By Love Unveiled Read online

  Dear Reader,

  I am thrilled to have this opportunity to share with you the exciting return of By Love Unveiled. Long out of print, this historical romance from early in my career is finally available once more from Pocket Books, revised and refurbished throughout. How many authors get a chance to revisit one of their early works, to tighten and sharpen the characters and dialogue, bringing to bear everything they’ve learned in the years since it was first published to make it a richer, deeper reading experience than ever before? I am one lucky writer!

  The eight novels I wrote some years ago under the pen name Deborah Martin are distinctively different in tone from my more recent Sabrina Jeffries releases. Where my five lighthearted Hellions of Halstead Hall novels, for instance, are packed with witty, sexy repartee and sensual romantic entanglements, my Deborah Martin novels are steeped in history and brimming with passionate action. Of course, whatever author name appears on the cover, one thing I am sure to bring to all my novels is heart-pounding sexual tension—and plenty of it!

  I hope you enjoy this reissue of By Love Unveiled, whether it’s one of your past favorites or a new reading adventure for you to relish.

  Sincerely,

  “ANYONE WHO LOVES ROMANCE MUST READ SABRINA JEFFRIES!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lisa Kleypas

  THE HELLIONS OF HALSTEAD HALL

  Praise for the “sparkling” (Library Journal) New York Times bestselling series!

  A LADY NEVER SURRENDERS

  “Jeffries pulls out all the stops… . With depth of character, emotional intensity, and the resolution to the ongoing mystery rolled into a steamy love story, this one is not to be missed.”

  —RT Book Reviews (41/2 stars, Top Pick)

  “Wonderfully refreshing characters, a surprising resolution, and a sizzling, emotionally satisfying romance make this another must-read from one of the genre’s best.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Brimming with superbly shaded characters, an abundance of simmering sensuality, and a splendidly wicked wit, A Lady Never Surrenders wraps up the series nothing short of brilliantly.”

  —Booklist

  TO WED A WILD LORD

  “Wonderfully witty, deliciously seductive, and graced with humor and charm, this clever, well-conceived romance treats readers to a compelling story peopled with remarkable characters.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “The fourth installment in Jeffries’s exceptionally entertaining Hellions of Halstead Hall series delivers another beguiling blend of captivating characters, clever plotting, and sizzling sensuality.”

  —Booklist

  HOW TO WOO A RELUCTANT LADY

  “A delightful addition to the scandalous Sharpe family saga… . Charmingly original.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Richly imbued with steamy passion, deftly spiced with dangerous intrigue, and neatly tempered with just the right amount of tart wit.”

  —Booklist

  A HELLION IN HER BED

  “A lively plot blending equal measures of steamy passion and sharp wit.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Wonderfully original… . Jeffries’s sense of humor, her engaging characters, and delightfully delicious sensuality spice things up!”

  —RT Book Reviews (41/2 stars)

  “Jeffries’s addictive series satisfies.”

  —Library Journal

  THE TRUTH ABOUT LORD STONEVILLE

  “Jeffries combin[es] her hallmark humor, poignancy, and sensuality to perfection.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Lively repartee, fast action, luscious sensuality, and an abundance of humor.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “First in captivating new Regency-set series, [with] delectably witty dialogue, subtly named characters, and scorching sexual chemistry.”

  —Booklist

  Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Epilogue

  What the Duke Desires Excerpt

  About Sabrina Jeffries

  To Becky Timblin, my wonderful assistant. Thanks for making the manuscript workable! And for managing the office chaos so splendidly.

  Chapter One

  LONDON, JULY 1661

  Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot

  That it do singe yourself.

  —Shakespeare, Henry VIII

  Garett Lockwood, the Earl of Falkham, watched from the shadows as a smiling Charles II entered the richly appointed sitting room of his spacious new private chambers. No doubt His Majesty relished the trappings of royalty after spending years without. But now it was time for the king to heed his promises. Garett had waited long enough.

  When he stepped forward, His Majesty started. “By God, Falkham, you have a nasty habit of appearing from out of nowhere when one least expects it.”

  “Which is what keeps Your Majesty’s enemies guessing.”

  “I am glad to see you have returned,” Charles said. “I wish you could have joined us in our triumphant entry into the city last year, but you made better use of your time by accomplishing the tasks I set for you.”

  Garett had spent the past year arranging the king’s betrothal to Catherine Braganza of Portugal and then tracking down an enemy of the king in Spain. Neither was the sort of work Garett enjoyed, but given the reward promised him…

  “Lord Chancellor Clarendon tells me you were successful in both,” the king went on.

  Garett lifted one brow. “Aren’t I always?”

  “If it suits you.”

  “I do only what suits my king. My king just doesn’t always know what suits him.”

  “Indeed,” Charles said dryly. “Be careful, my friend. Your king may tolerate your wit, but others will not find it quite so amusing.”

  “I am well aware of that, Your Majesty,” Garett said in a hard voice. Ten years in exile had been more than enough to teach him that the world was a treacherous shoal to be navigated with great care.

  The king sighed. “I fear I wasn’t the best companion for a youth who’d just lost his family. Between my bitterness and your hatred, we bred the sort of unhealthy anger that can destroy a man if he is not careful.”

  “Ah, but Your Majesty’s bitterness is assuaged,” Garett said smoothly. “Your subjects have come to their senses at last.”

  “That remains to be seen. A people so fickle bears watching. Yet I believe they’re truly pleased to have me on the throne again. Unlike Cromwell, I don’t feed them religion with their meat.”

  Garett thought of all the debauchery at court and gave a mirthless laugh. “Indeed not.” When a glint in Charles’s eye showed that he’d registered the rebuke, Garett
changed the subject to the one that concerned him most. “Clarendon told me the Roundheads made an attempt on Your Majesty’s life.”

  The lord chancellor had told him a great deal more than that, but Garett wouldn’t be content until he heard the news from the king himself.

  “Yes, by one of my attending physicians whom I thought I could trust. But to my knowledge, he is not a Roundhead.”

  “So you don’t know who was behind the plot.”

  “No, but we will find out. I have had my men state that the physician was murdered while in his cell in the Tower, killed by his fellow conspirators. Clarendon hopes the rumor will confound the other assassins and provoke them into erring. Besides, we do not want his companions to silence him by killing him before we can question him. This gives us time to get the truth from him.”

  “Does Your Majesty believe him guilty?”

  The king shrugged. “I do not know. ’Tis very odd. Until he returned to London recently, he had not been much involved with affairs of state.” Charles faced Garett with a veiled expression. “In fact, he’d been living a fairly secluded life in the country, near a town you know well—Lydgate.”

  So Clarendon had told him the truth. “You speak of Sir Henry Winchilsea.”

  Eight years ago, Garett’s uncle, Sir Pitney Tearle, had sold the family estate, Falkham House, to Winchilsea. Just thinking of it still roused Garett’s anger.

  “ ’Twas a mad world in those days, Garett,” Charles said placatingly. “People passed around lands as if they were so many sacks of seed.”

  “But those lands were sold by their rightful owners, not by usurpers,” Garett snapped. “Have you considered that Winchilsea and my uncle might have conspired together to have you assassinated? They were bound by Falkham House. Perhaps this physician knew my fortunes were tied to you and thus so was the estate he’d obtained from my deceitful uncle.”

  Charles rubbed his chin absently. “Or perhaps Tearle and his Roundhead compatriots saw the advantages to be had in manipulating a man who would appear innocuous to everyone else. In any case, I doubt that the affair had anything to do with your return. Remember that except for your uncle and a few exiles, no one knew that you lived. And since you have continued to prefer that it be kept secret until now—”

  “With good reason.”

  “Aye, especially given recent circumstances. But my point is that Winchilsea probably didn’t know you lived.”

  “Unless my uncle told him.”

  Charles conceded the point with a nod.

  “So what happens to his claim upon my property?” Garett bit out. That was the crucial question. “Your agreement with Parliament was that those lands sold during Your Majesty’s exile remain with the buyers.”

  “Ah, but Winchilsea performed a treasonous act. I have confiscated the property, of course, and gladly return it to you. Consider it your reward for arranging my marriage to the Infanta—your lands as well as funds to improve them as you see fit.”

  Garett let out a breath. After all these years, he could finally go home.

  But that wasn’t the only thing he wanted. “What about my uncle? Will you punish him for his treachery?”

  Charles strode to the window overlooking his gardens and stared out at the Cavaliers and their ladies who wandered the grounds. “I cannot. No one can prove any of your claims concerning him.”

  Garett bristled. “But you know bloody well—”

  “Yes. Tearle paints himself a moderate, but I know more about his Roundhead companions than he realizes. He’s a villain and not to be trusted.”

  “Then do something about him!”

  The king let out an oath. “Unfortunately, there were villains on both sides in our most recent conflict, and I cannot choose to punish him without punishing them all. I have agreed to amnesty for everyone but the regicides, and that includes Tearle.”

  “Unless I can prove his treachery.”

  “Or he proves to be behind the attempt on my life.” Charles sighed. “There is no proof of that, either, and until I have some, I must tread cautiously. He’s powerful among Cromwell’s old supporters. To cross him could mean risking the disapproval of the very subjects I wish to placate. I cannot afford to be seen as seeking vengeance upon the Roundheads.”

  The king leveled a hard glance on Garett. “Neither can you. You have your reward. Do not do anything foolhardy against your uncle that might jeopardize us both.”

  “He deserves my retribution,” Garett growled. “And I won’t hesitate to mete out his fair portion, given the chance.”

  “I speak now as your friend, not your king—I fear he will suffer less from your vengeance than you will.”

  Garett uttered a harsh laugh. “Has Your Majesty now become like the Puritans, crying that vengeance is the Lord’s? Will my soul be condemned if I make Pitney Tearle suffer for stealing away a defenseless boy’s title and inheritance?” And more, though he couldn’t yet prove it.

  “I believe the Almighty will understand.” Charles looked upon Garett with an odd pity. “Yet now that the seed of bitterness has sprung to life within you, I wonder if you will be able to stop its vines from choking your heart.”

  Garett’s heart had been choked long ago by betrayal and pain. And no matter what His Majesty wanted, the man responsible for that deserved to be punished. “Thank you for your advice, my liege, but after years of nurturing that seed, I can’t root it out. Come what may, I mean to see the seedling fully sprung and the vines grown firm to imprison Pitney Tearle.”

  * * *

  Weeks after her father’s arrest, Miss Marianne Winchilsea, daughter to a baronet, stared sadly at the once immaculate gardens of her cherished home. How well she remembered her first sight of it, eight years ago. For a child of twelve accustomed to their cramped London town house, Falkham House had seemed a magnificent palace, with its costly glass windows and graceful gables. Yet despite its grandeur, its cheery red brick had always felt welcoming.

  It had helped that the people of the nearby town of Lydgate had willingly accepted her gypsy mother. Of course, they’d been told—as had all of Father’s friends—that her mother was a Spanish noble’s daughter. Later, when the truth about Mother’s race had slipped out, the townspeople had jealously guarded her secret, won over by her sweet disposition and her healing skills.

  A lump rose in Marianne’s throat as she surveyed the neglected patches of sage and lady’s mantle, oregano and dragon’s blood. Her parents had so loved their herb gardens. Father had even found some solace in them after Mother died.

  But now he was dead, too.

  She fought her ready tears, knowing they brought no comfort. How could he be dead? It made no sense. He’d been killed in a prison, where he should have been safe. Why had someone wanted him dead? For that matter, why had someone felt the need to paint him the villain and cause his arrest?

  “Come, Mina, we should go,” Aunt Tamara murmured at her ear, using Mother’s nickname for her.

  With a sigh, Marianne faced Mother’s only sister.

  “You agreed not to tempt fate by approaching your old home,” her aunt reminded her. “Your father wasn’t the only one suspected of treason, you know—there were rumors of your involvement.”

  And it still infuriated Marianne that anyone could think such a thing. Neither she nor Father had ever been anything but loyal to the Crown. “Fortunately, everyone outside of Lydgate believed your tale that I drowned myself when I heard of Father’s arrest.”

  Thank heaven Aunt Tamara had learned of it before the soldiers had come looking for Marianne; otherwise, she’d even now be awaiting execution. No one would have listened to her protests, not with England in such chaos.

  “Let’s not give anyone reason to believe otherwise,” her aunt said. “Return to the wagon and leave this place before you are recognized.”

  “No one will do so as long as I wear this.” Marianne tugged at the black silk mask gentlewomen often wore while riding to protect their faces
from the weather. It had been a useful tool for disguising her without drawing attention. Unfortunately, it also partially obscured her vision and was occasionally uncomfortable, but that was a small price to pay for freedom.

  “Besides,” she went on, “how can I discover who killed Father if I stay away from Falkham House? You heard the rumors—someone has already bought the place from the Crown, mere weeks after Father’s death. I have to know if the new owner had anything to do with arranging Father’s arrest and death.”

  That was her sole purpose these days—to figure out who’d caused Father’s downfall. After Aunt Tamara had engineered her escape from London by hiding her in the gypsy camp when the soldiers had come for her, Marianne had insisted on fleeing to Lydgate, where she knew she could find refuge. The townspeople would never betray her.

  Of course, Aunt Tamara hadn’t approved of Marianne’s plan but had gone along, knowing perfectly well that arguing with her niece was fruitless. Once in Lydgate, they’d found a spot to settle. Marianne had quickly adjusted to spending her nights in the cramped confines of the wooden wagon and her days roaming the forest in search of firewood or going to town for provisions. It hadn’t taken her long to realize how hard her aunt’s life with her people must have been, selling her needlecraft to gain food, using her wits to keep the wagon safe and warm, and keeping out of sight of soldiers who hated gypsies.

  Aware of how little money Aunt Tamara had to spare, Marianne had begun using her skills as a healer to help them earn their keep. She’d been right about the townspeople’s refusal to turn her in. If anything, they’d been pleased to have her tend their sick and act as midwife to their women.

  “ ’Tis not too late to flee to the Continent and join my people there,” Aunt Tamara said.

  “I cannot. The cards are dealt, and I must play out the hand.” The dark expression that crossed Aunt Tamara’s face made Marianne add, with a twinkle in her eye, “But you don’t have to stay.”