Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception: The Truth About Lady Felkirk / A Ring from a Marquess

Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception: The Truth About Lady Felkirk / A Ring from a Marquess
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The truth will always come out…The Truth Will About Lady FelkirkWilliam Felkirk remembers nothing of the last six months. So who is this beautiful woman claiming to be his wife?Justine de Bryun will do anything to protect her sister. She must guard the reasons for her deception with her life. But with every passing day Justine knows she won’t be able to hide the truth for ever…Ring From a MarquessMargot de Bryun has no intention of giving a man control of her life! Although Stephen Standish, Marquess of Fanworth, does pique her interest…Stephen is immediately drawn to Margot so demands she become his mistress. But Margot’s not one to be easily tamed – and, whether she be mistress or wife, sparks will certainly fly!

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About the Author

CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets – all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.


Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

Christine Merrill

A Ring from a Marquess

Christine Merrill


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08345-4

REGENCY SURRENDER: WICKED DECEPTION

The Truth About Lady Felkirk © 2014 Christine Merrill A Ring from a Marquess © 2015 Christine Merrill

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jim: after thirty years, you must be near to sainthood.

Everything hurt.

William Felkirk did not bother to open his eyes, but lay still and examined the thought. It was an exaggeration. Everything ached. Only his head truly hurt. A slow, thumping throb came from the back of it, punctuating each new idea.

He swallowed with effort. There was no saliva to soothe the process. How much had he been drinking, to get to this state? He could not seem to remember. The party at Adam’s house, which had been a celebration of his nephew’s christening, was far too sedate for him to have ended like this. But he could not recall having gone anywhere after. And since he was in Wales, where would he have gone?

His eyelids were still too heavy to open, but he did not need vision to find the crystal carafe by the bedside. A drink of water would help. His arm flailed bonelessly, numb fingers unable to close on the glass.

There was a gasp on the other side of the room and the shatter of porcelain as an ornament was dropped and broken. Clumsy maids. The girl had been cleaning around him, as though he was a piece of furniture. Was it really necessary to shout ‘He is waking!’ so that anyone in the hall could hear?

Then there were hurried footsteps to the door and a voice called for someone to get his Grace and her ladyship immediately.

He opened his eyes at last and tried to sit up, but the room was still a blur and his back did not want to support him. He stared at the ceiling and what little he could see of the bedposts. It was still his brother’s house. But Penelope had never been a ladyship, even before marrying Adam. Even now, she laughed about not feeling graceful enough to be her Grace, the Duchess of Bellston. Though she was just out of childbed, she was not so frail as to cede her duties as hostess to another. Who the devil was



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