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      About the Author

      JULIA JUSTISS wrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry and editing an American Embassy newsletter she returned to her first love: writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, RT Book Reviews magazine’s Best First Historical, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne Du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her website at www.juliajustiss.com

       Novels by the same author:

      THE WEDDING GAMBLE

      THE PROPER WIFE

      MY LADY’S TRUST

      MY LADY’S PLEASURE

      MY LADY’S HONOUR

      A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL

      SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

      THE COURTESAN

      THE THREE GIFTS (part of A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas anthology)

      THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

      ROGUE’S LADY

      CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH (part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology)

      THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE (part of Silk & Scandal mini-series)

      A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

      Chapter One

      AS LORD ANTHONY NELTHORPE, formerly captain in the 1st Royal Dragoons, stepped across the threshold of his London townhouse one foggy fall morning, a giggling, mostly naked woman burst onto the upper landing and fled down the stairs. A balding, half-naked man followed, eyes focused owlishly on his hand clutching the rail as he maneuvered the steps and then lurched off after her.

      “So, Carstairs,” Tony remarked to the retainer in threadbare livery who had opened the front portal for him, “I see my father is engaged in his usual pursuits.”

      “Yes, my lord,” the man replied, his age-spotted hand trembling as he struggled to close the heavy door. Tony turned to assist him, remembering only at the last minute that this wasn’t the army anymore, where a man in battle helped another man, regardless of rank. Carstairs would be as embarrassed as he was shocked, should his master’s son and heir lower himself to assist the butler.

      Curling the fingers he’d extended toward the servant into a fist, Tony turned away. “I expect the earl will be too…preoccupied to receive me this morning. At a more opportune moment, would you tell him I’ve arrived—and have some beef and ale sent to the library now, if you please?”

      The butler bowed. “At once. On behalf of the staff, may I say ‘welcome home,’ Master Tony.”

      “Thank you, Carstairs.” At his nod, the old man shuffled down the hall in the direction of the servants’ stairs.

      Mouth setting in a thin line, Tony watched him retreat, noting the hall carpet was as worn as the butler’s uniform and dirty besides. Shifting his weight painfully, he limped toward the library, noticing as he went the layer of dust that veiled the few pieces of furniture and the ornate arches, which in his youth had sheltered exquisite Chinese vases set on French marquetry tables. Long gone now, of course.

      Evidently Tony’s esteemed father, the Earl of Hunsdon, still preferred to squander whatever income could be wrung from his heavily mortgaged estates on liquor and the company of lovelies such as the one who’d recently tripped down the stairs, rather than keep his house in good order.

      Welcome home, indeed.

      Gritting his teeth, he made himself continue the rest of the way down the hall, sweat popping out on his brow at the effort. The surgeons who’d put the pieces of his shattered knee back together had predicted he’d never walk again. He still wasn’t very good at it, he admitted as he reached the library door and clung to the handle, panting. Thank God riding was easier.

      A high-pitched squeal interrupted him, followed by a rapid pad of footsteps. The bawd ran into view, pausing with a shocked “oh, la!” when she spied him.

      With matted hair dyed an improbable red that matched the smeared paint upon her lips and nipples, powder caked in the wrinkles of her face and beneath her sagging breasts, she was not an enticing sight, even had he been in better shape to appreciate the appeal of a mostly naked female. But then, with his ugly limp and post-hospital pallor, he was none too appealing himself.

      Still, he’d seen his father unclothed, and Tony was twenty-five years younger besides. Not wishing to give the tart an opportunity to change targets, he ducked into the library, slammed

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