Captivated By Her Convenient Husband
‘ Looks like I’ve come home just in time. ’ The Duke’s son returns! Part of Allied at the Altar. Avaline hasn’t seen her husband, Lord Fortis Tresham, for seven years, after he was presumed dead at war. Now her convenient husband has returned in time to save her from an unwanted suitor! Yet as he returns to her life—and her bed—Avaline is cautious… Why is he so mature, courteous, thoughtful—so different from the selfish soldier she married?
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“Looks like I’ve come home just in time.”
The duke’s son returns!
Part of Allied at the Altar. Avaline hasn’t seen her husband, Lord Fortis Tresham, for seven years, after he was presumed dead at war. Now her convenient husband has returned in time to save her from an unwanted suitor! Yet as he returns to her life—and her bed—Avaline is cautious... Why is he so mature, courteous and thoughtful—so different from the selfish soldier she married?
BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and the proud mother of three wonderful children—one boy and two girls. When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.
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Awakened by the Prince’s Passion
Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
Allied at the Altar miniseries
A Marriage Deal with the Viscount
One Night with the Major
Tempted by His Secret Cinderella
Captivated by Her Convenient Husband
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
ISBN: 978-1-474-08923-4
CAPTIVATED BY HER CONVENIENT HUSBAND
© 2019 Nikki Poppen
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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For Rowan, who loves Martin Guerre the musical.
The world likes to define who we are,
but I think it’s always best to simply be yourself.
Contents
Note to Readers
Indigo Hall, Sussex—Friday, October 26th, 1855
Avaline Panshawe-Tresham could put off her entrance and all it would entail no longer. She had to get out of the carriage, had to go inside, had to dance with the men, smile at the women, suffer the solicitations of her well-meaning in-laws, who had already arrived, and not least she had to endure the dubious charms of the evening’s host, Tobin Hayworth, all the while pretending she was as oblivious to his intentions as she was to the disappointment she’d brought the Treshams—all seven years, three weeks, one day of it, and counting.
There seemed no end in sight when it came to her association with disappointment, not that the Treshams had ever said as much. They were far too kind. Still, Avaline knew and that was all that mattered.
She drew a steadying breath and smoothed her ice-blue skirts. She checked to see that her pearl and gold earbobs were fastened securely, that her slender pearl pendant wasn’t twisted, that her matching combs were secure in the folds of her artfully arranged hair. She was stalling, of course, as she’d stalled at home at Blandford Hall, dragging out her departure with an inane debate with herself over wearing the blue or the pink silk. Now, there wasn’t anything left to hide behind. There wasn’t a hair out of place, or a creased wrinkle to be found. She was out of excuses and out of time in so many ways, and she was furious.
