I am thrilled to be hosting a spot
on the CHASING THE BRIDE by Erica Ridley Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my
post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Title: CHASING THE BRIDE (Lords in Love #6)
Author: Erica Ridley
Pub. Date: June 9, 2023
Publisher: WebMotion
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 197
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/CHASING-THE-BRIDE
In this fast, feel-good romp from
a New York Times bestselling author, forbidden love blooms
between a runaway bride and the man sent to find her…
Lady Tabitha Kerr was promised at
birth to be the Viscount Oldfield’s bride. Their families had warred for
generations, and this union will heal the longstanding rift. But Tabitha
doesn’t want to be a pawn—or a consolation prize. She dreams of a love match,
and failing that, at least one night of true love. Even if she has to run away
to find it!
As Viscount Oldfield’s trusted man of
business, Mr. Hudson Frampton is his lordship’s right-hand man, attack dog, and
fixer. When a nervous bride jilts the viscount at the altar, Hudson is meant to
find and return her to his employer posthaste. He is not supposed to fall in
love. Or kiss his employer’s bride. Or say yes when Tabitha makes an indecent
proposal that will ruin them both…
CHAPTER
1
London,
1818
Lady
Tabitha Kerr stood just outside the door to her father’s sickroom, trying to
catch her breath. Although he had never been particularly demonstrative, her
father was a good man. She knew this. It was why she had spent a lifetime
trying her hardest to please him. And yet what the marquess was forcing his
only child to do would confine Tabitha to a life of misery.
She
rolled back her shoulders. She could no longer postpone the inevitable. She was
a lady now. It was time to act like one. Tabitha tapped her knuckles against
the door. It opened instantly. Mr. Hudson Frampton had beaten all other
servants to the soft knock. Or else he’d been standing within reach of the
handle, which was unlikely. Her betrothed’s guard dog never left his employer’s
side, except to follow a direct order. Mr. Frampton always seemed to be
everywhere at once, and capable of absolutely anything.
At
the moment, he was gazing at her gravely. His solemn expression did nothing to
lessen his distracting handsomeness. He was no gentleman, and it showed. His
brown hair was a little too long, his cravat creased carelessly, his strong jaw
already shadowed with stubble at three o’clock in the
afternoon.
The omnipresent air of danger emanated from his conspicuous muscles.
He
looked like a highwayman, not a viscount’s man of business. Though perhaps the
two roles were not so dissimilar. A highwayman robbed passing carriages. Lord
Oldfield’s infamous man of business had his fingers in every investment
opportunity in London, often reaping greater rewards for the viscount than
enjoyed by the poor souls who owned or executed the various operations.
“He’s
waiting for you,” Mr. Frampton said softly, his dark brown eyes
unreadable.
“Don’t
you mean they’re waiting for me?” Lady Tabitha murmured, her correction
tinged with bitterness. Viscount Oldfield might be Mr. Frampton’s employer, but
both men were in the sickroom of Tabitha’s father.
Mr.
Frampton’s dark eyes glittered. “You are, of course, correct. My
apologies.”
“It’s
all right,” she mumbled under her breath.
It
was not all right. Life as she knew it would soon be over. The father she
adored, dead. And the sly viscount of equally advanced age standing at the
marquess’s bedside… would soon own Tabitha outright, thanks to the legal
glories of holy matrimony.
Mr.
Frampton stepped aside to let her in.
Tabitha
pasted on a smile and went straight to her father, passing both the odious
Viscount Oldfield and the kindly physician Dr. Collins in her hurry to kiss her
father’s pale forehead and assure herself he would not be leaving her this day,
at least.
“Daughter,”
the marquess rasped. “A welcome sight for sore eyes.” Her own eyes stung. That
was one of the kindest things he had ever said to her. Perhaps confronting his
mortality had likewise caused him to cherish the sole familial connection he
had left.
“Always
my pleasure, Father.” She lifted his frail hand in hers and sent a questioning
look toward the physician.
“Stable,”
Dr. Collins pronounced, loud enough for the marquess to hear. Then he dropped
his white-whiskered mouth to Tabitha’s ear. “But not for long. A month or two,
at best. And at worst…”
She
pulled her ear away before she could hear the rest of the good doctor’s
diagnosis. Tabitha patted her father’s hand instead. A wasting disease was one
of the worst ways to die. It stretched on too long. Day after day of knowing
death was coming, wiggling its hook in a little more with each passing
breath.
It
had been two months already. When her father was first diagnosed, they had
thought the marquess might hold on for six more months, mayhap another year.
But he grew weaker by the day and had been bed-bound for over a month, unable
to rise without assistance. This past week, her father had ceased being able to
feed himself. The effort of lifting a cup or a fork was too much. Every limb
trembled, and every part of him ached.
Tabitha
hated seeing him like this. He’d once been so vibrant. Afternoons spent fencing
with his friends, or riding his favorite stallion in the park. As much as she
appreciated having the opportunity to say goodbye, watching her father die a
little more each day was torture.
For
his sake, she wished a swift end to his suffering. But for her sake…
Father’s inevitable demise was the worst thing that could happen. “You haven’t…
greeted your… betrothed,” rasped the marquess. Tabitha gritted her teeth behind
a brittle smile and turned the pleasantest face she could muster toward
Viscount Oldfield—who, it must be noted, had not greeted her either.
According
to legend, such lack of manners was one of the many reasons their families had
warred for generations. Both sides believed the other beneath them. Neither
side was willing to bend.
Until
Father. Bless him and curse him.
Tabitha
did not curtsey to her betrothed. “Lord Oldfield. Please forgive my tardiness
in greeting you.”
The
viscount ran his eyes over her as though he were imagining her naked. “Bah.
I’ve no need for a wife who talks,” he murmured, too low for her father
to overhear.
Yes.
This man thirty-plus years her senior desired her for reasons unrelated to
conversation.
Such
was her impending marital bliss.
She
turned and dropped to her knees beside her father’s sickbed. “Papa, surely you
can see—”
“This
union will heal a centuries-old rift,” he reminded her, sensing the direction
of her plea and putting a stop to it before she could embarrass them both in
front of the viscount. “You should be proud to be a vessel of peace.”
A
vessel. That was exactly what she was going to be. A hard, empty vessel for Lord
Oldfield to fill at his whim and to use as he saw fit. Such unceasing
attentions might break her.
“He’s
a lord,” the marquess said hoarsely. “You should be grateful I’ve given
you to such a fine friend. You might recall that Oldfield saved my life. I can
never fully repay him for that. From the moment he and I first guarded the
trenches together—”
Another
war story. Heaven save her, Lady Tabitha had heard them all, dozens or hundreds
of times each.
Father
and Viscount Oldfield had met as British soldiers stationed together in the
French revolutionary war, in the early 1790s. They’d both been raised to
despise the other’s family, but nonetheless had become unlikely friends, united
against a common foe. And when it had mattered most, Oldfield had been there
for the marquess.
“He’s
like a brother to me,” Father continued.
Tabitha
wanted to scream, You wouldn’t betroth your daughter to your brother, much
less whilst still in the womb, but she held silent. It didn’t matter what
she said. Father was the marquess, and his word was law.
“Besides,”
her father said gently. “You’ve always hated to see people upset or at odds.
Your marriage will wipe clean a century of bigotry and prejudice. You should be
proud to play such an important role, daughter. You love to restore peace. And
a titled match makes you the envy of your peers. You have better fortune than most.”
Yes,
yes, all of that was true, but…
Still
on her knees at her father’s side, Tabitha cast a despairing glance up at
Viscount Oldfield. He leered at her, displaying the multicolored teeth
jockeying in his mouth. He’d lost several in the war. All of which had been
replaced by teeth scavenged from the French corpses littering the
battlefield.
She
would get to think of that every time the viscount kissed her. Tabitha
shuddered. She couldn’t help it.
“It’s
your turn to serve the greater good, daughter.” Father tilted his head toward
the viscount. “Can you procure a special license?” “No!” Tabitha scrambled to
her feet. “I cannot marry yet. I’m not ready. This is… It isn’t a good time. In
fact, I won’t have a free moment for a fortnight. I’m…” What could she
conceivably be doing that would be more important than marrying a viscount?
“I-I’ve already promised to attend the May Day festival in Marrywell. It lasts
a week, and I must leave by morning to arrive for the opening ceremony.”
Father
held her gaze, then cast his exhausted eyes up toward Dr. Collins. “If we read
the banns first, what are the chances I will live long enough to attend the
wedding ceremony?”
Tabitha
sagged with relief—and guilt. She did not wish to disappoint her father or to
cause him pain. A good daughter knew her duty and
fulfilled
it without question. Was she being selfish by not rushing into an unwanted
marriage with a lecherous roué over twice her age? “Shall you last another
three weeks, milord? I should think so,” said the physician. “You’re not quite
at death’s door yet.”
“But
I have arrived outside its residence,” the marquess said dryly, only to be
wracked by a rattling cough.
Viscount
Oldfield jerked his gaze toward his attack dog. “Hudson, see that the first
banns are read tomorrow.”
Mr.
Frampton nodded. “It will be done.”
Lady
Tabitha let out her breath. The banns would be read three consecutive Sundays.
Fifteen days total, from the first reading to the last. It was not much of a
reprieve, but it was at least something.
“Oldfield,”
rasped the marquess. “Procure a special license as well. If I should worsen
faster than expected…”
Tabitha
swallowed. Her final fortnight of freedom would be curtailed in a second if
there was cause to believe her father unable to hold on for the full reading of
the banns.
“Consider
it done,” Mr. Frampton assured both men, without looking at Tabitha.
The
marquess’s pale blue eyes found his daughter. “Daughter…” “I know, Father,” she
murmured. “I promise to make you proud.” Even if it destroyed any hope of her
own happiness.
Seeing
his only child wed to his old comrade-in-arms was the marquess’s literal dying
wish. The marriage would bring peace after generations of fighting. And
the promise had already been made.
Only
a monster would prioritize her own selfish preferences above the wishes of her
dying father and the peace and happiness her sacrifice would bring future
generations.
She
sighed. A daughter’s duty was to her father. Any other, less privileged young
lady wouldn’t even view this marriage as a sacrifice.
Viscount
Oldfield was wealthy and titled. An unattainable dream, for most. A coup Tabitha
had lucked into from birth, no effort required. She was fortunate. The envy of
debutantes everywhere, who would take her place at the altar in a
heartbeat.
Tabitha
wished she could let them.
“As
it happens,” said Viscount Oldfield, as he resumed his open leering, “I have
plans to attend the May Day festival as well.”
Oh
no.
The
viscount dipped his eyes toward Tabitha’s bodice. “You can ride with me.”
An
eight-hour drive trapped in a private carriage with him? Untenable. “Of
course,” the viscount continued, “I cannot leave until Wednesday —”
Tabitha
seized on the opening. “I cannot wait that long. I’ve several appointments to
keep, and must be off at first light. I’m very sorry the timing doesn’t—”
Viscount
Oldfield gestured at Mr. Frampton. “Go with her.” “What? There’s no need to
send your—” Attack dog. “—man of business,” she protested. “Mr. Frampton
belongs with you. Besides, I already have a maid. One who is well-versed in
playing chaperone.” “Tabitha,” gasped the marquess. “Do as your future husband
commands. You will soon vow to love and obey him. It wouldn’t hurt to start
practicing that obedience now.”
She
ground her teeth behind a tight smile. “Very well. I’ll take Mr. Frampton.
We’ll meet you at the festival, Lord Oldfield.”
His
eyes still hadn’t left her bodice. “See that you do.”
Tabitha
nodded woodenly. Her fortnight of freedom had become anything but free.
Instead, she was trapped.
Tomorrow’s
long journey was the beginning of the end.
About Erica Ridley:
Erica Ridley is a New York Times and USA
Today best-selling author of of witty, feel-good historical romance
novels, including THE DUKE HEIST, featuring the Wild Wynchesters. Why seduce a duke the normal way,
when you can accidentally kidnap one in an elaborately planned heist?
In the 12 Dukes of Christmas series, enjoy witty,
heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After
all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of
a duke!
Two other popular series, the Dukes of War and Rogues to Riches, feature roguish peers and dashing
war heroes who find love amongst the splendor and madness of Regency England.
When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found
eating couscous in Morocco, zip-lining through rainforests in Costa Rica, or
getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.
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Giveaway Details:
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Ends June 20th,
midnight EST.
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