Read Online The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) by Geralyn Dawson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Geralyn Dawson
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Wracked by grief over the loss of his heir and second son and still unwilling to recognize the legitimacy of his third son's birth, Nick's father had sought to prove the naysayers wrong by suggesting to old friends from the Political and Secret Department of the India Office in London that his surviving son would make an effective British agent.
What better way for a man to prove his patriotism than to sacrifice his only son and heir to the secret service? the old marquess had said almost a decade ago.
Nick had decided then and there to play the game and win. As Nicholas Ross, American journalist, he had become one of the most useful and influential British spies of his time. He then used that power to strip his father of influence in foreign policy. When the old man died, Nick had thought the victory was his.
Then he returned to England and proceeded to learn that the corpse still had a trick up his sleeve. Three of them, to be exact. Charlotte, Melanie, and Aurora. Nick's English family. His sisters. His responsibility. His joy.
"How could such a bastard sire such lovely daughters?"
"The credit rests with their nanny," Gillian replied. "She's a fine woman."
"I thought so, too, until she abandoned me."
His sister sighed. "She retired, Nicholas. She's auld and tired. She's earned her rest."
When her brother simply continued to mutter into his drink, Gillian changed the subject. "Speaking of tired women, I wonder if your wife has rested from her journey by now. I dinna imagine she was too pleased to finally arrive at your country house only to find you'd returned to Scotland."
"It's her own fault," Nick defended himself. "If she'd come when I told her to come, she wouldn't have missed me first at Rowanclere and then at Hunterbourne."
Gillian rolled her tongue around her mouth. "Come when you 'told her to come'? How long have you been married, brither?"
"Depending on how you choose to look at it, either a day or a decade."
"Even in a day ye should have learned better."
Nick lifted his glass up to the lamplight and stared at the amber liquid within. Since leaving Fort Worth, he couldn't take a drink of whisky without recalling the color of Sarah's eyes. He bet wherever she was at the moment, her caramel-colored eyes were snapping with temper.
"It's her fault," he repeated.
Nick had waited for his wife at Gillian's Highland home until the week before Christmas, when he'd had to return to England to spend the holidays with the girls. Then, when Aurora pulled her nonsense of attempting to elope with that damned Willie Hart, he'd had little choice but to put some distance between the pair by removing the entire family to his own Scottish property, the remote Glencoltran Castle.
Upon arriving and contacting Gillian with news of his change of plans, he'd learned that Sarah had finally arrived at Rowanclere on December twenty-seventh and proceeded on to his country estate in England, Hunterbourne Manor, after New Year's Day. Chances were they had passed one another on their respective journeys.
"It's not her fault," Gillian declared, siding, as females were wont to do in battles between the sexes, with her own gender. "Ye dinna tell a woman what to do, Nicholas. Not a woman like Sarah."
A woman like Sarah. "Tell me about her, Gilly."
Gillian wrinkled her nose. "What can I tell you? She's your wife."
He scowled. She sniffed, then sighed. "She was at Rowanclere for only a week, and I confess I wasn't overly friendly to her at first. After all, you had waited on her for weeks, and at the time, I didn't ken all the particulars of your marriage." Slyly, she added, "I still don't."
Ever the strategist, Nick waited her out.
Gillian grinned. "She's beautiful, if that's what you're asking. Friendly in the way I've come to expect from those who hail from Texas. Warmer than that Lady Steele woman who has her claws into you."
"Gilly," Nick warned.
She replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "She speaks in the same slow way as my
What better way for a man to prove his patriotism than to sacrifice his only son and heir to the secret service? the old marquess had said almost a decade ago.
Nick had decided then and there to play the game and win. As Nicholas Ross, American journalist, he had become one of the most useful and influential British spies of his time. He then used that power to strip his father of influence in foreign policy. When the old man died, Nick had thought the victory was his.
Then he returned to England and proceeded to learn that the corpse still had a trick up his sleeve. Three of them, to be exact. Charlotte, Melanie, and Aurora. Nick's English family. His sisters. His responsibility. His joy.
"How could such a bastard sire such lovely daughters?"
"The credit rests with their nanny," Gillian replied. "She's a fine woman."
"I thought so, too, until she abandoned me."
His sister sighed. "She retired, Nicholas. She's auld and tired. She's earned her rest."
When her brother simply continued to mutter into his drink, Gillian changed the subject. "Speaking of tired women, I wonder if your wife has rested from her journey by now. I dinna imagine she was too pleased to finally arrive at your country house only to find you'd returned to Scotland."
"It's her own fault," Nick defended himself. "If she'd come when I told her to come, she wouldn't have missed me first at Rowanclere and then at Hunterbourne."
Gillian rolled her tongue around her mouth. "Come when you 'told her to come'? How long have you been married, brither?"
"Depending on how you choose to look at it, either a day or a decade."
"Even in a day ye should have learned better."
Nick lifted his glass up to the lamplight and stared at the amber liquid within. Since leaving Fort Worth, he couldn't take a drink of whisky without recalling the color of Sarah's eyes. He bet wherever she was at the moment, her caramel-colored eyes were snapping with temper.
"It's her fault," he repeated.
Nick had waited for his wife at Gillian's Highland home until the week before Christmas, when he'd had to return to England to spend the holidays with the girls. Then, when Aurora pulled her nonsense of attempting to elope with that damned Willie Hart, he'd had little choice but to put some distance between the pair by removing the entire family to his own Scottish property, the remote Glencoltran Castle.
Upon arriving and contacting Gillian with news of his change of plans, he'd learned that Sarah had finally arrived at Rowanclere on December twenty-seventh and proceeded on to his country estate in England, Hunterbourne Manor, after New Year's Day. Chances were they had passed one another on their respective journeys.
"It's not her fault," Gillian declared, siding, as females were wont to do in battles between the sexes, with her own gender. "Ye dinna tell a woman what to do, Nicholas. Not a woman like Sarah."
A woman like Sarah. "Tell me about her, Gilly."
Gillian wrinkled her nose. "What can I tell you? She's your wife."
He scowled. She sniffed, then sighed. "She was at Rowanclere for only a week, and I confess I wasn't overly friendly to her at first. After all, you had waited on her for weeks, and at the time, I didn't ken all the particulars of your marriage." Slyly, she added, "I still don't."
Ever the strategist, Nick waited her out.
Gillian grinned. "She's beautiful, if that's what you're asking. Friendly in the way I've come to expect from those who hail from Texas. Warmer than that Lady Steele woman who has her claws into you."
"Gilly," Nick warned.
She replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "She speaks in the same slow way as my
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