"It means he's forgiven me." Emotion made her voice crack.

"I think he's been edging toward that for a while now. Especially since he met Selina." Even Elias had found Lord Baildon's complete surrender to his rambunctious granddaughter touching. He was utterly besotted with the tiny terror. Baildon loved the boys, but he'd cut off his right arm if Selina asked.

"And when you stepped in and saved that trading venture, he stopped saying you wed me to get your hands on my fortune."

Elias was now richer than his father-in-law, thanks to investments in innovative transport and manufacturing. He occasionally teased Marianne that she'd married him for his prospects. She always laughed and enlisted his support for another of her schools. His wife had become quite the advocate for female education.

Elias took her hand. It was trembling. He knew what this message from her father meant to her. "I don't want his money, but the decision is yours."

"It's so like him to tell us like this. He'll never admit he was wrong about you." She gave him a watery smile. "We could set up a trust for Michael and Selina. Or I could use the money for my charity work. Would you mind?"

"My darling, it's yours. I'm happy whatever you decide." His grip tightened. "After all, I've already covered you in diamonds as I vowed on our wedding night."

His wife could still blush. Like him, she must remember when he'd draped her naked body with the magnificent parure he'd given her for their third wedding anniversary. He was sure Selina was the result of that night. The fiery pa.s.sion he and Marianne had shared at her conception perhaps explained her untamed spirit.

"Will you go to Dorset for Christmas?" she asked.

The lawyer's letter ended with an invitation for the whole family to travel to the Seaton estates for the festive season. Elias had to give the marquess credit for conceding in style-even if the old man would die before he said the words "I'm sorry."

"I think it would be good for the children."

"I love you, you know." Marianne's lips twitched, although her wet eyes betrayed how her father's capitulation moved her. "You really are proving the n.o.bility of your character."

"You'll make it up to me," he said lightly.

She glanced around the deserted garden. "I could start now."

Elias bent to kiss her, reveling in her quick response. "There's no time like the present, beloved."

~THE END~.

Page forward for some exciting excerpts from Anna Campbell.

Continue reading for an excerpt from:

A Scoundrel By Moonlight

Book 4 of the Sons of Sin Series Grand Central Forever, New York * * *

Anything can happen in the moonlight ...

Justice. That's all Nell Trim wants for her sister and for the countless other young women the Marquess of Leath has ruined with his wildly seductive ways. Now she has a bold plan to take him down... as long as she can resist the scoundrel's temptations herself.

From the moment Nell meets James Fairbrother, the air positively sizzles. Yet for all his size and power, there's something amazingly tender in his touch. Could he really be such a depraved rogue? The only way to find out is to beat the devil at his own game... one tempting kiss at a time.

Prologue.

Mearsall, Kent, May 1828 "Avenge me."

The raspy whisper stirred Nell Trim from her grief-stricken haze. She straightened in the hard wooden chair beside the narrow bed. Around her, tallow candles guttered. Outside the cottage's mullioned windows, the night was dark and quiet.

She rose to smooth her half-sister's covers. "Shall I fetch Father?"

"No." Dorothy grabbed Nell's hand. The late spring air was warm and Dorothy's fever had raged for two days, but the fingers that closed around Nell's were icy with encroaching death. "Listen...to me."

Nell stared helplessly into the girl's ashen face. Once Dorothy had been the village belle. Now her skin was gray and dry, and her large blue eyes sank deep into their sockets. She was eighteen years old and looked three times that. "Dr. Parsons said to rest."

Dorothy's cracked lips turned down. "There's no time."

Nell's heart cramped with futile denial. "Darling..."

Her half-sister's hold tightened, stifling the comforting lie. "We both know it's true."

Yes, they did. Dr. Parsons had relinquished all hope after Dorothy had lost her baby. Nell still shuddered to remember the sea of blood gushing from her half-sister's slight body.

Since then, Dorothy had lingered through agony. Looking into her drawn face, Nell knew that lovely, vivacious, heedless Dorothy Simpson wouldn't last the night. "I'll get you some water."

Irritation shadowed her half-sister's face. "I don't want water. I want your promise to take up my cause."

Nell frowned. "But you don't know who a.s.saulted you."

For months, Dorothy had hidden her pregnancy, until even her unworldly schoolmaster father had noticed. In tearful shame, she'd confessed that a stranger had attacked her.

Dorothy's bitter smile was out of keeping with the frivolous girl Nell knew. But of course, frivolity had brought disaster, hadn't it?

"It wasn't exactly...a.s.sault."

Horrified Nell s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand free. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?"

Ever since hearing that Dorothy's pregnancy resulted from violence, Nell had been angry. This hint that the story wasn't exactly as presented-hardly surprising, Dorothy was often unreliable with the truth-left her bewildered. "You went...willingly?"

Dorothy's expression conveyed a strange mixture of shame and pride. "I loved him."

"Was it one of the village boys?" Nell felt queasy. Had someone they knew taken advantage of Dorothy? It seemed the most obvious answer, yet Dorothy had always scorned Mearsall's lads as yokels.

A grunt that might have been a dismissive laugh. "Don't be silly."

"Then who?"

Dorothy's gaze fixed on some distant horizon. Unbelievably Nell heard a trace of her sister's old conceit. "A great gentleman. A man who could give me everything I wanted."

"Everything except a wedding ring," Nell said sharply, unable to reconcile Dorothy's boasting with this pain and disgrace.

Tears filled Dorothy's eyes. "I knew you and Papa would scold. That's why I said I'd been forced."

Despairingly, Nell stared at this wayward girl she loved so much. Dorothy was seven years younger, more child than sister. When Nell was five, her soldier father had died fighting the French. Widowed Frances Trim had then married the much older William Simpson, as much to provide security for her daughter Nell as for companionship. Since Frances's death ten years ago, Nell had cared for her half-sister like a mother.

"Oh, Dorothy," Nell said, a world of regret in the words. She could hardly bear her guilt at failing to keep a closer eye on her sister.

Convulsively Dorothy clutched Nell's hand. "Don't be cross."

"I'm cross with the man who did this to you." That was an understatement. She'd like to see the wretch hanged.

Before this unknown blackguard got his filthy paws on her, Dorothy had been an innocent, although easily flattered. A man wouldn't need much town polish to convince Dorothy, who'd never been past Canterbury, of his credentials as a lord.

"Good," Dorothy said with venom, her face as white as the pillowcases.

For a terrifyingly long time, Dorothy lay still. Nell's heart slammed to a stop, only to resume beating when Dorothy drew a rattling breath. She was alive. Just.

"I want you to..." A coughing fit interrupted. Every word sounded like her last.

"Don't talk," Nell said, although she was frantic to know who had wronged this beautiful, vibrant girl.

Dorothy's words emerged in a breathless tumble. "Find him and expose him to the world as a villain."

"But who-" Nell began.

"Promise me." Dorothy struggled up on her elbows, the effort draining what little strength remained. "He said he'd marry me. He said he'd take me to his house and set me up like a queen."

She started to cough again. Nell released her and poured some water, but drinking only made Dorothy choke. "Rest now."

Petulantly Dorothy struck away the gla.s.s, spilling water on the sheets. "When I told him about the baby, he laughed. Laughed and called me a brainless s.l.u.t."

Nell winced at the language, even as her anger focused on this devil. "I'm so sorry."

"He has...a book." Dorothy closed her eyes, gathering herself. This time, Nell didn't interrupt. For the peace of her soul, Dorothy needed to speak. "A diary of his seductions. Girl after girl. All set out neatly as stories in a newspaper."

"Oh, my dear..." This spiteful betrayal horrified Nell. "Why on earth would he show you that? That's needlessly cruel."

"He was proud of it. Proud of all the women he'd ruined." Her voice thickened with tears. "If you find that book, you can destroy him."

"But how?"

Dorothy became agitated. "Just don't tell Papa. Please."

"I won't, darling." Grief split Nell's heart at this fleeting glimpse of the sweet child she'd once been. "But where can I find this book?"

Dorothy breathed in shallow gasps. "Go to his house."

"His house?" Was Dorothy delirious? "Where is his house?"

"You'll find it." Dorothy drew a shuddering breath. "You're clever, too clever to believe a man's lies." Lower still. "If only I'd been as clever."

Acid tears stung Nell's eyes. Over recent years, Nell's cleverness had inspired Dorothy's resentment rather than admiration. If Nell or William mentioned propriety or prudence, Dorothy had flounced away, convinced that her family was hopelessly hidebound. "Who did this to you?"

Dorothy opened glazed eyes and her grip tightened to bruising. "Swear you'll find that diary and expose this monster for what he is."

Her half-sister's desperation sliced at Nell. "Of course I swear. Tell me the man's name."

Hatred sharpened Dorothy's face. "The Marquess of Leath."

Before Nell could respond to this astonishing claim, Dorothy began to shake and gasp. Nell surged forward to enfold her sister in her arms, but it was too late.

Pretty, reckless Dorothy Simpson had breathed her last.

Chapter One.