An Affair Without End Read online

  “How can I in good conscience

  ruin your good name?”

  “Whatever happens to my name, it is mine to ruin, not yours.” Vivian tilted back her head to look at Oliver. “I am responsible for myself. Surely ’tis not dishonorable for you to take what is freely given.” She smiled faintly and went up on tiptoe, so that her lips were barely a breath away from his. “I do not intend to marry for love or money or family duty. And I have never met another man I wanted except you.”

  “Vivian . . . oh, God, Vivian. Vivian.” He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat, interspersing her name with his kisses. “This is madness.”

  She giggled girlishly and, pulling away from him, reached up to pull off the stylish turban she had worn to conceal her hair. Pins came popping loose, and her hair tumbled down over her shoulders in a glory of orange-red flame. She was a vision, he thought, wild and free and beautiful, and it occurred to him that no man could ever truly possess her. She was, as she said, her own, and however much he might curse himself for it, Oliver knew he could not resist her lure.

  Vivian smiled and held out her hand to him. Throwing aside his doubts, Oliver reached out and took it.

  She led him up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  Turn the page for rave reviews of

  the sparkling Willowmere series by Candace Camp

  An Affair Without End is also available as an eBook

  Praise for the Willowmere series

  A Gentleman Always Remembers

  “An intensely passionate and sexually charged romance . . . A well-crafted, delightful read.”

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  “A delightful romp set in the Regency period. Ms. Camp has a way with truly likeable characters who become like friends. The action pops . . . and the relationships are strong.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Where the Bascombe sisters go, things are never dull. Author Candace Camp delivers another witty, heartwarming, and fast-paced novel.”

  —A Romance Review

  A Lady Never Tells

  “This steamy romp . . . will entertain readers.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Four unconventional American sisters and three aristocratic bachelor brothers set the stage for the first novel in Camp’s Willowmere trilogy. With a bit of mayhem, humor, misunderstandings, and enough sensuality to please any reader, this consummate storyteller writes a well-crafted and enchanting tale.”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars)

  “Superbly written and well paced, A Lady Never Tells thoroughly entertains as it follows the escapades of the Bascombe ‘bouquet’ of Marigold, Rose, Camellia, and Lily in the endeavor to make their way in upper crust London Society.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “A Lady Never Tells carries an allure that captures the reader’s attention. Ms. Camp brings a refreshing voice to the romance genre. The touch of elegance mingled with the downright honesty of the main characters takes your breath. . . . One of those rare finds you don’t want to put down.”

  —Heide Katros

  “Filled with humor and charm . . . Ms. Camp keeps A Lady Never Tells from becoming a clichéd romp with her fine writing. . . . Fans of Quinn and Laurens will enjoy the first book in the Willowmere series.”

  —A Romance Review (4 roses)

  And for the delightful works of Candace Camp

  “A storyteller who touches the heart of her readers time and again.”

  —Romantic Times

  “When it comes to writing sexual tension, it doesn’t get better than this.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “A double helping of romance.”

  —Booklist on Mesmerized

  “Will leave you breathless with laughter.”

  —Affaire de Coeur on Suddenly

  ALSO BY CANDACE CAMP

  A Lady Never Tells

  A Gentleman Always Remembers

  Now available from Pocket Star Books

  Pocket Star Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Candace Camp

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Pocket Star Books paperback edition April 2011

  POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Cover illustration by Alan Ayers

  Hand lettering by Ron Zinn

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-1799-6

  ISBN 978-1-4391-5772-5 (ebook)

  For Pete

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I owe thanks to a number of people who contribute greatly to my books: my wonderful agent, Maria Carvainis—I couldn’t do this without you; my great editor, Abby Zidle, who is always there to hear my problems with a character or story and who, best of all, always has a solution; my husband, Pete Hopcus, for his support (and nudges); and, of course, my daughter, Anastasia Hopcus, who takes time out from her teen witches, demons, and super-powered beings to explore plot possibilities with me.

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  A Winter Scandal

  A Lady Never Tells

  A Gentleman Always Remembers

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  London was cold, damp, and dirty.

  And Lady Vivian Carlyle was delighted to be there.

  As the liveried footman lifted his hand to help the lady down from her carriage, Vivian paused for an instant in the open doorway, her vivid green eyes alight with anticipation. It was still January, too early for the event to be truly fashionable, and Lady Wilbourne was not known for exciting parties. But none of that was important. All that mattered was that Vivian was back in London and going to a ball, with the whole long Season stretching out before her.

  She stepped down from the carriage and swept up the front steps into the house. She had barely handed her cloak to a footman when Lady Wilbourne, a small, energetic woman who reminded Vivian of a sparrow, spotted Vivian and bustled forward, both hands held out in greeting, her eyes shining.

  “Lady Vivian! I am so pleased you could attend.”

  “I arrived in town only yesterday,” Vivian told her. “Please forgive me for n
ot responding earlier.”

  “Don’t think a thing of it.” Lady Wilbourne waved off the apology with an airy disregard. They both knew that Vivian’s presence at her ball would raise Lady Wilbourne’s position as a hostess for the rest of the Season. “I am so glad that you made it back in time. I am sure it must be hard to leave Marchester. Such a magnificent house.”

  Vivian smiled. Marchester, known familiarly to her family as the Hall, was considered one of the grand old homes of the country, but truthfully it was a drafty old pile of stones, and during the winter the family largely kept to the newest wing of the house, avoiding the vast great hall and public rooms of the original medieval castle. She loved it; the sight of it never failed to bring up a rush of pride in her. But for comfort she would take the London house any day.

  “I trust you left your father well?” Lady Wilbourne went on. “Such a lovely man. And Lord Seyre? Dare we hope that your brother will make an appearance in town this Season?”

  Vivian suppressed another smile at the mention of her older brother. Gregory, the fifth Marquess of Seyre, was perhaps the most sought-after matrimonial prize in England. It was not every day that a future duke happened along, and it was considered a stroke of luck that he was also a pleasant-natured young man of better-than-average looks. Unfortunately for all the matchmaking mothers and daughters of the ton, however, Gregory was a shy and studious sort who rarely visited London and who avoided flirtatious young women like the plague.

  “The duke is quite well, thank you,” Vivian assured her. “As is Seyre, but I doubt that Seyre will travel to London. He was ensconced in the library the last time I saw him.”

  Lady Wilbourne frowned in the same puzzled way that most did when mention was made of Gregory’s predilection for books and studies, but she said only, “Such an intelligent young man.”

  She steered Vivian around the room, making sure that her guests saw her in close conversation with the Duke of Marchester’s daughter, and all the while she chattered about the upcoming Season. Was the new fashion for lower waists here to stay, did she think? Would Lady Winterhaven be able to surpass the fabulous ball she had given last year? And had she heard that Mrs. Palmer’s youngest daughter had chopped off her long blond hair, leaving her with a cap of curls scarcely long enough to wind a ribbon through?

  “It’s said she looks charming, a veritable cherubim, as it were—or is it seraphim, I always get such things confused—but, really, such a willful child. Everyone hoped that she would have the same success the eldest girl had—she married a count, after all, and I suppose it couldn’t be helped that he was Italian. But I fear this one looks to be a handful. I’ve heard that Mrs. Palmer is considering holding her back another Season so that she will at least not look like a boy in a dress.”

  “Mm. Oh, look, there is Lady Ludley.” With some relief, Vivian spotted her friend talking to an older woman near the edge of the dance floor. “I must speak to her. And no doubt you must see to your guests.” She threw one of her charming smiles at her hostess, murmuring a compliment about the party, and smoothly eased out of the woman’s grasp.

  Vivian would have been glad to escape Lady Wilbourne’s flow of chatter in any case, but it was with real pleasure that she approached Lady Charlotte Ludley. Charlotte had been her friend since they were still in short skirts and had come out the year after Vivian had made her debut. But while Vivian had remained determinedly single all the years since, Charlotte had married Lord Ludley in her second Season and was now the proud mother of a lively brood of boys.

  “Charlotte, how wonderful to see you. You are not usually here this early.”

  “Vivian!” Charlotte gave a delighted smile and held out her hands to her friend. “Indeed, no, Ludley had to come to London, and I could not stay home, even though we will be here for two weeks only. Come, have you met Lady Farring?”

  They exchanged the usual pleasantries for a few moments, then excused themselves from the other woman and strolled farther away from the dance floor.

  “I am so happy to see you!” Charlotte squeezed Vivian’s hands.

  “And I, you. Please, do not tell me you really mean to leave in two weeks?”

  “I fear Ludley’s business will take no longer.”

  “So the rest of your family is not here? Camellia and Lily? I am so looking forward to their first Season.”

  “They will come later, I am sure. Hardly anyone is here yet. Indeed, I quite feared that you would still be at Marchester.”

  “I could not bear to stay away any longer,” Vivian confessed. “’Tis almost five months since I was last in London. I think it’s the first Little Season I’ve missed since I came out.” Not everyone cared so much for the social whirl that sprang up in London each fall, but Vivian enjoyed the Little Season almost as much as the elegant full Season.

  “I could scarcely believe you stayed at Halstead House with your uncle for so long—especially since there was an outbreak of measles.”

  “It was ghastly. I had to tend to Sabrina, and you can imagine how much I enjoyed that.” Vivian rolled her eyes drolly. Sabrina was the young woman her uncle had married after his first wife died. She was only a few years older than Vivian herself, and their relationship was rocky at best. “But I could not leave them in the lurch that way. And I did at least have the satisfaction of seeing Sabrina come all over in spots.”

  “That would have been worth any price. And there was more excitement at Willowmere, I understand. I don’t know why I am never there when these things happen.”

  Willowmere was the country estate of Charlotte’s family. It was only a few miles from Vivian’s uncle’s house, and it was on Vivian’s frequent summer visits to her aunt and uncle that she and Charlotte had become friends. The sprawling old house was now the residence of Charlotte’s cousin, the ninth Earl of Stewkesbury—and of his set of American cousins. The four girls, all named after flowers—and nothing like the delicate creatures their names implied—had arrived at the end of the last Season. With their blunt speech and easy manner, it had been clear that they were not ready to face London society yet, and the earl had whisked them up to Willowmere to prepare them for their debuts.

  Like Charlotte, Vivian had found the young women refreshing and charming. Though it was clear that the Bascombe sisters would need some polishing to get along in the ton, Vivian had readily agreed to sponsor them this Season, and she had grown even closer to the girls during the time she had spent at her uncle’s house.

  She laughed now, recalling the events of the preceding autumn. “Things do tend to happen wherever the Bascombe girls go. If it isn’t kidnappers popping up, it’s French balloonists falling from the sky. Indeed, I found Marchester sadly lacking in excitement after being around your cousins for a few months.”

  “Tell me, which did you miss more—Camellia’s and Lily’s escapades or your exchanges with Stewkesbury?” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled.

  “Stewkesbury!” Vivian grimaced. “As if I would miss his sniping.”

  The last thing she intended to admit to her friend was that more than once while she was at her father’s house, she had found herself thinking of some particularly clever remark she could make to the earl, only to remember a moment later, with a distinct sense of disappointment, that Stewkesbury was not there.

  “And here I thought it was usually you sniping at him.”

  Vivian let out an inelegant snort. “I would not have to snipe at him if the man didn’t insist on being so stiff-necked and self-righteous.”

  Charlotte shook her head, making a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. “And Oliver is never so stiff-necked as when you are about.”

  “Then you see what I mean.” Vivian shrugged. “The two of us simply cannot get along.”

  “Yes, but what is odd, I think, is how much the two of you seem to enjoy not getting along.”

  Vivian glanced at her friend, startled, and found Charlotte watching her with a knowing expression. “I haven’t the faintest id
ea what you’re talking about.”

  “Mm. Yet if I remember correctly, you admitted only a few months ago that you once had a tendre for Oliver.”

  Color bloomed along Vivian’s cheekbones. “When I was fourteen! Good heavens, I hope you don’t think I am still carrying some sort of . . . of schoolgirl infatuation with the man.”

  “No. I am sure not. If you were interested in a man, I feel certain you would act upon it.”

  Vivian tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “I suppose I would . . . if there were such a man.”

  “And if you were aware how you felt.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Vivian’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you saying . . . do you think . . .”

  Charlotte simply waited, her eyebrows faintly raised in interest as she watched her usually articulate friend fumble for words.

  “I am not interested in Oliver,” Vivian said at last. “And, believe me, I know my own feelings.”

  “Of course.”

  “I will admit,” Vivian went on candidly, “that Stewkesbury is a handsome man. That much is obvious.”

  “Of course,” her friend agreed soberly.

  “There is nothing to mislike in his face or form.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “He is intelligent, if often provokingly narrow in his thinking. He rides well. He dances well.”

  “It goes without saying.” Charlotte’s eyes danced, though she kept her lips pressed firmly together.

  “I am sure that he is as eagerly pursued by marriage-minded young ladies as is my brother.”

  “Mm.”

  “But I am not marriage-minded. And I am not foolish enough to think that there is any possibility of romance between Stewkesbury and me.”

  “Still, I cannot help but notice that you seem . . . happy . . . when you and Cousin Oliver are engaged in one of your clashes.”

  Vivian’s lips curved up faintly. “Sometimes it is rather fun.”

  “Even though you dislike him.”

  “I don’t dislike him,” Vivian protested quickly.