Rhys Bettencourt, Baron Trevelaine, had every intention of avoiding his family’s curse. An arranged marriage to a plain bluestocking of fortune should have ensured the provision of at least one heir. After all, it was beloved Bettencourt wives who always died in childbirth. But practical Catherine undermined her husband’s scheme by stealing his heart. The only way for Rhys to protect her is to deny them both physical satisfaction, against his own desires.
Catherine Carruthers was content to wed for practical considerations and accept an arranged marriage to please her family. Two years later, though, Catherine is certain that her dashing aristocrat of a husband regrets his choice and that her marriage will never be more. She accepts an invitation to Rockmorton Manor for Christmas to decide whether to leave Rhys and return to her father’s house. Upon arrival, though, Catherine discovers pages of sensual advice left in her room—as well as Rhys determined to convince her to stay. Can their marriage be saved?
Armed with information and with little to lose, Catherine embarks upon a campaign of seduction that Rhys is powerless to resist—even as he fears for Catherine’s fate if he surrenders to temptation. Caught between love and the wretched curse, can Rhys find a way to keep his cherished wife safely by his side?
Genre: FICTION / Romance / RegencyThis is the first book in a new Regency romance series.
There was no evading the fact that Rhys Bettencourt was utterly indifferent to his wife. He had left his London house for his country estate for Christmas without sparing the lady in question a word of farewell.
Catherine Bettencourt née Carruthers, the wife in question, wished she might have felt the same way about her handsome rake of a husband. Rhys was everything she was not: impulsive, reckless and devastatingly charming, at ease in every situation and confident before every challenge. She was incredulous that Rhys had wed her at all, but the Duke of Haynesdale was not a man to be put aside.
Even the duke, with all his influence, could not force a marriage to be happy. Catherine and her husband lived in the same house, save when he went to the country. Either way, they saw each other only once a month, for the review of the accounts. It was pathetic how Catherine looked forward to those meetings, which her husband must just endure. Her management of the accounts was the one thing she contributed to his household, but Catherine would not have been a woman if she had not wished to be more than useful.
And now he took himself off for Christmas. What man would want to be reminded of the plain bluestocking he had been compelled to wed? Not Baron Trevelaine! Doubtless, he had invited all his cronies to Trevelaine Manor, to hunt and shoot and gorge themselves. Catherine might return in the new year to discover that he had filled the London house with doxies and Cyprians, established a gaming hell in the drawing room, and emptied the wine cellar for his guests. Her absence would scarce be noted.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Letizia PIPERO and Alessandra Elisa Paganin
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Evelyn T M Martins
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Nieves Llorente
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