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Ella Quinn’s bachelors are quite sure of what they want in life—and love—until the right woman opens their eyes . . .

After a painful heartbreak, Rupert, the handsome young Earl of Stanstead, has decided that when it comes to love, avoidance is best. Until he meets a woman who makes him forget his plan—and remember his longing for a wife and family.

Yet he senses that she too has been hurt, though she attempts to hide her feelings—and more—in the most baffling and alluring way.

Intrigued, Rupert is willing to play along, if winning her is the prize . . .

Crushed by her late husband’s scorn, Vivian, Countess of Beresford, believes she is monstrously undesirable.

Sadly childless, she has moved to London resigned to a solitary life.

Still, when she encounters Rupert at a masquerade ball, her disguise as Cleopatra emboldens her.

Convinced he doesn’t recognize her, she begins an after-hours affair with him, always in costume—while allowing him to innocently court the real her by day.

But when Rupert makes a shocking choice, will Vivian be able to handle the truth?

CHAPTER ONE

End of August 1817, Beresford Abbey, England

V ivian, the widowed Countess of Beresford, sat at her desk in the morning room of the dower house in which she’d been living for the past year, plotting her escape.

A beam of bright afternoon sunshine shot along the gold and blue Turkey carpet, interrupted only by the supine form of her gray cat, Gisila.

In truth, plotting was probably too strong a word, though Vivian liked how it sounded, and she did feel as if she was escaping; not only the dower house, but Beresford Abbey itself. In a few short days her period of mourning would end.

Her hand clenched as if she could strike her dead husband and everyone else in this hellish place.

Soon she would leave and vowed never to return to this estate, or the market town where everyone had known of her late husband’s deceit and had pitied her, but had said nothing to her.

Not that Vivian had ever been given the opportunity to be a real wife.

Soon after her marriage, Edgar, who at the time was still the heir, couldn’t stand the sight of her, in or out of the bedchamber.

Mrs. Raeford had that honor, if it could be called such, absent the ring and title of course.

Vivian should not have had such great expectations of her marriage, but Edgar had been attentive and charming while their fathers arranged the union.

Father had assured her this was a good match and a dutiful daughter would trust her papa, like the good puss she was.

After all, he had said in a kind tone, Vivian was no great beauty, too blond when the fashion was for dark hair, slender to the point of skinny, when men preferred voluptuous ladies, and too bookish.

Although, if someone, anyone, would have told her about her future husband’s lover, Vivian was sure she could have brought herself to refuse the match, for one of her many failures was too much pride.

Vivian waited for the familiar rage to rise, but after a year of waiting to be released from her duty to her husband, there were no more tears and the pains in her stomach had finally ceased.

She would never again allow herself to be so na?ve, or so trusting.

Giving herself a shake, she opened the weekly letter from her mother.

My darling Vivian,

I am so pleased to hear you are going to Town with Cousin Clara.

As you were aware, we had not planned to arrive for another several weeks.

However, there has been a new development.

Your father has taken it into his head that he needs a new hunting bitch, and nothing will do but he must have it immediately.

All else has been forgot in his search. You may well imagine my frustration, but Papa will have his way.

Consequently, it appears we will not attend the Little Season at all.

Have a wonderful time. I look forward to your letters concerning the entertainments.

Give Clara my best.

With much love,

Mama

VB

Poor Mama. Did reasonable men even exist?

“My lady.” Hal, who’d been her personal footman since her come out, hovered in the open door. “The new Lord Beresford asks if you’ll receive him.”

What could he possibly want? Since the reading of the will, Vivian hadn’t had much to do with her husband’s cousin and best friend who’d come into the title.

Well, whatever it was, she would not allow it to stop her from leaving.

“I’ll see him. Please bring tea and ask Miss Corbet to join me.” Silvia Corbet, the vicar’s eldest daughter had been Vivian’s companion for the past year, and during that time Vivian had come to love Silvia like a sister .

“Yes, my lady. I’ll get her first.”

“Thank you. That would be best.”

Vivian was not completely conversant concerning the rules of being a widow, but she could not think they would allow her to be in the same room with a gentleman who was not a close relation.

Or perhaps that was incorrect. She had heard that some widows took lovers.

Still, she did not want to be alone with the man.

He had nothing to say that would interest her.

A few moments later, Silvia entered the room. “Hal said we had a visitor.”

“Indeed, the new Lord Beresford.” Vivian moved to the sofa. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“I was on my way to you in any event.” Silvia’s demeanor had changed her normal friendliness to barely suppressed anger upon hearing his lordship had come. She chose a chair in the corner of the room near one of the windows, took out her embroidery, and gave a short nod.

As soon as Vivian’s companion had settled, his lordship was announced, and the tea tray set in front of her obviating the need for her to stand and greet the man. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

He glanced at her, bowed, and smiled, apparently not even noticing that Silvia was in the corner. “Good day. I hope I find you well.”

“Yes, thank you, quite well.” And she’d be even better when she left this place. What she did not understand was how the man could fail to notice Silvia. However he hadn’t glanced her way. What could he want that had him so focused on Vivian? “Would you like some tea?”

“Please. Two sugars and milk, if you would.”

The Queen Anne sofa, opposite her, groaned as he lowered his large muscular frame onto the delicate piece.

Vivian winced, expecting it to splinter at any moment.

Nothing in this parlor was made for persons of his size and weight.

Finally satisfied the sofa would not break, Vivian handed him the cup.

He took a sip, focusing his solemn brown gaze on her. “Have you made plans for what you will do after your year of mourning is over?”

Vivian glanced up, then lowered her eyes.

By any standards, he was a handsome man with thick sable hair, a straight nose, and well above medium height.

However, his resemblance to her late husband was too strong for her to be comfortable in his presence, and she had no intention of telling him of her cousin Clara’s invitation. “Have you need of the dower house?”

“Of course not,” he assured Vivian hastily. “You are naturally welcome to remain as long as you wish.” He set his cup down, clearing his throat. “There is, however, a proposition I’d like to place before you, if I may?”

He probably wanted her to act as his hostess until he married.

She should tell him she was not interested.

Vivian wanted no more dealings with anyone by the name of Beresford.

Unfortunately, curiosity had always been her besetting sin.

She raised her brows and returned his gaze.

Praying she presented the image of a calm composed widow, when in fact her stomach churned as it had when facing her husband. “Go on.”

“I’d like to propose a marriage between us.”

Marriage!

In the year Lord Beresford had been at the abbey, he hadn’t once sought her out, and now he proposes marriage?

Did he think she was simply to be a piece of property to be traded at will?

Fury pierced her like lightening during a summer storm.

After what his cousin put her through, he must be mad.

It was all she could do to maintain her countenance.

How could he think she would exchange one Lord Beresford for a newer version?

Not only would she never even consider such a suggestion, if she did, she’d be made a laughingstock among the servants and the villagers.

If his expression hadn’t been so serious, she would have thought he was playing a sick joke.

When she didn’t respond, he continued, “You are, after all, familiar with the Abbey and the area. It would not be a love match, but neither was your union with my cousin. I believe I can promise I will never embarrass you or cause you any distress.”

As her husband had done when she’d discovered his long standing affair with a local farmer’s wife. She took a few shallow breaths, attempting to gather her wits and find a way to end this conversation civilly. “We barely know one another.”

For some reason, that seemed to hearten Lord Beresford. “A state which may be easily remedied. The fact remains that I am in need of a wife, and you fit the bill. I can give you children.”

Vivian’s cup rattled. She was that close to throwing cup, saucer, and pot at him all at once. The next thing she knew, the delicate china was being taken from her hands. Silvia put her arm around Vivian’s shoulders, and sat next to her.

Beresford jumped to his feet as if a bee had stung him. “What are you doing here?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Silvia replied in a voice of icy distain. “Apparently you have forgotten I am Lady Beresford’s companion. Now, my lord ”—her tone took on the manner of a queen—“I believe you’ve said quite enough, and it is time to take your leave.”