he was still visibly upset. “There will be no more talk of infidelity. Have I made myself clear, Lydia?”

  “Yes, Evan,” she said meekly.

  “Good. Now if you will excuse me?”

  At her nod, he turned and strode back into the room.

  She moved to the edge of the balcony and grabbed hold of the wrought iron railing. Good lord, what had made her say such a thing? It was the truth, as she well knew from observing her parents’ arranged marriage. Perhaps things were done differently in the middle class.

  In any case, she’d never expected so much ardor from her merchant prince. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a bad bargain after all.

  *

  Evan managed to contain his frustration until he arrived home.

  Somehow he’d carried on polite conversation as he said his goodbyes to the Blatchfords, nodding encouragingly as his mother prattled on in the carriage about the dinner and their hosts. Uncle Frederick had given him a questioning look, but Evan just shook his head.

  As soon as his mother had gone upstairs, Evan headed for the library followed by his uncle. After pouring them both snifters of brandy, Frederick handed one to him and sipped from his own glass.

  Evan took a gulp of the fiery liquid, glad he had his uncle to turn to. Though only sixteen years older than he was, Uncle Frederick was the closest thing Evan had to a father.