Love Rescues Rosanna Read online

  LOVE RESCUES ROSANNA

  Lord Melton bowed his head. “I am in your debt, Lady Rosanna. Indeed, I have something of yours I must return.”

  Rosanna looked at him in puzzlement as he reached into his breeches pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled white handkerchief edged with fine lace.

  “This is yours, I believe,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “You used it to mop my brow and I have kept it by me ever since.”

  Rosanna stood up and dropped him a small curtsy. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered as she held out her hand to take it.

  Lord Melton stared down into eyes that were deep and honest.

  He was shocked by the flood of emotion he experienced as their fingers touched.

  Feelings were racing through him that he had never experienced. But it was far too soon to declare himself to this young woman. And – he realised with a shock – they were alone and unchaperoned and she was no longer his nurse.

  LOVE RESCUES ROSANNA

  BARBARA CARTLAND

  www.barbaracartland.com

  Copyright © 2007 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in January 2008 by Barbaracartland.com

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook conversion by M-Y Books

  THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION

  Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

  She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

  Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

  Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

  The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

  The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

  The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

  If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :

  Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

  240 High Road,

  Harrow Weald,

  Harrow

  HA3 7BB

  United Kingdom.

  Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

  Titles in this series

  These titles are currently available for download.

  The Cross Of Love

  Love In The Highlands

  Love Finds The Way

  The Castle Of Love

  Love Is Triumphant

  Stars In The Sky

  The Ship Of Love

  A Dangerous Disguise

  Love Became Theirs

  Love Drives In

  Sailing To Love

  The Star Of Love

  Music Is The Soul Of Love

  Love In The East

  Theirs To Eternity

  A Paradise On Earth

  Love Wins In Berlin

  In Search Of Love

  Love Rescues Rosanna

  A Heart In Heaven

  THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

  Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

  Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain’s most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.

  In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

  Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.

  “I write about the wonderful glorious moment when

  men and women fall in love, which is a time in everyone’s life

  that can never be forgotten and is treasured forever.”

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE

  William, the new Earl of Melton, stood in the bright sunlight of a July morning, surveying the beautiful thoroughbred horses being paraded around the stable yard at Melton Castle.

  At thirty years of age, tall, with dark brown eyes and thick, black unruly hair, it was no wonder that William was considered to be the catch of the Season for any young girl who was anxious to be married.

  “I say, old chap, that one looks a bit lively!” Viscount Blackwood, a short, plump young man stood at his side, his green jacket buttoned tightly across his prominent stomach, his face red and shiny, showing the excesses of too much drink the night before.

  A large black stallion was snorting and dancing at the end of a leading rein, his eyes rolling as the groom tried to calm him.

  “I so agree, George. Far too much of handful even for our brave William.”

  The speaker was Lady Verity Blackwood, his sister, a tall, elegant woman, dressed in the very latest fashion. She was holding a lacy white parasol and peered up at the Earl through long silky lashes.

  Verity Blackwood was noted for her outstanding beauty. The success of the Season, every gentleman in the gathering places of the elite amongst Society was keen to make her acquaintance.

  They
raved over her lustrous chestnut hair and deep green eyes – unaware that most women observed in whispers amongst themselves that she had a thin, mean mouth and an even meaner and sharper way of speaking when she did not get her own way.

  From the moment Verity had met Lord Melton, she had been determined to become his wife. It was easy to be often in his company as her brother was one of the Earl’s closest friends.

  George Blackwood had travelled all over Europe with William before he inherited the title on the death of his father. They had cut a broad swathe through Society, fond of gambling, horse racing and carousing.

  But now they were home in England, William had become Lord Melton, the Castle was his home and Verity could see the prize she had longed for almost within her reach at last.

  But pushing the Earl to the point of proposing marriage had proved to be difficult. Now, however, she felt she was nearly there. One last effort to capture his affections and she could start planning the wedding of the year. Indeed, she intended it to be the wedding of the decade!

  Lord Melton turned now and smiled at her. A superb rider, he was quite convinced that there was not a horse bred he could not control.

  He had been riding since he was three and was well known for his dash and courage when out hunting or racing in a point-to-point.

  Since the year before he had inherited the title and estate from his father, the Earl had spent a great deal of time and money buying the best racehorses in the country, even travelling as far as France and Italy to study breeding.

  And he certainly did not intend to look foolish and back down in front of his guests, especially Verity, the woman he had almost decided to make his wife.

  “Here, John!” he called to the groom. “Throw a saddle over Demon and I will take him out.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, my Lord, but Demon’s in a rare black old mood today.”

  John Barker fought to hold the stallion’s head down, dodging the hooves that were kicking sparks out of the cobblestones.

  “Really, William, you run a very lax establishment. Your staff seem to express ideas and comments above their station,” Verity drawled. “Or perhaps they think you are incapable of handling such a beast.”

  She laid a lace gloved hand on his arm and added, “I would not want you to risk your life in any way if their estimation of your skills are correct.”

  “He might have a point, old boy,” Viscount Blackwood said. “I say, let’s go in and enjoy some breakfast. Bacon and kidneys, nice slice of game pie?”

  The Earl frowned. He knew in his heart of hearts that the groom was right. He could see the flecks of sweat flying off the horse’s shining black coat. But a challenge had been made and he had never backed away from a challenge in all of his life and he never would. Never!

  He pulled off his dark blue jacket and threw it on the ground. The muscles under his thin linen shirt rippled as he took the rein from Barker and with one lithe leap was astride Demon.

  Within seconds he had to admit he was in the wrong.

  The horse was still half broken, almost wild. He spun round, rearing, fighting the lean legs gripping his sides.

  The Earl struggled to get the stallion’s head under control, but the bridle was a light-weight one, used for exercising, not riding.

  He still might have succeeded, but suddenly, from out of the cottage next door to the stables, shot a little white puppy.

  Shrieking, it fled under the flashing hooves to the safety of the stable beyond. And after it came John Barker’s little daughter.

  Three years old and running to rescue her pet, her yellow flowered pinafore was a flapping flag in the horse’s eyes as she ran straight towards the deadly hooves.

  “Millie! Watch out! Stop!”

  The Earl knew that he had to save the child whatever the cost! With all his strength, he urged Demon to turn.

  Then, with Verity’s screams ringing out, the stallion slipped and fell onto the cobbles, crashing down with William, the Earl of Melton, crushed beneath him.

  *

  Drawn by four smart bay horses, the dark green Donnington carriage moved swiftly through the quiet streets of London.

  It was five in the morning and by that time Lady Rosanna Donnington had, she felt, regained her composure. Her breath no longer came in little gasps and the shaking in her hands had almost ceased.

  She leant back wearily, her blonde hair shining like spun sugar against the dark upholstery.

  Rosanna loosened the jacket of her amber travelling suit, her fingers trembling slightly as they fought with the little bone buttons.

  She was beginning to wonder if she had been wise to set off on this venture without Edie, her young maid, but she had given the girl permission to visit her parents in a distant part of London and the maid still had not returned when Rosanna had rung for Henry to bring the carriage round and set off for the country.

  Rosanna had left her a note instructing her to travel to Donnington Hall as soon as she returned.

  She was lucky that Edie could read. Rosanna’s own dear Mama had taught her.

  Lady Donnington had believed that everyone should be able to study the Bible and write their own name in a fair hand.

  When the young girl, Edie, had arrived at the London house to serve as a scullery maid, Lady Donnington was determined that she should learn the basics of the English language.

  Rosanna bit her lip and gazed out into the dark city. Only the occasional flicker of a candle or oil lamp from an upper window broke through the shadows of the city streets.

  She knew that travelling alone at night was not how a lady should behave in any circumstances, but she felt she had been given no choice.

  ‘And all this upset, all this grief has been caused by one man – Sir Walter Fenwick!’ Rosanna thought angrily. ‘How I hate him.’

  She had been deeply disturbed this evening at a fashionable party when Sir Walter, whom she had known only slightly but for some time, had amazingly asked her to marry him.

  Rosanna had never for one moment thought of such a possibility and the shock combined with a sense of being trapped by this man, had sent her running from the party, oblivious of how it appeared to her hostess.

  Now she realised that she should have stayed and courteously made Sir Walter understand that, although she was honoured by his kind offer, it was not only a surprise but that she was not prepared to consider marriage to anyone for the time being. She needed time for quiet reflection following her mother’s death.

  Sir Walter Fenwick had found her on her own in the gardens, admiring the fountain that cascaded charmingly into a lily pond where small golden fish glided between the pink flowers.

  He had pressed a glass of chilled champagne into her hand and standing far too close had said, “I suggest that we marry very soon, Lady Rosanna. We will be extremely happy together, my dear. We like the same things. I know you love the country and so do I, yet you enjoy yourself in London, as I do.”

  Ignoring her stunned expression, he continued,

  “I will make you very happy, Lady Rosanna. We will entertain and be the toast of the countryside. I have great plans for developing the delightful gardens at the house you have inherited. And I long to try out my horses on the Racecourse your uncle built. Ah, Donnington Hall! It will soon become the dream home I have wanted for so long.”

  Rosanna could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  Although, to be fair, it was more or less what she had already heard three times from other gentlemen since her Great-Uncle Leonard had died.

  In fact, she had begun to think that every man she met would eventually ask her to be his wife, not for her sake, but her fortune.

  Sir Walter’s proposal had, though, shocked her more than most. He was not a young man – he would never see forty again.

  Stocky in build and only an inch taller than she was, his sandy hair was combed across a very pink scalp in a most unappealing fashion.

  He had small grey eyes set close t
ogether and his lips were fleshy and glistened where he licked them continually.

  Admittedly he dressed well and, in very small doses, could be quite good company.

  But Rosanna considered him vain and opinionated and had heard that as a single gentleman, he lived for his enjoyment of London Society.

  Until recently he had never shown the slightest interest in Rosanna. But matters were different now.

  It was all a question of money.

  ‘Money, money, money!’ she told herself as the horses began to slow as Henry, the coachman, guided them carefully through the poorer, narrower streets on the outskirts of the city.

  She sighed.

  ‘What can I do if every man I meet wants to marry me because I am rich?’

  Unfortunately her vast inheritance had been reported in all the newspapers.

  Rosanna had always known that her great-uncle, Sir Leonard Donnington, was a rich man. But he disliked Society and any social invitations he received, he refused.

  A recluse for many years, even from his family, he had stayed resolutely in the country, happy with his house and estate.

  He lived for his gardens and greenhouses where he perfected the cultivation of rare orchids.

  But most of all his pride and joy was the perfect little Racecourse he had built in the grounds of Donnington Hall, so that he could train his horses in private.

  Rosanna had been wholly unaware that she would one day inherit Sir Leonard’s fortune.

  She had not seen him very often, but on the rare occasions when, as a small child, she had been taken to visit him, she had liked the small, shy man who enjoyed showing her the latest exotic flower he was cultivating in one of his greenhouses.

  Rosanna’s father, the late Earl of Donnington, had been a generous, kind-hearted soul who had believed every hard luck story that he was told. No beggar left the back door without a half-sovereign in his pocket. No charity applied for funds without receiving double their request.