THE STRANGER I WED Excerpt
They were here to watch a football game.
“I’m afraid the match has already begun, but we’ll be able to see enough to judge their sportsmanship. I know that’s not on your list, but you can learn a lot from how a man treats his teammates and adversaries,” Camille continued. “Perhaps we can pop over to the public house and watch them after, though that might be pushing things.”
It wouldn’t do to have anyone recognize the duchess. Once they heard the sisters’ American accents, their disguises of plain clothes would be quite useless to hide their identities from their prospective suitors. All objectivity would be gone and they would lose their chance to observe them unaware.
“Perhaps we can watch for a time,” Cora said.
They rounded a corner after a row of tiny houses onto a narrow dirt lane that led to a field. It did appear the game was already in progress with roughly two dozen men on the pitch. Half wore green shirtsleeves while the other half wore yellow. Both wore trousers or pantaloons that would never be white again with all the mud, along with high socks and leather boots, and their heads were bare. They chased a round, leather ball across the field in a match that was much more physical than she had anticipated.
“Careful of your step, dear,” Camille said, indicating a particularly deep puddle and Cora lithely stepped around it. When she had righted herself, the duchess and Eliza were continuing on their way to the left where a robust crowd had gathered to cheer on the players.
Cora stood transfixed at the sheer physicality of the drama playing out on the field. One man hurried to kick the ball, grunting when another one ran into him, nearly sending him careening on the soaked ground. The ball had only been glanced which sent it several yards toward the far side. Another man, his golden hair damp with sweat and rain and falling about his face, cursed and then let out a victorious yell as he ran through several opponents and managed to make good contact with the ball, kicking it in an arc, sending it farther downfield toward the goal. The players turned as one and hurried in that direction. If there was any sort of coordination among them, Cora couldn’t see it. They all seemed madcap in their zeal to obtain the ball.
For a moment she was struck by the sheer size and athleticism of the men. Without a coat to hide them, their shoulders appeared extra wide, the muscles working under the thin material of their shirts as they ran, the rain melding the fabric to them. Their chests seemed thick and strapped with sinew. It suddenly became apparent why good society insisted on a man wearing his coat at all times. It might prove too distracting otherwise. Although, most society men she had met had a bit of soft about them. Not like these men.
She smiled to herself and began to make her way over to where Camille and Eliza had joined the spectators. However, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back at the one who had kicked the ball. He was tall and muscled, his jaw square and firm as his eyes narrowed, watching to see which way the ball would go when it finally broke free of the group. He loped easily toward his teammates, his long legs eating up the distance without making him seem out of breath. It was probably too much to hope that he would be one of her suitors, though the fact that he was so handsome meant he violated a rule on her list and she shouldn’t consider him.
As she stared at him, the ball suddenly broke free of the chaos on the field, hurtling in her direction. A player roughly her own size came rushing toward her, his eyes crazed with ferocity as he screamed with the triumph of a predator about to seize its prey. She barely got a look at him before the man she had been admiring yelled, “Briggs!” drawing her attention back to him. He’d picked up speed, running full-bore in their direction, ostensibly to intercept his teammate from flattening her.
She sidestepped the ball, somehow managing to miss Briggs but stepping into the path of the golden-haired man. He tried to stop, but the change in momentum sent him skidding over a patch of mud and directly into her. Her breath rushed out of her at the initial contact, sending her umbrella and journal flying, and her own feet caught the mud and they tumbled to the ground together. He twisted, catching the brunt of the fall, but they rolled several more times before coming to a stop in the soggy grass. The players were still following the ball and as they lumbered closer, sounding like a herd of cattle, she closed her eyes expecting them to fall over them. The expected disaster never happened as they continued running down the field. She opened her eyes to see his staring down at her. They were green like emeralds and intense with concern. She had never seen a color like them on anything but a cat.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She took in a breath, surprised to find that nothing was sore. “I don’t think so.” Her voice came out sounding winded.
He leaned over her as he ran a hand over her ribcage, and up over her breast. She gasped as he pressed, no doubt looking for injury, but her nipple tightened beneath his touch just the same and her blood warmed in a way that was unseemly. She sucked in a hard breath. “Excuse me!”
“You are hurt.”
“No!” She wrenched his hand away.
His brow furrowed, flummoxed by her outrage. “No?”
Perhaps he hadn’t realized that he had all but fondled her breast with his pawing. She took in another breath and managed to speak in a calmer tone. “I am uninjured.” She attempted to sit up as embarrassment began to creep in, but she was stuck beneath the weight of his thigh over hers—his very large, very solid thigh. In fact, his entire body seemed very large and very solid above her. She ought to feel more put out, but suddenly she didn’t quite mind lying here like this beneath him.
“Let me help you up,” he said just as she was becoming accustomed to his attentions. Removing himself from her, he offered her his hand.
She took it, still too aware of him in a physical sense. Her heart pounded as heat suffused her cheeks. At his full height he stood nearly a head taller than her. His torso might well have been double the width of hers. Aside from a few dances she had never been this close to a man before, and certainly not one so attractive.
“You might watch where you’re going next time.” She was struggling to catch her breath as if she were the one who had run across the field. Her hand shook when she took it back, so she wiped at the blades of grass stuck to her bodice to hide the tremble. His hands followed, helping her wipe them away and sending her nerve endings teetering wildly.
Before she could gather herself to protest—which might have taken a while considering a very real part of her was enjoying the attention—he said, “You might have stayed off the pitch.”
His words cut through the havoc within her. “I wasn’t on the pitch. I was off to the side. Your friend, Briggs, was outside of the boundary.”
“You play association football, do you?” His gaze narrowed in obvious irritation.
“No, but every game has a boundary line. I was outside of yours.” She turned to indicate that fact, but there didn’t actually seem to be a line designating any boundary.
His brow rose dubiously.
“Are you blaming me for the fact that you ran me over?” she asked.
His lips tightened in what might have been a suppressed grin. “No, of course not.”
“Good.” She wiped at her skirt.
He walked the few steps necessary to pick up her journal and umbrella, handing them back to her. After she took them, he scraped his hair out of his face, sending rivulets of water running down his cheeks. She couldn’t help but watch one make its way to his mouth where it slid smoothly over his bottom lip.
“Perhaps the next time you see the ball and an entire team of men coming toward you, you might consider removing yourself from the field of play.”
There was a spark of humor in his eyes that somehow softened his words. The result was that she felt mildly annoyed but greatly intrigued. “Perhaps you might consider keeping your ball and your men on the pitch.”
He smiled, but only for a second before someone called out, “Dev!” and his head swiveled in that direction.
He sobered a bit, the spark of mirth dying out as he glanced toward Camille and Eliza who were hurrying toward them before asking, “You’re an American, are you?”
Damn. She’d forgotten all about not talking to anyone. “Yes, I’m visiting friends.”
He seemed to size up Camille and then glanced at Cora once more. With a tip of his head, he ran back out onto the field to join the fray.
“Cora!” Eliza ran up and held her umbrella over them both to block the sprinkle of rain.
“That looked horrific. Are you hurt?” Camille wiped at the grass and mud on Cora’s skirt with a handkerchief, nearly losing her hat and veil in the process.
“Not unless you count my bruised pride.” Cora smiled and led them away from the field.
“He might have broken your ribs,” Eliza said, somewhat indignant on her behalf.
“But he didn’t.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Camille added, standing to her full height, her attention back on the game still in play. “He still hasn’t confirmed his attendance at the house party. If he broke your rib, I suspect he wouldn’t come at all.”
Cora whipped around to look at her friend before finding the man called Dev among the players. He whooped and raised his hands above his head in triumph as his teammate scored a goal. “Dev,” she whispered. Then louder, “Devonworth?”
“Yes, that was the Earl of Devonworth,” Camille confirmed for her.
That name was in her journal. She had written down his family members, his family history, and the fact that he was passionate about his seat in Parliament. She had thought he might be an ideal candidate for husband because he met all the requirements. Except now she knew he was handsome. Too handsome, really. He completely violated the last rule.
For the first time, Cora understood why Jenny had insisted on that rule. It would be terribly difficult to divorce a man so tempting.
Excerpted from The Stranger I Wed by Harper St. George Copyright © 2024 by Harper St. George. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
THE STRANGER I WED by Harper St. George
New to wealth and to London high society, American heiress Cora Dove discovers that with the right man, marriage might not be such an inconvenience after all. . . .
Cora Dove and her sisters’ questionable legitimacy has been the lifelong subject of New York’s gossipmongers and a continual stain on their father’s reputation. So when the girls each receive a generous, guilt-induced dowry from their dying grandmother, the sly Mr. Hathaway vows to release their funds only if Cora and her sisters can procure suitable husbands—far from New York. For Cora, England is a fresh start. She has no delusions of love, but a husband who will respect her independence? That’s an earl worth fighting for.
Enter: Leopold Brendon, Earl of Devonworth, a no-nonsense member of Parliament whose plan to pass a Public Health bill that would provide clean water to the working class requires the backing of a wealthy wife. He just never expected to crave Cora’s touch or yearn to hear her thoughts on his campaign—or to discover that his seemingly perfect bride protects so many secrets…
But secrets have a way of bubbling to the surface, and Devonworth has a few of his own. With their pasts laid bare and Cora’s budding passion for women’s rights taking a dangerous turn, they’ll learn the true cost of losing their heart to a stranger—and that love is worth any price.
Romance Historical [Berkley, On Sale: April 23, 2024, Trade Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9780593441008 / eISBN: 9780593441015]
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About Harper St. George
Harper St. George was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was a setting filled with stories of the old days that instilled in her a love of history, romance, and adventure. By high school, she had discovered the romance novel which combined all of those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, GA with her husband and two young children.
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