Free A Bride Unveiled by Jillian Hunter

happiness Violet’s mother had thrown away during her short life. Anne-Marie’s ghost would never stop haunting Francesca if she broke her vow to protect Violet.
    She had chosen Sir Godfrey for Violet for all the right reasons.
    Was it unreasonable to hope that a righteous marriage would come of her good intentions?
    Had she been wrong to value reputation above love? It was natural for a man to hope for an inheritance, wasn’t it? It wasn’t possible that Godfrey was marrying Violet solely for the money she would soon have.
    Sudden quiet enshrouded the ballroom. Francesca turned, distracted, to watch the couple who had been announced at the door.
    A broad-shouldered gentleman in black crossed the ballroom, a lady in flowing pink silk holding his arm. The entire assembly seemed awestruck by the formal entry of the party’s host and his elegant wife, the Marquess and Marchioness of Sedgecroft.
    According to gossip, which Francesca gleaned primarily from her maid, the marquess had once been considered London’s most notorious scoundrel. Perhaps he still was. It was rumored that he had fallen in love with the bride who had been abandoned at the altar by his cousin. No. That was not right. The marchioness had botched her own wedding.
    Faugh . London and its scandals. Francesca thought that Jane was an enchanting woman. The evening, she reminded herself, was a benefit performance. The look of unadulterated devotion that Sedgecroft gave his wife appeared genuine to Francesca’s eyes.
    A fresh wave of excited whispers swelled.
    Francesca sat up to locate the source of the furor.
    Another man had followed the marquess into the ballroom.
    He was a man whose presence caused chairs to be scraped back, footmen to straighten, ladies and gentlemen young and old to vent approving sighs.
    Francesca wished for a quizzing glass. Was this the marquess’s son? She compared the two attractive figures in silence. No. They were too close in age, even for prematurely sewn oats.
    Cousins, perhaps. The marquess motioned the younger man into his intimate circle.
    Perhaps, if not for the matron beside her, Francesca would have withdrawn back into her thoughts. But the lady, who clearly meant to be kind, leaned toward Francesca and said, “I almost miss the danger of the past century’s duels. At least one could address an enemy with dignity and skill.”
    Francesca studied the young man who had caused such a stir.
    He did not possess the arrogance of a peer. He looked, in fact, rather unassuming, possibly amused to find himself the center of attention.
    He was lithe, light on his feet. He wore the plainest clothes of any gentleman Francesca had observed that night. A flowing shirt of fine linen. Dark breeches of an indeterminate fabric. And yet an irresistible elegance radiated from his person.
    He was indeed a young man who drew one’s notice—to Francesca’s surprise he seemed to have caught even Violet’s attention. Francesca half rose from her chair, as if she could act as a barrier before this questionable connection.
    Too late.
    The handsome newcomer had also noticed her niece.
    He had turned his back on the marquess and was cutting a path toward Violet as precisely as a pair of tailor’s scissors through silk. And it was Sir Godfrey, the man meant to protect Violet, who appeared to be summoning him to her side.

Chapter 6
    T he chamber players began to warm up their instruments after Kit followed his host into the ballroom. The Marquess of Sedgecroft had insisted that Kit attend the dance. Kit could not refuse. As Sedgecroft said, “You are the hero of the hour, Fenton. My guests paid to see you perform. Your performance is not quite over.”
    Agreed.
    The orchestra started to play, and the melodious notes of violins, flutes, and French horns competed with the chatter of guests in the ballroom. The clamor rose as Sir Godfrey approached Kit with a brunette in lilac-gray silk on his arm. Godfrey said something over the music.
    Kit