Lady Marion Dane never had a Season due to the death of her
parents. Taking responsibility for her sisters and
providing them with a stable life fell into her capable
hands. Marion presents an icy demeanor to society,
believing it counters any scandal, for she hides a family
secret from the past that could destroy their lives. At the
arrival of threatening letters and clumsy attempts on her
life, Marion relocates her sisters to a new town in the
recently inherited home of their deceased aunt.
Brand Hamilton, the baseborn son of a duke, has made his
fortune as the owner of a fleet of newspapers. Knowing the
plight of the common man and the excesses of the
aristocrats, Brand enters politics determined to make a
difference. Living on the fringes of society because of his
heritage, Brand could use an aristocratic wife, and the
cool and autocratic Marion Dane is a challenge he can't
resist. When she moves close to his country home, Brand
realizes she's in trouble.
Finding it impossible to ignore the compelling man, Marion
succumbs to Brand's charms knowing there is no future for
them. As Brand tries to gain Marion's trust, he stumbles
upon a decade-old mystery involving Marion. A killer
resurfaces to kill again, determined to keep the secret
hidden.
Ms. Thornton demonstrates her flair for creating likable
characters involved in a clever and suspenseful intrigue
that compliments their absorbing love story. THE BACHELOR
TRAP should go on readers' keeper shelf.
The Bachelor Trap is the provocative tale of a gentleman
with a secret and the independent lady he is determined to
win in the ultimate game of love.
It’s a challenge most men would avoid at all costs: to
seduce the ravishing, reluctant Lady Marion Dane while
avoiding that long walk to the altar. But Brand Hamilton,
the base-born son of a duke with a bright future in
politics, has his own compelling reasons for courting
Marion.
Now, with society ablaze over a very unconventional
courtship, they embark on a journey that takes them from
the glitter and intrigue of London to a decades-old secret
hidden in a far-off English village – and a love that
could prove the most irresistible snare of all.
Excerpt
London, May 1816
It was only a small thing, or so it seemed at the time,
but in later years, Brand would laugh and say that from
that moment on, his life changed irreversibly. That was
the night Lady Marion Dane stubbed her toes.
She and her sister were his guests, making up a party in
his box at the theater. They hadn’t known each other long,
only a month, but he knew far more about her than she
realized. He and her late aunt, Edwina Gunn, had been
friends, and from time to time Edwina had mentioned her
sister’s family who lived near Keswick in the Lake
District. In the last few weeks, he’d made it his business
to find out as much as he could about Lady Marion Dane.
She was the daughter of an earl, but she had never had a
Season in London, had never been presented at Court or
enjoyed the round of parties and outings that were taken
for granted by other young women of her class. If her
father had not died, she would still be in the Lake
District, out of harm’s way, and there would be no need
for him to keep a watchful eye on her.
Though he’d taken a sketch of her background, he could not
get her measure. She was an intensely private person and
rarely showed emotion. But in the theater, when the lamps
were dimmed and she thought herself safe from prying eyes,
she gave herself up to every emotion that was portrayed on
stage.
The play was Much Ado About Nothing, and he could tell
from her face which characters appealed to her and which
did not. She didn’t waste much sympathy on Claudio, or his
betrothed’s father, and they were, one supposed, cast in
the heroic mold. Benedick she tolerated but the shrew,
Beatrice, made her beam with admiration.
It was more entertaining to watch Marion’s face than the
performance on stage.
The final curtain came down, the applause died away and
chairs were scraped back as people got up. Lady Marion was
still sitting in her chair as though loath to leave. Her
sister, Lady Emily – an indiscriminate flirt at eighteen –
was making eyes at young Henry Cavendish; and his own good
friend, Ash Denison, was stifling a yawn behind his hand.
No affair such as this would be complete, for propriety’s
sake, without a chaperon or two, and doing the honors
tonight was Ash’s grandmother, the dowager countess and
her friend, Lady Bethune. The evening wasn’t over yet. He
had arranged for a late supper at the Clarendon Hotel
where Marion’s cousin, Fanny, and her husband, Reggie
Wright, were due to join them.
Everyone was effusive in their praise of the performance,
but it was Marion’s words he wanted to hear. She looked up
at him with unguarded eyes when he held her chair, her
expression still alight with traces of amusement. Then she
sighed and said, “Thank you for inviting us, Mr.
Hamilton.” She was using her formal voice and he found it
mildly irritating. She went on, “In future, when I think
of this performance, I shall remember the actress who
played Beatrice. She was truly memorable.”
She got up, a graceful woman in lavender silk with a cool
smile that matched her cool stare, and fairish blond hair
softly swept back from her face.
Some demon goaded him to say, “In future, when you think
of this performance, I hope you will remember me.”
The flash of unease in her gray eyes pleased him
enormously. Since they’d met, she’d treated him with all
the respect she would show an octogenarian. He wasn’t a
vain man, but he was a man. The temptation to make her
acknowledge it was becoming harder and harder to resist.
Recovered now, she smiled vaguely and went to join her
sister. He had to admire Marion’s tactics. It was
seamlessly done, but very effective. She diverted young
Cavendish’s interest to someone in another box, linked her
arm through Emily’s and purposely steered the girl through
the door.
Emily was an attractive little thing with huge, dark eyes,
a cap of silky curls and a smile that was, in his opinion,
too alluring for her tender years. There was always a
stream of young bucks vying for her attention. And vice
versa. Marion had checked her sister tonight, but that
didn’t happen very often.
There was another sister, Phoebe, a child of ten whom he
liked immensely. Though she was lame, she was up for
anything. She was also a fount of knowledge on Marion’s
comings and goings.
He was calling her Marion in the privacy of his own
thoughts. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be doing it in
public, then what would Lady Marion Dane, cool and
collected earl’s daughter, make of that?
“She makes an excellent chaperon, doesn’t she?” Ash
Denison, Brand’s friend since their school days at Eton,
spoke in an undertone. “All she needs is one of those lace
caps to complete the picture. Then every man will know
that she’s a confirmed spinster and he had better keep his
distance.”
The thought of Marion in a lace cap such as dowagers wore
soured Brand’s mood. All the same, he could see that day
coming. Though she was only seven-and-twenty, she seemed
resigned to her single state. No. It was truer to say that
she embraced it. All she wanted from a man, all she would
allow, was a platonic friendship.
Did she know that she was setting herself up for a
challenge? He let the thought turn in his mind.
“Careful, Brand,” said Ash. “You’re smiling again. If
you’re not careful, you’ll be making a habit of it.”
Brand turned to stare at his friend and made a face when
he came under the scrutiny of Ash’s quizzing glass. No one
looking at Ash would have believed that he had spent the
better part of his adult life fighting for king and
country in the Spanish Campaign. Brand knew that those
were brutal years, though Ash always made light of them.
Now that the war was over, he seemed hell-bent on enjoying
himself. He was a dandy and the darling of society.
Brand had neither the patience nor the inclination to make
himself the darling of society. He knew how fickle society
was. As the base born son of a duke, he’d met with
prejudice in his time, but that was before he’d acquired a
fleet of newspapers stretching from London to every major
city in the south of England. Now, he was respected and
his friendship sought after, now that he could break the
high and mighty with the stroke of his pen.
He knew what people said, that he was driven to prove
himself. It was true. But he never forgot a friend or
anyone who had been kind to him when he’d had nothing to
offer in return. Edwina Gunn was one of those people. It
was to repay his debt to her that he had taken Marion and
her sisters under his wing.
Ash was waiting for him to say something. “The sight of a
beautiful woman always makes me smile.”
“I presume we are talking about Lady Marion? You haven’t
taken your eyes from her all evening.”
This friendly taunt was met with silence.
“ Is she beautiful?” Ash prodded.
“Not in the common way, but she has style.”
“Mmm,” Ash mused. “If she allowed me to have the dressing
of her, I could make her the toast of the ton. I’d begin
by cutting her hair to form a soft cap. We’d have to lower
the bodices on her gowns, of course, and raise the hems. I
think she would look her best in transparent gauzes. What
do you think?”
Ash was known to have an eye for fashion and many high
ranking ladies sought his advice. In Brand’s view, their
new found glamour wasn’t always an improvement.
“You know what they say.” Brand moved to catch up with the
rest of his party, and Ash quickened his step to keep up
with him.
“What do they say?”
There was a crush of people at the top of the stairs and
Brand felt a moment’s anxiety. He relaxed when he saw
Marion’s fair hair glistening with gold under the lights
of the chandeliers. Emily’s dark cap of curls shimmered
like silk. Then he lost sight of them in the crush.
“What do they say?” repeated Ash.
“One man’s meat – ”
The sentence was left hanging. A woman screamed. Some
patrons cried out. In the next instant, Brand was
sprinting for the stairs.
He shoved people out of his way as he thundered down those
marble steps. He found her at the bottom, sitting on the
floor, her head resting on her knees. Emily was with her.
“Stand back!” he flung at the group of people who had
crowded round her. They gave way without a protest.
He knelt down and touched her shoulder with a shaking
hand. “Marion?” he said urgently. “What happened? Say
something!”
She looked up at him with tears of pain in her eyes. “I
stubbed my toes,” she said crossly. “There’s no need to
fuss.”
Then she fainted.
* * * *
Marion swam out of the haze that enveloped her. “Someone
elbowed me in the back,” she said plaintively.
A masculine voice asked, “Who would want to harm you,
Marion?”
“David.”
Just saying the word cleared her head. She lifted her
lashes and blinked to clear the mist in front of her eyes.
Emily’s anxious face looked down at her. Then she
registered Hamilton’s presence and finally, the painful
throb in her toes.
She struggled to a sitting position. They were in
Hamilton’s carriage turning into the street that gave onto
Hanover Square where Cousin Fanny’s house was located.
“You’re taking me home?”
Hamilton nodded. “Apart from anything else, you gave
yourself a nasty knock on the head. When we get to the
house, I’ll send for the doctor. I’ve already sent word to
your cousins at the Clarendon.”
“That isn’t necessary! It will only worry Fanny and Reggie
if I don’t turn up. As I told you, all I did was stub my
toes.”
“You said David pushed you.”
She felt a stab of alarm. “I said no such thing.” Then,
with an agility of mind that surprised even her, she
added, “Who is David?”
When Hamilton looked at Emily, she shook her head. The
subject of David was dropped, much to Marion’s relief, but
Hamilton hadn’t finished yet. “Did you get a good look at
the person who pushed you?”
“No. Everything happened so quickly. And I wasn’t pushed,
I was elbowed.” Her toes were throbbing in earnest, so she
managed no more than a weak smile. “That’s the thing about
London. It’s a menace. People are always in a hurry. I’m
forever dodging crowds of jostling shoppers or carriages
hurtling to unknown destinations as though it were a
matter of life and death. The theater is no different. And
do you know, old people are the worst? Lord Denison’s
grandmother uses her cane as though she is prodding
cattle.”
Her attempt at humor won a chuckle from Emily, though Mr.
Hamilton remained stony faced.
“You’re right about that,” said Emily. “I’ve seen her do
it. But you’re wrong about your fall. I’m not saying you
were deliberately pushed, but someone fell heavily against
you. Marion, our arms were linked and you were wrenched
from my grasp. Luckily for you, there was a big man in
front of you. He broke your fall.”
“I can’t remember.” And that was the truth. At this point,
all she wanted was to get home so that Fanny’s housekeeper
could give her one of her magic powders to dull the pain
in her toes. “I can’t understand,” she said, “how stubbed
toes can hurt so much.”
“Be thankful you didn’t break your neck.” That was
Hamilton.
“Like poor Aunt Edwina.” That was Emily. Suddenly aware of
what she’d said, she went on hurriedly, “I’m sorry. It was
a thoughtless thing to say at a time like this.”
A pall of silence settled over them. Marion had to
struggle to keep from showing how Emily’s words had
affected her. Guilt was a constant shadow on her mind.
She’d hardly known this aunt who had left everything to
her – Yew Cottage in Longbury, her goods and chattels, and
the little money she had saved. All she had ever done for
her aunt was write the occasional letter. It was the same
with her mother, though she and Edwina were sisters. There
had been a falling out when Edwina and the youngest
sister, Hannah, had come for a holiday to the Lake
District, and the quarrel had never been mended, not
properly. It was only glossed over.
Without Aunt Edwina’s legacy, they would be in dire
straits. When their father died, the title and estate
passed to Cousin Morley, and she and her sisters had moved
into the dower house. It wasn’t long, however, before
Cousin Morley took possession of that, too. He wanted it
for his mother-in-law who had outstayed her welcome at the
Hall. They each had a small annuity from their father’s
estate, he pointed out. That should do them.
It seemed wrong to her that someone’s tragic misfortune
should be the saving of her little family.
Hamilton stirred. “So, when the Season is over, you’re off
to Longbury to start a new life?”
“That’s the plan,” answered Marion.
“What was wrong with the old life?”
Marion jumped in before Emily could open her mouth. One
had to be careful about what one said in front of Brand
Hamilton. He was a newspaper man and had the knack of
making people say more than they wanted to.
“You know how it is,” she said. “It passed away when my
father died. Cousin Morley and his wife took over our
home. It made things . . . awkward.”
“All the same,” he said, “you’re bound to miss your
friends. The Lake District covers a wide area. You could
sell Edwina’s cottage and set yourself up nicely in one of
the scenic villages close to Keswick. That way, you could
avoid Cousin Morley and keep up with your friends.”
“Longbury has its own beauty,” replied Marion, “and I’m
sure we’ll make new friends there.” It sounded as though
he didn’t want her to go to Longbury.
“Oh? You remember the village do you? And the woods and
the downs?”
They’d had this conversation before, and his persistence
in trying to jog her memory puzzled her. “Of course, but
only vaguely. As I told you, I was only a child when my
mother and I visited Longbury.” The holiday was an
attempt, she supposed, at a reconciliation between Edwina
and Mama, but it hadn’t worked. “But should we decide that
it doesn’t suit, or we start pining for the Lake District,
we may take your advice.”
“Marion, no!” interjected Emily. “Keswick is so isolated,
Longbury is close to London.” Suddenly moderating her
tone, as though remembering her advanced years, she went
on, “There is so much to do in London. You’ve said so
yourself. And what about Cousin Fanny? We promised to be
here over Christmas.”
Marion flashed her sister an affectionate smile. An
eighteen year old girl could be forgiven for lusting after
the glamour of life in town with its round of parties and
balls, especially when there had been little to celebrate
in the last few years. It seemed that they were hardly out
of their mourning clothes when they were in them again.
There had been no parties, no outings of any note, no
laughter and no joy. Cousin Fanny’s invitation to take in
the Season before going on to Longbury could not be
resisted. Her sisters deserved a little excitement in
their lives and something to look forward to.
She was aware that Hamilton thought she spoiled Emily, but
she didn’t care what he thought. He could not guess how
harrowing these last few years had been, and she didn’t
want him to know. For one thing, she didn’t know him that
well, and for another, people who wallowed in their
misfortunes soon found themselves without any friends. Her
sisters had learned to smile again. That was what mattered.
She forced herself to forget the dull throb in her toes
and find a convincing explanation for her desire to start
a new life. “Family is important to us, Mr. Hamilton, and
Cousin Fanny is the only family we have left now. We want
to be close to each other. The Lake District is so far
away that we’ve seen each other only once in the last ten
years.”
He inclined his head as though he understood. A moment
passed and he observed idly, “I remember Edwina saying
much the same thing. You were the only family left to her,
but the journey was too arduous for an old woman to make.”
Hearing a rebuke in the words, she gave him a keen look.
His eyes reflected nothing but polite interest.
Sometimes, she didn’t know what to make of this man. He’d
appeared on Fanny’s doorstep the day after they arrived in
London. It turned out that he and Reggie, Fanny’s husband,
were good friends, attended the same clubs and shared an
interest in politics. Reggie was the member of parliament
for a riding in north London. In fact, Reggie was hopeful
of persuading Mr. Hamilton to become a candidate in the
next bi-election. Mr. Hamilton, he said, had risen from
humble beginnings to become, at the age of thirty-three,
the owner of a fleet of newspapers stretching from London
to all the major cities in the south. Fanny was more
explicit. Mr. Hamilton, she said, was the son of a duke
but born on the wrong side of the blanket. Both she and
Reggie agreed that with his ambition and influence, Mr.
Hamilton could go far in politics.
There was, however, more to Hamilton’s visits than
friendship with her relatives. He’d called on them, he
said, because he’d once lived in Longbury and had known
their aunt quite well. She thought he must have known her
aunt very well, indeed, for he never referred to her as
Miss Gunn, but by her Christian name, Edwina.
At any rate, he’d taken a proprietary interest in Edwina’s
nieces, and gone out of his way to make sure that they
enjoyed their first Season in London. But there was no
getting round the fact that he was a newspaper man. He was
naturally curious and that made her cautious.
When the carriage pulled up outside the house, Hamilton
got out first, then turned back with outstretched
arms. “I’ll carry you,” he said.
She balked at the thought of him putting his arms around
her, not because she was missish but because she was
fiercely independent and quite capable of taking care of
herself. Then she remembered that she’d fainted and he
must have carried her into the carriage. Too late now to
assert herself.
“Marion,” he said, gravely patient, “you’re not wearing
shoes. We had to remove them so that I could examine your
toes.”
“I have them right here,” Emily piped up.
“Do you want to walk into the house in your stockinged
feet?”
Her smile was a little tight, but she gave in gracefully.
As he held her high against his chest, Emily ran to pull
the bell. Since he was watching the door, Marion took a
moment to study him. His features were too harshly carved
to be truly classical, and his brilliant blue eyes were
sometimes a little too intense for her comfort. Luxurious
brown hair brushed his collar and the thin silver scar
that sliced one eyebrow lent an air of recklessness.
It was the scar that fascinated her. She knew that he’d
come by it when he’d challenged a celebrated French
swordsman to a duel. Hamilton was a shrewd man of
business; he commanded respect and admiration. So why
would a man like that risk everything in a duel?
“I hope you like what you see.”
She’d been caught out staring. At the sound of his voice,
she jerked her gaze from his scar. Never at a loss for
words, she said coolly, “You were lucky not to have lost
an eye.”
White teeth gleamed in the lamplight. “True, but that is
not what you were thinking, Marion.”
The front door was opened by the butler and Marion was
saved the indignity of appearing speechless as Hamilton
climbed the stairs.
© 2003-2025 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy