A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels

 
 
A Most Unsuitable Groom
By

PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN-13: 978-0-373-77191-2

ISBN-10: 0-373-77191-6

A MOST UNSUITABLE GROOM

Copyright © 2007 by Kathryn Seidick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictittousty, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locates is entirely coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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Printed In U.S.A.

Dear Reader,

Some people are seemingly born already knowing who they are, and instantly feel secure in their place in the world. Maybe they're the lucky ones. Maybe not. Maybe the not knowing, and the journey, the discoveries along the way, are what make many lives worth living. Spencer Becket has gone searching for himself, or so he thinks. But what he finds-and who he forgets-will change him forever.

Spencer intrigued me from the moment I first "met" him. The dark, brooding one. The angry one. The odd man out. The one who didn't fit, couldn't seem to come to terms with his past or be comfortable with his expected future. How could he know that all his answers would be found in a fiery-haired stranger and an infant who'd clasp a tiny hand tightly around Spencer's finger.. .and capture his heart?

The Beckers of Romney Marsh are such a unique family, filled with diverse personalities, all striving to live their lives in peace, even as an old enemy jeopardizes everything each has gained, every person each loves.

We've seen Chance Becket in
A Gentleman by Any Other Name,
Morgan Becket in
The Dangerous Debutante
and Eleanor Becket in
Beware of Virtuous Women.
Their stories are ongoing. Now it is Spencer's turn at center stage. This September, October and November we'll see the Beckets again in
A Reckless Beauty, The Return of the Prodigal
and the culmination of the saga,
Becket's Last Stand.

I hope you'll continue to enjoy reading about the Beckets of Romney Marsh, just as I've enjoyed "meeting" them and writing their stories.

Warmest regards,

Kasey Michaels

BECKET HALL, ROMNEY MARSH

August 1813

Ainsley Becket sighed, then removed the spectacles he'd lately found necessary for reading and tossed both them and the letter on the desktop. ""Well, I'll say this for the boy. They didn't execute him."

"Execute him? Our Spencer? Our so mild, even-tempered Spencer committed a hanging offense? Imagine that. I know I can." Courtland Becket reached for the letter that had taken several months to arrive at Becket Hall, most of them, judging from the condition
of the single page, spent being walked to Romney Marsh stuck to the bottom of someone's boot. "What did he do, get caught bedding the General's wife?"

"If it were only that simple," Ainsley said, getting to his feet to walk over to the large table where he kept a collection of maps he consulted almost daily, tracking the English wars with both Bonaparte and the Americans. "He's in some benighted spot called Brownstown, or he was when that letter was written, nearly five months ago. From reports I've read in the London papers, if he's still there he's in the thick of considerable trouble."

"Sweet Jesus," Courtland swore quietly, scanning the single page, attempting to decipher Spencer's crabbed handwriting and then read the words out loud, as their friend Jacko was also in the room. '"Forgive my tardiness in replying to your letters, but I have been incarcerated for the past six weeks, courtesy of our fine General Proctor. Allow me to explain. Against all reason, Proctor left only our Indian allies to guard several dozen American wounded we'd been forced to leave behind at the River Raisin after what had been an easy victory for us. I was sent back a few days later to retrieve them, only to discover that the Indians had executed every one of them. Hacked the poor bastards to pieces, actually. You, I'm sure, know what this means. There will be no stopping the Americans once they learn what happened. And that's the hell we face now. How do you fight an enemy that's out to seek revenge for a massacre? They'll fight to the last man, sure that to surrender means we'd turn them over to be summarily killed.'"

"The boy's right," Jacko said from his seat on the couch. "When it's kill or be killed, a man can fight past the point of reason. Now tell me what our own brave soldier did that should have gotten him executed."

"I'm getting to it now, I believe." Courtland looked down at the letter once more, turning the page on its end in order to read the crossed lines. '"I returned to our headquarters once I'd seen the bodies, walked straight into Proctor's office and knocked him off his chair. I should have been hanged, I suppose, and it would have been worth it to see Proctor's bloodied nose. But Chief Tecumseh, the head of all the Five Nations, agreed that this mistake could cost us heavily in the long run, and Proctor settled for stripping me of my rank and throwing me into a cell on starvation rations. Now I'm assistant liaison to Tecumseh— Proctor considers that a punishment—and I don't like the way the Chief is being treated. Mostly, I don't like that he's smart enough to see through Proctor, which could end with a lot of English scalps hanging from lodge poles. In truth, I have more respect for these natives, who at least know why they're fighting. And, yes, thinking fondly of my own scalp, I have been careful to be very friendly and helpful to Tecumseh. Rather him than Proctor.'"

"I don't see a career in the Army for that boy, Cap' n," Jacko said, winking at Ainsley, who had returned to sit behind his desk once more.

"Spencer hasn't the temperament to suffer fools gladly, I agree. Truthfully, I'm surprised he only bloodied the man's nose."

"And, for all we know, Spence is still squarely in the thick of the fighting," Courtland said, picking up his wineglass. "This Tecumseh might leave the English, leave Spencer, to their fate. Or, yes, turn on them, kill them. No matter what, I can't believe nothing's happened since Spencer wrote this letter. But what?"

"Exactly," Ainsley said as he stood up and quickly quit the room.

"He'll be walking the floors every night again until we hear from Spencer, searching the newspapers for casualties in the 51st Foot," Courtland said, taking up Ainsley's seat. "Damn my brother for wanting to be a hero."

"A hero? Spencer? No, Court, not a hero. A
man.
Spencer wanted to be his own man, not just son to the Cap'n or brother to you and Chance and Rian. Time the rest of you figured that out. Ah, I feel so old, Court How I long for the feel of a rolling deck beneath my feet, just one more time. Running with the wind, the Cap'n barking out orders and the promise of sweet booty at the end of a sweeter battle. I envy our young soldier that, at the least. I never planned to die in my bed. Yes, bucko, land or sea, I envy Spencer the battle."