The Marquess’ Virgin Bride

THE MARQUESS’ VIRGIN BRIDE A STEAMY HISTORICAL REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL DAPHNE BYRNE CONTENTS Before You Start Reading… Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Epilogue Extended Epilogue Preview: Daring the Wicked Duke Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Also by Daphne Byrne About the Author BEFORE YOU START READING… Did you know that there’s a special place where you can chat with me and with thousands of like-minded bookworms all over the globe?! Join Cobalt Fairy’s facebook group of voracious readers and I guarantee you, you’d wish you had joined us sooner! Let’s connect, right NOW! Just click on the image above! ⇧ ABOUT THE BOOK “But you, Rebecca, you’ve done something to me.” Rebecca’s time as a bluestocking has come to an end. Her parents force her into a marriage of convenience, and she is fighting hands and teeth down the aisle. But when she sees her new husband, she stops dead in her tracks: for he is the most handsome man she has ever seen. Anthony, the Marquess of Rosenridge, needs a wife in order to inherit part of his wealth. He was looking for a plain and shy bride. Instead, he got a hellion who refuses to listen to him or follow his orders. And he needs to tame her down. Maybe bringing her to her knees will make her forget the annulment she is asking for… CHAPTER 1 Grant Manor Rebecca knocked three times on the door to her father’s study. You had to knock loudly, as the room behind it was vast and cavernous, and a timid, ordinary knock wouldn’t be heard. He’d once had a small, cozy study, where the door was always half open, and it was always a pleasantly inviting mess inside. Not anymore, of course. This room was more fashionable, if far too large and difficult to heat. Rebecca’s knuckles stung from her brisk knock. “Enter,” came a shrill female voice from inside, and Rebecca’s heart sank. Well, of course, she would be there. Rebecca pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Good morning, Papa,” she said lightly, and forced herself to look her stepmother in the eye. “Good morning, Vivienne.” Vivienne, the current Baroness Grant, narrowed her eyes at her stepdaughter, her thin red lips pressed together. Her previous campaigns to get Rebecca to call her either Baroness or Mama -the latter extremely half-heartedly- had all fallen flat. Rebecca ought to have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Vivienne had plenty of schemes ready to use. All that was left for Rebecca to do was figure out how to counter them. She tilted up her chin and concentrated on her father. Baron Grant, who sat at his desk with his wife standing behind him, was a thin-chested, nervous-looking man. Had he always been so small and timid? Rebecca couldn’t remember. She knew that she’d inherited her height from her mother – who’d been delicately described as a raven-haired, statuesque beauty – and her red hair and brown eyes from her father. She sometimes felt as though that was the only thing she’d ever inherit from her father. Baron Grant wasn’t meeting Rebecca’s eye, and that was worrying. Something was up. A long, white, elegant hand with pointed nails draped casually over his shoulder. There was expensive lace at the wrist, a stark contrast to Rebecca’s cuffs, which were frayed and worn. She’d turned them over to hide the disrepair. She knew that she wouldn’t be given any money for new sleeves. “You’ve seemed a little aimless of late, Rebecca,” the Baron said, twisting his long, ink-stained fingers together. Vivienne made him wash his hands constantly and insisted on him hiring countless clerks and secretaries to do his writing for him. “Aimless?” Rebecca repeated. “How so, Papa? Is something the matter?” “Oh, Harris, you aren’t saying it properly,” Vivienne said, her voice light and cultured, with just a hint of admonition. She was one of those people who always knew just what to say and just how to say it. She was never at a loss for words. A person couldn’t trust a word she said. Rebecca had learned that through hard experience. It was odd to think that she and Vivienne had been silently hating each other for eight whole years now. It felt much longer than that. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Rebecca asked, trying to catch her father’s eye. “Papa? I was a little surprised that you summoned me so early in the morning. It’s not even time for breakfast yet.” Vivienne stepped around the desk, moving towards Rebecca. Her heeled shoes clicked smartly on the polished stone floor, her footsteps echoing. She looked immaculate, as always. Despite being well into her forties, Vivienne could have passed for at least ten years younger. She was small – a head shorter than Rebecca – and dainty. She dressed well and had neatly styled fair hair that didn’t seem to show any white or gray. She had keen, green eyes, always hooded and carefully blank. She approached Rebecca with something that could have been a smile. “I know you’ve felt out of place here for many years,” Vivienne said, with the air of one embarking on a well-rehearsed speech. “Oh, no, not at all,” Rebecca said at once. “I’m quite happy here.” It was not what Vivienne wanted to hear, clearly, but she pressed on as if Rebecca had yet to speak . “Your dear Papa and I have given many hours’ thought to this,” Vivienne continued. “The solution was quite obvious, really. You, my darling, must go out into the world and make your own way.” Rebecca absorbed this. She found herself wishing that her