Running from Scandal

  For an instant she felt the terrible cold panic of falling.

  She braced herself for the pain of landing on the hard floor—only to be caught instead in a pair of strong muscled arms.

  The shock of it quite knocked the breath from her, and the room went hazy and blurry as the veil of her bonnet blinded her. Willing herself not to faint, Emma blinked away her confusion and pushed back the dratted veil.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she gasped. ‘You are very quick-thinking.’

  ‘I’m just happy I happened to be here,’ her rescuer answered, and his voice was shockingly familiar. A smooth, deep, rich sound, like a glass of sweet mulled wine on a cold night, comforting and deliciously disturbing all at the same time.

  It was a voice she hadn’t heard in a long while, and yet she remembered it very well.

  BANCROFTS OF BARTON PARK

  Two sisters, two scandals, two sizzling love affairs

  Country girls at heart, Jane and Emma Bancroft are a far cry from the perfectly coiffed, glossy debutantes that grace most of Society.

  But soon they come to realise that, country girl and debutante alike, no lady is immune to the charms of a dashing rogue!

  Don’t miss this enthralling new duet from Amanda McCabe

  It started with Jane’s story

  THE RUNAWAY COUNTESS

  Already available

  and continues with Emma’s story

  RUNNING FROM SCANDAL

  AMANDA McCABE wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA® Award, RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma, with a menagerie of two cats, a pug and a bossy miniature poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook.

  Visit her at http://ammandamccabe.tripod.com and www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com

  Previous novels by the same author:

  TO CATCH A ROGUE*

  TO DECEIVE A DUKE*

  TO KISS A COUNT*

  CHARLOTTE AND THE WICKED LORD

  (in Regency Summer Scandals)

  A NOTORIOUS WOMAN†

  A SINFUL ALLIANCE†

  HIGH SEAS STOWAWAY†

  THE WINTER QUEEN

  (in Christmas Betrothals)

  THE SHY DUCHESS

  SNOWBOUND AND SEDUCED

  (in Regency Christmas Proposals)

  THE TAMING OF THE ROGUE

  A STRANGER AT CASTONBURY**

  TARNISHED ROSE OF THE COURT

  THE RUNAWAY COUNTESS‡

  And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

  SHIPWRECKED AND SEDUCED†

  TO BED A LIBERTINE

  THE MAID’S LOVER

  TO COURT, CAPTURE AND CONQUER

  GIRL IN THE BEADED MASK

  UNLACING THE LADY IN WAITING

  ONE WICKED CHRISTMAS

  AN IMPROPER DUCHESS

  A VERY TUDOR CHRISTMAS

  * The Chase Muses

  †linked by character

  **Castonbury Park Regency mini-series

  ‡Bancrofts of Barton Park

  Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

  Running

  from Scandal

  Amanda McCabe

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  AUTHOR NOTE

  When I was about eight I found a battered paperback copy of Emma in a bag of secondhand books at my grandmother’s house. I didn’t know anything about Jane Austen then (except a vague thought that she’d lived a long time ago and never got married!), but I was drawn in by the two girls in white gowns and feathered bonnets on the cover and started reading. I was dragged right into the world of Emma Woodhouse and her friends and family in Highbury, and refused to do anything else until I’d finished the book! Then I ran to the library and checked out all the Austen novels. That was the beginning of my Regency love, which goes on to this day.

  For a long time I’ve wanted to try writing a story in the style of an Austen novel. Not in her writing style, of course—no one can copy that—but in what I loved so much about her plots: the life of English villages and country houses, the close bonds that can form between families (especially sisters) and friends in such places, the romances that blossom even when their prospects look bleak.

  I finally found the right characters in my Bancroft sisters, Jane and Emma, and the happily-ever-afters they found at Barton Park with their handsome heroes. I started to feel as if I could have lived in that neighbourhood, too—it was such a fun world to spend time in, and I was sorry to say goodbye to it all. But I know Jane and Emma go on happily there!

  And watch for a little epilogue story coming soon, where we see what happens when Melanie Harding and Philip Carrington find themselves unwillingly married …

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  England—1814

  Emma Bancroft was very good at holding up walls. She grew more adept at it every time she went to a party, which was not very often. She was getting a great deal of practice at it tonight.

  She pressed her back against the wall of the village assembly room and sipped at a glass of watery punch as she surveyed the gathering. It was a surprisingly large one considering the chilly, damp night outside. Emma would have thought most people would want to stay sensibly at home by their fires, not get dressed in their muslin and silk finery and go traipsing about in search of dance partners. Yet the long and narrow room was crowded with laughing, chattering groups dressed up in their finery.

  Emma rather wished she were home by the fire. Not that she entirely minded a social evening. People were always so very fascinating. She loved nothing better than to find a superb vantage point by a convenient wall and settle down to listen to conversations. It was such fun to devise her own stories about what those conversations were really about, what secret lives everyone might be living behind their smiles and mundane chatter. It was like a good book.

  But tonight she had left behind an actual good book at home in the library of Barton Park, along with her new puppy, Murray. Recently she had discovered the fascinations of botany, which had quite replaced her previous passions for Elizabethan architecture and the cultivation of tea in India. Emma often found new topics of education that fascinated her, and plants were a new one. Her father’s dusty old library, mostly unexplored since his death so long ago, was full of wonders waiting to be discovered.

  And tonight, with a cold rain blowing against the windows, seemed a perfect one for curling up with a pot of tea and her studies, Murray at her feet. But her sister Jane, usually all too ready for a quiet, solitary ev
ening at home, had insisted they come to the assembly. Jane even brought out some of her fine London gowns for them to wear.

  ‘I am a terrible sister for letting you live here like a hermit, Emma,’ Emma remembered Jane saying as she held up a pale-blue silk gown. ‘You are only sixteen and so pretty. You need to be dancing, and flirting and—well, doing what young, pretty ladies enjoy doing.’

  ‘I enjoy staying here and reading,’ Emma had protested, even as she had to admit the dress was very nice. Definitely prettier than her usual faded muslins, aprons and sturdy boots, though it would never do for digging up botanical specimens. Jane even let her wear their mother’s pearl pendant tonight. But she could still be reading at home.

  Or hunting for the lost, legendary Barton Park treasure, as their father had spent his life doing. But Jane didn’t have to know about that. Her sister had too many other worries.

  ‘I know you enjoy it, and that is the problem,’ Jane had said, as she searched for a needle and thread to take the dress in. ‘But you are growing up. We can’t go on as we have here at Barton Park for ever.’

  ‘Why not?’ Emma argued. ‘I love it here, just the two of us in our family home. We can do as we please here, and not worry about...’

  About horrid schools, where stuck-up girls laughed and gossiped, and the dance master grabbed at Emma in the corridor. Where she had felt so, so alone. She was sent there when their mother died and Jane married the Earl of Ramsay, Hayden. Emma had never wanted her sweet sister to know what happened there. She never wanted anyone to know. Especially not about her foolish feelings for the handsome dance teacher, that vile man who had taken advantage of her girlish feelings to kiss her in the dark—and tried so much more before Emma could get away. He had quite put her off men for ever.

  Emma saw the flash of worry in Jane’s hazel eyes before she bent her head over the needle and Emma took her other hand with a quick smile.

  ‘Of course we must have a night out, Jane, you are quite right,’ she’d said, making herself laugh. ‘You must be so bored here with just me and my books after your grand London life. We shall go to the assembly and have fun.’

  Jane laughed, too, but Emma heard the sadness in it. The sadness had lingered ever since Jane brought Emma back to Barton Park almost three years before, when Jane’s husband, the earl, hadn’t appeared in many months. Emma didn’t know what had happened between them in London and she didn’t want to pry, but nor did she want to add to her sister’s worry.

  ‘My London life was not all that grand,’ Jane said, ‘and I am not sorry it’s behind me. But soon it will be your time to go out in the world, Emma. The village doesn’t have a wide society, true, but it’s a start.’

  And that was what Emma feared—that soon it would be her turn to step out into the world and she would make horrid mistakes. She was too impulsive by half, and even though she knew it she had no idea how to stop it.

  So she stood by the wall, watching, sipping her punch, trying not to tear Jane’s pretty dress. For an instant before they left Barton and Emma glimpsed herself in the mirror, she hadn’t believed it was really her. Jane had put her blonde, curling hair up in a twisted bandeau of ribbons and, teamed with her mother’s pearl necklace, even Emma had to admit the effect was much prettier than her everyday braid and apron.

  The local young men seemed to agree as well. She noticed a group of them over by the windows: bluff, hearty, red-faced country lads dressed in their finest town evening coats and cravats, watching her and whispering. Which was exactly what she did not want. Not after Mr Milne, the passionate school music master. She turned away and pretended to be studiously observing something edifying across the room.

  She saw Jane standing next to the refreshment table with a tall gentleman in a sombre dark-blue coat who had his back to Emma. Even though Emma was not having the very best of evenings, the smile on her sister’s face made her glad they had ventured out after all.

  Jane so seldom mentioned her estranged husband or their life in London, though Emma had always followed Jane’s social activities in the newspapers while she was at school and knew it must have been very glamorous. Barton Park was not in the least glamorous, and even though Jane insisted she was most content, Emma wondered and worried.

  Tonight, Jane was smiling, even laughing, her dark hair glossy in the candlelight and her lilac muslin-and-lace gown soft and pretty. She shook her head at something the tall gentleman said and gestured toward Emma with a smile. Emma stood up straighter as they both turned to look at her.

  ‘Blast it all,’ she whispered, and quickly smiled when an elderly lady nearby gave her a disapproving glance. But she couldn’t help cursing just a little. For it was Sir David Marton who was talking to her sister.

  Sir David had been visiting at Barton more often of late than Emma could like. He always came with his sister, Miss Louisa Marton, very proper and everything since his estate at Rose Hill was their nearest neighbour. But still. Jane was married, even though Lord Ramsay never came to Barton. And Sir David was too handsome by half. Handsome, and far too serious. She doubted he ever laughed at all.

  She studied him across the room, trying not to frown. He nodded at whatever Jane was saying, watching Emma solemnly from behind his spectacles. She was glad he wasn’t near enough for her to see his eyes. They were a strange, piercing pale-grey colour, and whenever he looked at her so steadily with them he seemed to see far too much.

  Emma unconsciously smoothed her skirt, feeling young and fidgety and silly. Which was the very last way she ever wanted to appear in front of Sir David.

  He nodded again at Jane and gave her a gentle smile. He always spoke so gently, so respectfully to Jane, with a unique spark of humour in those extraordinary eyes. He never had that gentle humour when he looked at Emma. Then he was solemn and watchful.

  Emma had never felt jealous of Jane before. How could she be, when Jane was the best of sisters, and had such unhappiness hidden in her heart? But when Sir David Marton was around, Emma almost—almost—did feel jealous.

  And she could not fathom why. Sir David was not at all the sort of man she was sure she could admire. He was too quiet, too serious. Too—conventional. Emma couldn’t read him at all.

  And now—oh, blast it all again! Now they were coming across the room toward her.

  Emma nearly wished she had spoken with one of the country squires after all. She never knew what to say to Sir David that wouldn’t make her feel young and foolish around him. That might make him smile at her.

  ‘Emma dear, I was just talking to Sir David about your new interest in botany,’ Jane said as they reached Emma’s side.

  Emma glanced up at Sir David, who was watching her with that inscrutable, solemn look. The smile he had given Jane was quite gone. It made her feel so very tongue-tied, as if words flew into her head only to fly right back out again. She hadn’t felt so very nervous, so unsure, since she left school, and she did not like that feeling at all.

  ‘Were you indeed?’ Emma said softly, looking away from him.

  ‘My sister mentioned that she drove past you on the lane a few days ago,’ Sir David said, his tone as calm and serious as he looked. ‘She said when she offered you a ride home you declared you had to finish your work. As it was rather a muddy day, Louisa found that a bit—interesting.’

  Against her will, Emma’s feelings pricked just a bit. She had never wanted to care what anyone thought of her, not after Mr Milne. Miss Louisa Marton was a silly gossip, and there was no knowing what exactly she had told her brother or what he thought of Emma now. Did he think her ridiculous for her studies? For her unladylike interests such as grubbing around in the dirt?

  ‘I am quite the beginner in my studies,’ Emma said. ‘Finding plant specimens to study is an important part of it all. When the ground is damp can be the best time to collect some of them. But it was very kind of y
our sister to stop for me.’

  ‘I fear Emma has little scope for her interests since she left school to come live here with me,’ Jane said. ‘I am no teacher myself.’

  ‘Oh, no, Jane!’ Emma cried, her shyness disappearing at her sister’s sad, rueful tone. ‘I love living at Barton. Mr Lorne at the bookshop here in the village keeps me well supplied. I have learned much more here than I ever did at that silly school. But perhaps Sir David finds my efforts dull.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Bancroft,’ he said, and to her surprise she heard a smile in his voice. She glanced up at him to find that there was indeed a hint of a curve to his lips. There was even a flash of a ridiculously attractive dimple in his cheeks.

  And she also realised she should not have looked at him. Up close he really was absurdly handsome, with a face as lean and carefully chiselled as a classical statue. His gleaming mahogany hair, which he usually ruthlessly combed down, betrayed a thick, soft wave in the damp air, tempting a touch. She wondered whimsically if he wore those spectacles in a vain attempt to keep ladies from fainting at his feet.

  ‘You do not find them dull, Sir David?’ Emma said, feeling foolish that she could find nothing even slightly cleverer to say.

  ‘Not at all. Everyone, male or female, needs interests in life to keep their minds sharp,’ he said. ‘I was fortunate enough to grow up living near an uncle who boasts a library of over five thousand volumes. Perhaps you have heard of him? Mr Charles Sansom at Sansom House.’

  ‘Five thousand books!’ Emma cried, much louder than she intended. ‘That must be a truly amazing sight. Has he any special interests?’

  ‘Greek and Roman antiquities are a favourite of his, but he has a selection on nearly every topic. Including, I would imagine, botany,’ he said, his smile growing. Emma had never seen him look so young and open before and she unconsciously swayed closer to him. ‘He always let us read whatever we liked when we visited him, though I fear my sister seldom took him up on the offer.’

  Emma glanced across the room toward Miss Louisa Marton, who was easy to spot in her elaborately feathered turban. She was talking with her bosom bow, Miss Maude Cole, the beauty of the neighbourhood with her red-gold curls, sky-blue eyes and fine gowns. They in turn were looking back at Emma and whispering behind their fans.