A Most Unconventional Match Read online




  “I would be honored to have your

  escort,” Elizabeth said softly, her blue

  gaze catching his and holding it.

  Hal’s chest expanded until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to grab a breath. Of course, Elizabeth was merely grateful for his help. But the very thought of escorting her, of walking into some public place with her hand on his arm…

  Elizabeth Lowery beside him in a carriage, her rose scent wrapping around his head. Her golden curls brushing his shoulder, the warmth of her body radiating toward him, her lips, the delicious curves of her body but inches away…The rush of images made him dizzy with anticipation and desire.

  He tried to beat his thoughts back into order. She saw him not as a man but as someone safe and companionable. He mustn’t make of it any more than that.

  A Most Unconventional Match

  Harlequin® Historical

  Praise for Julia Justiss

  Rogue’s Lady

  “With characters you care about, clever banter, a roguish hero and a captivating heroine, Justiss has written a charming and sensual love story.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  “Readers will enjoy this superb historical romance…[a] captivating tale.”

  —Harriet Klausner

  The Untamed Heiress

  “Justiss rivals Georgette Heyer in the beloved The Grand Sophy (1972) by creating a riveting young woman of character and good humor…The horrific nature of Helena’s childhood adds complexity and depth to this historical romance, and unexpected plot twists and layers also increase the reader’s enjoyment.”

  —Booklist

  The Courtesan

  “With its intelligent, compelling characters, this is a very well-written, emotional and intensely charged read.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews, Top Pick

  My Lady’s Honor

  “Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.”

  —All About Romance

  My Lady’s Pleasure

  “Another entertaining, uniquely plotted Regency-era novel…top-notch writing and a perfect ending make this one easy to recommend.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  My Lady’s Trust

  “With this exceptional Regency-era romance, Justiss adds another fine feather to her writing cap.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  JULIA JUSTISS

  A Most Unconventional Match

  Available from Harlequin®Historical and

  JULIA JUSTISS

  The Wedding Gamble #464

  A Scandalous Proposal #532

  The Proper Wife #567

  My Lady’s Trust #591

  My Lady’s Pleasure #611

  My Lady’s Honor #629

  Also available from

  Harlequin® Books

  The Officer’s Bride

  “An Honest Bargain”

  Wicked Wager

  Forbidden Stranger

  “Seductive Stranger”

  Also available from

  HQN™ Books

  Christmas Keepsakes

  “The Three Gifts”

  The Courtesan

  The Untamed Heiress

  Rogue’s Lady

  A Most Unconventional Match

  is the long-awaited sequel to

  Julia Justiss’s The Wedding Gamble

  DON’T MISS THESE OTHER

  NOVELS AVAILABLE NOW:

  #903 THE DANGEROUS MR. RYDER—Louise Allen

  He knows that escorting the haughty Grand Duchess

  of Maubourg to England will not be an easy task.

  But Jack Ryder, spy and adventurer, believes he is

  more than capable of managing Her Serene Highness.

  Join Louise Allen as she explores tangled love lives in her

  compelling miniseries THOSE SCANDALOUS RAVENHURSTS!

  #904 THE GUNSLINGER’S UNTAMED BRIDE—Stacey Kayne

  Juniper Barns has sought a secluded life as a lumber-camp

  sheriff to escape the ghosts of his past. He doesn’t need

  a woman sneaking into camp and causing turmoil….

  Watch sparks fly as Juniper seeks to protect this vengeful beauty.

  #906 THE KING’S CHAMPION—Catherine March

  Troye de Valois, one of the king’s own elite guard, has long lived

  in Eleanor’s heart and dreams. Dreams that are shattered when he reveals his anger at their forced marriage,

  and the emotions she is reawakening in him….

  Drama and passion build in this stirring Medieval tale.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  London 1813

  Leaning one broad shoulder against the wall, Hal Waterman exchanged an amused glance with Sir Edward Austen Greeves as they watched the bridegroom pacing in front of the hearth. ‘Wearing out the carpet, Nicky,’ Hal pointed out. ‘Give the bride’s family a distaste of you. Best get the ring on her finger first.’

  Nicholas Stanhope, Marquess of Englemere and Hal’s best friend since their Eton days, sent him an irritated look. ‘I can’t imagine what’s taking so long. The priest arrived half an hour ago.’ Halting before a side mirror, he straightened the white rose in his buttonhole and tugged on his cravat.

  ‘Adjust that once more and you’re going to ruin it,’ Ned said. ‘I expect the ladies will be here shortly. Patience, my man! Every bride wants to look beautiful on her wedding day, even if she’s being married by special licence in a parlour instead of in church after a calling of the banns.’

  Nicholas swung his gaze around to glare at Ned. ‘Don’t you dare imply there’s anything havey-cavey about this! You both know—’

  ‘We do,’ Hal interrupted. ‘Mortgage foreclosure and all that. Had to rescue her. Great lady, Sarah. Good choice.’ He nodded approvingly.

  ‘Must be eagerness for the wedding night that makes you so testy,’ Ned said. ‘You know we fully support your marrying Sarah and understand the necessity to do so immediately. And her family’s parlour might not be a church, but it’s just as handsomely appointed.’

  Ned gestured around the room, indicating the side tables covered with lace cloths surmounted by silver candelabra, the large vases filled with greenery and white roses set beside the rows of chairs facing the fireplace, the mantel where a cross flanked by candles and more rose sprays created an improvised altar. ‘The ladies have outdone themselves.’

  Though he’d resumed his nervous pacing, the tightness in Nicholas’s face loosened. ‘I want this day to be beautiful—for Sarah.’

  ‘Great lady,’ Hal repeated. ‘Wouldn’t mind marrying her m’self. If I wanted to marry. Don’t,’ he added.

  ‘Your mama still after you with her latest heiress in tow?’ Ned asked. ‘As much as she disparages you, you’d think she wouldn’t be so eager to try to drag y
ou into the parson’s mousetrap.’

  ‘Wants to “improve” me,’ Hal said glumly. ‘Escaped her house, live in rooms, can’t work on me. Thinks a wife could.’

  Nicholas halted long enough to thump Hal on the shoulder. ‘As if you needed improvement! You’re already the most stalwart companion a man could want.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Ned seconded and then shook his head. ‘Women.’

  Giving his loyal friends a grateful smile, Hal gazed up at the altar. If he were forced to marry, Nicky’s soon-to-be bride would be almost his ideal choice, he thought. Lovely but not terrifyingly beautiful, competent, accomplished and kind, Sarah Wellingford never made him feel clumsy, tongue-tied and thick-witted the way the sharp-eyed, disdainful Diamonds of the ton his mother kept trying to foist on him did.

  The way his beautiful, self-absorbed, society leader of a mother still did.

  Since he had no intention, if and when he ever married, of wedding the sort of woman his mother preferred, he supposed he was fated to remain a disappointment to her. He shrugged off the dull ache produced by that old hurt.

  ‘Ah, here they come at last!’ Ned exclaimed as the parlour door opened.

  The three men turned to watch as, led by the priest, the bridal party entered. First came the bride’s sisters, all adorned in white gowns trimmed with gold ribbon and cream rosebuds.

  Meredyth, Cecily, Emma, Faith—Hal silently counted them off as they proceeded, trying to match faces to the names Nicky had given him. He’d just caught a glimpse of Nicky’s Sarah, resplendent in a gown of shimmering gold that made her silver-blonde hair glow, when the last sister in line turned toward him after easing the bride’s long skirt through the door.

  Elizabeth, Hal thought, before his breath whooshed out and his brain stuttered to a halt.

  She was an angel come to earth. Nothing else could explain such perfection, the beauty radiating from her so intensely, as if she were lit from within, that Hal could feel the warmth of it all the way across the room.

  His stunned senses took in the pure spun gold of her hair, the pale coral of her cheeks, the rose-petal-soft look of her skin, the pink bow of a mouth with its full lower lip. A slightly pointed chin imbued her face with character, saved it from a mere oval’s bland symmetry.

  And her eyes—blue as the summer waves of the lake on his country estate—impelled him to approach, as if he might discover the purpose of his life mirrored in the depths of those indigo pools.

  An angel, his numbed wits repeated, or the reincarnation of the Botticelli Venus he’d seen in his well-travelled tutor’s pastel sketches.

  Without conscious volition he walked toward her. She turned to him and smiled. A shock raced along his nerves from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

  She was the loveliest thing he’d ever beheld. Flawless. More beautiful even than his mother. His senses clamoured to touch her, taste her.

  The realisation halted him in mid-stride.

  Beautiful. Like his mother.

  Lord in heaven, what was he thinking?

  ‘Hal, you escort Elizabeth,’ Ned murmured at his shoulder.

  Escort her? Panic filled him and a cold sweat broke out on his brow, dampened his fingers. ‘Can’t!’ he replied in a strangled voice. Turning on his heel, he hurriedly paced to the furthest corner of the room.

  Chapter One

  Seven years later

  Elizabeth Wellingford Lowery stood in her studio, brush in hand as she focused on the play of light across the flower in the vase on her worktable.

  If she blocked out everything but the change of hues painted across the flower’s surface by the ebb and flow of the clouds in the sky outside her window, she might be able to keep out of consciousness for a little longer the bitter awareness that her life had crumbled into pieces.

  She should be able to concentrate. She always painted this time of the morning, while the northern light remained steady, often becoming so absorbed in her work she forgot to stop for nuncheon.

  How often had Everitt had to knock at that door and come in to collect her? Her heart squeezed in another spasm of grief as she recalled how he’d approach her, a teasing smile on his careworn face as he coaxed her to put down her brush and join him and their son David for a light mid-day meal.

  She needed sustenance lest she slip away, as ethereal as the angel she appeared to be, he’d tell her, giving a loving tug to whichever strand of golden hair had escaped from the careless chignon into which she always twisted it.

  But he was the one who had slipped away unexpectedly, taking her secure world with him.

  She didn’t want to leave her studio, didn’t want to emerge into the tangle of duties beyond that door where she would have to face how much everything had changed. Even after a month, it was still too much to deal with, losing the kindest man who’d ever lived, who’d cared for her as if she were a precious object too fine and delicate for life on earth. Amelia Lowery, his elderly cousin who’d run their household with great efficiency, had been so incapacitated by the shock of Everitt’s death that, despite her own dismay and grief, Elizabeth had insisted the older woman give up her work and rest, and was therefore compelled to supervise tasks she’d never before had to oversee. To add to all of that, her entire family had gone on a long-delayed Grand Tour of the Continent barely a week before Everitt’s untimely death.

  Aside from Amelia, Everitt had no other close relations, so, with her own family out of reach, she’d had no one to turn to, no one to help her bear the agony and the crushing responsibility. The only thing that made life endurable was being able to escape for a few hours every morning into this haven where she might blank from her mind all but the task of capturing with her brush the shape and substance and hue of the subject on her worktable.

  Leaving David confined upstairs with his nurse. Her chest tightened again with grief and guilt. He was suffering too, her precious son, missing the papa who had doted on him as lovingly as he had doted on her. How could she help him when she couldn’t even help herself?

  Tears welled in her eyes. Angrily she dashed them. Enough! She must pull herself out of this mire of grief and self-pity.

  Some day soon she would do better, she promised herself. She’d wake to a new day without the constant, crushing weight of sadness on her chest. But for now, she would fix her mind only on the pure intensity of the hue in the flower before her.

  A soft rap sounded at the door. For an instant, her spirits soared before the realisation settled like a rock in her gut. It couldn’t be Everitt. It would never again be Everitt.

  She took a deep breath as Sands, her butler, bowed himself in. ‘Sorry to disturb you, madam, but…well, ’tis nearly a month since the beginning of the quarter and none of the staff have yet been paid. I’ve tried to stifle their grumbling, knowing how overset you’ve been, but it would be best if you would take care of compensating them.’

  Elizabeth stared at Sands as if he’d been speaking in tongues. ‘Compensating them?’ she echoed blankly.

  ‘Normally the staff are paid at the start of every quarter,’ he explained patiently. ‘From a cache of coins the master kept in the locked chest in the bookroom.’

  Naturally the servants would be wanting their money. But she’d had no idea about quarter day, nor had she the faintest notion what amounts were owed to the various members of her household.

  Where could she find such information?

  ‘Madam?’ Sands prompted, recalling her attention. ‘I suppose I could go and ask Miss Amelia—’

  ‘No, you were right to come to me,’ Elizabeth interrupted. ‘Miss Lowery must have absolute rest, the physician said, if she is to recover from her attack. Of course everyone must be paid. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.’

  His task accomplished, the butler turned to leave. ‘Oh, Sands!’ she recalled him. ‘Are there…any coins in the master’s chest at present?’

  ‘I have no idea, ma’am.’

  ‘Very wel
l. And…do you know where my husband kept the key?’

  ‘I believe it is in the top-right drawer of his desk, Mrs Lowery.’

  ‘The…the amount of each person’s salary,’ she continued, painfully embarrassed by her ignorance. ‘Where might I find that?’

  ‘I expect it would be recorded in one of the ledgers on the master’s desk. Or his man of business might have a list. Would you like nuncheon served in an hour?’

  Numbly she nodded. ‘In an hour. Yes, that would be fine.’

  Sympathy in his eyes, the butler bowed again and went out, softly closing the door behind him. Elizabeth put down the brush she was still holding and sank into a chair.

  What if she could not find the right ledger? What if there was no more money in the chest? How was she to obtain more? Oh, she did not want to deal with this!

  If only, after her marriage to Everitt, she had insisted upon taking over some of the housekeeping duties Miss Lowery performed so well, she wouldn’t be this lost and unprepared. But one look at Amelia’s anxious face as she curtsied to Elizabeth when the newly-wedded couple arrived in London, the elderly spinster’s fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her gown as she assured Elizabeth she quite understood the new bride would want to assume the management of her own household, and Elizabeth knew she could never wrest away from her husband’s poor relation the task that gave her such satisfaction. Especially not after Everitt confided to her that, the Lowery family possessing few close kinsmen, Amelia Lowery really had nowhere else to go.

  Which brought her back to her present problem. She drew a shuddering breath.

  It was only a list of employees. It was only a supply of coin. She could manage this. She could.