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  BEFORE THE KISS …

  The Beau tugged off Miss Sheringham’s hat and watched as a yard of soft, silky chestnut hair slid across her shoulders.

  He gave her no chance to deny him, simply captured her mouth with his and teased her supple lips. He ended the kiss, but did not step back.

  A breath shuddered out of her.

  “I have never been kissed by a rake,” she murmured, touching her fingertips to her damp lips.

  “Was it everything you expected?” he asked, his eyes glinting with humor.

  “I am not in a position to judge,” she admitted. “I have nothing with which to compare it.”

  The Beau stood stunned for a second, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. Miss Sheringham was truly delightful. Enormously entertaining.

  “Come on, brat. It is time we got you to bed.”

  “Are you planning to join me there?” she asked with an arch look.

  The Beau shook his head as he reached down for her hat. “Oh, no, my dear. Not me. You are entirely too dangerous.”

  After the Kiss

  HIGH PRAISE FOR AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR JOAN JOHNSTON AND HER PREVIOUS BESTSELLING NOVELS

  CAPTIVE

  “CAPTIVE IS GUARANTEED TO HOLD YOU IN ITS THRALL … A LOVELY REMINDER OF WHAT ROMANCE IS ALL ABOUT THE AUTHOR’S TALENT BRINGS EVERYTHING TO VIVID LIFE.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Joan Johnston continually gives us everything we want.… A fast-paced Regency farce and a delightful change of pace from this multitalented author.”

  —Romantic Times

  “DELIGHTFUL!”

  —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Joan Johnston never fails … [Captive] takes off from the very first word and never lets up.”

  —Rendezvous

  “LIVELY AND WELL-WRITTEN … PERFECTLY ENCHANTING.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  MAVERICK HEART

  “A STUNNING LOOK AT HUMAN FOIBLES AND FERVOR. This adventurous, passionate read is first-rate from first to last page. Ms. Johnston’s tale is brimming with poignant emotions and exciting action blended into a sensuous, tension-filled romance that is impossible to put down.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Joan Johnston gives us a double dose of romance with a mature love story and one of young love. Readers will find themselves truly captivated by both romances and the excitement of the chase and the passion.”

  —Romantic Times

  THE INHERITANCE

  “AN ENGROSSING STORY.”

  —Brazosport Facts

  “WELL-WRITTEN … A TREMENDOUS TALE … THE CHARACTERS ARE ALL FIRST-RATE.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  Published by

  Dell Publishing

  a division of

  Random House, Inc.

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 1997 by Joan Mertens Johnston Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  ISBN: 0-440-22201-X

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-8041-5288-4

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Before the Kiss: The Beau

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  After the Kiss: The Beast of Blackthorne

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  BEFORE THE KISS

  The Beau

  Prologue

  “Matchmaking is a dangerous business.”

  “I know that, Livy. But sometimes drastic measures are necessary.” Charlotte, Countess of Denbigh, sat crosswise in a wingback chair in the drawing room of Somersville Manor, swinging her patent-leather-clad feet back and forth. Although married to an earl for nearly a year, and a venerable eighteen years of age, Charlotte refused to be bound by the traditional way of doing things, even sitting in a chair. Life was so much more interesting, she thought, when things did not turn out as one expected.

  Charlotte watched fascinated as her best friend and sister-in-law, Olivia, Duchess of Braddock, held her firstborn son to her breast. William, titled Earl of Comarty at birth, suckled noisily beneath a lace-edged cloth that veiled his gusty enjoyment of breakfast.

  “Does it hurt?” Charlotte asked, drawn for a moment from the subject at hand by her curiosity about nursing a child.

  “It did a little at first. Not anymore,” Olivia said, smiling tenderly at her two-month-old son and brushing aside a lock of his golden hair.

  “Have you let Reeve watch?”

  “Charlotte!” A pink flush began at Olivia’s throat and headed for her cheeks. She kept her eyes downcast. “Whether I let my husband watch while I—”

  “Have you?” Charlotte insisted, her gaze steady upon her friend, demanding an answer. She had a reason for asking. She might need to make such a decision herself sometime soon.

  Olivia nodded, then looked up so Charlotte could see the inner glow of joy that lit her eyes. “Reeve loves to watch. He says … The silly man thinks I’m beautiful,” she confessed breathlessly.

  “You are,” Charlotte said quietly. “Motherhood agrees with you.”

  Olivia gave her a questioning look. Charlotte ignored Livy’s silent request for information, turning her head to stare into a crackling fire that took the edge from an unusually chilly May morning. She was not yet ready to divulge the truth.

  In fact, Charlotte was in an “interesting condition,” although she had so far kept the joyful secret to herself. The instant her husband discovered she was with child, Lion would insist—all in the name of protecting her and the babe—that they return home to Denbigh Castle from their visit with the Duke and Duchess of Braddock.

  Charlotte had something important she wanted to accomplish first.

  The house party that would shortly be forming at Somersville Manor in Sussex included a number of eligible bachelors Charlotte had asked Olivia to invite for a particular young lady’s perusal. Charlotte greatly feared it was going to be as difficult to direct Miss Elizabeth Sheringham toward one of the many marital prospects available, as it would be to convince the prospects what a precious find Eliza would be.

  “You met Eliza during the Christmas holiday,” Charlotte said, turning her attention back to matchmaking. “What did you think of her?”

  “Miss Sheringham is a lovely girl who—”

  “Stubble it,” Charlotte interrupted. “I want your honest opinion.”

  Olivia sighed at being put on the spot, but conceded, “She did seem a bit … sharp-tongued.”

  “The result of an agile wit,” Charlotte said.

  “I can understand why Miss Sheringham is ready to trade a barb for a jest,” Olivia said. “It could not have been easy growing up
under such a cloud of scandal. To this day no one knows the real reason why the Earl of Sheringham disinherited Eliza’s father, only that it was something so awful the earl refused ever to receive his only son—or his son’s wife and daughter—at Ravenwood again. Under the circumstances, it is no wonder the girl has no regard for—”

  “The rigid rules of Society?”

  “Anyone,” Olivia finished. “However, when a person is hounded by gossip, as she must be, one must expect some—”

  “Retaliation?”

  “Rancor when the tabbies talk,” Oliva continued, as though Charlotte had not spoken. “With no one but a blind, elderly aunt to keep her acid tongue in check, Miss Sheringham appears to be headed neck-or-nothing toward social disaster.”

  “Most likely she is,” Charlotte agreed cheerfully. She shook her head in mock woefulness. “Such a pitiful lack of decorum.” She grinned and added, “It is what I love most about her.”

  “Of course,” Olivia said, smiling ruefully. “She reminds you of you.”

  “Exactly,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “You must see it will take a very special man to recognize her for the marvelous wife she will make.”

  Olivia’s brow furrowed. “I am afraid the situation is quite hopeless, Charlie. What gentleman would dare entangle himself with such a scandal-in-the-making?”

  “Captain Lord Marcus Wharton, the Duke of Blackthorne’s younger brother,” Charlotte announced.

  Olivia jerked in disbelief, but caught herself before the baby lost hold of his source of sustenance. “The Beau?! You must be joking! Captain Wharton is a rakehell and a rogue. A devoted Corinthian. And worst of all, a confirmed bachelor! What can you be thinking?”

  “That he’s absolutely perfect for Eliza.”

  “Miss Sheringham—even with her trenchant tongue—deserves better,” Olivia countered.

  “Rakes make the best husbands,” Charlotte argued, sliding from her chair onto her knees in the thick Aubusson carpet at Olivia’s feet. The chore was made easier because she still wore the breeches she had donned to ride that morning. “Look at you and Reeve. You’re happy as larks.”

  “Reeve is … was … My situation is totally different.”

  “Why? How?”

  “Reeve was ready for a leg-shackle when I met him and had a need to set up his nursery. Captain Wharton is still, shall we say, enjoying life somewhat too heartily,” Olivia said.

  “He is thirty,” Charlotte said. “Lion was a year younger when we married.”

  “Lion was responsible for a sister and servants and a great deal of property for many years before that. Captain Wharton has no one’s interest at heart but his own.”

  Olivia switched the baby to the opposite breast and carefully rearranged the lace-edged cloth before continuing. “Have you forgotten the Beau is a soldier, Charlie? And that Napoleon has recently escaped from Elba. Captain Wharton might be called back to battle at any time,” Olivia said. “Surely you would not wish Miss Sheringham to marry him under such circumstances.”

  Charlotte paused. This was the argument against Captain Wharton she had found most difficult to overcome in her own mind. Not only was the Beau a soldier, but he was said to be dashingly brave and gallant—well, all right, foolhardy—in the face of danger. The reckless fellow was likely to get himself killed in battle, and Charlotte would be forced to go through this entire process with Eliza all over again.

  “Eliza has not even met him yet,” Charlotte said, reaching out a forefinger to William and watching as his tiny fingers closed strongly around it. “And here you are finding reasons why he will not make a good husband.”

  “Be reasonable, Charlie. Look at him. And at her.”

  Charlotte caressed the baby’s soft knuckles with her thumb as she considered Olivia’s words. Livy was right to think Miss Sheringham and the Beau were mismatched in physical favor. With her odd-featured face and towering form, it was impossible to dismiss Miss Sheringham’s corporeal shortcomings as inconsequential.

  On the other hand, Captain Wharton had been named “the Beau” by the ton with good reason. He was the epitome of male perfection—virile, muscular, with the features and body of an Adonis, and the vivid blue eyes and golden blond hair so favored by the English.

  Personally, Charlotte preferred dark-haired men. However, she was not English, but American. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. So was Eliza. Or rather, half American. Raised by an American mother and a disinherited English father, Eliza had grown up disdainful enough of English customs not to care what color the Beau’s eyes and hair were. Surely even Eliza could not fail to notice the Beau was handsome and be attracted to him. Charlotte was convinced that only a man as unfettered by the manners and morals of Society as Eliza was herself—like the Beau—would be willing to marry her.

  Captain Wharton had other manly attributes that were certain to please someone as unconventional as Miss Elizabeth Sheringham. The Beau was a noted whipster, a member of the Four-in-Hand Club, handy with his fives in Gentleman Jackson’s saloon, unbeatable with a foil, a dead shot, and charming enough to be forgiven his wild behavior and still accepted in the homes of all the most particular hostesses of the ton.

  As an added advantage, Lord Marcus was also in line to inherit a dukedom from the current holder of the title, a widowed elder brother who had twin daughters and showed no inclination to remarry. With Eliza’s pockets to let, she could use a husband of substance to support her.

  Best of all, the Beau’s reputation was so iniquitous, Miss Sheringham’s father was a saint by comparison.

  “Will you at least help me throw Miss Sheringham and the Beau together for these two weeks?” Charlotte asked.

  “To what purpose? This is a plan fraught with disaster,” Olivia warned.

  “What is fraught with disaster?”

  The two women turned to watch their husbands enter the drawing room. Both men were impeccably dressed in the form-fitting fashions that showed off the male figure in all its glory, Reeve dressed in buff and brown, Lion in bottle green and buckskin. Reeve was a shade taller, with blond hair and blue eyes, while Lion was broader-shouldered and had black hair and gray eyes. They once had been formidable adversaries but now, related by marriage, had found a common ground to bind them as friends.

  Charlotte rose, surprised at how much effort it took to free her finger from the baby’s grip. She took a step backward toward the fire, knowing from the look on Lion’s face, and from the tone of his voice when he had spoken, that she had better come up with some diverting explanation for Olivia’s comment.

  Reeve crossed directly to Olivia and bent to brush a hand across the area hidden behind the cloth, either the baby’s cheek or his wife’s breast, Charlotte was not sure which—until Livy’s blush gave it away.

  Charlotte continued watching as Livy’s eyes met Reeve’s and saw the smile of welcome on her sister-in-law’s face as her husband’s mouth lowered to hers. Before their lips could meet, a beloved face appeared before Charlotte and demanded her attention.

  “What disaster?” Lion asked. His palms settled on the mantel, capturing her within his embrace before the fire.

  She tried looking innocent, but a year of marriage had taught him too much about her. He had rescued her from any number of scrapes and seemed resigned to a lifetime of such endeavor.

  “What calamity are you planning now, my dear?”

  Charlotte wriggled as his warm breath tickled her ear. “Only a little matchmaking, my lord.”

  Lion lifted her chin with his forefinger, forcing her gaze up to his. “Who is it this time?” he asked with the hint of a smile teasing the corners of his lips and sparkling in his eyes.

  “At least we are out of the running,” Reeve said to Lion from his perch on the arm of the wingback chair in which Olivia sat nursing William,

  Lion slipped an arm around Charlotte’s waist, turning her so they faced the other couple, and gazed down at his wife. “Well, Charlotte? What lucky devil have you cho
sen to be the fortunate recipient of your matchmaking?”

  “The Beau.”

  The two men exchanged astonished looks.

  “And what lady have you chosen to bless with such male perfection?” Lion asked.

  “Miss Elizabeth Sheringham.”

  Lion exhaled in an explosion of laughter.

  “It is nothing to laugh about,” Charlotte said indignantly. “Miss Sheringham needs a husband, and Captain Wharton would do better with a wife.”

  “There you have it, Lion. As simple as shooting ducks in pond,” Reeve said, slapping his knee at the jest of two such implausible figures becoming man and wife. The sharp sound disturbed the heir, who made his complaint known with a yowl. Further discourse was impossible, and within moments Olivia and Reeve had abandoned the room, leaving Charlotte and Lion to finish the discussion by themselves.

  Once alone, Charlotte pressed her advantage, that is to say, pressed her lovely figure against Lion’s body from chest to thighs, wrapped her arms around his neck, and said, her mouth against his, “Please, Lion. Let me try. You will be here to help if things go awry.”

  “If things go awry? It is a certainty. That termagant’s tongue has the bite of an adder. If she threatens the Beau, he will show no mercy.”

  “I guarantee she will match him, spite for spite. The Beau will be charmed,” Charlotte insisted.

  “I will not be privy to such maneuvering, Charlotte. Besides, Captain Wharton’s elder brother, the duke, is a friend of mine. I would not be able to look Blackthorne in the eye knowing what you have planned for his brother during the next two weeks.”

  Charlotte knew from the rumbly sound of Lion’s voice, and the heavy-lidded look of his eyes, that victory was close at hand. It needed only a little urging to win the day.

  “Eliza and the Beau are perfect for each other, my lord.”

  “No, Charlotte,” Lion said. “And that is my final word on the subject.”

  Charlotte settled her mouth against her husband’s and rubbed gently until his lips were damp, and she could taste him. Her body curled inside with desire. He pulled her close to feel his arousal, and she momentarily lost her train of thought. She forced herself to concentrate.