tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37785466915384769052024-02-19T08:56:40.684-08:00Regency Romps and Scandalous TwistsAva Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-68333380227087508702017-02-27T01:30:00.000-08:002017-02-27T01:30:04.969-08:00A Scandalous Deception<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
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<i>Astwick House, London – May 1816</i></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lady Felicity Pierce could not quite believe her eyes. Was that Phineas Granard? <i>Viscount Carraway</i>? At an actual ball? Heavens, was someone blackmailing Fin, or was there a dueling pistol to his back? He certainly wouldn’t be here of his own volition, that was for sure. The overly serious viscount hadn’t been remotely social in years, despite Lissy’s best prodding that he stop sulking and get on with his life. </div>
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Fin started across the ballroom and greeted Lord Liverpool with an outstretched hand. Ah, that explained everything. Fin wasn’t being blackmailed, and he hadn’t suddenly become social. He was doing what he always did - politicking. </div>
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“The dolt is more starched than his cravat,” came a deep voice from behind her.</div>
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Lissy glanced over her shoulder to find the decidedly despicable Marquess of Haversham standing just a few feet away. Handsome devil that he was, the marquess’ light blue eyes twinkled as he cast her a smug expression, one that a more foolish girl might have found charming. But Lissy had endured more than her share of that sort of man to last her a lifetime, so Haversham’s attention was completely wasted on her. </div>
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She gave the marquess the back of her head, but said loud enough for him to hear, “I’m entirely certain Lady Astwick didn’t invite <i>you</i>, my lord.”</div>
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Lord Haversham chuckled, moving closer to Lissy, so close the scent of his citric shaving lotion invaded her senses. “She never does,” he agreed. </div>
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“An intelligent man might make something of that. His continual lack of invite, that is.” And yet the scoundrel attended every last event the dowager Marchioness of Astwick hosted anyway, as though daring the old dragon to personally drag him, kicking and screaming all the way to her front stoop.</div>
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Haversham laughed once more. “You are more direct than most chits your age. Do you know that?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“My widowhood allows for a certain directness.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Among other things,” he added silkily. “But I imagine your directness stems more from being one of Prestwick’s daughters. Not certain you’re quite as direct as Lady Juliet, but she does possess a fortune you do not, doesn’t she?”</div>
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Lissy didn’t need her sister’s fortune. Fin had made certain her allowance from Prestwick’s holdings was more than generous. She glanced back at the staid viscount across the ballroom. He <i>was</i> starched. Haversham was right about that. And while she had accused Fin of that very thing herself more than once over the years, she hated hearing the disreputable Haversham voice the same criticism. </div>
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She tilted her head to the side in order to better see the marquess. “Shouldn’t you be off chasing after Lady Staveley’s skirts?” The lady in question wouldn’t have a thing to do with him, but at least it would get the rogue away from Lissy.</div>
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Haversham’s rakish grin spread wider. “I have no need to chase <i>anyone’</i>s skirts, I’ll have you know.”</div>
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No, he probably didn’t. The man was more than handsome with his dark hair and light, piercing eyes. He exuded masculinity and raw sexuality. Despite his fascination with Lady Staveley – a most happily married woman who was quite devoted to her husband - Haversham most likely had a throng of widows and unhappily married women lining up for a turn in his bed. <i>Widows.</i> </div>
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Lissy narrowed her eyes on the libertine. Her <i>widowhood</i> did allow for a certain directness. However, it also had been the source for more than one inappropriate suggestion to her over the years. “I am so happy to hear that, my lord. Perhaps you can go entertain one of your many paramours then and leave me to myself.”</div>
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Haversham chuckled. “You are charming, Lady Felicity.”</div>
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“And here I’m trying so hard not to be.”</div>
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“A word of advice?” His light eyes twinkled once again.</div>
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“Could I possibly stop you?” she countered.</div>
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“If you smile a bit more, Carraway might actually notice you.”</div>
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Lissy’s mouth fell open. Did he think she wanted <i>Fin</i>’s attention? Fin was like family. He <i>was</i>, in fact, her half-brother’s uncle. He <i>had</i>, in fact, almost married Lissy’s oldest sister before her untimely death. He would have been her brother otherwise. He <i>was</i> nearly like her brother as it was, for heaven’s sake. A rigid, humorless brother who liked to tell her what to do, but a brother just the same. </div>
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“I doubt it would take much encouragement. You are supremely more beddable than Liverpool, after all.”</div>
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What a perfectly ridiculous thing to say. “Well, I am so relieved to hear it as I’d considered Lord Liverpool my main competition on the marriage mart this year.”</div>
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Haversham laughed once more, a sound Lissy was quickly coming to despise. “Something tells me the last thing you’re looking for is another husband.” </div>
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For a moment, Lissy’s heart stopped, and a dreadful chill washed over her. At her tender age, everyone assumed she wanted to marry again, to have a second chance at a happily ever after, but even if that was a possibility, she would never willingly go through such an experience ever again. But how in the world did Haversham know that? Was she so very transparent to everyone or just to him?</div>
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“That is, I’d wager you’re as anxious to find another husband as I am to find another wife.”</div>
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“Your own wife or someone else’s?” she asked.</div>
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“Touché.” His eyes danced with mirth, then he sobered a bit, cocking his head toward the dance floor. “One of your suitors, I’m sure.”</div>
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Lissy glanced in the general direction Haversham had indicated and suppressed a groan when she spotted Lord Richard Shelley approaching her. </div>
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“I’ll give Carraway this. He’s more interesting than <i>him</i>,” the marquess said under his breath, just loud enough for Lissy to hear. </div>
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She looked up at the scoundrel beside her and said, “I’m not certain you’re the best judge for what constitutes an interesting gentleman, my lord.”</div>
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“My dear Lady Felicity—” he smirked “—I am more qualified than most to make such assessments.”</div>
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“Lady Felicity,” Lord Richard began softly once he reached her. “I had hoped I might persuade you to stand up with me for the next set.”</div>
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Lissy smiled, as warmly as she was able, at the far-from-interesting gentleman before her. “Thank you, my lord, but I’m not dancing this evening. I am a bit parched however, if you’d like to bring me some punch.”</div>
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A bit crestfallen, Lord Richard nodded and then started off for the refreshment table. </div>
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Haversham slid so close to Lissy she could actually feel him chuckle beside her. “I think you wounded that poor man’s heart.”</div>
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“I’m certain he’ll survive.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Heartless wench. I’m liking you better and better.”</div>
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* * *</div>
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“Good God!” Phineas Granard, Viscount Carraway, couldn’t quite see straight as the edges of his vision were tinged slightly red. </div>
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“Beg your pardon, Carraway?” Lord Liverpool replied, but Fin barely heard the Prime Minister. </div>
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Honestly, with the ringing in his hears, he couldn’t even hear himself think. What the devil was Lissy doing? Had she lost her fool mind? Was she actually flirting with the Marquess of Haversham? </div>
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Fin gritted his teeth. Keeping that chit out of trouble was a never-ending chore. He cursed Lucas Beckford for holing himself up in Derbyshire. The blasted man should be here keeping an eye on Lissy, not playing nursemaid to Juliet. All right, so the man’s wife <i>was</i> expecting, Fin begrudgingly acknowledged. Beckford did have a perfectly reasonable excuse not to be in Town for the season, but why the devil he and Juliet had allowed Lissy to stay in London alone made no sense at all. They knew what a flighty little thing she was! And now she was cavorting with Haversham, of all the damned people in Town. </div>
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Truthfully, Lissy probably didn’t know how dangerous the marquess was. Very few ladies her age did, but she was most definitely aware Haversham possessed a blackened reputation. Everyone was aware of that. Good God, Georgie would roll over in her grave if she knew the company her little sister was keeping this evening. </div>
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<i>Georgie</i>. </div>
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Fin took a steadying breath. One would have thought that sometime within the last three years, he’d have gotten over her, that the pain of losing her would have dulled a bit, that he’d have made a step or two towards getting on with his life. But he hadn’t. Fin wasn’t certain how to move forward or if he even wanted to. Georgie had been everything to him. She was perfect. Perfect for him. He could search the world over a hundred times and he’d never find a woman like her in his lifetime. </div>
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Fin’s gaze stayed on Lissy, her flaxen curls bobbing up and down as she laughed at something her scurrilous companion had said. How the devil she and Georgie were sired by the same man was a complete mystery. The two of them must have inherited the traits from their respective mothers. That was the only answer. They didn’t think the same, behave the same or even look the same. Yet, Georgie had fretted over all of her younger siblings, more like a mother than a sister. If she were still here, she would have been more than upset by Lissy’s sudden friendship with Haversham. </div>
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“I say, Carraway,” Lord Liverpool’s voice pushed through the deafening roar in Fin’s ears. “Are you all right?”</div>
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Fin shook his head, not wanting to go into the particulars, but he didn’t really have a choice. “It looks like my nephew’s sister is in over her head, is all.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lord Liverpool turned his attention towards Lissy and Haversham across the room. “Prestwick’s sister?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Fin nodded. “I am sorry, sir. I’d love to continue this conversation, but I really—”</div>
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“I completely understand, Carraway. I have female relations my own.”</div>
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Lissy wasn’t really his relation, but there was no point in wasting time explaining the intricacies of his connection to the chit. Not when she was looking up at Haversham as though he’d personally hung the moon in the sky. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, sir.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Fin started across the ballroom, his temper rising with each step. Foolish girl. What in the world was Lissy thinking? Was she even thinking at all, that was a better question! Spending time in Haversham’s company could ruin nearly any girl’s reputation. Just because she was a widow didn’t mean she didn’t have her good name to protect. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Lissy,” he grumbled in way of greeting when he reached her. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Carraway.” Haversham nodded. </div>
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Fin speared the malevolent marquess with a look that said better than words ever could what the man could go do with himself, then he turned his attention back to Lissy, whose blue eyes flashed with something Fin couldn’t quite identify. Annoyance, humor, mischievousness. A combination of the three, perhaps.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Uncle Fin.” She smiled innocently, though she knew full well he hated it when she called him that. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I’m not your uncle,” he said, and if he had a farthing for every time he’d had to utter those words to her…</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You can call <i>me</i> Uncle Marc, if you’d like,” Haversham tossed in. The suggestive tone to the man’s voice grated Fin’s nerves like an electric jolt to his nether regions.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“She’ll call you no such thing,” Fin growled. He narrowed his eyes on the marquess. “In fact, she shouldn’t even be seen in your presence.” Then he gestured towards the main entrance with his head. “So why don’t you take your leave, Haversham?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-1083205816866799452017-02-20T01:30:00.000-08:002017-02-20T01:30:24.847-08:00Promises Made<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>April 1816 – Hyde Park, London</i></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lady Elspeth MacLaren’s morning could not have been better. Not only was it a bright, sunny day – a rarity, most certainly – and not only had she recently acquired her older brother’s vow to attend the remaining social functions of the Season – a feat thought impossible a mere sennight ago – but strolling down Rotten Row, in the opposite direction, and staring quite pointedly at her, was the most devastatingly handsome man in all of London. And he was most definitely the reason Ellie was in Hyde Park today. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Sebastian Alder, the oh-so-handsome-and-charming Earl of Peasemore. Just the sight of him could make her heart flutter and her breath catch. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lord Peasemore touched the brim of his beaver hat in greeting, his hazel eyes twinkling a bit devilishly, and Ellie somehow managed not to stumble or faint. She didn’t even outwardly sigh. Doing so would only tip her hand and that was the very last thing she intended to do. No, with a man like Peasemore, one had to be witty, crafty, and make him think that falling in love with her was all his idea. He was halfway in love with her as it was. After all, he wasn’t tipping his hat to anyone else along the row, now was he? </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She did allow the briefest smile to grace her lips before she and Sophie Hampton passed the earl as they continued on the path before them. Thankfully Sophie waited all of two minutes before she whispered, “He looked right at you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie’s heart lifted at the memory, though it was only moments ago. Still, she would think about that look, that tip of his hat the rest of the day. Now if only she could somehow devise a way to learn which event the earl planned to attend this evening. It would be nice if Ian could ferret out that sort of information, but her brother was still ill-humored at having been out-witted into attending the remaining functions of the Season with her. He would not be in the mood to conduct espionage, no matter how little effort it would take, on her behalf. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She cast a sidelong glance at Sophie and wished her friend was in the possession of a brother who might be of assistance. Cousins Sophie had in spades, but nary a brother to be found. More’s the pity. Still, it couldn’t hurt to make an inquiry, could it? Ellie smiled at her friend and said, “You don’t have any plans to see Mr. Winslett today, do you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Sophie giggled. “Isn’t it enough you have Lord Peasemore’s notice? Now you want Chase Winslett’s attention too?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Mr. Winslett was hardly Ellie’s sort. For one thing, he didn’t seem the least bit devilish and for another, he…Well, he wasn’t the heir to anything. Ellie could never utter those last words aloud, however. They would make her sound like the worst sort of social climber. But she <i>was</i> the daughter of the late Earl of Ericht and sister to the current earl. She hadn’t begged, manipulated, and pleaded her way out of Scotland only to end up married to some Englishman without a title. What a complete waste of her efforts that would be. “I only thought he might be persuaded to find out which event Lord Peasemore planned on attending this evening.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Heavens,” Sophie muttered under her breath. “And that officer over there—” she cocked her head slightly towards the right “—can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Officer? Ellie glanced in the direction Sophie had indicated and standing next to a park bench stood not one, but two army officers in regimentals, and… Oh, good heavens! It couldn’t be! Her eyes locked with his, and her heart leapt. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griffin Reid! </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Was it really?</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Without a thought about decorum, Ellie unlinked her arm with Sophie’s and bolted across Rotten Row. “Griffin Reid!” she cried, then she threw her arms around the army captain’s neck. Heavens, it had been too long since she’d seen him. And how wonderful it was to see him now! Griff’s arms tightened a bit around her waist, and she tightened hers about his neck.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Elspeth,” Sophie said from behind her, “you’re making a scene.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Oh!” She probably was. Ellie slid from Griff’s embrace and smiled up at him. He was indeed, a sight for sore eyes. Heavens, how long had it been? “I just couldn’t believe it was ye! I thought ye were at Achmore. Ian will be so glad to hear ye’re in Town. How long are ye staying? Ye must come to MacLaren House this afternoon!” Her words all flew out in a rush, but she couldn’t help it. How wonderful to see him, so whole and hale and standing right before her. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Afternoon, Ellie,” Griff grumbled faintly.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Oh, good heavens!” she gushed. “Ye hardly look like yourself.” And he didn’t. Griffin Reid had left the shores of Lake Ericht a small, skinny lad with bony knees all those years ago. But now, standing before her, was quite an impressive sight as far as Highlanders went. He’d filled out quite nicely since she’d seen him last. His shoulders were twice as broad, and he must have grown nearly a foot. And handsome, he was most definitely handsome in a dangerous sort of way. His dark hair that brushed the top of his collar, his silvery eyes that seemed as though they’d seen quite a bit of the world. But then, that probably came from years spent upon one battlefield or another and trekking across the continent for nearly a decade. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I could say the same about ye,” Griff returned softly as his eyes appraised her from the top of her head to the tips of her slippers. A bit of awareness washed over Ellie and her cheeks warmed. Of all the people she expected to see today, Griffin Reid was not one of them. And how dashing he looked in his regimentals. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Who is this, Elspeth?” Sophie asked, breaking Ellie from her reverie.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Sophie, this –” she smiled at Griff “—is Captain Griffin Reid. He’s a neighbor and an old friend of the family.” Then she turned her attention to the other fellow, a tall dark-haired man standing with Griff and said, “And, well, I don’t know <i>ye</i>, sir.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Lady Elspeth MacLaren, Lord Healeyfield.” Griff gestured between the two of them with a sweep of his hand.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“She hardly looks like a bairn to me.” Lord Healeyfield lifted his brow in amusement. Though what that meant, Ellie had no idea, nor did she truly care. It was hard to focus on anything other than Griffin Reid at the moment.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“No one asked you,” Griff muttered under his breath.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie felt Sophie’s eyes on her and she glanced towards the girl. “Oh, and this is my friend, Miss Sophia Hampton,” she said as she once again linked her arm with her friend’s. “Sophie, Captain Reid and Lord Healeyfield.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“A pleasure to meet you both.” His lordship nodded in greeting. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff grunted something, but Ellie couldn’t quite hear what. He <i>was</i> behaving oddly. Was he not happy to see her? He had been at first, hadn’t he? Had she said something that annoyed him?</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I am hoping you can be of assistance,” Lord Healeyfield said, breaking Ellie of her reverie. “We are looking for someone.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Perhaps that explained Griff’s odd behavior. “Someone?” Ellie echoed, her eyes darting back to the strapping Highlander. “Who?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff heaved a sigh and said, “We’re trying to find Miss Throssell, Ellie. If ye see her, do point her out please.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Miss Throssell? Ellie blinked up at the handsome captain. Why in the world would he be looking for <i>that</i> odd girl? “Wilhelmina Throssell?” she clarified.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Indeed.” Griff nodded, his jaw firmly set. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie’s heart squeezed a bit. “Why are you looking for <i>her</i>?” And how would he even know her? Wilhelmina Throssell was the strangest girl of Ellie’s acquaintance. Always speaking nonsense and keeping to herself. Odd in every way. Certainly not someone who should have ever captured Griff’s notice. That he should be looking for <i>her</i> didn’t make any sense at all.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Have ye seen her or not, Ellie?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I don’t see her right this moment,” she returned, hoping she kept the waspishness from her voice. But really, that was slightly difficult to do. Griff seemed more than determined to find Miss Thorssell for some reason, but didn’t look pleased in the least to have stumbled upon Ellie instead. That wasn’t terribly complimentary, all things considered. “Why are ye looking for her, Captain Reid?” she asked once more.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff shrugged. “We served under her father. We heard she was in the park today and just wanted to say hello is all.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Served under her father? An odd reason to seek someone out. In fact, it didn’t sound as though Griff knew anything about the girl, other than her name. Why would he want her to point Miss Throssell out otherwise? “Hmm.” There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her. Ellie leveled her eyes on the captain, hoping she could figure him out as well as she’d once been able to do. “Ye wanted to say hello to her, but ye don’t know what she looks like. Am I understanding ye perfectly?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Just point out the girl’s direction, Ellie,” Griff growled.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He was most definitely up to something, but she wouldn’t get the answer out of him by simply asking. That was quite obvious. So she’d just have to find out using a different tactic. Ellie shrugged coyly. “I’ll be happy to help ye, Griffin, b—”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“How very kind of you,” he cut her off.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“But,” she pressed forward, “I need a little help myself.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Of course ye do. What do ye want, Ellie?” He folded his arms across his chest, just like he always had when he was being more than stubborn.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She shrugged once more, determined not to seem flustered by his temperament. Besides, she did need something and Griff was the perfect man to help her with her current predicament. “Well, I was hoping someone could find out which event a certain earl planned on attending this evening. I would ask Ian to help me, but he’s being rather difficult of late.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff’s mouth dropped slightly open. “A certain earl?” he echoed incredulously. Not that he had any reason in the world to sound that way. He was the one searching out the very strange Miss Throssell and being rather evasive about his motives, after all. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“The Earl of Peasemore to be exact,” she told him. “If ye could learn his plans, I would be quite happy to help ye locate Miss Throssell.” Well, not quite happy, but Griff didn’t need to know that part. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff’s jaw tightened. “Ye haven’t changed one bit.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She flashed him her most charming smile. “Does that mean we have a deal?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff snorted in response. “Making deals with MacLarens never turns out well for anyone.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“What an uncharitable thing to say.” Ellie tipped her nose slightly higher in the air. “I am happy to help ye, Captain Reid. It’s only fair I should get a little help in return, don’t ye agree?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Never mind. We’ll find her on our own,” Griff replied as his gaze turned to the pedestrians walking along the row. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Blast he was stubborn! One way or the other she would find out what he wanted with Wilhelmina Throssell, and one way or the other she was going to get his assistance with Lord Peasemore. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie batted her eyelashes. “Please, Griff,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Ye could easily find out for me. All ye’d have to do is go to one of the clubs he frequents and ask the question. That’s all.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“What do ye want with this Peasemore?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, that’s none of yer concern,” she retuned quickly. Besides, why should she tell him her plans for Lord Peasemore if he wouldn’t share his for Miss Throssell? “But if ye help me, I’ll help ye in return.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff glanced over his shoulder at Lord Healeyfield. “I do hope ye realize what a good friend I am.” He didn’t wait for his lordship to respond, but turned back to Ellie and said, “I’ll find out about Peasemore. Now tell him—” he cocked his head towards Lord Healeyfield “—where we can find Miss Throssell.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Well, that was something. At least she’d find out which event Lord Peasemore meant to attend. She smiled brightly at Lord Healeyfield. “She keeps very much to herself, my lord. I don’t believe I have ever seen her walk along Rotten Row. In fact, I’m not certain if I have ever seen her outside of a ballroom, but even then she stays to the far edges as though she’s afraid someone will speak to her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A crease settled on his lordship’s brow. “She was supposed to be here. In the park today. She must be here.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie wasn’t certain why they would think such a thing, but the idea was most definitely a ludicrous once. “I haven’t seen her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Neither have I,” Sophie added. “But perhaps she isn’t walking the row. Perhaps she’s enjoying a picnic or talking to the squirrels or something like that.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That did sound like something Miss Throssell would do. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Talking to the squirrels?” Lord Healeyfield echoed, incredulity lacing his words.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“That is possible,” Ellie agreed. “She did tell me once that one only had to pay attention to what birds were saying. I thought it was some sort of metaphor, but after giving it more thought, I do believe she meant actual birds and not something else.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His lordship’s frown deepened. “We are talking about the same lady? <i>Wilhelmina </i>Throssell.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ellie nodded. “I don’t imagine there are two of them.” Just the idea made a chill race up her spine. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lord Healeyfield heaved an unhappy sigh. “Can you at least tell me what she looks like?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
This entire exchange was very odd. Almost as odd as Miss Throssell herself.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“She has dark hair,” Sophie said. “She usually wears it in a chignon.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Light eyes. Grey, silver, light blue. Something like that. I’m not entirely sure,” Ellie added. “She’s slender, about my height. A nice smile, though she doesn’t smile all that much.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“She’d be pretty if…” Sophie shrugged. “Well, if she wasn’t so odd.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Truer words were never spoken. Miss Throssell was pretty, until one spent time with her. Then one couldn’t quite look at her the same any longer. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I suppose we should see if we can find her,” Griff said. “And if that should fail, we do know she’ll be at the Ridgemonts’ this evening.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The duo was quite adamant about finding Miss Throssell, which made less sense the more Ellie thought about it. She certainly didn’t believe that Banbury Tale about wanting to say hello to the girl simply because they’d served under her father. They had some sort of agenda. Very odd, that. But she’d find out what Griff was up to, one way or another. </div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Griff,” she began, making her voice a bit more breathy than it had been up ‘til now. “When ye learn where Lord Peasemore plans to be this evening, do come to MacLaren House to tell me. I’m certain Ian would love to see ye.” And without Lord Healeyfield or Sophie Hampton about, she’d get the truth out of him, once and for all. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-66494713857339985532017-02-13T01:30:00.000-08:002017-02-13T01:30:35.129-08:00In The Stars<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>April 1816 – London</i></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Nathaniel Carrick, the 1st Viscount Healeyfield, sat behind his rented desk, staring at a pile of bills and cursing the day he was granted entrance into the peerage. He had neither asked for nor wished for a Royal Commendation. And he certainly hadn’t lobbied for a leaky abbey in County Durham to go along with his new viscountcy. None of that was neither here nor there at this point, however, but Nathaniel had no idea how he was to keep Healeyfield Abbey afloat. He certainly couldn’t do so with what was left of his officer’s commission. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He scratched his brow, wondering what he could possibly sell, just to stay solvent. If he had a lucky bone in his body, he might try his fortunes at a Hazard table. But Nathaniel had never been terribly lucky in games of chance, and he couldn’t imagine squandering away what little he did have on the roll of a pair of dice. Not for the first time over the last sennight, he was plagued with the unfortunate truth that managing a battlefield was immeasurably easier than managing an estate. Life had been much simpler in the army. Things had made some modicum of sense. But this—</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Nate, ye’re not going to make me call ye Lord Holy-whatever-ye-are-now, are ye?” his old friend Captain Griffin Reid asked from the threshold. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Nathaniel glanced from his desk to the tall Scot who was leaning quite casually against the doorjamb. “Healeyfield,” he grumbled. “But from now on <i>you</i> can just refer to me as ‘Oh Great One’.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Very well, Oh Great One,” Griff chuckled, “Ye’re looking rather glum this afternoon. Did ye just get word ol’ Boney is back in control of the French army?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Would that he was. At that unpatriotic thought, Nathaniel snorted. “At least if that were true I wouldn’t have to waste my time on this stack of rubbish.” He gestured dismissively towards the mound of bills on his desk. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff pushed away from the door and sauntered further into the study. “That ol’ pile of stones again, huh?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Healeyfield Abbey. He’d never forget the moment he rode up to his new estate. The sun had settled on the old place just right, casting it in a warm glow and instilling more than a bit of pride in Nathaniel’s heart. Healeyfield Abbey was his. A legacy. Something of merit to be passed from one generation of his line of Carricks to the next. But the sun had settled behind the clouds, and the extent of the abbey’s dilapidated state hit Nathaniel like a ball in his chest. “Easy for you to be dismissive. You won’t lose every farthing you ever earned.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff shrugged. “So ye marry Throssell’s daughter. Ye promised to do so anyway.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Nathaniel glared at his friend. Marrying a girl he’d never met was not high on his list of wants. At the time of the agreement, he’d simply wanted to ease the old Colonel’s mind before the man passed. He hadn’t imagined his commanding officer would have survived his wounds and actually wanted to see his only daughter become the 1st Viscountess Healeyfield. Though to be fair, Colonel Throssell had only wanted to see his only daughter become Mrs. Carrick at the time. “I don’t see you rushing off to marry your intended.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The Scotsman heaved a sigh. “I went straight to Scotland upon our return, only to discover the MacLarens were in London.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You’re in London now.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“True.” Griff dropped into a chair in front of Nathaniel’s desk. “But I could wait another decade before having to deal with Ericht. Besides, Ellie’s a child, Nate. A bairn, really. There’s no hurry.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Nathaniel, however, was in a hurry. Not to marry some girl he’d never met, but to figure out a solution to his Healeyfield Abbey situation. The sooner, the better. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Besides, he hadn’t given much thought at all to his own intended as he had every intention of allowing Miss Throssell the opportunity to cry off. The girl shouldn’t be forced into a marriage she hadn’t sought, one she probably didn’t even want with some fellow she didn’t even know. “I suppose I should make an appointment to see Throssell and get this over with.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff nodded in agreement. “I suppose ye should. Seems to me he’s anxious to see his daughter settled and—”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“—I’m not going to hold her to this betrothal, Griff.” Nathaniel leveled his friend with a glare that said the matter wasn’t up for debate.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Bewilderment flashed across the Scot’s face. “The girl is the answer to yer problems, Nate. Throssell is in possession of a fortune and ye’re in need of one.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That was neither here nor there. Nathaniel raked a hand through his hair. “It’s hardly fair to her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Fair?” Griff snorted. “She’ll become Lady Holy-whatever-ye-are-now.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Healeyfield,” Nathaniel growled, not that the sound dissuaded Griff from continuing. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Besides, isn’t that what yer class does?” the Scot asked pointedly. “Marry for money and land in exchange for a title or to right some wrong?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His class, indeed. Though Nathaniel’s grandfather was an earl, his own father had been but a lowly vicar, the youngest of seven brothers who had instilled a strong work ethic in his own sons. His grandfather might have purchased Nathaniel’s commission, but it was the only thing the old man had ever bestowed upon his youngest grandson, which was perfectly fine with Nathaniel. Taking charity from his grandfather or anyone else for that matter pricked at his pride. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself…Or rather he had been until the albatross that was Healeyfield Abbey was strung about his neck. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
If Griff hadn’t once saved Nathaniel’s life from a French sword about to pierce his lung, he would have happily crushed his fist into the Scot’s nose. As it was, Griff <i>had</i> saved his life, so Nathaniel only narrowed his eyes once more on his friend. “Go bugger off.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
As was his nature, Griff leaned back in his chair and chuckled heartily. Damn him. “Ye’ve never been the sentimental sort. Marry the girl. Get it over with. Then go about repairing the ol’ pile of stones Prinny decided to bestow ye with for yer bravery.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The very idea gnawed at his soul. It seemed so ignoble, so sycophantic, so disingenuous.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“What if ye like the lass? What if she <i>wants</i> to marry ye?” Griff pressed. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That seemed too easy, too convenient. Nathaniel sent his friend a look that suggested such an idea was not terribly probable. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff shrugged in response. “Just seems to me, ye might want to find out if ye’d rub along well before ye dissolve yer betrothal. She could very well be the answer to yer prayers.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The Scot did have a point. What if he and Miss Throssell could rub along well? His problems would be solved rather easily, if that was the case. Besides, there were few men Nathaniel admired as much as he did Colonel Throssell. It only stood to reason that man’s daughter must be estimable in her own right. The true question was whether or not they were compatible, whether or not they could build a future together, whether or not she would think him a fortune hunter. Nathaniel didn’t think he could live with the latter. “I suppose I <i>should</i> meet her first,” he finally conceded.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A grin spread across Griff’s face. “I knew ye’d come to yer senses. The Throssells’ll be at the Ridgemont ball this evening.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A ball. Nathaniel managed not to groan. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Or we could stumble upon her before then.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes once more on the Scot. “Before then?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff shrugged. “She’s currently on a walk in Hyde Park. If we go now, Throssell won’t even be around to try and influence either of ye.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“How the devil do you know where she is right now?” Had Griff taken to spying on the poor girl? That hardly seemed like him. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Again, his friend chuckled. “I just came from Throssell’s. Heard the butler inform the colonel that his daughter had just left for the park.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You would have made a fine scout.”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Griff dusted the appellate on his shoulder. “I think I make a perfectly fine captain, thank ye very much.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 32px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 32px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-71335133612711113202017-02-06T01:30:00.000-08:002017-02-06T01:30:12.980-08:00Encounter With an Adventurer<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>The British Museum – April 1816</i></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Andrew Yeats, Viscount Brookfield, didn’t have to look long or hard to find his quarry. As soon as he stepped over the threshold into the museum’s reading room, he spotted his friend sitting close to the door, his nose in a book, apparently oblivious to anyone and everything around him. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew bit back a smile as he said, “So <i>this</i> is where Scotsmen go and hide to avoid paying their debts.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ian MacLaren, the Earl of Ericht, bolted upright in his wooden chair and turned his surprised gaze to Drew, just a few feet away. “I sent over a bank draft yesterday. Ye didn’t receive it?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew flashed his friend a wide grin. “I just thought you might like to start paying me in advance. Might make it easier on you in the end.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Ye can go to hell,” Ian replied without heat. Then he shook his head. “Yer uncle was the unluckiest fellow I ever known. Are ye sure ye’re related?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew’s stomach twisted at the mention of his late uncle. Unfortunately, he <i>was</i> related to the man, more closely than anyone knew, however. Thank God for that last bit. Being George Yeats’ nephew was bad enough. If anyone knew Drew was the villain’s bastard, his life wouldn’t be worth living. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Forcing down the bile that rose up in his throat whenever his <i>uncle</i> was mentioned, Drew shrugged. “Must get all my luck from my mother’s family.” Though that was far from the truth too. His mother had never experienced a lucky day in her life, as far as he was aware. Luck, apparently, was not something one could inherit. “I wanted to see if you were heading down to Albourne’s tomorrow. I’ve got an extra seat in my coach.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ian shook his head. “I promised Elspeth I’d escort her to Lady Staveley’s ball tomorrow.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew couldn’t help but chuckle. If there was one place he couldn’t picture the burly Scot it was attending a marriage mart ball. In fact, his friend had avoided such events as though they were the plague. “Lose a bet with your sister?” he guessed.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Finally gave in to her wailing and constant pleading.” Ian snorted. “And she’s easier to please than Catriona. God save me when that little imp is old enough to attend these damned affairs.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, perhaps your luck will change, and you’ll meet the lady of your dreams tomorrow night then,” Drew teased. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“So she can spend the half of my fortune I havena already lost to ye?” Ian folded his arms across his chest. “Nay, I’d sooner stick my own spoon in the wall.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Before Drew could reply to that, a waspish voice echoed in the corridor behind him. “You are the most willful girl in existence,” a woman complained. “For the last time, stand up straight!”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He and Ian exchanged a surprised look before Drew glanced over his shoulder to find a tall, plump, and scowling woman yanking the arm of a much more petite lady.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I <i>am</i> standing up straight,” the smaller lady bit out, her brown curls bobbing up and down as the chit thrust her chin upward, petulantly standing her ground against her tormentor. She did have spirit, Drew would give her that. The girl was also quite lovely with warm hazel eyes and a heart-shaped face. She hardly looked like the most willful girl in existence. She looked more like a lively pixie or charming sprite.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You’re so short one can hardly tell,” the imposing harridan returned. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I suppose all I can do is pray for height then,” the pretty brunette replied cheekily, “as there’s not much else I can do about the situation.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The plump woman’s face turned a bit red as she sucked in half the museum’s air and narrowed her eyes to little slits. “If you think you’ll find a husband with that smart tongue of yours, you’d better think again, missie.” Then she yanked the girl forward. “We’re already late. Stop dawdling.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
And then the two of them disappeared down the corridor.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“And that, my friend, is the other reason to avoid marriage,” Ian said, coming to stand beside Drew. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“The girl was lovely,” Drew replied, still staring in the direction the two ladies had departed.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Aye, but the other one…” Ian whistled. “Ye never know when ye’ll wake up next to the other one, and then ye’re trapped the rest of yer days.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew turned his attention back to his friend. There was no reason to resist one’s fate so determinedly. Fate was, after all, fate. “You know your mother will require an heir at some point, don’t you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ian cringed. “Why did ye have to ruin a perfectly fine day?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“A perfectly fine day?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The Scot huffed. “Why do ye think I come here to read?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Like all frugal Scotsmen, you don’t want to spend money on a library of your own?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His friend scowled in response. “I have a nicely stocked library at home, I’ll have ye know. But I’ve also got a mother and two sisters making my verra existence a miserable one. And now ye’ve reminded me I’m going to have to marry one of those creatures someday. Ye’re a black-hearted blackguard, Andrew Yeats.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Drew chuckled. He couldn’t help it. “I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know, Ian MacLaren.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Nay, but ye reminded me of it, and that’s just as bad.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, you can always delay your fate if you want to abandon Lady Elspeth and head to Sussex with me tomorrow night instead.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Ian scoffed. “Ye don’t know the first thing about female relations, Drew. I’ve promised those women I’ll take them, and if I don’t do so, they’ll make my life even more miserable than it is now. I’ll have to abandon my own home. I’ll have to find a new place to live. It’s not worth the trouble.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You wouldn’t be prone to Scottish exaggerations, now would you?” Drew grinned.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Ach!” Ian shook his head. “Look at ye, just standing here. Not a care in the world. I ought to make ye come with me to the damned ball.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I have been to a ball before, Ian. Lackluster affair. Nothing to get worked up about.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Ye went to a <i>soiree</i>, before the season began. It’s hardly the same thing. Simpering young misses line the walls, batting their eyelashes at ye, vying for yer attention. Meanwhile their devious mamas are hatching plans and plotting yer downfall. Some of the more scheming debutants are doing a bit of plotting too, I’d wager.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Plotting your downfall?” Drew laughed again. “I think you <i>are</i> exaggerating, my friend.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Do ye?” Ian’s brow lifted in question. “Why don’t ye come, then? See for yerself.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A ball was the last place Drew wanted to be. He wasn’t afraid of devious mamas or scheming debutants, it just wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. The dreary punch, the stale refreshments, hordes of <i>nice</i> girls. Much too tame for his tastes. “I’ve got Albourne’s tomorrow night, remember?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“So ye take one night away from the gaming tables? Albourne’ll be glad he willna owe ye any more blunt, and ye can see what these affairs are really like.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Why would I possibly want to do that?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“To keep me company and make up for ruining my day today. Besides—” his friend grinned wickedly “—you’ll need your own heir someday.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Touché.” Drew acknowledged his friend’s point with a nod of his head. He would at some point need to find a bride of his own, not that he was in any hurry to do so. After all, Drew had many, many years before he needed to worry about such a thing. But now Ian had made such a fuss about the entire affair, Drew was slightly anxious to prove his friend wrong. “Fine. I’ll go with you. Perhaps we can make it an entertaining evening, one way or another.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“If ye think I’m going to wager with ye about something, ye’re looking at the wrong man. I know when I’m outmatched.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Miss Lucinda Potts bit her tongue as she studied Townley’s <i>Discobolus</i>, wishing she could enjoy the impressive marble without her sister-in-law’s voice echoing off the museum walls. Blast if Lucy’s tongue wasn’t sore from all the biting of it she’d had to do in recent months. In fact, it was a wonder she could still taste her food these days. Still, a sore tongue was better than the alternative—the alternative being her neck stretched on the gallows, which is exactly what would happen to her if she strangled the life out of her new sister-in-law, no matter how much momentary pleasure that might bring. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Are you deaf?” her sister-in-law, Baroness Elmstead barked. “Come here, now, Lucy!” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Come here now? Lady Elmstead spoke as though Lucy was a stubborn sheepdog who refused to budge. She bit back that particular retort, however, and navigated her way around the marble to stand at her sister-in-law’s side. “Yes, my lady?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“And don’t take that tone with me.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lucy ground her teeth together. She was on her very best behavior as it was. What more could the woman possibly want from her? “I didn’t realize I had a tone,” she said in the sweetest voice she could muster, though it probably came out more like a strangled growl.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lady Elmstead’s icy, blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t move from this spot. I need to have a word with Mrs. Fitzhugh.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Poor Mrs. Fitzhugh, in that case. But at least the woman would grant Lucy a much needed reprieve, momentary as it would be. She feigned a demure smile for her sister-in-law and nodded. “I’ll stay right here.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
With a huff, Lady Elmstead turned on her heel and started for the doorway. Before Lucy could even breathe a sigh of relief, a baritone voice from behind her said, “If I were you, I’d tell her to go hang.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lucy turned slightly to find a broad-shouldered gentleman standing just a few feet away. A rakish grin lit his lips as he pushed his dark blond hair from his brow. “Unfortunately, she’s my brother’s wife, and he’s my guardian. Telling her to go hang would only make my life more miserable,” she said, turning fully to face the interloper.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“What an awful predicament.” His smile widened. “In that case, I might jump a frigate headed for India if I were you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lucy couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her, even if the man’s comment was wholly inappropriate. Running away had certainly crossed her mind more than once over the last few months, though she hadn’t seriously considered the option. “I don’t think India is in my future, sir. The mere idea of cobras will give me nightmares tonight.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“My apologies.” He chuckled slightly. “Still, you might want reconsider. The elephants are so nice, after all.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Elephants? “Have you actually seen one in person?” she asked, stepping closer to the handsome gentleman.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Several.” He nodded, and his light blue eyes danced with mirth. Then he once again pushed an errant bit of hair from his brow. “I recently spent a year in Bombay.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“A year in Bombay?” To look at him, the man seemed the epitome of a staid English gentleman in his dark blue coat and buff trousers, not an adventure seeker who traveled to India to spot elephants. “Were <i>you</i> running away from a vicious sister-in-law?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He laughed again. “Just escaping ordinary life here.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She must have judged him wrongly then. If he’d simply left to escape ordinary life here, he must be the adventurous sort, after all. There was something wildly fascinating about someone who could just pick up and leave home for one adventure or another. “What was it like? India, I mean.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Hot. It even smells warmer, if that makes sense. And lots and lots of color.” He flashed her another smile. “I know a snake charmer there. You could look the fellow up if you’re truly that concerned about the cobras.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
As though she could actually jump a frigate, as he suggested, and head for India. Still, Lucy couldn’t help but nod. “Oh, indeed. If you have his direction that would be most helpful.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Lucy!” Lady Elmstead bellowed from the doorway. “What <i>are</i> you doing?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lucy smiled at the gentleman. “It was very nice to meet you, sir. I shall consider your suggestion,” she said before turning on her heel and slinking toward her doom…or rather her sister-in-law.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Though they hadn’t actually met, had they? She might never see her adventure seeker again, but he’d planted thoughts of warmer climes, snake charmers, and elephants in Lucy’s mind. And that would make her afternoon alongside her sister-in-law possibly more bearable if nothing else. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-44126609588493088232017-01-30T01:30:00.000-08:002017-01-30T01:30:17.095-08:00To Catch a Captain<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; margin-top: 12px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Miss Bridget Kelly</i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>10 Henry Street</i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Dublin, Ireland</i></div>
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<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>October 20, 1815</i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; min-height: 15px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Dear Miss Kelly, </i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>I write this letter with a heavy heart. Before your brother’s untimely passing, I had the pleasure of speaking with him at great length about you. Mr. Kelly always spoke fondly of you. He was quite devoted to you and your happiness. My family will never be able to repay your brother for his selfless act of heroism, but I know he would rest easier if he knew you were under my care. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Please accept the enclosed funds for your fare from Dublin to London. Please book your passage as soon as it is convenient for you. I very much look forward to making your acquaintance. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Sincerely, </i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Cordelia, Countess of Clayworth</i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Clayworth House, London</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>Clayworth House, Mayfair – December 1815</i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Deliveries are ‘round the back.” The stoic butler looked down his slightly hooked nose at Miss Bridget Kelly. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Did it look like she was delivering something? Bridget gulped and griped her portmanteau tighter in her hands. “I’ve come at Lady Clayworth’s invitation. I think she means to offer me employment.” Which Bridget could desperately use. After Sean’s death, money had been scarce and Bridget had become more than a burden to her already struggling uncle and cousins.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The butler’s brow rose in surprise. “Her ladyship means to offer <i>you</i> employment?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He didn’t need to sound so skeptical about it. Bridget could mend and sew and cook better than any of her cousins. “If you’d just let me see Lady Clayworth.” Bridget reached into her pocket to retrieve the countess’ letter. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Lord and Lady Clayworth are in the country, miss.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The country? <i>Aililiú</i>!</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He started to shut the door, and would have done so if Bridget hadn’t dropped her portmanteau over the threshold, blocking the door from closing. “Perhaps they’ll have work for you when they return to Town in the spring.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
In the spring? Bridget couldn’t possibly wait that long. She shook her head. “But her ladyship sent for me.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The butler frowned as he kicked at her portmanteau. “Then perhaps she wanted to offer you work in Derbyshire, though that seems just as unlikely.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
But the letter had said London. Of course, Bridget had been detained in leaving Dublin. Cousin Kevin had taken ill, and she hadn’t felt right about leaving Uncle Cormac with the child until he was back on his little feet. But now here she was in London, all alone, without a friend in the world. Finally, Bridget nodded. “Derbyshire, then. Very well.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Very well?” he echoed as though she’d lost her mind. “Miss, I’m certain you can find work in London, even if you <i>are</i> Irish. There’s no need to go to Derbyshire.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“But Lady Clayworth sent for me,” she stressed, ignoring the slight to her nationality. After all, no one she’d met in London had been terribly friendly once she opened her mouth and they realized she wasn’t one of them. There was no point in getting angry about it now. She needed every bit of help she could get from the butler, though he didn’t seem terribly eager to give it. “How should I get to Derbyshire, sir?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He looked her up and down, most likely taking in her threadbare dress and ragged shawl, then said rather arrogantly, “I’d suggest the mail coach if you insist on going.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She might be able to afford the mail coach. She <i>did</i> still have a few coins left to her name. If she didn’t spend any of it on food, she could manage a few days. Besides, what other choice did she have? She couldn’t stay in London. She didn’t have a roof to put over her head here. And she didn’t have enough to go back to Dublin. Derbyshire it would have to be. “Which stop?” she asked as she retrieved her portmanteau. “To where her ladyship is in Derbyshire? Which stop?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“The family seat to the Earl of Clayworth is Bayhurst Court. The town of Bakewell is not far, though I’ve never been there myself. Good luck to you, miss.” And then the man promptly shut the door in Bridget’s face. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She turned on her heel, pulled her wrap tighter about her arms, and clutched her mother’s old portmanteau to her chest as she descended the steps of Clayworth House. A coachman driving down Hertford Street glanced at her as he drove past, frowning as though she was the lowest form of gutter trash littering the pristine walk with her mere presence. Bridget hastened her pace toward Park Lane, anxious to find her way back to a less ostentatious area of London, some place coachmen and butlers wouldn’t look down on her, some place someone might take pity on her and actually be of help.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She gestured for a hack, and three passed her by before one finally stopped. “I need to go to the closest coachin’ inn.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Get in, mum.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“How much will it cost?” She needed to know upfront as she had so very little left, and she still needed to purchase her fare to Derbyshire once she arrived at the inn. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Agh.” The driver sneered. “If ye can’t afford it, ye can’t afford it.” Then he urged his bay forward, leaving Bridget alone once more. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He was probably right. Though it would have been nice if he’d at least pointed her in the right direction. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Ye need to get to a coachin’ inn?” A little urchin sitting on the edge of the road scrambled to his feet. Bridget hadn’t even noticed the lad until he spoke.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Aye.” She nodded, relieved to receive whatever help she could get, even if it did come in such a small package. “Do you know the way?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“This way.” The child gestured toward Picadilly. “I’ll show ye.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Bridget sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Saint Christopher for sending a traveling guide to her when she most needed one. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>Rufford Hall, Nottinghamshire </i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Captain Russell Avery stared into his whisky glass. He’d lost count of the times he’d emptied it this evening, but he was about to do so again. And maybe once more after that.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” His oldest brother Gregory, Baron Avery, asked as he dropped into an over-stuffed leather chair in between Russell and a slowly dying fire in the hearth. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I’ve had enough of people asking me <i>that</i> question,” Russell grumbled. Or at least that’s what he meant to say. He was slightly foxed, and some of the words might have rearranged themselves when they escaped his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Do you want to talk about it?” Greg asked.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“No.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His oldest brother had certainly picked a fine time to want to talk about it. After all, Russell’s tongue felt a bit too big for his mouth in his present condition. Besides, talking about it would not change a thing. The fact remained that their younger brother had run off with Russell’s fiancée, and no amount of talking about it would make the situation more palatable. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Greg kicked his long legs out in front of him. “Cordie says you’ll head to Bayhurst Court with her at the end of the week.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Yes, so their baby sister could try to make things better for him. She’d fail at that, but Russell hadn’t had the heart to tell her so. Besides, he had to go <i>somewhere</i> and he’d rather not stay at Rufford Hall, surrounded by all the memories of his and his brothers’ formative years together. Before Tristan’s betrayal. And he’d rather not go back to London where he and Tristan had lived side by side since their return from the battlefields. Not right now at any rate. “Since you already know everything, there’s no reason to talk to you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“No reason except you’re my brother and I’m worried about you.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I’ve been through worse.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Greg heaved a beleaguered sigh. “You’ve been given a second chance, Russ. Next time you should probably love the girl you ask to marry you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
So that it would hurt even worse when she ran off with another fellow? Russell slowly turned his head, glaring at his older brother with all the fury of their once-great Saxon ancestors. “If you tell me that I’m better off because Tristan stole Phoebe from me, I’ll crack that poker right over your head.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“You are an irritable drunk,” Greg said calmly, damn him. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Russell would much rather yell at Greg, spar with him, or even better convince Greg to loathe Tristan as much as Russell did at the moment. Greg’s calm façade was a bloody nuisance. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“But not talking about it won’t make it go away. If it’s any consolation, I do believe he’s desperately in love with her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It was no consolation, no matter that Russell was not and never had been desperately in love with her. Honestly, he hadn’t even been a little in love with her at any time during their courtship. But that was all irrelevant. “Don’t expect me to forgive his betrayal, Greg. If that’s what you’re getting at, you can save your breath.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“He’s our brother.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Not mine,” Russell growled. “Not any more.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Greg sighed again, which was quite irritating now that Russell thought about it. “I just wish you could find some peace, Russ.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
But the only peace, the only heaven Russell had ever experienced was between one woman’s legs or another. Actually, that idea had merit, now that he thought about it. A few coins would buy him a bit of peace, which was sorely needed at the moment. He pushed out of his chair and wobbled slightly until he found his balance. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Where are you going?”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Somewhere no one wants <i>talk</i> to me.” And with that, Russell strode from the sitting room, leaving his brother all alone. </div>
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CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>London – June 1815</i></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
After all his years spent on one side of the war-torn continent or the other, with only a slight respite the previous year from all the death and destruction, Lieutenant Tristan Avery was <i>finally</i> home. <i>Home</i>, with all of London’s once familiar sights, sounds and, of course, the smell that could only be the Thames.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He glanced across the hired hack at his brother and shook his head. “I wish Philip was here.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Captain Russell Avery agreed with a nod. “Me too. But the surgeon promised Philip would be fine. He won’t be too far behind us.” Then he smirked. “So, I suppose we’ll simply have to make do without his preaching for the next while or so.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Preaching. Russell’s euphemism for their childhood friend’s stoic, moral nature. “If you’d only behave, he’d have no reason to <i>suggest</i> you do otherwise.”</div>
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Russell laughed. “And what a boring life that would be. No, no, no. I intend to enjoy my return to civilization one pretty woman at a time.”</div>
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As though Russell had gone without female companionship the last few years. The last few nights was more like it. Still Tristan couldn’t help but needle his brother. “So relieved to hear you’ve decided to end things with the Greywood chit. I lamented having to look upon her during all of our future family gatherings.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Russell’s smile faded and he heaved a sigh. “Don’t start again. Phoebe is perfectly fine.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I wouldn’t think <i>perfectly fine</i> would be all one wanted in a wife,” Tristan replied, then he shrugged. “But then I’m not the one getting married.” Or the one who’d had his way with more women than he could count all across the continent the last half dozen years either. Well, Tristan <i>had</i> enjoyed his fair share of women, but <i>he</i> wasn’t betrothed. Though in all honesty, Russell hadn’t been either until last year. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, I’m not married yet.” Russell leaned forwards on his bench. “Why don’t we stop of at Madam Palmer’s for old time’s sake?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Whores so early in the day? Tristan gaped at his brother as though he’d lost his mind. “I would like to see our sister.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Russell dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “We can see her any time.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“And our nephew,” Tristan continued. “I would like to see little Julian. Clayworth probably has him reciting lines from the Magna Carta by now.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Russell rolled his eyes. “We were gone less than four months. I’m sure the little imp isn’t even out of his bassinet, yet.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Four months, but it felt like four lifetimes. Tristan frowned at his brother, hating that Russell had a point. Still, they had yet to lay eyes on the infant, born during this last campaign. He’d missed so much in his absence. He missed London. He missed his dear sister. He missed… everything. “Do what you like,” he muttered. After all, Russell would do what he wanted anyway, no matter what Tristan thought about it. “But I am heading to Clayworth House, and I’m not going to let Cordie or her little bundle out of my sight all day.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, that sounds perfectly dreadful.” Russell yawned as though the subject bored him immensely. “But you can take my bag with you, I’ll be otherwise occupied.” He closed his eyes and leaned against the shabby squabs. “I plan to be welcomed home in an altogether different fashion.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Madam Palmer’s?” Tristan asked, even though he knew the answer. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A rakish grin settled on Russell’s lips. “I have missed English girls.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Yet they’d only been gone less than four months, and he’d had plenty of foreign girls to tide him over in the meantime. Before Tristan could say as much, the hack jerked to a stop. Tristan smiled as the familiar sight of their sister’s home on Hertford Street appeared through the window. He tossed open the door and bounded out onto the walk. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Toss me both bags, will you?” he called to the driver. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“What about the captain?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan shook his head. “He’ll get your fare. He’s headed to Covent Garden.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The driver’s brow lifted in surprise, then he snorted as though the situation was no matter to him. A moment later he tossed both bags to Tristan, tipped his hat in farewell, and urged his pair of bays back towards Park Lane. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan slung both bags over his left shoulder and climbed the steps to Clayworth House. The door opened before he could knock and Higgins, his sister’s usually stoic butler, beamed at him. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Lieutenant, you’re home!” the servant gushed as he held the door wide. “Lady Clayworth will be so relieved to see you!”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan stepped over the threshold and lowered both bags to the marble floor. “I will be happy to see her too, Higgins. Do tell me she’s here.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Of course, sir, of course. Right in there.” The butler gestured to the formal green parlor, directly to Tristan’s right. “Shall I announce you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“No.” Tristan shook his head. “I think I’ll surprise her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Very good, Lieutenant. I’ll have you put in your usual room.” Higgins glanced at the pair of bags at Tristan’s feet. “Is Captain Avery with you as well?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“He’ll be along soon, I’m sure,” Tristan replied as he made his way to the parlor entrance. Just as he stepped over the threshold, a stream of giggles reached his ears. Damn it, Cordie wasn’t alone. Even worse, he knew <i>that</i> giggle. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
But before he had time to think on it, Cordie spotted him. She squealed, leapt off the settee, and raced across the parlor, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Tris!” Her hold tightened around him. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone,” she whispered, just for his ears.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan held her close, so very relieved to be home. He kissed Cordie’s cheek, then set her away from him so he could look her over. “Motherhood agrees with you.” And truly she did look more radiant than ever. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Oh!” Cordie beamed at him. “Julian is sleeping, but I can’t wait for you to see him.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I could peek in the nursery,” Tristan suggested. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
But his sister shook her head, her dark brown curls swaying with the movement. “You’ll wake him and then he’ll be fussy. And I want you to see him at his most charming.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan was certain the child could scream his lungs out and he’d still find the tiny baron charming. He glanced over his sister’s shoulder and found Miss Phoebe Greywood, her hands folded in front of her, standing beside a high-back chair. “Miss Greywood,” he said curtly, because he had to say something.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A forced smile settled on her face as she met his gaze. “Lieutenant,” she returned. “So glad you’ve returned home safely.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The little liar. She’d have been just as happy if Tristan had fallen to his death in Belgium. They’d never cared for each other, but she seemed to be making an effort at least. “Thank you. You are looking lovely.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That, at least, was the truth. Phoebe Greywood might annoy him at every turn, but she was lovely. Rich auburn hair piled high on her head with delicate tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Pretty azure eyes that twinkled when she was happy, not that she was generally happy in Tristan’s presence, but he’d seen her often enough with Russell. And an enchanting smile that lit her countenance, making her seem the cheeriest of girls. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Thank you, sir. Is…” Miss Greywood cleared her throat. “Is Captain Avery with you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan shook his head. “Not at the present.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Where <i>is</i> Russell?” Cordie asked, a slight tone of petulance to her voice.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Presently? About to get his knob polished, if Tristan had to wager a guess, not that he could say as much to his sister or his brother’s intended. His eyes flashed again to Phoebe Greywood. She looked so hopeful, so… innocent. Poor girl. She had no idea what she was truly in for after she married Russell. Her days of wondering where the scoundrel captain was were just beginning. “He had something to attend to. I’m certain he’ll be along as soon as he can.” Then he turned his attention back to his sister. “But Philip…”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The color drained from Cordie’s face. “Oh, no, Tris! Tell me he’s all right.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan winced a bit. “He’ll live,” he stressed the word. “He took a ball and a bayonet. His leg is bad, I won’t lie to you, but he’s getting stronger everyday.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Oh, good heavens.” Cordie touched a hand to her heart. “They didn’t take his leg?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“No,” Tristan assured her. “The surgeon says he’ll have to use a cane the rest of his days, but he’ll walk again.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Relief settled across Cordie’s features, but she still looked slightly pained. “The poor man.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Indeed. Tristan agreed with a nod. “I still don’t think it comes close to the pain in his heart though.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His sister heaved a sigh. “Let’s not dredge that back up. Livvie never meant to hurt him and what’s done is done.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan shrugged. “I’m not dredging anything up. I’m just worried about him. If you get the chance to see him when he returns, I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Cordie nodded, then her face lit up with a smile once again. “Oh, Tris. I’m so glad to see you whole and hale.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
And though Tristan would like to spend the afternoon reminiscing with his dear sister, he’d really rather not spend anymore time than was necessary in Phoebe Greywood’s presence. He felt slightly dirty lying to her about his brother’s whereabouts, and he’d rather not suffer the feeling the rest of the day. “Is Clayworth in? Or is he at his club?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Cordie gestured to the corridor. “He’s in his study. Do you want me to find you when Julian awakes?”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Tristan flashed her a grin. “I would be quite sore with you if you didn’t.”</div>
<div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 461px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 92px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-20991143889280034572017-01-16T01:30:00.000-08:002017-01-16T01:30:21.244-08:00My Favorite Major<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-top: 12px; text-align: center;">
<i>Clayworth House, Mayfair – October 1815</i></div>
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The only thing worse than a Peninsular battlefield was a London ballroom, at least to Major Philip Moore’s way of thinking. Though the two locations did have striking similarities with enemy camps and cross purposes. And, of course, Philip had never reveled in being in either place. </div>
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“Must you look so sour?” His oldest friend, Captain Russell Avery clapped a hand to Philip’s back. “We are heroes, but you’re still managing to frighten away all the pretty girls.”</div>
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Russell could have every pretty girl in London for all Philip cared. As he couldn’t have <i>his </i>girl, the only girl he’d ever loved, Philip didn’t particularly care about any of the others who flitted past him. “I thought you were betrothed to the Greywood chit.”</div>
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“She didn’t write me as often as she promised.” His friend shrugged.</div>
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Philip snorted. “At least she didn’t marry some blackguard in your absence.”</div>
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“True,” Russell conceded. “But I’m not married to her yet, and as she didn’t correspond as much as I’d expected, I think I shall act the role of a scout this evening and try to determine which young lady is the best kisser in attendance.”</div>
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“Then won’t you be busy? Or leg-shackled to some other chit you barely know and ruin Miss Greywood’s prospects in the meantime.”</div>
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Russell touched a hand to his heart. “You do wound me, Moore. Do you have so little faith in my scouting abilities?”</div>
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Philip had seen Russell seduce Flemish beauties, Spanish señoritas, Scottish lasses, and Portuguese <i>meninas</i>. “No. I just think you’re forgetting that we’re home…in England.”</div>
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Russell laughed. “Oh, I am quite well aware of the fact, <i>mon ami</i>. But the luster of a hero-returned is bound to dull eventually. Best to make the most of our situation now, while we can.” </div>
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Philip wasn’t quite certain when Russell had become so opportunistic. “What am I even doing here with you?”</div>
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Again, his friend laughed and gestured across the room to his sister, Cordelia, the Countess of Clayworth. “I believe Cordie browbeat you into attending, did she not?”</div>
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Russell was most certainly correct on that score. Cordie Clayworth had begged and pleaded with Philip to attend her ball. He’d only agreed after she promised him that Olivia and her disreputable husband wouldn’t be among the numbers. It was one thing knowing Olivia had married another while he was away, and another to have to see the happy couple paraded before him at every turn. “Cordie need not feel guilty on Olivia’s behalf. I certainly don’t hold her responsible for the situation.”</div>
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Russell sighed as though the topic had grown tedious. In all honesty, they had discussed the situation at length more than once. “She just wants you to find the blinding happiness she has found herself. So humor her, will you? Find some chit you can tolerate to stand up with at least once. Otherwise Cordie will plague you, on that you can be certain.”</div>
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Philip tapped his injured leg with his cane. “She could be Cleopatra returned, and I wouldn’t dance with her on this leg.”</div>
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“You just insist on being maudlin, don’t you?” Russell grumbled. “If not dancing, then find some girl with whom you could enjoy a nice conversation. Or better yet, one who might actually bring a smile to your face, though I’m not sure if Cordie knows any miracle workers.” </div>
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Like a good soldier following orders, but mostly to appease his friend, Philip’s eyes swept across the throng of happy guests. No. Not one girl caught his eye. Perhaps it was still too soon. Or perhaps it would always be too soon. And then he spotted a blonde a few feet away and, if Philip wasn’t mistaken, she was laughing at <i>him.</i> Her light eyes twinkled with undisguised mirth.</div>
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Perhaps there was something humorous behind him. Philip glanced over each of his shoulders, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back at the blonde, only to find her laughing even harder. She didn’t even try to conceal her amusement behind her fan. </div>
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“Do I have something on my face?” Philip muttered, touching his cheek as he spoke. </div>
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Russell shook his head. “Just your nose.”</div>
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Philip scowled at his friend. “Amusing as always.” Then he gestured towards the giggling chit with his head. “I think that girl over there is laughing at me.”</div>
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Russell chuckled. “Must not know you. Nothing remotely funny about you.”</div>
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“I am starting to wonder why we’re friends.”</div>
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“Friends?” Russell feigned a shocked expression. “I think of you more as a brother.” Then he turned his attention to the girl in question. “Ah, Miss Amelia Pritchard. Don’t waste your time with that one, Moore.”</div>
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“I wasn’t planning on it,” Philip replied gravely. He wouldn’t have even noticed the girl if she hadn’t been laughing at him, which certainly did not recommend her.</div>
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“Brilliant decision. Substandard kisser,” Russell informed him and turned his attention back to the dancers. “Now Miss Dewhurst, on the other hand…”</div>
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Philip snorted. “Good God, Russ! How many of these girls <i>have</i> you kissed?”</div>
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His friend shrugged. “And you doubted my scouting abilities.” Then Russell straightened. “Don’t look now, but my sister is headed this direction.”</div>
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Philip did look to his right to find that Cordie Clayworth was indeed headed in their direction. He smiled at his childhood friend who had become a beauty when he wasn’t paying attention. “My lady,” he said in way of greeting the countess and nodded his head. “You are more lovely every time I see you, Cordie.”</div>
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At his side, Russell scoffed. “There’s no need to flatter <i>her</i>.”</div>
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Cordie playfully rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Philip. I was plagued with three of the most awful brothers.” She smiled graciously at him. “How refreshing to spend time with a true gentleman.”</div>
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“Watch yourself, Cordie,” Russell warned. “Or you’ll have Clayworth making a dawn appointment with Moore.”</div>
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Philip glared at his friend for even broaching the subject, which was still a sore one where the two of them were concerned. “Well, if he does, I’ll be certain to get myself a much better second than the one I had the last time.”</div>
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Russell snorted. “You’ll thank me for that eventually.”</div>
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“Don’t hold your breath.” Philip realized Cordie was frowning at the two of them, and he feigned a smile for her benefit. “Apologies, Lady Clayworth. Not the best ballroom conversation, is it?”</div>
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“Just reminds me once again that the two of you are <i>men</i>.” She said the word as though it were a vile curse. </div>
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Russell chuckled. “Don’t know how you need to be reminded of that fact, love.” Then he gestured with his head to the other side of the ballroom. “Why did you invite Amelia Pritchard, by the way?”</div>
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Cordie stared at her brother as though he’d sprouted an extra nose. “Because she’s staying with Clayworth and me here in London, as you well know. I couldn’t very well <i>not </i>invite her, not that I would even want to do so. She’s a sweet girl. What is the matter with you, Russell?”</div>
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Her brother shrugged. “She’s been <i>laughing</i> at Philip. Can you believe it? Quite ill-mannered, if you ask me, especially as he’s not amusing in the least. Perhaps they don’t have the same manners in Wales. Isn’t that where she’s from?”</div>
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Cordie’s green eyes narrowed on her brother. “You know exactly where she’s from. Have you been imbibing, Russell Avery?”</div>
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“No. But perhaps Miss Pritchard has been. That might explain her proclivity to laughter. You should go see if you smell spirits on her breath. I’d hate for her antics to embarrass you or Clayworth.”</div>
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“If you want me to leave—” Cordie tipped her nose in the air “—you need only ask.” Then she turned on her heel and made her way around the perimeter of the ballroom, finally stopping at the strange Miss Pritchard’s side. </div>
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Hmm. Was Russell correct? Was it possible the chit was foxed? That might explain her absurd behavior.</div>
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* * *</div>
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Amelia Pritchard squeezed her new cousin’s hand. “Your ball is delightful, Cordie.”</div>
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The countess leaned close and kissed Amelia’s cheek in greeting. “Thank you, Amelia. Please tell me you’re enjoying yourself.”</div>
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“Oh, indeed. I had no idea so many people would be in Town this time of year.”</div>
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“There are always some who never leave.” Cordie glanced across the ballroom where her brother and the very serious Major Moore still stood in conversation. She frowned briefly before returning her attention to Amelia. “Tell me, are you acquainted with my dear friend Major Moore?”</div>
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“Only by reputation,” Amelia replied honestly. After all, Captain Avery might as well have given her a written report on the officer, not that she could admit as much to the countess. The captain had been very adamant on that point.</div>
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Cordie shook her head as though trying to remove a nonsensical idea from her mind. “I know this will sound ridiculous. But you weren’t, by chance, laughing at him, were you?”</div>
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“Laughing at him?” Amelia couldn’t contain her grin. She hadn’t expected Cordie to just come out and ask her that question. Then Amelia blinked, what she hoped was her most innocent blink, at the countess. “I don’t see anything amusing about the man. He looks too serious by half. Is he laughed at often?”</div>
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Cordie’s eyes narrowed on Amelia, which made her think that perhaps her innocent blink hadn’t been innocent enough. “Are you up to something, Amelia Pritchard?”</div>
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Amelia blinked again. “What could I possibly be up to?” How had Cordie figured her out so swiftly? Captain Avery wouldn’t be happy with this turn of events. </div>
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“Indeed, that is the question at hand. You and Russell were thick as thieves yesterday.”</div>
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One would think the countess would have been too busy with her doting husband and adorable son to notice anything else going on at Clayworth House. Apparently, she wasn’t. “Thieves?” Amelia echoed, laying a hand on her chest with mock indignation. “I somehow think I’ve just been insulted.”</div>
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“Mmm.” Cordie’s eyes flashed back across the room to land on Captain Avery. “More likely I know my brother better than you. And I imagine I have a part to play in this little game, too. Am I to offer an introduction to the esteemed major?”</div>
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The countess was clever. Captain Avery had warned Amelia about that. But as that <i>was </i>the part Cordie was to play, Amelia nodded her head. “Would you mind terribly?”</div>
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“Not at all…if you would be so good as to tell me what game it is we are playing.”</div>
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Amelia leaned closer to her new cousin and replied, “Captain Avery asked if I would help bring the major out of his shell a bit. He said his friend has been gloomy ever since returning from the continent, and he thought I could help put a smile on his face.”</div>
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Cordie sighed. “That certainly isn’t why he’s been gloomy.” Her green eyes seemed to stare right through Amelia. “Philip is a dear man, a wonderful friend, and I won’t see him hurt again, Amelia. I’ll introduce you if you wish, but you must promise to disregard anything my derelict brother has said thus far.”</div>
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“I beg your pardon?”</div>
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Cordie smiled like a woman quickly spinning a plan. “He hasn’t the mind for such things. I, on the other hand, do. And though I would like to see Philip smile again, there’s a right way to go about this, and then there’s whatever way Russell thought up.”</div>
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Amelia couldn’t help but laugh. “It wasn’t all that complicated, Cordie. I was just to charm him and make him laugh a little.”</div>
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“Easier said than done.” She shrugged. “But I believe together we can accomplish the job at hand. Do you think you’re up for the challenge?”</div>
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Now Amelia wasn’t certain. When it was the simple scheme Captain Avery had approached her with, she was just supposed to flirt with the major, coax him into being the tiniest bit social. But the way Cordie looked at her made Amelia think the countess had something else entirely up her dainty sleeve. “W-well, I-I…”</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
But before she could offer a protest, Cordie linked her arm with Amelia’s and began to tow her in the direction of the officers. “First of all, don’t laugh at him again. That will only raise his hackles. One would think Russell would realize that after knowing the man his whole life. What a complete dolt my brother is.”</div>
<div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-38664680379755383442017-01-09T01:30:00.000-08:002017-01-09T01:30:06.900-08:00A Scandalous Past<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
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<i>July 1814 –Avery House, London</i></div>
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Cordelia Avery was certain she hadn’t heard her mother correctly. It wasn’t even possible that her mother had changed her opinion about attending the Staveley ball. “I beg your pardon?”</div>
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Lady Avery dropped her napkin to the breakfast table and narrowed her light green eyes on her youngest daughter. “I said the only reason we’re even attending Lady Staveley’s ball is because Sally Jersey expressly asked us to be present.” </div>
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Cordie nearly dropped her fork onto the table, but that would only earn her another lecture on comportment, so she grasped the utensil tighter. Ever since her dearest friend Olivia, the newlywed Duchess of Kelfield, had hastily married a rather scandalous duke, Lady Avery’s entire demeanor had changed. Not only was Cordie not allowed to see Livvie, she might as well have been shackled to her mother for all the freedom and spare time she enjoyed. </div>
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Cordie nodded, but didn’t say anything. Her mother had agreed to the ball. If she opened her mouth, Lady Avery might very well change her mind, and she couldn’t risk that. Livvie was certain to be at the Staveleys’, as they were relations, and it would be the first time since her wedding that Cordie would have the opportunity to see her dear friend. </div>
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“I do want you to promise me not to associate with either Olivia or Kelfield.”</div>
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“Of course, Mother. You’ve been very clear on the subject,” Cordie lied, her fingers crossed beneath the table. She didn’t really think the crossed fingers made the sin any less, but it was the best she could do at the moment. After all, she couldn’t tell her mother that she had every intention of speaking with both Livvie <i>and </i>Kelfield, if the latter happened to be present. </div>
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Since they were children, she and Livvie had been inseparable, growing up in a village that bordered Sherwood Forest. Until Livvie’s recent marriage, they’d seen each other every day of their lives. The forced separation twisted Cordie’s heart and left her feeling strangely alone.</div>
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“Thankfully no one outside the family knows you jilted the man, but between that unfortunate situation and Olivia’s scandalous actions your reputation is dangling by a thread. And now since you’ve rejected Captain Seaton’s offer, you’ll have to be on your absolute best behavior if you want to catch a <i>proper</i> husband.”</div>
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Cordie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She hadn’t <i>jilted</i> Gabriel Seaton, not technically. After all, they weren’t officially betrothed. He’d never gotten the opportunity to speak with her brother, Gregory, on the matter. It was a narrow escape in Cordie’s mind, and she was grateful that she learned just what sort of a dictatorial prig the captain was before their betrothal could be finalized. Not that she should have been surprised. He was a captain, accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. But that sort of life wasn’t for Cordie. She was looking for a little more freedom.</div>
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She feigned an accommodating smile for her mother and placed her fork on her plate. “Catching a <i>proper</i> husband is, of course, my goal.” And truly it <i>was</i>, though Cordie had a feeling that her idea of a proper husband and her mother’s were quite different.</div>
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Lady Avery frowned, and Cordie wondered if her mother could read her thoughts. “One wouldn’t know it. Your sister was already married with one babe by the time she was your age.”</div>
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Cordie suppressed the urge to scowl. Her mother made it sound as if she were on her deathbed. At twenty, it was true she was far from the youngest debutant in Town, but neither was she the oldest. And she’d had plenty of offers the three previous seasons, but until the captain, no one had turned her head—and what a colossal mistake <i>that</i> would have been.</div>
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“You’ll be fortunate if any decent man will look past your association with Olivia.”</div>
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She wouldn’t tolerate a husband who wouldn’t. Neither would she tolerate a husband who wouldn’t allow her to continue her friendship with Olivia. This breakfast discussion made one thing perfectly clear. She needed to find a husband—quickly—but one <i>she</i> could live with the rest of her days, her mother be hanged. A husband who would give her the freedom she craved. A husband who would let her make her own decisions. A husband who would love her like Kelfield obviously loved Olivia.</div>
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But where was she to find a paragon like that?</div>
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* * *</div>
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Almost to his Mayfair home, Brendan Reese, the Earl of Clayworth, stifled a yawn. The last bloody place he wanted to be was London, and yet he’d raced here from his Derbyshire estate after receiving a summons from Caroline Staveley. Apparently Caroline’s young cousin Olivia had gotten herself into a bit of trouble with the Duke of Kelfield and had been forced to marry the notorious scoundrel. The new duchess was being accepted less warmly than a leper in the midst of the <i>ton</i>. So Caroline, a meddlesome but lovely woman to be sure, was determined to change the tide of opinion in her cousin’s favor and was hosting a ball in honor of the duke and his new duchess.</div>
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This was the sort of thing Brendan normally could care less about. He had enough of his own problems, and had anyone else summoned him with the words, “Your stodgy presence is required to lend Livvie an air of respectability,” he would have told the author to go jump in the Thames. But he could rarely refuse Caroline. Not only was she the sister of one of his closest friends, but she was also one of the few people who had been kind to his late sister, Flora. That generosity could never be repaid.</div>
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Still, now was not the best time for him to leave Derbyshire. His youngest sister, Rosamund, was becoming more and more difficult to manage and his nephew, Thomas, was in desperate need of some male guidance. And he still hadn’t found those damning letters that could get them all sent to Newgate. Perhaps he could search again in London, as if he hadn’t already done that more than a dozen times already.</div>
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Of course, he’d already looked every place he could think of, more times than he could count. Brendan had methodically searched his ancestral home, Bayhurst Court in Derbyshire, from top to bottom, gone over every inch of Clayworth Hall in Kent, he’d gone through every nook and cranny of his hunting lodge in Yorkshire, and he’d gone over his Hertford Street home with a fine-toothed comb more than once. But the letters detailing his mother’s crimes against the crown were nowhere to be found, and the only clue he had was the memory of his late wife’s cryptic taunt. “The Lion holds your secrets.” He didn’t know what the devil that meant.</div>
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The coach pulled to a stop in front of his Mayfair home. Brendan exited the carriage then climbed the front steps to be greeted by his butler, Higgins.</div>
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“Lord Clayworth, Lord Masten awaits you in the blue parlor.”</div>
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How odd. Brendan raised his brow in question at his butler. He hadn’t realized Masten was in Town. Even so, it was unusual for his friend to await him here, especially as <i>he</i> hadn’t yet arrived.</div>
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He strode down the hallway until he reached the blue parlor, a tacky room that his late wife had decorated—a room he should scrap and start all over, if for no other reason than he hated to be reminded that Marina had ever entered his life. </div>
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Brendan found Robert Beckford, the Earl of Masten, staring out one of the room’s grand windows. His friend’s hands were clasped behind his back and he was grumbling to himself.</div>
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“Robert?”</div>
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His friend spun on his heel and offered a curt smile. “I see she’s roped you into this nonsense as well.”</div>
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Robert could only mean his sister, Caroline. Brendan shrugged. “When Lady Staveley beckons, we all fall in line.”</div>
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“Like the pack of fools we are,” Robert agreed. “What Aunt Jane thought she was doing, leaving Olivia with Staveley and my sister, I have no idea.”</div>
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“If it’s any consolation, Rob, when I saw them in Derbyshire, Kelfield seemed like a man besotted. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”</div>
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“Bloody wonderful. My sweet, young cousin has married one of the most depraved men in all of England.”</div>
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To say the very least. Brendan could commiserate. If it had been one of his sisters or cousins who ended up with Kelfield, he’d be as irate as Robert. “It could be worse,” he offered, shrugging again.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Oh?” His friend’s brown eyes flashed with indignation.</div>
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“It could have been Haversham.”</div>
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* * *</div>
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Marcus Gray, the Marquess of Haversham, left Madam Palmer’s establishment sated, but not completely satisfied. Though professional whores were fairly proficient at their trade, they often left something to be desired. What he <i>needed</i> was a mistress, though that was a touchy subject at the moment. Right before his wedding, Kelfield had cut his pretty actress loose, and Marc had hoped to snatch up the sweet little number in his stead. Unfortunately, Sarah Kane had already found a new protector, so Marc was still in the market.</div>
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As it was too early for most of his usual entertainments, Marc headed over to White’s, which was, admittedly, a little tame for him. But ever since Kelfield had married, his old friend was playing at being respectable. It was truly a sight to cherish—and place bets on how long it would last. </div>
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After entering the hallowed halls of the club, it didn’t take Marc long to find his old friend Alexander Everett, the Duke of Kelfield, in the library, sitting in an over-stuffed leather chair, perusing <i>The Times</i>.</div>
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Marc quietly shook his head. Though he had witnessed the wedding himself, it was still hard to believe the old devil had actually married the chit. No land, no fortune was gained—just the girl. It didn’t make one bit of sense. Not for a man like Kelfield anyway.</div>
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“I have seen neither hide nor hair of you since Macbeth,” Marc drawled as he looked down on his friend.</div>
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“What does that tell you, Marc?” Kelfield didn’t bother to look up from his paper, which brought a wry grin to the marquess’ face. It must be terribly tedious, pretending to be so respectable.</div>
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“Well, you can’t be avoiding <i>me</i>. So I can only assume you’re keeping that pretty little wife of yours tied up at Kelfield House. Has she asked about me?” Marc dropped onto a settee across from the duke and smirked. </div>
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Kelfield scowled over the edge of his paper. “Only to berate me for my poor choice of friends.”</div>
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“Browbeaten already, are you?” Marc cheerfully baited him.</div>
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The duke folded his paper in half and narrowed his eyes, clearly allowing Marc to see the true Kelfield, hiding just beneath the surface. “I’m certain you know me better than that, Haversham. Now what do you want?”</div>
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“To curse you for leaving Miss Kane so well positioned.”</div>
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“Turned you down flat, did she?” </div>
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“Bastard,” Marc answered with a nod. “She’s attached herself to Haywood. Can you believe that?” It was certainly hard for <i>him</i> to swallow. The penniless baron wasn’t in the same league as Marc. It shouldn’t have been a contest, and wouldn’t have been if Kelfield hadn’t left the girl a small fortune as a parting gift.</div>
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The duke shrugged. “I told you, Sarah is free to make her own choices.” </div>
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“I still can’t account for you just giving her up. Doesn’t seem like you at all.”</div>
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“Well, times change.” </div>
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“Ah, Kelfield, there you are,” came the deep voice of Commander Simon Greywood from behind them. “Ready for tonight?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That sounded promising. “What’s tonight?” Marc asked, rising from his seat to shake Greywood’s hand.</div>
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“Nothing,” Kelfield answered, though he was drowned out by the commander’s reply.</div>
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“Caroline Staveley’s ball, of course.”</div>
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Marc fell back on the settee with a laugh, beaming at the duke. “You? A ball?”</div>
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“It’s for Olivia,” Kelfield growled.</div>
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Marc’s laughter echoed off the walls of the club. “God, Kelfield! You’ve turned soft. Married a fortnight, and she’s already wrapped you around her little finger.” Which was something Marc had never allowed to happen to himself. Not even his late wife ever attempted to dictate his entertainments.</div>
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It would be vastly amusing to watch the new duchess lead Kelfield around by his prick. Though Marc hadn’t received an invitation to Caroline Staveley’s ball—most likely an oversight on her part—he wouldn’t miss it for the world.</div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-27514897667439751992017-01-02T01:30:00.000-08:002017-01-02T01:30:00.810-08:00A Scandalous Pursuit<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
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<i>June 1814 – Prestwick Chase, Derbyshire</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; margin-top: 12px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><b>Lord Staveley’s wire-rimmed glasses</b></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><b>Mr. St. Claire’s sapphire cravat pin</b></i></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin-left: 72px; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i><b>Epaulette from Commander Greywood’s uniform</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Lord Carraway’s pipe</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Cravat with Beckford insignia</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Captain Seaton’s tricorn</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Lord Carteret’s signet ring</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Gold button with Kelfield crest</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Mr. Greywood's pocket watch</b></i></div>
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</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Olivia Danbury stared blankly at the list in her hands. Her friends had taken her simple idea of a treasure hunt and turned it into something quite impossible. </div>
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“You can’t honestly be serious,” she said with a shake of her head. There was no conceivable way to get any of these items. One couldn’t just ask Lord Carteret for his signet ring or beg the wicked Duke of Kelfield for one of the buttons from his waistcoat. That was ridiculous.</div>
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“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Felicity asked her as she linked her arm with Livvie’s.</div>
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Adventure? Had her friends all lost their minds? </div>
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Cordie’s green eyes twinkled. “Come on, Livvie, this is the most fun any of us have had since we arrived.”</div>
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That was true. The house party at Prestwick Chase had been tedious at best. Still <i>this</i> charade was the most ridiculous thing Livvie had ever heard of. How unfortunate that it was her idea—at least in the beginning. She wasn’t keen to take the responsibility for what this had become. “I don’t even know how I’d go about acquiring any of these things.”</div>
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Phoebe giggled. “Then I suppose Cordie and I will win.”</div>
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“We have ‘til dinner to get all the items. The team with the most will win.”</div>
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“Yes, but—” Before Livvie could utter further protests, Phoebe and Cordie sprinted through the door, giggling the entire way. She turned a shocked expression to Felicity, her partner in this insanity.</div>
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Felicity looked quite determined, which was a rare look for her. Her blond curls bounced as she leaned in close to whisper, “All right. My cousin, Mr. St. Claire, will give me his cravat pin, no questions asked. I’ll also take Lord Carraway’s pipe. I know where he keeps it. We can get Staveley’s glasses from Caroline. And I’ll ask Jensen to get us one of Luke’s cravats.”</div>
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“Felicity!”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“There’s no point in us wasting our time on Captain Seaton, since he’s been making moon eyes at Cordie all week. Phoebe can get the ring from her Uncle James and the epaulette from her Uncle Simon. And I’m certain Matthew will give his pocket watch to them. Which means we’ll be tied. So, all <i>we’ll</i> need is one of Kelfield’s buttons to win.”</div>
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Livvie rolled her eyes. The idea that the arrogant duke would just hand over one of his buttons for a game was ludicrous. The man was completely unapproachable. If Felicity thought that Kelfield would help them win…</div>
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“And then I’ll meet you back here,” Felicity finished</div>
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Livvie shook her head. She must have missed something while she was woolgathering. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”</div>
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With an exasperated sigh, Felicity towed her towards the door. “Get some sewing shears, sneak into His Grace’s room, and remove one of his buttons. I’ll get the cravat pin, the pipe, Staveley’s glasses and Luke’s cravat. Then I’ll meet you back here.”</div>
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<i>Sneak into His Grace’s room and remove one of his buttons? </i>“Absolutely not!”</div>
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“Come now, Livvie, don’t be a spoilsport. I’ve got to sneak into Carraway’s room for his pipe. I’d send you, but it would take too long to explain where he hides the thing. Besides, Luke has ordered me under no uncertain terms to go near His Grace <i>or</i> his room.”</div>
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Livvie didn’t know how Felicity talked her into participating in this ridiculous game. She berated herself for being a fool as she crept into Kelfield’s guest room. However, it <i>was</i> the most fun she’d had since arriving at Prestwick Chase. She wasn’t quite sure what that said about her, but the thrill of being somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be had her heart pounding excitedly.</div>
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She tiptoed to a large wardrobe on the far side of the room and inhaled the duke’s masculine, sandalwood scent as she pulled open the doors. It was almost as if he was there beside her, his silver eyes raking across her form. Chills crept up Livvie’s spine and she glanced around the room to make sure she was alone—which, of course, she was. So, she shook her silly head and focused on the job at hand.</div>
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Inside the wardrobe were several fashionable waistcoats, and Livvie ran her hands across the expensive silk. Kelfield always looked so devilishly handsome. He had excellent taste—not that she made a habit to notice such things about the scoundrel. She quickly selected a midnight blue waistcoat and fingered one of the gold buttons. Before she had time to consider what she was actually doing, she snipped the thread with her sewing shears and pocketed the coveted button. </div>
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She started for the door, but froze when she heard footsteps outside the duke’s threshold. Then came a thump against the oak door and a feminine giggle, followed by a hushed but very masculine growl. Slowly, the doorknob began to turn. </div>
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Panicked, and with her heart pounding viciously, Livvie looked around the room and dashed inside the wardrobe, just as the door flew open. </div>
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That was close. Too close. And what was she to do now?</div>
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The giggling continued and two bodies stumbled into the room. Livvie could hear kissing and moaning. Her curiosity warred with her fear of discovery. Curiosity won out. </div>
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Tentatively, she pushed the wardrobe door just a crack, so that she could see what was going on.</div>
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The Duke of Kelfield held a flame-haired woman against him. He was pulling down the edge of her serviceable gown, until her ample bosom spilled free from its confines. The duke took one nipple into his mouth and sucked. <i>Good Heavens</i>! Livvie shrank back against the edge of the wardrobe and closed her eyes tightly. How had she gotten herself into this situation? <i>Stupid treasure hunt</i>.</div>
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“Get on your knees,” the duke ordered.</div>
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Livvie’s eyes flew open. Oh, she shouldn’t be doing this, but she didn’t seem to be able to help herself. What was the man doing now? She edged closer to the opening of the wardrobe and peeked through the hole with one eye.</div>
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Kelfield stood with his back towards her, but Livvie could clearly see the red-haired woman, whom she thought she recognized as one of The Chase’s maids, kneeling between the duke’s legs, with her mouth around…<i>Merciful heavens</i>! Kelfield’s head fell backwards and he let out a low, guttural moan. The sound that came from him was primitive. It reverberated through Livvie—her knees even weakened in response.</div>
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After a moment, Kelfield hauled his lover to her feet and yanked the gown completely over her head. Livvie gulped. She should not be witnessing this. Not any of it. But she also couldn’t make herself step away. Most importantly, she couldn’t let them discover her.</div>
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The duke was slowly kissing the woman and backing her against the four-poster bed at the same time. When her legs hit the bed frame, Kelfield easily lifted her up in his strong arms and dropped the sultry-eyed maid in the middle of the mattress. Then he discarded his own clothing in no time at all.</div>
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Livvie swallowed. Hard. Then she blinked. He was magnificent. She had no idea the male body could be <i>that</i> exquisite. His shoulder blades flexed as he tossed his shirt and then his trousers across the room to land on a chair. He had muscular, well-shaped thighs and an amazing bottom. Livvie hadn’t realized that a bottom could be amazing—but his was like a work of art, sculpted from marble.</div>
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Heavens! She should not be here. </div>
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Kneeling on the bed before the red-haired maid, the duke held her legs open with his large hands and then he pushed himself inside her. The sensual moan the woman emitted echoed around the room. Livvie couldn’t watch anymore. She carefully edged herself to the back of the wardrobe to avoid detection. Though she doubted <i>anything</i> could distract the pair on the other side of the door.</div>
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The maid’s moans turned to giggles, and Livvie tried to cover her ears. </div>
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The duke groaned loudly.</div>
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<i>This</i> was torture. </div>
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After what seemed like forever, Livvie’s legs cramped and all she could breathe was sandalwood. Did the duke douse everything he owned in the scent? Her nose tickled and she tried to breathe through her mouth, but she was felt lightheaded. And still the giggles and groans went on and on. How long could the man keep up this sort of activity? People were probably already looking for her, for heaven’s sake.</div>
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And then the worst possible thing happened.</div>
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Livvie sneezed. </div>
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Loudly.</div>
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The giggling and groaning stopped instantly and Livvie closed her eyes tight. If she prayed hard enough, perhaps she’d awaken in her own bed and this whole thing would be a terrible dream. Though she knew it wasn’t the case. Her imagination had never been wild enough to conjure the images she’d seen today. </div>
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“Leave,” the duke barked, and for a moment Livvie thought he was talking to her. But from the crack in the wardrobe she saw the man toss the maid her discarded dress. </div>
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Livvie’s world went dark when Kelfield stepped in front of her hiding place and closed the wardrobe door. She felt a thump against the furniture and she imagined him blocking her exit with his body. </div>
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She heard the rustle of clothes and the maid grumble under her breath. A moment later the room fell silent, except for an irritated sigh that seemed so close, right on the other side of the door. “If that’s you, Greywood,” the duke growled, “I’ll have your head.”</div>
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Tears threatened to spill down Livvie’s cheeks. Her life was over. The duke would surely kill her on the spot, and she was powerless to keep him from finding her. There was nowhere else to hide. </div>
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Then the wardrobe door wrenched open and Livvie squeaked in fear. She expected him to be furious when he found her, but when Kelfield’s silvery grey eyes settled on her, he seemed more stunned than angry. His inky black hair was disheveled from his most recent activities, and he looked down his aristocratic nose at her. “Miss Danbury?” he asked in bewilderment. </div>
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Completely mortified, Livvie blushed deeper and redder than she ever had in her entire life. “Ex-excuse me,” she stammered and tried to brush past him. Even after everything she’d just witnessed, she wasn’t accustomed to conversing with naked men, no matter how impressive they were. And she especially didn’t want to talk to <i>this</i> naked man. She didn’t even want to converse with him fully clothed.</div>
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Kelfield chuckled and blocked her path from the wardrobe with his body and an outstretched arm. “I don’t think so.” Then his eyes narrowed and he inched closer to her. “Did you enjoy the performance, sweetheart?”</div>
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Wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her whole, Livvie pushed against his chest. His strong and very naked chest. She gulped as she met his silver eyes. “Please, let me pass, Your Grace.”</div>
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The bedroom door suddenly opened behind them. “Alex, did I leave my spectacles in here?” Lord Staveley’s voice preceded him into the room. Livvie sucked in a breath, certain her heart stopped beating at the sight of her guardian.</div>
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Staveley stopped dead in his tracks. He looked from Kelfield to Livvie and back again. Despite missing his glasses, it would have been impossible for him to miss the duke’s unclothed state. </div>
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“Think you could knock next time, Staveley?” Kelfield drawled easily, though he never removed his eyes from Livvie.</div>
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She couldn’t breathe.</div>
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A muscle twitched near Staveley’s eye. “Olivia, go find Caroline and do<i> not</i> leave her side.”</div>
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“But, my lord,” she began, though she wasn’t sure what she could possibly say to explain the situation. </div>
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Lord Staveley kept his gaze steady on the duke and barked sharply. “Now, Olivia!”</div>
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Livvie escaped as fast as she could into the hallway. She fingered the Kelfield button in her pocked and gulped. This was the worst possible thing to happen. </div>
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Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-23848552103112740722016-12-26T01:30:00.000-08:002016-12-26T01:30:07.352-08:00A Scandalous Secret<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>August 1813 - English Channel</i></div>
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Lady Hannah Campbell leaned against the rail of a roiling frigate. She sighed as her hair blew in the sea breeze, and she pulled the blue and green Campbell tartan closer about her shoulders. England was barely on the horizon, a land she hadn’t laid eyes on in more than a dozen years.</div>
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Hannah frowned, plagued once again with the same worry that had haunted her since she and her boys had left Spain. How would the three of them get along in England? After so many years following the drum, she wasn’t sure she knew how to function in polite society anymore. </div>
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“Mama?” a tiny voice called from her side as a small hand tugged on her scratchy, wool traveling dress.</div>
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With a start, Hannah looked down into the expectant face of her seven-year-old son, Ewan. What was the lad doing up on deck? She’d left the poor little fellow sleeping in bed after another bout of seasickness. “What are ye doin’ out of the cabin, my love?”</div>
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A tear formed in Ewan’s dark eyes and his lip trembled as he spoke. “Alasdair says I smell like a chamber pot.”</div>
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Hannah pursed her lips. She should have guessed Alasdair was responsible for his brother’s fretful state. After all, her oldest son was definitely having the hardest time adjusting to their new situation. She pulled Ewan into her arms, smoothed his tears away, and kissed his swollen little cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart, ye doona smell like a chamber pot.”</div>
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Someone snorted behind them, and Hannah knew without a doubt that Alasdair had followed his brother on deck. “Alasdair Murdoch Campbell—” she didn’t even glance over her shoulder to face her oldest son— “how many times have I asked ye ta be kind ta yer wee brother?” </div>
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When he didn’t respond, Hannah turned her head and met his bitter and brooding green eyes. Alasdair shrugged his shoulders, a hardened look on his twelve-year-old face. “Soldiers doona cry and run ta their mothers, Ewan.”</div>
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Hannah narrowed her eyes on her oldest boy, but he met her glare with an icy one of his own. When had Alasdair become this petulant child? Not that he didn’t have a reason or a right to be angry. They all did. But all they had left was each other now. “Wheesht! Alasdair! Ye have seen just as many soldiers cry as I have, and I will no’ let ye chastise Ewan. Do ye understand?”</div>
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Alasdair stared at her for quite some time before he let out a deep sigh and finally nodded. “Aye, Mama.”</div>
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Hannah smiled with more cheerfulness than she felt. “Good, then come over here so ye can see England.” She had both boys’ instant attention and she pointed to the land just barely visible in the distance. “Right there. Do ye see it? We’ll be home today.”</div>
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Home. She’d never thought to lay eyes on England again. Not England, not Chet… <i>Havers!</i> Where had that thought come from? </div>
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“Tell us again, Mama.” Ewan’s tiny voice broke her from her reverie. “What’s London like?”</div>
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London. </div>
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It had been a lifetime ago. Thinking back on it now, she’d been just a naïve lass at seventeen when she’d arrived in London. “It’s a grand city, Ewan. With parks, theatres, museums, and—”</div>
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“And cousins?” Ewan asked anxiously.</div>
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Hannah couldn’t help but smile at his exuberance, and she tousled his dark hair. “And cousins,” she agreed.</div>
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“And we’re stayin’ with them?” he asked, doubt seeping into his words.</div>
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“Aye, we will be stayin’ with yer Uncle James, yer Aunt Bethany, and all five of yer cousins,” she assured him for what seemed like the hundredth time. But she could understand his reluctance to believe such a thing; neither Ewan nor Alasdair had enjoyed the same address for an extended period of time. Neither boy had ever set foot on English soil or the Scottish homeland of their ancestors, for that matter. Both of her brave little soldiers had been born on the continent while she followed Malcolm’s regiment from one camp to another. </div>
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But those days had abruptly come to an end on the battlefield outside Vitoria when Malcolm had taken a ball in the chest. If God had been merciful, Major Campbell would have died on the field that day, but there was very rarely mercy in war. Malcolm had somehow managed to drag his battered body back to camp. Though the surgeons were able to extricate the bullet and stop his bleeding, infection was an entirely different matter. He stubbornly held on to life for more than a week, but in the end Major Malcolm Campbell lost his final battle. </div>
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Hannah tried to be grateful for Malcolm’s last days. At least the boys had been able to say their goodbyes to their father. But that didn’t make his passing any easier on any of them. They’d followed Malcolm for so long, she wasn’t sure they knew how to live on their own without him. </div>
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The only comforting thought in the back of Hannah’s mind was that her brother James would see to her wellbeing. She and the boys were sure to be a burden on James, but her brother would make certain they were well cared for. Hannah heaved a sigh as the first bit of sun peeked over the horizon and her heart lightened a bit. Of course James would take care of them. He always had, after all.</div>
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-13286290703791329142016-12-19T01:30:00.000-08:002016-12-19T01:30:01.422-08:00A Scandalous Charade<h3 style="text-align: center;">
CHAPTER ONE</h3>
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<i>February 1812 - London</i></div>
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This truly is a den of iniquity, Lucas Beckford thought to himself. One sleeping, naked woman was draped across his lower torso, while another slept soundlessly, her head resting on his left shoulder. However, Luke was not sleeping. He was wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, staring at the crushed red velvet walls and what was left of some flickering candles.</div>
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Something in his life was most definitely missing. Unfortunately that same thought seemed to creep into his mind at the most inopportune times over the last month or so. Not that he should complain. Many men would love to be in his position—especially the one he found himself in right now. But somewhere along the line, this had become mundane for him. After many years of cheerful sinning in one capacity or another, he’d started to tire of this existence that was his life. Fast-paced hazard tables, fast-paced whores, and a never ending supply of money and whiskey. No, most men wouldn’t complain.</div>
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Yet, he wasn’t satisfied. So, there had to be something he was missing. Something…more.</div>
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The woman in his arms stirred and he took the opportunity to shift her to a pillow beside him. However, the one draped across his middle didn’t seem likely to move for quite some time, and he hated to wake her. She had been quite accommodating. </div>
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“Luke!” came a panicked voice on the other side of the door.</div>
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What the devil? He sat up with a start, waking the poor girl that had been atop him. “Sorry, love.” He smiled at her.</div>
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The panicked voice continued, “Lu—ke!” Then the interloper banged wildly on the door. </div>
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“For God’s sakes!” he growled. What in Lucifer’s name was the problem? Luke wrenched the door open, not a stitch on him, and glared at the intruder. His glower lightened a bit when he recognized his young friend William, Lord Haywood, standing in the corridor, a horrified expression plastered on his boyish face. Will knew better than to interrupt a man here. Something truly terrible must have happened.</div>
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Will pushed his way into the room and noticed the two girls now scrambling for clothes. He grinned bashfully at the younger of the two. “Oh, Sarah.”</div>
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“Lord Haywood.” The girl blushed, which was strange in Luke’s mind, as he didn’t remember ever seeing a whore do so before. </div>
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After he pulled his trousers up over his hips and started to button himself in, Luke glanced up and was annoyed that Haywood was still making moon eyes at the girl. “Sweet Lucifer, Will, what are you doing here?” </div>
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Will tore his eyes away from Sarah. “You have to help me, Luke. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything I can think of, but nothing’s worked. And tonight she told me I was a featherbrained dolt whose thoughts wouldn’t fill a thimble.”</div>
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At the moment, Luke was inclined to agree with whoever she was. He had a hard time believing that the young baron had tracked him down here in the middle of the night to discuss some female. Certainly this could wait until morning…or afternoon, or whenever Luke chose to finally wake up. “Who are we speaking about, Will?”</div>
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Haywood looked exasperated and frowned at him. “The Ice Princess, Luke—Lady Juliet. That damned haughty chit.”</div>
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Luke’s head began to ache. This was hardly the sort of thing a man wanted to think about at—he checked his pocket watch—three-thirty in the morning. Then he pulled on his shirt and waived the girls out of the room.</div>
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Will smiled at the pretty young whore one last time. “Bye, Sarah.”</div>
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To her credit, Sarah quietly nodded and shut the door behind her. Luke scowled at his friend. “Sarah?” he asked incredulously. </div>
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“What?” Will shrugged.</div>
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“Just surprised you know her name, Will.” Calling a whore by her first name was not something Luke had ever done. In fact, he didn’t know any of their first names and planned to keep it that way.</div>
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“Oh, well,” Will began as he sank into a high-backed velvet chair, “she’s a real sweetheart. Wants to be an actress.” </div>
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Luke couldn’t care less, and his gaze darkened on his friend. “Perhaps instead of chatting up career goals with Madam Palmer’s girls you could be charming Lady Juliet.”</div>
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Will snorted and let his head fall into his hands. “I could spend all day trying to charm her and it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Honestly, Luke, a more frigid woman doesn’t exist.” Then his head shot upward. “That’s why I need your help.”</div>
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Luke didn’t like the sound of that and he shook his head slowly. “If she’s so prickly, Will, then just pick someone else. It’s not as if she’s the only heiress in England.”</div>
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“No, she’s just the wealthiest. If I have to sell my soul in marriage, I want to get the most out of it.”</div>
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Luke pulled on his Hessians and chuckled. It was no wonder the Ice Princess wasn’t charmed by Haywood. “What a romantic notion,” he remarked sardonically.</div>
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“That’s just the problem. I don’t have a clue what to say around her. You’ve got to go with me to the Ridgemont’s tomorrow…er, technically I suppose it’s tonight.”</div>
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“No!” Luke barked emphatically. He’d successfully avoided Louisa Ridgemont for the last fortnight and he wasn’t about to go traipsing into the she-devil’s den.</div>
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“Please,” Will begged. “You’ve got to watch me interact with her, tell me what I’m doing wrong.”</div>
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Luke was bone tired and he shook his head at his pitiful friend. “Not even to save your pathetic life, Haywood. Do you know how long it took me to end things with Louisa?”</div>
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Haywood actually blanched. “Oh, sorry. I hadn’t thought about that. The thing is, Luke, Lady Juliet’s unpredictable, and avoids functions for the most part. But I know she’ll be at the Ridgemont ball, and I desperately need your sage advice.”</div>
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Luke cursed under his breath. If it had been anyone else that was asking this of him, he’d have told them to go jump in the Thames…But he felt responsible for Haywood. He always had. “I ought to be checked into Bedlam for agreeing to this, and you’ll owe me for the rest of your life.”</div>
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Will’s solemn face broke into a wide grin. “You’re the best.”</div>
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“Yes, yes.” Luke frowned, opened the door of the small bedroom, and stepped into the corridor—directly into the path of Alexander Everett, the Duke of Kelfield.</div>
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An amused grin tugged at the corners of the wicked duke’s mouth. “Very interesting. I had no idea,” he smirked as he glanced inside the empty bedroom, then back at Luke and Will.</div>
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Luke scowled at Kelfield, as he pushed past him. “Bugger off.” Then as an afterthought he added, “Your Grace.”</div>
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* * *</div>
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“Dear God, she’s here.” Will gulped nervously, his boyish face drawn up tight. He quickly downed the remainder of the wine in his goblet.</div>
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They’d been waiting for nearly an hour at the Ridgemont’s and Luke had been certain the Ice Princess wouldn’t show up. She’d leave him to flounder in Louisa’s ballroom, paying a penance he had no desire to pay. But, apparently, he’d been wrong. </div>
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Will raked his free hand through his dark hair, as if the process would help him think of the right thing to say this time. Luke had never seen the lad so anxious. This was serious indeed.</div>
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“Courage, Will,” he drawled next to his anguished friend. Then Luke lazily pushed himself away from the large, white pillar he’d spent the last half hour leaning against, to focus his attention on the Ridgemonts’ newest arrival. </div>
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The reason he was here.</div>
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Lady Juliet St. Claire.</div>
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The last time he’d laid eyes on her had to be ten years ago, at a wedding or something. She must have been nine or ten at the time, a bony girl with knobby knees and big brown eyes. </div>
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She had changed. </div>
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She was lovely.</div>
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Lady Juliet was adorned in an expensive, yet tasteful silk rose gown that shimmered like diamonds as she glided across the floor. Her chestnut colored hair was piled high on her head, and dainty tendrils framed her heart-shaped face. Her brown eyes were still big, though apparently deceiving, as he’d heard tales of her ability to instantly chill a man to his bones with just her gaze.</div>
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So this was the chit Haywood had decided on. God have mercy on his soul. </div>
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Luke watched Lady Juliet with methodical eyes. She was instantly swooped down upon by a fortune-hunting viscount, who was quickly followed by other suitors, all light in the pockets, each of them. Without a doubt Will had competition for the heiress’ hand…er…make that fortune. “Do you see how they’ve swarmed around her? You definitely do not want to be part of that pack.”</div>
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Will frowned and focused his attention on the lady. “But if I’m not near her you can’t tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I won’t have a chance at catching her.”</div>
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With a beleaguered sigh, Luke turned to his protégé. “You won’t have a chance if you join their ranks. Trust me, Will, ladies like Juliet St. Claire are accustomed to gentlemen showering them with attention. Up ‘til now you’ve been chasing her so hard that she takes your affection for granted. But if you suddenly turn your attentions elsewhere… Well, that she’ll notice. She won’t want to lose one of her many accessories, and she’ll scramble to get you back.”</div>
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Will didn’t look convinced, and Luke grinned to himself. Haywood was still such a green lad, though over all a pretty good fellow. It wasn’t his fault he’d inherited his father’s massive debts along with his title. The young baron was simply trying to put his estates to rights, and he was in over his head.</div>
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A few years back Luke had taken pity on Will—fresh from the country with not an ounce of Town polish. The boy had been a complete innocent. Since that time, Luke had tutored Haywood in many things: gambling, whoring, drinking. But helping him with the unenviable task of snaring a wealthy bride wasn’t something he was anxious to do. The very idea sent chills down Luke’s spine, but he had seen the baron’s accounts himself. Marriage seemed the best way to keep the Haywood estates afloat. </div>
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Across the room, Lady Juliet dismissed her entourage, one at a time. Two of her penniless suitors fought to retrieve the Ice Princess some refreshment. And it appeared that she dismissed the rest with a flick of her wrist and a cool scowl.</div>
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Now she was all alone, and Luke studied her delicate frame. If one had to marry an heiress, they’d be hard pressed to find a more attractive one.</div>
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Haywood started to move toward the icy heiress, but Luke halted him with a hand on his arm. “She’ll just turn you away, Will. Don’t be rash. Don’t act without thinking. Just watch her. Study her.”</div>
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Will snorted. “What’s the point? She never joins any group. She just stands there looking down her nose at everyone.”</div>
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But at the moment, she wasn’t looking down her nose at anyone. She was actually smiling at someone who had just entered the ballroom. Both Luke and Will glanced across the sea of people to see who had caught Lady Juliet’s attention. If Haywood had serious competition, it would behoove them to know just who it was.</div>
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But when Luke’s eyes landed on Georgina, Lady Teynham, he grinned wolfishly as luck, once again, smiled upon him. This was going to be like a walk in the park. Lady Teynham, a widowed marchioness, was Lady Juliet’s older sister. She also just so happened to be one of his sister Caroline’s dearest friends. But most importantly, Georgie had always had a soft spot in her heart for Luke.</div>
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He glanced at Haywood and winked. “Do not approach Lady Juliet. In five minutes, join me as I talk with Lady Teynham. Then we’ll all end up with the Ice Princess together and Lady Teynham will ease the way for us.”</div>
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Anxiously, Will looked from Luke to Juliet and back again. With an uncertain nod, he finally agreed. Then after one last look of warning, Luke stepped away from his young friend and toward Lady Teynham. This whole thing would be much easier if Will could just relax and listen to his guidance. </div>
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Luke stepped in Georgie’s path, with a rakish bow and an outstretched hand. “Well, if it isn’t the loveliest widow in all of England.”</div>
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Georgie smiled radiantly, her blue eyes twinkling. “My dear Lucas, whatever are you doing at Louisa’s ball? I mean, the marriage mart is the last place in the world I’d expect to find you.”</div>
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Luke chuckled and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Perhaps times change.”</div>
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Georgie giggled at that and tapped his chest with her fan. “And perhaps house cats pull Prinny’s carriage. Darling, if you were seriously considering finding yourself a wife, news would be all over Town.”</div>
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“I hardly think I’m that noteworthy,” he remarked with a lazy smile.</div>
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“On the contrary,” Georgie insisted, “Caroline would be shouting the news from the rafters and scoping out any and all eligible candidates for the position.”</div>
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He chuckled at the image she painted in his mind. Georgie knew Caroline well indeed. If he was searching for a wife, his younger sister would make a complete nuisance of herself— of that there was no doubt. “Well, for God’s sakes, Georgie, don’t tell her whatever you do. I can manage without her assistance. But what, may I ask, are you doing at a marriage mart ball? You’re not replacing Teynham?”</div>
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Georgie’s marriage had not been a pleasant one and everyone knew it. She’d been married off at the tender age of seventeen to a man that was old enough to be her grandfather and who had the reported temperament of Attila the Hun. Luke would be surprised if she ever replaced the crusty old marquess. Widowhood had saved Georgie from a miserable existence. She wouldn’t give up that status lightly.</div>
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They were slowly creeping toward Lady Juliet, and Luke surreptitiously glanced around the room. Where the devil was Haywood? He was supposed to have joined them before they reached the Ice Princess’ side.</div>
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“I’m here with my sister, Juliet. You remember her?”</div>
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Luke nodded. “Of course.” </div>
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Georgie leaned in closely to him and whispered, as if they were conspirators. “Actually, Lucas, I’m hoping someone will strike her interest. Unlike Caroline or myself, Juliet has the luxury of actually picking her own husband.”</div>
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This was perfect. He could get Georgie to tell him everything. “Oh? And who is the gentleman that’s caught her attention?”</div>
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With an unladylike grimace, Georgie shook her head and sighed. “No one yet. She’s being very obstinate about the entire thing.”</div>
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Well, that was good to know. Now he just needed to learn what the Ice Princess was looking for in a husband and then help Will discover those traits in himself. “How so?” he asked casually.</div>
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But the time for confidences had abruptly come to an end. The Ice Princess herself had stopped before them and kissed Georgie’s cheek in greeting. “I was starting to worry about you.”</div>
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Georgie pulled an unpleasant face and motioned toward the main entranceway, which was adorned in white tulips, where their hostess still stood greeting her guests. “Louisa cornered me and was-” She stopped in mid-sentence, glanced briefly at Luke, and then she cleared her throat. “Jules, you do remember Mr. Beckford don’t you?”</div>
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* * *</div>
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Juliet swallowed. Hard. She could never forget Mr. Beckford, and it had taken some amount of courage to approach her sister in his presence. After all, the last time she’d seen him, she’d made a complete ninny out of herself, though she’d only been ten years old at the time. But she could still remember the mortification she felt when he’d overheard her gushing to Georgie about how ‘beautiful’ he was. He’d chuckled and patted her head in a very patronizing manner, crushing her little heart in the process.</div>
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From time to time, Juliet had thought about him over the years, but their paths had never crossed again. Though they both lived in London, they traveled in vastly different circles. Occasionally, she would hear about one of his wicked exploits and wonder what had happened to the beautiful young man he’d been.</div>
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What she saw was that he’d grown into an exceedingly striking man. Honestly, no man had the right to be that devilishly handsome. He was slightly taller than she remembered and his golden-blond hair fell rakishly across his brow. But it was his eyes that she found most captivating—just looking into them she felt lost, vulnerable, and fluttery in places she’d sooner die than speak of. </div>
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And now he was looking at her, focusing those heart-stopping, green eyes on her. Just like when she was ten, Juliet’s mouth went dry in his presence and she didn’t think she could speak. But Georgie was staring at her with wide eyes, and she felt certain she was making a cake of herself. So, she stiffly nodded her head and managed to choke out, “Of course.”</div>
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Luke Beckford took her gloved fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips. Shivers raced down Juliet’s spine, and her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t think straight or clearly hear what was going on about her. Truly, it was difficult to function as normal when a Greek God was paying her his complete attention.</div>
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But the magic between them came to an abrupt end, when without any warning at all, Lord Haywood joined their group, and grinned at her like the idiot he was. She’d been trying to shake his interest for the better part of the last month. “What a surprise to see you, Lady Juliet. And might I say you’re simply stunning this evening?”</div>
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He was such a toady! A surprise? He’d kept his eyes glued to her ever since she’d entered the room. Did the dolt think she was too featherbrained to have noticed? </div>
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After favoring the young baron with a cool expression, Juliet looked back at Mr. Beckford and caught a speaking glance that was obviously meant for Haywood. </div>
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Drat!</div>
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Realization hit her hard. The two of them were friends. She should have known better. </div>
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Lucas Beckford was not the sort to pay her any attention. She wasn’t a member of the demimonde, or someone else’s wife, or some beautiful widow. However, the reprobate probably would assist his friend Haywood in his untenable quest for her hand. How silly she’d been to think that the handsome devil could possibly find something of interest in her for himself. She felt like that awkward ten-year-old girl all over again.</div>
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Juliet found herself frowning at her own foolishness and silently swore not to fall victim to her sensibilities in the future, at least not where he was concerned. </div>
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It suddenly became much easier to look at the handsome scoundrel. And since he’d decided to interfere in her life, there were a few things she’d like to say to him. To that end, she turned an icy glare on the penniless, toad-eating baron. “Lord Haywood, would you please fetch me a glass of ratafia?”</div>
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“I’d be delighted,” Haywood squeaked. Then he scooted off toward the refreshment table, beaming with pride. The fool.</div>
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Juliet then focused her attention on her sister. She would have to get rid of Georgie too. As much as her sister loved her, she just didn’t understand the situation Juliet was in. Georgie was an incurable optimist and didn’t clearly see the dangers that surrounded wealthy heiresses. Georgie honestly believed that all of Juliet’s suitors were besotted with her, but Juliet knew better. Her suitors were besotted all right, but with her fortune not her dull, mud-colored eyes. </div>
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With a sweet smile, Juliet gestured back to the main entranceway with a delicate flick of her wrist. “Georgie, Lady Ridgemont was just trying to signal you from across the room.”</div>
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Georgie glanced across the sea of people until she spotted her old friend—who was indeed looking their direction—and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I just finished speaking with her. I can’t imagine what Louisa could possibly want now.” Then with a sigh of resignation, Georgie made her way through the crowd toward Lady Ridgemont.</div>
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When her sister was safely out of earshot, Juliet braved a glance at the striking devil at her side, only to find his green eyes dancing with merriment.</div>
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“And just what do you wish to speak with me about, Lady Juliet?”</div>
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He knew? Blast him! Her face warmed and she stiffened her back in response as she met his amused gaze. “Take a turn about the room with me, will you, Mr. Beckford?”</div>
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He stared deeply into her eyes, and Juliet felt as if he was trying to see straight into her soul. “Wouldn’t you prefer to dance?” he asked smoothly.</div>
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The first strings of a waltz began, and, fool that she was, Juliet would have preferred to dance with him. But that was not an option so she shook her head. “I never dance, sir.” Then she waived her hand airily toward her bevy of suitors and furrowed her brow. “Those dogs would hound me until I danced with every single one of them, and I have no intention of indulging even one of them in that regard.”</div>
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To her delight, the dashing scoundrel threw back his head and laughed. Then he offered her his arm with a roguish grin. “A turn about the room it is then, my lady.”</div>
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She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and her fingertips tingled from just this simple contact with him. When he smiled down at her, Juliet thought she might faint, which was completely unacceptable—especially for her. So she took a deep breath, steadied her shoulders, and blurted out, “You are tutoring Lord Haywood in how to court me.”</div>
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The rogue nearly stumbled, but to his credit, he quickly righted himself and glanced down at her in surprise. “That obvious, is it?”</div>
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Juliet frowned her answer. She had suspected it, knew it in her mind, but hearing it confirmed was still disheartening. The tiny bit of her that hoped he’d had some interest in her died. “I want you to end it. In fact, I’d like you to convince him to find some other heiress to hound altogether.” She began to tick off the names with her fingers. “There’s Marian Hampton or Alice Kelston. Oh, Susan Clarke—her father is anxious for her to marry into a title and he’s quite plump in the pockets.”</div>
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One dark golden eyebrow shot up mockingly. “Well, you’re certainly mercenary, aren’t you?”</div>
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Juliet let go a beleaguered sigh as they passed couples who were dancing the waltz nearby. “Better one of them than me. Besides, Mr. Beckford, I’ll never marry. So your friend is simply wasting his time—Time that could be spent in courting Lucy Turnbridge perhaps?” she asked hopefully.</div>
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Luke grimaced and shook his head. “Isn’t she the one with a mustache?”</div>
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True, poor Lucy wasn’t the prettiest of girls, but physical attributes didn’t appear to matter at all to the group of fortune hunting scavengers that were preying on London’s wealthy females. “Yes, and isn’t Haywood the one with debts to pay?” she asked tartly. “Miss Turnbridge’s father has made a fortune in shipping. I’m sure your friend’s estates could be set to rights in no time.”</div>
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Her handsome companion looked skeptical. Juliet had to catch her breath when he towed her a bit closer to him and whispered, “Come now, Haywood’s a good fellow. He—”</div>
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“Is a gambling, rakish ne’er-do-well—just like you. Only he lacks your easy charm.”</div>
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He laughed again and he squeezed her fingers with his free hand. “You have a saucy tongue, Lady Juliet.”</div>
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She shrugged in response. “I can afford it. Do you have any idea how much I’m worth?” Juliet figured that, as Haywood’s confidant, Luke would have a fairly accurate guess as to her value. But would he admit to such a thing?</div>
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“Hardly an appropriate topic of conversation,” he replied with a feigned reproach.</div>
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This time Juliet laughed. “Considering your usual conversations are reputed to be highly inappropriate, Mr. Beckford, I’m certain we’re in acceptable territory. But I’ll save you the trouble of actually answering my question, as we both know that I’m one of the wealthiest women in all of England. The only St. Claire to have more than two farthings to rub together.” </div>
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There was no point in denying the truth, and thankfully he didn’t. Everyone else knew it anyway—the St. Claire coffers were completely empty, except for when Juliet replenished them. She was the only one who had any money to speak of, as her fortune had come from her mother’s family. </div>
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The history of the St. Claires was a fairly unpleasant one. Much in the same way Henry VIII wanted a son, Juliet’s father, the late Duke of Prestwick, had been obsessed with having an heir of his own. And though the duke only had four wives as compared to the six of King Henry, the unfortunate Duchesses of Prestwick hadn’t fared any better. Though none of them were beheaded, not one of them had lived past childbirth. The duke had three daughters from three different wives before he finally had the male heir he sought. </div>
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Juliet had witnessed two of these unhappy unions, and had no intention of going down that path herself. “I’ve seen many marriages, Mr. Beckford, from my father’s numerous wives, to Georgie’s unhappy turn as Marchioness of Teynham. I’m determined never follow in their footsteps. And, thankfully, I don’t have a need to. The fortune my grandfather left me will allow me to maintain my independence throughout my life and still repair the Prestwick estates for my brother. My freedom is too important to ever risk falling prey to the parson’s noose.”</div>
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* * *</div>
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Luke was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Ice Princess was simply enchanting—much more so than his usual companions. And he found himself smiling at her, completely amused. In fact, he was beginning to realize that he’d seriously misjudged Juliet from the onset. For one thing, he now didn’t think that she’d care at all if she lost Will’s interest. On the contrary she’d probably be elated. But most importantly, cold and frigid weren’t apt descriptions of the charming woman on his arm. Smoldering was a more accurate term, and he began to think of ways he could convince Will to give up the chase, and leave Juliet to him.</div>
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And that, in itself, should have been a most alarming thought. </div>
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Innocent, young, virginal girls were too dangerous to dally with. He’d learned that lesson years ago, when he’d nearly been forced to marry a chit, who wasn’t even as innocent as she’d led on. Quite honestly, until now, he thought he’d lost the taste for such creatures, generally preferring much more experienced women of one sort or another.</div>
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He should bow and take his leave from her. He should walk away and forget that their paths had ever crossed. Yes, he really should do all those things. “Would you like to join me in the garden, Lady Juliet?” he asked instead.</div>
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She focused her intelligent brown eyes upon him and her delicate pink lips upturned to a knowing grin, as if she could read the devilish thoughts in his mind. “Just because I have no desire to marry doesn’t mean I wish to have my reputation ruined, Mr. Beckford.”</div>
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Luke couldn’t help but smirk at that. Lady Juliet truly did have a fiery spirit, and he was becoming more intoxicated by her every moment he spent in her company. He dipped his head down toward hers.</div>
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“Finally!” came a shrill voice from behind them. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” Luke knew that voice and nearly winced when he turned around to face the unwanted interloper—Louisa, Lady Ridgemont. Their hostess wore a dark red dress and a forced smile, though she frowned when her eyes fell upon Juliet. </div>
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Damn! Things had been going so well. He’d been able to breeze past Louisa when he’d arrived, since she was clinging to her ancient husband’s arm. Somehow she’d gotten free, and Luke’s stomach churned.</div>
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“Lady Ridgemont,” he nodded curtly, and prayed in vain that his one-time paramour would leave him in peace to continue his talk with the much more intriguing Lady Juliet.</div>
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But that was not to be. </div>
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Louisa edged closer to him, with what she must have thought was a seductive look in her crystal blue eyes. “My dear Mr. Beckford, it’s a bit stifling in here, don’t you agree? Can I persuade you to follow me outside for a breath of fresh air?”</div>
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Lady Juliet slid her hand from Luke’s arm and stepped away from him. He turned instinctively to meet her big brown eyes. She smiled knowingly up at him and took another step away. “Thank you for the walk, Mr. Beckford, it was most enjoyable.”</div>
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And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like an apparition. Luke scanned the room with his eyes, but his princess was nowhere to be found. Damn! He’d much rather have spent the evening matching wits with Juliet than dealing with Louisa.</div>
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Louisa—who was now tugging hard on his arm, and trying to steer him thorough the veranda doors to the crisp outside air. Luke wrenched his arm free from her grasp and hissed, “Sweet Lucifer, Louisa, do you want Ridgemont to see you behaving like this?”</div>
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She took a deep breath and puffed out her ample chest in his direction. “I don’t care what Ridgemont knows, darling. Please follow me outside.” Then she whispered, “It’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed your company.”</div>
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And she’d still be waiting until the end of time, if Luke had anything to say about the matter. He took a step toward her, hoping to keep anyone else from overhearing them. “Louisa, you have guests to attend to. Pray do so.”</div>
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Then he turned on his heel and started back toward the crowd of people. He spotted Will immediately, now holding a glass of ratafia at the edge of the room and scanning the throng of guests like an expectant puppy. </div>
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However, Will and his problems were the last things on Luke’s mind at the moment as he looked the room over himself. But still he couldn’t locate Lady Juliet. She was simply gone. </div>
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Blast and damn!</div>
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Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-1847989142914229462016-12-12T01:25:00.000-08:002016-12-12T01:25:04.405-08:00A Scandalous Wife<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b>CHAPTER ONE</b></h3>
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<i>April 1812 - London</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Robert Beckford, the Earl of Masten, glanced around his sister’s opulent ballroom and wondered, not for the first time that night, why he was there. These sorts of aimless functions were precisely why he spent most of his time in Dorset.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">“Every year it gets worse and worse, Rob; and I get older and older, less able to </span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">tolerate her all together,” Chester Peyton, the Marquess of Astwick, complained as he ran a hand through his dark hair. Everyone else at the Staveleys’ annual ball seemed to be enjoying themselves, but Chet, a hulking giant and normally cheerful man, was set squarely in the doldrums.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Robert smiled at the marquess dismissively. “Come now, she can’t be all that bad.</span></div>
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“It’s worse than I’m letting on,” Chet insisted firmly with a crinkled brow. “She’s pestering me nearly non-stop.” </div>
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It was every mother’s duty to bully her son into a finding a proper wife. Chet had avoided it for too long at thirty-seven, and Robert chuckled at his friend’s continued reluctance to his obvious fate. Though the two had been friends since their boyhood days together at Eton, Robert had to agree with Lady Astwick on this matter. Her son was a bit long-in-the-tooth and quite overdue in selecting a bride. “Well, then finally settle on a chit and make your mother happy.” </div>
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This conversation was tiresome. They’d had it on more than one occasion. Robert would much rather be discussing his stables, the latest races, or something else of interest. Besides, it wasn’t as if finding a wife would upset Chet’s daily routine. His life would continue as it always had, just like that of every other married man of their acquaintance.</div>
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Robert scanned the ballroom until his eyes settled on a pretty little thing near the entrance to the drawing room. He smiled when he saw her. Light from the chandeliers reflected off the soft hues of her strawberry blond hair piled high on her head. She wasn’t like the other girls in their light pastel gowns and demure looks. No, the pretty girl that caught Robert’s attention was bold in a rich sapphire-colored gown that was eye-catching in its contrast with her light hair and creamy complexion. She seemed much too daring for Robert’s own conservative tastes, but Chet…well, Chet could use a bold woman. “That girl, there. You look like you could be her father, but perhaps she prefers older men. Quite pretty.”</div>
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Chet followed Robert’s gaze and when he spotted the girl, his laugh boomed so loudly that couples stopped dancing and turned toward the disruptive sound. Robert was accustomed to Chet’s affable demeanor, so the guffaw had no effect on him except that he raised his eyebrows slightly in question.</div>
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After wiping a laugh-induced tear from his eye, Chet shook his head in dismay. “Honestly, Rob, that was nicely played. I appreciate your good humor.”</div>
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It was common knowledge among their set that Chet could be extremely picky when it came to women; this was why he was still single and unattached at thirty-seven. But Robert couldn’t detect anything outwardly offensive with the girl in the sapphire dress. On the contrary, she was breathtaking. He rubbed his chin in frustration. Shouldn’t Chet at least make the acquaintance of the girl, before he rejected her outright? “And what exactly is so funny? What could you possibly find wrong with <i>that</i> girl?”</div>
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Chet tried not to laugh again, and draped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Well, for one thing, she’s <i>your</i> wife.”</div>
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Robert’s eyes flew back to the pretty girl on the other side of the room. <i>That</i> could not possibly be Lydia Masten. His own wife was a mere child, much younger than that pretty girl. Though now that he thought about it, it had been five years since he’d laid eyes on her. Even then, their interaction had been brief—just long enough for him to say his vows and then explain to her afterward what the rest of her life would entail. “Not possible,” he was barely able to mutter.</div>
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“What’s not possible?” Chet’s good-natured grin had yet to leave his face. “That she’s your wife, or that you didn’t recognize her?”</div>
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“Is it really?” Robert couldn’t help but stare at her. Had Lydia grown up to become that beautiful woman?</div>
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“Perhaps she prefers older men,” Chet teased him, apparently feeling more like his usual, gregarious self. “Why don’t you go over there and find out?” </div>
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But Robert knew exactly what kind of men Lydia Masten preferred: roguish ne’er-do-wells like his younger brother. That’s how he got into this mess in the first place. <i>Was that stunning creature really his Lydia? </i></div>
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He tried to remember the timid girl of sixteen that he’d married in an attempt to protect his family’s name. She had seemed shy and quiet as they exchanged their vows, not like the wanton harlot she obviously was to be in bed with his brother at the late Lord Staveley’s country party.</div>
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At the time, Miss Lydia Warner had been in the charge of her aunt, the Dowager Lady Carteret. It was very likely that Robert would have never even known she existed at all, if Staveley hadn’t stumbled upon the chit in Lucas Beckford’s room, not a stitch on her, and in his brother’s embrace. </div>
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Everything else had happened very fast. Luke, ever the cad, had bolted, leaving the ruined Miss Warner alone for her aunt to console. Something had to be done, and as usual that meant it was left up to Robert to find a solution.</div>
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Word of this sort of thing would spread quickly, of that there had been no doubt. And Robert had been fortunate that Lord Staveley was his sister’s father-in-law, as that bought him a little extra time, but still he needed to act fast. He didn’t necessarily care for the girl’s reputation—she’d made her own decision as far as he was concerned—but the Beckford family’s good name lay heavily on his mind. So, he did the only thing he could. He acquired a special license and married her himself. Then he hadn’t laid eyes on her again. </div>
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Until now.</div>
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Yes, he seemed to remember that her hair was that light red color. But he didn’t remember those eyes—piercingly blue. The bold color of her dress certainly brought them out. The girl he was looking at was simply stunning. There wasn’t another word for her. But what was she doing here at <i>his</i> sister’s ball? She was supposed to be in Cheshire, for God’s sake!</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It was as if Chet could read his mind. He slapped Robert’s back. “She’s spending the season with her cousin, Carteret.” Then Chet smiled wistfully. “Now, Lady Carteret…she’s one I <i>could</i> have married.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert momentarily took his eyes from his wife and smiled at his friend. “That was a long time ago, Chet. Time to get over her. Everyone else has.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Chet dismissed the notion with his hand. “Oh, I never had her—none of us did. Carteret was the only one for her, damn his eyes.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It was Robert’s turn to laugh. “He really isn’t all that bad, Chet. I’ve never understood why the two of you dislike each other so intensely.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Chet frowned, as he did whenever Carteret’s name was mentioned. “I have my reasons. Besides, he has rotten luck with cards. He hasn’t ever come out and said it, Robert, but I know he thinks I cheat. Is it my fault I’m lucky?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert had been on the losing end of card games with Chet for years and could commiserate with Lord Carteret in that regard. “Well, I suppose <i>he</i> was the lucky one where Lady Carteret is concerned.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“That’s the damned truth of it,” Chet agreed and then glanced back at Lydia. “So, then, about Lady Masten…Go on over. Introduce yourself to your wife, Rob. You just said she was quite pretty. Why don’t you see if she remembers you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert shook his head with determination. “I think I’d prefer to keep our relationship the way it is, Chet, thank you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Suit yourself.” Chet’s light green eyes twinkled and he made his way over to the refreshment table. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
With that said, Robert continued to eye his wife from across the room. Had she been this enchanting at sixteen? Could he actually blame Luke for wanting to hold <i>that</i> girl? For bedding her? But <i>that</i> girl was no longer a girl—she was now a beautiful woman, from what he could see. He took note of her plunging neckline and her full lips. Then he shook his head, to snap out of the spell his wife was obviously weaving around him.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Of all the women in England, Lydia Masten was not for him. He was safer finding another woman like Cecily Rigsley. A woman with whom he could have an understanding, a woman who could satisfy his needs without being emotionally involved, a woman who knew her place. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That woman was <i>not</i> his wife.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He’d sent Lydia off to Blackstone Manor in Cheshire immediately after their wedding ceremony and had insisted that she stay put. Though at the time she was outraged with his demands, he felt he’d been very generous in offering her the estate and the two thousand pounds a year that he allotted her. Better than she deserved, of that he was sure. And that’s where she was supposed to be right this moment. Not here. Not in London. Not in his sister’s ballroom.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert looked around the room. He wasn’t the only man whose attention she’d caught. In fact, many men seemed enamored by her. His heartbeat quickened. Lydia needed to return to Blackstone before she was embroiled in a scandal he couldn’t contain.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The same questions rolled over and over in his mind. What was his wife doing here of all places? Why had she left Cheshire? And why was he not informed of her departure? The staff at Blackstone would have to answer to him. They’d be damned lucky to maintain their posts.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lydia Masten had seen <i>him</i>, of course. Her husband’s rich, brown eyes could’ve burned a hole in her. She recognized him immediately. In fact, she could never forget him, try as she might. Unfortunately, the man was much more handsome than she remembered, though still just as intimidating. Apparently even his hair didn’t dare defy him, as every golden brown strand lay perfectly in place. He did look older to her. But then, he’d always seemed old—old and unyielding. She was just sixteen when they’d married and he’d been twice her age at thirty-two. He had a stern look in his eyes then, and she noted, with a bit of anxiety, that he still had it now.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She averted her gaze back to her companion, the tall, dark, and sinfully handsome Duke of Kelfield. “I can’t believe Caroline invited <i>him</i>.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Kelfield laughed at that. “My darling Lydia, <i>he</i> is her brother.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“But to not tell me. I wouldn’t have come.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Knowing Caroline, that’s precisely why she didn’t tell you. She likes to meddle, if you haven’t noticed.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Is he still staring at me?” Truly, that was a bit surprising. Her husband hadn’t deigned to even pay her a visit in the last five years. And now he couldn’t keep his eyes off her? It was a bit unsettling, to say the least.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Kelfield’s wicked lips quirked up to a grin. “Sweetheart, every man in the room is staring at <i>you</i>.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It had been that way ever since she’d arrived in London nearly a month earlier, but it was still surprising. Being locked away in Cheshire for the last five years had left her unprepared for the overt attention she’d received upon her arrival. She was so young when she’d been banished that she hadn’t realized the depths of the depravity of the <i>ton</i>. Everywhere she went, men sought her out and made improper suggestions. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Still, what a tragedy to be tied to <i>that</i> prig the rest of your days,” Kelfield continued quietly.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
That sentiment echoed inside her soul. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She’d never even laid eyes on him until they were united in Lord Staveley’s study. Aunt Agnes had informed her that she would marry Lord Masten, and that she was lucky his lordship was honorable, given that his brother was not. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Honorable</i>. Robert Beckford may be honorable—he had saved her from ruination, after all—but the contempt he clearly felt for her was worse than any censure she could imagine. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“The man has behaved abominably, if you ask me. Had I found myself married to you, sweetheart, I certainly wouldn’t sulk over it—and <i>I’m</i> the furthest thing from the marrying type.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lydia smiled at the duke. “Indeed? Kelfield, I was certain your name was being bandied about in connection with a very proper young lady within the last fortnight.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His silver eyes twinkled. “Ah, Lady Juliet St. Claire? Unfortunately, the lady in question has set her sights on your brother-in-law.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Her brother-in-law? Lydia resisted the urge to cringe. When she was sixteen she’d found him to be terribly handsome and exciting. Now it made her ill to think about him. He had been charming and made her feel special and she…well, she had been very foolish. Any young lady would have wanted the attention of the dashing Luke Beckford. She was no different. Just more naïve. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Has no one warned the poor girl what a reprobate he is?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Some women have a taste for reprobates.” Kelfield slid his arm around her waist and peered deeply into her eyes. He was very handsome in a wicked sort of way, but she’d had her share of that sort of man. Besides, she was a married woman. One that hadn’t been touched in years, yet married all the same.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Let me take you home, sweetheart,” the duke whispered.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Home</i> was the furthest thing on Kelfield’s mind, and she was well aware of the fact. The man practically undressed her with his eyes whenever they met. Still he was a friend of the family, and far safer to her than the other gentlemen of London for that very reason. “Honestly, Kelfield, isn’t there some sort of honor among rogues?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He grinned down at her, still not releasing his hold. “Sweetheart, Masten is the furthest thing from a rogue. So, there’s no honor between <i>us</i>.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She raised her brow indignantly. “I meant James.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The duke laughed again. “Your cousin stopped being a rogue years ago. I’m the only one left of the group. The rest—” he made a sour face— “have all become respectable.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Is he still staring at me?” she asked again.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Kelfield nodded as he looked over her shoulder. “And turning a perfectly putrid shade of red.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“I suppose I should at least say a word to him. Don’t you think?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The duke dropped his hand from her waist and frowned. “Would you like me to talk to him for you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Hardly. Who knew what Kelfield would say? “I don’t think that would be appropriate at all.” And when dealing with Masten, one needed to be appropriate.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Very well.” He released her with a sigh. “But don’t let him bully you, sweetheart. You don’t have to put up with his high-handed treatment. You are a countess. Bear that in mind.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lydia nodded and made a straight line for her husband. Once at his side, she offered her hand. “My lord, I hope this evening finds you well.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The earl took her gloved hand in his and brought it to his lips. “My lady, whatever are you doing in London?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
There was that condescending tone she remembered. It was the same one he used when he’d explained to her what the rest of her life would consist of, right before he’d shipped her off to Blackstone. But Lydia was no longer that shy sixteen year old girl, and her husband’s demeanor was most annoying. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She proudly thrust her chin up and bravely met his eyes. “Removing myself out from under your thumb, Masten.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to her. “I want you to go back to Blackstone, wife.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She had meant to make peace with him, but she could feel his hatred in her bones. There was nothing she could ever do to change that; it was plain as the nose on her face. Over the last five years she had led an exemplary life, sincerely meaning to make amends for her indiscretion, but it would never mean anything to this man. Lydia washed her hands of him.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She smiled prettily and gazed up into his brown eyes, certain that anyone witnessing the scene from afar would think she was enamored with the earl. “I’m sure you do, my lord, but my days of caring what you want are over.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It was obvious he didn’t like that and his scowl darkened. “Like it or not,” he muttered between clinched teeth, “you are my wife and you <i>will</i> go back to Blackstone.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She laughed sweetly, as if he’d made an amusing joke. “I would like very much to watch you try and force me back there, Masten. I’m not staying under your protection in London. You have no control over me. Not anymore. Do have a wonderful evening.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Lydia sauntered past him and was stopped by a handsome young gentleman. She threw her head back and laughed at whatever inane thing her companion had said. Robert was certain it was inane. He had a look about him—too young to say anything intelligent.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
He then seethed as she flirted with the young buck. “Lady Masten,” he said softly to himself, “you will do exactly what I say, or life will be very unpleasant for you.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Chet returned to Robert’s side, once again grinning from ear to ear. “Well, it looks like she prefers older men, after all. I watched the two of you from across the room. Why’d you let her get away without dancing with you?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Dancing with <i>her</i> was the very last thing on Robert’s mind, though wringing her pretty little neck was at the top of his list. He pursed his lips in anger as he watched her flit about on the floor, now dancing with the scandalous Duke of Kelfield. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert scowled. He had sacrificed so much in marrying her. He’d given up his hope of ever finding a suitable wife. He’d pushed all that aside, and he’d be damned if it was all for naught. “Lord Carteret, you say?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Chet nodded and replied tightly, “Yes, she’s staying with that Scottish bastard.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert scanned the room until his eyes fell on his sister. She stood in the open doorway conversing with her guests. “I’ll see <i>him</i> tomorrow. In the meantime, Lady Staveley owes me an explanation.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert bowed slightly to Chet and started across the room, catching Kelfield’s smug expression as he spun Lydia on the dance floor. The image irritated Robert to no end. So, he impatiently waited for his sister to stop her idle chit-chat with some middle-aged spinster near the entranceway, tapping his foot in annoyance. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
When Caroline, Viscountess Staveley, finally noticed her brother’s storm-cloud expression, she immediately cut her conversation short and went to his side. “Robert, you look troubled.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Where can we talk in private, Caro?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
A slight grin cross his sister’s face, and Robert had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. “You can follow me to the music room, but I can’t be away from my guests for too long. It wouldn’t look good, Robert.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Wouldn’t look good, indeed</i>! He frowned irritably. He followed her down a corridor, passing many happy guests all dressed elegantly for the evening, but Robert paid no attention to anything until they reached the music room. When his sister shut the door behind them, he glowered at her. “Would you care to explain to me what my wife is doing here?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The corners of her mouth upturned to a knowing grin. “Well, my dear brother, she is here because I invited her. I certainly couldn’t have people going around saying ‘Lady Staveley snubbed her own sister-in-law’. It wouldn’t look good.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
There it was again. <i>It wouldn’t look good</i>. He knew very well that she was mocking him. He had raised her and schooled her as to what was or was not appropriate. Luke hadn’t paid any attention to those lessons, but his sister had been an apt pupil. “You can save that bit of sarcasm for your husband, Caroline.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She smiled warmly at him this time. “Rob, she’s staying with Lord and Lady Carteret. James is one of David’s oldest friends. I couldn’t very well not invite her. It would have been rude.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
This didn’t appease him. “I didn’t see Carteret out there.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, they didn’t come. One of their daughters wasn’t feeling well, so Lydia came alone.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“So, now it’s Lydia, is it?” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
The irritation was evident in his voice and his sister calmly sighed. “Really, Robert, you don’t even know her—”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“But you do?” He countered sharply.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Well, I’ve spent a great deal of time with her over the last month.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“The last month!” Robert roared, momentarily forgetting there were people in the hallway. Then he lowered his voice and hissed, “She’s been in Town that long and no one thought to tell me?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Caroline stepped backward in obvious surprise. Robert rarely raised his voice with her. Apparently, she hadn’t realized how angry he would truly be. “You were in Dorset,” she finally offered meekly.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Did she honestly think he would accept that absurd answer? His glower darkened. “The mail coach runs to Dorset.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Caroline smiled sheepishly and agreed, “So, it does.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert paced around the room. His sister had to know what kind of position this put him in. What a fool he’d looked like out there. “Do you think you could’ve warned me before tonight?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Caroline paused before carefully answering him. “Then you wouldn’t have come. And I so wanted you to meet her. She’s such a lovely girl, Robert.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She was lovely to look at, Robert conceded. But her presence here was unacceptable. Didn’t Caroline realize this was out of line? “Yes, well, I’ve met her, and we’ve exchanged words.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Caroline frowned in disapproval, as if there was any doubt in her mind that Robert had been the instigator. “You said something cruel, I’m sure. Heavens, Robert, must you be so boorish?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Boorish? </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>He</i> had done the honorable thing all those years ago by giving his name to girl who didn’t deserve it—gave her a title no less. And his sister accused him of being boorish? </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Then she smiled playfully at him, as if there was some grand master plan of hers that he was a part of. “Your eyes lit up when you saw her out there.” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Had they really? He hadn’t realized it had been so obvious. “Were you watching for my reaction to all of this?” </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
She nodded mischievously and her brown curls bobbed up and down. “It was most fun. I was hoping you’d like her.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert ran his hands through his hair and glared at his sister. “Fun? If Luke is on his way here, you’d better warn me now. I’d hate to find them starting up where they left off.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
This time Caroline scoffed and looked offended. “In the first place, I don’t know where our brother is. And secondly, he knows he’s not welcome here. I’m quite put out with him at the moment, actually. Now, honestly, I’ve been away from my guests for too long, Robert. Please, don’t look so sour. Escort me back and try not to be such a beast to your wife.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
How had he gotten the reputation with his sister that he was a beast? He had always been the picture of propriety. He frowned at her words.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Bitterly, Robert abided Caroline’s request and led her back to the ballroom. Almost immediately his eyes landed on his wife, now dancing with the current Lord Staveley. “Apparently, your husband is fond of her as well.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Caroline smiled and smoothed Robert’s jacket with the palm of her hand. “David is a very generous host. If I didn’t know better, Robert, I’d think you were jealous.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
Robert scowled at the idea, and focused again on Lydia. She had more sets of male eyes on her than he was comfortable with. It was just a matter of time before she was caught up in another scandal. She needed to be dealt with, and the sooner, the better.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
As the song ended, Lord Staveley led Lydia to where Robert and Caroline stood near the grand entranceway. The two women warmly embraced and Caroline smiled at her sister-in-law. “Lydia, you are truly radiant this evening.”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
“Thank you, Caroline,” Lydia replied graciously. “This has been a wonderful night. Will I see you tomorrow for tea?”</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
It sounded as if she was taking her leave, and Robert couldn’t have been more relieved. Then his sister took Lydia’s arm. “Oh, darling, you can’t leave so soon. A waltz is just starting.” Sure enough, a violinist could be heard warming up his instrument even over the sea of people. Caroline continued in a soothing voice, “Robert, make me happy. Dance with your wife.”</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 28.8px;">
<i>Caroline had gone and lost her bloody mind!</i> Robert could have killed her right on the spot—but later. There were too many witnesses at the moment. And too many people had overheard her request for him to ignore it. He couldn’t refuse to dance with his own wife, as that was sure to get tongues wagging all over Town. So he grudgingly offered his arm to Lydia. “My lady.”</div>
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 32px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 110px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 32px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 110px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-27731328734507589132016-11-22T00:30:00.000-08:002016-11-23T14:11:09.782-08:00Happy Thanksgiving!<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
I hope you are all safe and healthy and enjoying time with your families. In all honesty, this autumn has been a little difficult for <b>my</b> family. After an elective surgery, my mother collapsed and ended up in the ICU for a week; and just a few weeks ago, my grandmother passed away, days away from her 93rd birthday.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7DW97xaesaq62PN_XYWoS00D86zTTj20ZugioTF0xMjagZquE5qD7Bd1GJ4PbCtEiRfTDgPakceiLYMXP3NOQ-JngFqty6i00u_dmAyEQR1EssyTyiZMYEFip5zfRiw89kQlUneHYAc/s1600/FamilyEdited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7DW97xaesaq62PN_XYWoS00D86zTTj20ZugioTF0xMjagZquE5qD7Bd1GJ4PbCtEiRfTDgPakceiLYMXP3NOQ-JngFqty6i00u_dmAyEQR1EssyTyiZMYEFip5zfRiw89kQlUneHYAc/s320/FamilyEdited.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Circa 1984 - My grandmother holding my brother Nick, <br />
my brother Ryan in front of her, ME with horrible hair and pink stripes,<br />
my mom beside me, with my sister Jill in front (equally bad hair),<br />
and my grandfather on the far right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I live on the East Coast with my son, but the rest of my family is out West. So I have traveled back home twice in the last couple months. And while I wish the circumstances for my travels had been different, I realized during both of these trips how much I miss my family and being so far away from them.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I talk to my mother almost every day, and I do text my sister and brothers fairly regularly. It's almost like I'm there... except I'm not. Getting the opportunity to see my adorable nephews, getting the chance to play board games with my siblings, being able to have dinner with my family as a whole... I really have missed that.<br />
<br />
I have one sister and two brothers. And you can look long and hard for the rest of your life and you'd be hard pressed to find four more different people on the planet than the four of us. There have been a number of times over the years where I'm not quite sure how any of us are related to the each other.<br />
<br />
From our world views to our religious beliefs, none of us are alike. And when we *do* get together, we may be older, but those old sibling rivalries come blazing right back without missing a beat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQLjaR1L347TZBTVl5EqCp4MNrX6QvLtCiVity0q5LIOcwQv5RcWLa4bNZQUqjmVdaYRDfe4S7tvWHWQZ3B2ld5UpuDlzt9HapNnNldr2eV-JY_GJijAhSagJkRhsuA-dCe43gdoZuDI/s1600/HollyBerry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQLjaR1L347TZBTVl5EqCp4MNrX6QvLtCiVity0q5LIOcwQv5RcWLa4bNZQUqjmVdaYRDfe4S7tvWHWQZ3B2ld5UpuDlzt9HapNnNldr2eV-JY_GJijAhSagJkRhsuA-dCe43gdoZuDI/s320/HollyBerry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Believe it or not, my sister and I are still having the same argument we've been having for the last 35 years. It involves whether or not I told her to "do something" to herself (which ended in her lodging a holly berry up her nose and having to go the emergency room) or whether I told her to "wait in the waiting room" as we were playing doctor's office with my friend Tricia. Specifically, we were playing <b><i>dentist's</i></b> office, which I remember clearly as I was concocting fluoride treatment out of Lawry's seasoning salt and water. (Yes, it is disgusting... but as we were playing <b><i>dentist</i></b>, there would be no reason for me to tell her to stick a holly berry up her nose, but I digress.) As crazy as that sounds, there's a comfort in that old bickering, a familiarity that can never be experienced with anyone else.<br />
<br />
I know their strengths and weaknesses and they know mine. I know which buttons to push to send one of them into orbit and they know the fastest way to make me lose my temper. They know all my childhood secrets and I know theirs. And I love the three of them with all my heart.<br />
<br />
So, if you are fortunate enough to see those crazy people who are your siblings this holiday season, give 'em extra tight squeeze. I wish I could be with mine, but no matter how far away I am, I know I'm forever in their hearts and they are forever in mine.<br />
<br />
And if you're an only child (which I was for five glorious years until the rest of those people came along) you will not have to argue over who gets the wishbone this week, or why it's <i>not </i>your turn to sit at the kiddie table, or that you did NOT tell your sister to stick a holly berry up her nose for the three millionth time.<br />
<br />
No matter how or who you're celebrating Thanksgiving with, I hope it is a most joyous occasion!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7O8SpQIRSRvGAOr_UNlFtRRc3_u9grv8TwYi4bCJtZzLBMJfNic8FN-4cnSLAyQo349sIWrnPOKkCaSLjeMYz2OJnYz1jEhHAcFpuuDITiiVG7dlyUHSecn_YqcTiZixe-CIw0IWdqY/s1600/LPCKaudioAd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7O8SpQIRSRvGAOr_UNlFtRRc3_u9grv8TwYi4bCJtZzLBMJfNic8FN-4cnSLAyQo349sIWrnPOKkCaSLjeMYz2OJnYz1jEhHAcFpuuDITiiVG7dlyUHSecn_YqcTiZixe-CIw0IWdqY/s320/LPCKaudioAd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
With Christmas right around the corner, I am offering an audiobook copy of LADY PATIENCE'S CHRISTMAS KITTEN to be drawn randomly. As Lady Patience knows a thing or two about siblings (she's a triplet with two older half-brothers) I thought her story would make a most appropriate giveaway.<br />
<br />
To be eligible for the drawing, tell me about your siblings, if you have them. And if you're an only child (who never had to argue over bathroom time or whose turn it was to put the dishes away) tell me about your favorite Thanksgiving memory!<br />
<br />
And if you'd like to subscribe to my newsletter, please click <a href="https://goo.gl/forms/4mye06DRvn1OlkHk1" target="_blank">HERE</a>! An additional audiobook will be giveaway to one lucky *new* newsletter subscriber.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAj82PTMhXCQnXgZ3k8g9pD1ydQrp84lvX4RAUcPz6HNh5FVwmzF7QGOTg1ga1oOqBdQ7VDfLH7xBbPhNxv_pWGFYjOpRfxJpbozQm5y48bPgc4dCo5EmDavDPFOGS4rH-OPtAVh-N4U/s1600/Turkey+TrotBl-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAj82PTMhXCQnXgZ3k8g9pD1ydQrp84lvX4RAUcPz6HNh5FVwmzF7QGOTg1ga1oOqBdQ7VDfLH7xBbPhNxv_pWGFYjOpRfxJpbozQm5y48bPgc4dCo5EmDavDPFOGS4rH-OPtAVh-N4U/s200/Turkey+TrotBl-2.jpg" width="99" /></a>*Remember all comments on all of the Turkey Trot Blog Hop blogs will be counted for the grand prize giveaway. The more blogs you visit, and the more comments you make, the better your chances are for winning.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
ALL TURKEY TROT BLOG HOP LINKS</div>
<br />
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<!-- end LinkyTools script -->Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-32574332655290450202015-08-01T10:21:00.000-07:002015-08-01T10:21:27.341-07:00It's Read-a-Romance Month!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">First
of all, let me say thank you to Bobbi Dumas, and the always amazing Sabrina
Jeffries for including me in this wonderful event. It's so much fun to be here!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m Ava Stone and I’m addicted to romance. In fact, I find
great joy in all things romance – writing romance, reading romance, watching
romance. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Love, as they say, is the universal language. Something
everyone can experience in any era, in any country, in every…galaxy! I mean I
think the first couple I think I ever saw fall in love was Han Solo and
Princess Leia when I was very young in the 70s (not to date myself).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I followed that up with Rhett Butler and
Scarlet O’Hara, and then Rick Blaine and Isla Lund, in Gone With the Wind and
Casablanca, respectively. Watching romance on the big (or small screen) has
always captured my heart and my imagination. I was even writing screenplays
before I turned my attention to novels. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiteb35nTZegcI_TTLTH8lH81UyBHXjyvZIRDbH59crW16h-ravvEzb58EpHf5hwr5aJlM5HL-hAwpoiF3x7WRrNXlUtRmfGu6l26SsvAvEk3p9bYwymLfWmd115Cb5k7Dgu3k3s458f_M/s1600/Casablanca-76238f97.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiteb35nTZegcI_TTLTH8lH81UyBHXjyvZIRDbH59crW16h-ravvEzb58EpHf5hwr5aJlM5HL-hAwpoiF3x7WRrNXlUtRmfGu6l26SsvAvEk3p9bYwymLfWmd115Cb5k7Dgu3k3s458f_M/s320/Casablanca-76238f97.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>
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Some of my absolute favorite romances to watch are:<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 – Pride & Prejudice (the Colin Firth version)<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 – It Happened One Night<o:p></o:p></div>
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3 – Casablanca<o:p></o:p></div>
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4 – Love Actually <o:p></o:p></div>
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5 – Bringing Up Baby<o:p></o:p></div>
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6 – Rebecca <o:p></o:p></div>
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7 – When Harry Met Sally<o:p></o:p></div>
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8 – The Princess Bride<o:p></o:p></div>
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9 – 10 Things I Hate About You<o:p></o:p></div>
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10 – Say Anything<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’ll note a lot of those are pretty old, black and white
movies; but romance is timeless. I do spend a good part of my time in the 19<sup>th</sup>
Century England when I’m not immersed in my New Adult world of the 21<sup>st</sup>
Century. But no matter what era or country I’m in, I thrive on helping young
couples fall desperately in love and…Well, and a good part of my time making
them suffer twists, turns and various roadblocks to that final and joyful happy
ever after. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Since film has been such a big part of my life, I am curious
what movies everyone else finds to be the most romantic. Maybe there’s a really
good one I missed!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObFmZ5K-SBoE0atk1XjP5rwXVo3vno6cgajr-X_dSi4Bkze401eWAjJp8PpMyo-EoEv6cjMIBSCKSKyYATE_aOdcK1qWoLpjoA3w-FMZMcZiO_u9jsqHdFQvmuG2XCdx-WuQRh-7cjzg/s1600/ASWnew1BandN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObFmZ5K-SBoE0atk1XjP5rwXVo3vno6cgajr-X_dSi4Bkze401eWAjJp8PpMyo-EoEv6cjMIBSCKSKyYATE_aOdcK1qWoLpjoA3w-FMZMcZiO_u9jsqHdFQvmuG2XCdx-WuQRh-7cjzg/s200/ASWnew1BandN.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also for a limited time, I’m offering A SCANDALOUS WIFE, the
first in my Scandalous Series for free. You’re welcome to download the book
from the following vendors, in the format of your choice:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Wife-Book-ebook/dp/B004L6273W/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1438444660&sr=8-3&keywords=ava+stone">Amazon</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>| <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/scandalous-wife-regency-romance/id445188012?mt=11">iBooks</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>|<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-scandalous-wife">Kobo</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>|<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63998">Smashwords</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And now for the question & answer segment:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 - Tell us about a moment
in your life when you experienced sheer joy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It might sound
silly, but as a brand new author, the first time I held a copy of my first book
in my hands was complete and utter joy. After all the writing and editing,
laughing and crying, self-doubt and perseverance, to be able to hold a tangible
book in my hand that embodied that accomplishment was sheer joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>2 - Tell us about a place
that brings you joy, or is attached to a memory of joy.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I am a big
traveler and always have been. I absolutely love traveling via cruise ship. I
love sitting on my balcony and seeing the ocean as far as my eyes can see. It’s
peace and joy all rolled into one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>3 - Tell us about a sound
that brings you joy (or a memory attached to sound — music, laughter, wind
chimes… ?)</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’m probably
strange here, but – honestly – silence makes me so happy, or the lack of sound.
Everything in my life is so busy and so loud sometimes…that when I’m sitting at
home, no TV, everyone else sleeping and my kitty cat curled up beside me while
I write…there is nothing in the world like a quiet morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>4 - What recent book have
you read that brought you joy. (Or a book you read in your life that brought
you so much joy you’ve never forgotten it.) Why?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hmm…there are so
many to choose from. Can I cheat and say a play instead? I have read Oscar
Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest so many times. If I ever need a
pick-me-up that is my go-to. So funny, so charming and it never fails to make
me happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>5 - And for fun, the joy
of choice ~<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Pick your Chris! Chris
Hemsworth, Chris Pine, Chris Pratt, Chris Rock, Chris Evans or Christopher
Plummer (circ. 1964 aka Capt. Von Trapp?) - trying for a little diversity!</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Ack! You made this
so hard. BUT as honesty is kind of my “thing” I kind of have to go with Captain
America – I mean Chris Evans – because that character is the epitome of honesty
and wholesomeness. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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RECOMMENDATIONS:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spend a lot of my time in Regency England and I absolutely
love <a href="http://www.jerricasplace.com/">Jerrica Knight-Catania</a>’s
whimsical heroines, <a href="http://www.janecharlesauthor.com/">Jane Charles</a>’s
sweeping Tenacious Trents, the intrigue of <a href="http://juliejohnstoneauthor.com/">Julie Johnstone</a>’s A Whisper of
Scandal Series, and the light-hearted banter of <a href="http://samanthagraceauthor.com/">Samantha Grace</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Today bestselling author of Regency historical romance and college age New
Adult romance. Whether in the 19th Century or the 21st, her books explore deep
themes but with a light touch. A single mother, Ava lives outside Raleigh NC,
but she travels extensively, always looking for inspiration for new stories and
characters in the various locales she visits.</span><!--EndFragment-->
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-38937793706589744732014-02-05T04:33:00.000-08:002014-02-05T04:33:52.779-08:00Heroes Returned + Giveaway<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I am pleased to announce that all three parts of my HEROES
RETURNED trilogy are now available in audiobook form! Yay!!! I just threw some
confetti, but I don’t think you can see it where you are. Feel free to join the
celebration anyway! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> After all, I'll be giving away a copy of each of them today. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The HEROES RETURNED series picks up where my SCANDALOUS
series left off, starting with the return of three lifelong friends back from
the Napoleonic Wars…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b>MY FAVORITE
MAJOR, Book 1</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgW3nA2a4Fab8eZkHZpepgrQMWxIdXBbwioQvw3vp5HmbBH9Jb7cI0LWkfrGsp0tFgKPV4AkF2iH_Xp7IfWyJImOvvNLcAhd4nRv3gaf8Z73IFu0DaBS5GNzgrNSVFuqMbiclRYa-5P-NV/s1600/MAJORaudio1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgW3nA2a4Fab8eZkHZpepgrQMWxIdXBbwioQvw3vp5HmbBH9Jb7cI0LWkfrGsp0tFgKPV4AkF2iH_Xp7IfWyJImOvvNLcAhd4nRv3gaf8Z73IFu0DaBS5GNzgrNSVFuqMbiclRYa-5P-NV/s1600/MAJORaudio1.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/My-Favorite-Major-Audiobook/B00HUVF64W/ref=a_pd_Romanc_c4_1_2_i">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Favorite-Major-Heroes-Returned/dp/B00HWHMO2Q/ref=la_B005VUIJB6_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1391602871&sr=1-2">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/my-favorite-major-heroes-returned/id799617524">iTunes</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">When her
longtime fiancé returns home from the victory at Waterloo, Amelia Pritchard
suspects he’s not the noble, upstanding gentleman she’s always believed him to
be. After breaking their betrothal, she flees to London with the hope of
starting her life over and putting the past firmly behind her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">Battle weary Major
Philip Moore finds himself intrigued by the lovely Miss Pritchard. Though he’s
recovering from a broken heart of his own, more than just his honor urges him
to protect the lady when her nefarious ex-beau arrives in Town with the most
wicked of intentions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;">THE ENGLISH LIEUTENANT’S LADY, Book 2</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DCdqS1qEgNFP1pAx4G5PBPCFvZ1Ko4LxpbA7393noKpxfhX59QYmW6zemAnMBXD8WLO7toqFtGAGUHpl9vDxCivA_sQ1k5RHOt8JM3kxo5xu_m6LUDDIii2VQ-ukTq2YM9-AOkCgLVYj/s1600/LIEUTENANTaudio1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DCdqS1qEgNFP1pAx4G5PBPCFvZ1Ko4LxpbA7393noKpxfhX59QYmW6zemAnMBXD8WLO7toqFtGAGUHpl9vDxCivA_sQ1k5RHOt8JM3kxo5xu_m6LUDDIii2VQ-ukTq2YM9-AOkCgLVYj/s1600/LIEUTENANTaudio1.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/The-English-Lieutenants-Lady-Audiobook/B00HYKBLNE/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srTtl?qid=1391602984&sr=1-1">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-English-Lieutenants-Lady-Returned/dp/B00I0I55R2/ref=pd_sim_b_2">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/english-lieutenants-lady-heroes/id805940127">iTunes</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">Phoebe Greywood
has waited quite a while for her betrothed to return home from the Peninsular
Wars, but when he finally does, she’s heartbroken to discover he’s changed in
more ways than one. Most alarmingly, he doesn’t seem to care one whit about her
anymore. But one man who hasn’t changed a bit after his time on the continent
is her betrothed’s boorish brother…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">Lieutenant
Tristan Avery would like to pound some sense, or perhaps honor, into his older
brother. Why the cad treats Phoebe so callously, Tristan can’t understand. But
what he truly can’t understand is why he suddenly seems drawn to the chit as
they’ve never been fond of each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">When the truth of
Tristan's feelings for Phoebe become clear, his own honor is put to the test
and all of his plans for the future are turned upside down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">TO CATCH A
CAPTAIN, Book 3</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LXQCYqd4UnKsM29fwqYvEJh_ADLgK1gEFqfDqVMA9S1aDKIxVBk3lm8NhnVQfGm3pnzFWzztQ0qqor1tJnaZrRgrXdkYc_MrYjIVrsUvYW-YSpFkqqIdCar9OUo2EgC6MhUn5hb8EqQQ/s1600/CAPTAINaudio1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LXQCYqd4UnKsM29fwqYvEJh_ADLgK1gEFqfDqVMA9S1aDKIxVBk3lm8NhnVQfGm3pnzFWzztQ0qqor1tJnaZrRgrXdkYc_MrYjIVrsUvYW-YSpFkqqIdCar9OUo2EgC6MhUn5hb8EqQQ/s1600/CAPTAINaudio1.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/To-Catch-a-Captain-Audiobook/B00I5N2Z8Y/ref=a_search_c4_1_8_srTtl?qid=1391603078&sr=1-8">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/To-Catch-Captain-Heroes-Returned/dp/B00I8PH9U8/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_tnr_7">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/to-catch-captain-heroes-returned/id814527725">iTunes</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">After receiving
what seems like an offer of employment from an English countess, orphan Bridget
Kelly leaves her uncle’s house in Dublin to make her own way in the world. But
making her way in England is easier said than done, especially for an innocent
Irish lass with no family or connections. In fact, she’ll be lucky if she can
make it to Derbyshire alive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">Still smarting
from his brother and former fiancée’s betrayal, rakish Captain Russell Avery
arrives at his sister’s Derbyshire estate, looking for something or someone to
help soothe his bruised ego. When a pretty little Irish maid stumbles into his
chamber one morning, Russell is certain he’s found just the distraction he’s
looking for. Well, at least until he learns who the lass truly is and the place
she’s to hold in his sister’s household.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-kJiK1U4gT6-MDgF3NUwStFO478k-VwAuY7p3G_TIClE7VYoUg0Acp25DJYUgMpp2CyazqK_N_YWKR3M6dvNHvV9ZNdjyseE2Lru4YQg4Z2Z3-e5NeXVGO3iGXHcjIXBqiV5b-igYQ8r/s1600/NewSectionBreak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-kJiK1U4gT6-MDgF3NUwStFO478k-VwAuY7p3G_TIClE7VYoUg0Acp25DJYUgMpp2CyazqK_N_YWKR3M6dvNHvV9ZNdjyseE2Lru4YQg4Z2Z3-e5NeXVGO3iGXHcjIXBqiV5b-igYQ8r/s1600/NewSectionBreak.jpg" height="43" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">So about that giveaway, right? If you're my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ava.stone.3576">FACEBOOK friend </a>or <a href="https://twitter.com/Ava_Stone">follow me on TWITTER</a>... tell me through those platforms what qualities your favorite kind of hero has. I'll draw 3 names by the end of the week. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-52784227366727967662014-01-18T06:35:00.000-08:002014-01-18T06:35:11.646-08:00Romance Ramblings Episode 24<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nU60bW6MGRg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
After a brief absence, Jerrica and Ava are back with another episode of Romance Ramblings!Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-36025986180914583712013-11-26T00:30:00.000-08:002013-11-26T00:30:01.284-08:00The Best-laid Plans...<!--[if !mso]>
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Write what you know and know what you write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an author, I’ve heard that my entire
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But some things, the things that
are the hardest to write about, are the things you know the best. They’re also
the hardest things to share with the world because they’re so personal. You
have to go to a place in your heart you don’t like to visit and tap into
something you’d rather forget. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKVfnaPkFJrMXGtz2yiSqiBu5Tu1zia7_jFTk6IsQVF2iz7FRqNlJIeNZoBILN5-65-ihRLf6s5HGSMfLvqlDXhG3MaDHqjkM7YvBIrEl73hXaLQrf4lot9_NIMs77Ft2Z01tOh__8yvd/s1600/APBGnew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKVfnaPkFJrMXGtz2yiSqiBu5Tu1zia7_jFTk6IsQVF2iz7FRqNlJIeNZoBILN5-65-ihRLf6s5HGSMfLvqlDXhG3MaDHqjkM7YvBIrEl73hXaLQrf4lot9_NIMs77Ft2Z01tOh__8yvd/s320/APBGnew.jpg" width="215" /></a>I encountered that very thing this past year as I was
writing my Christmas-set novella <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Bit of
Mistletoe</i> (which can be found in the recently released A PACT BETWEEN
GENTLEMEN). I had every intention of writing a happy, fluffy Christmas story,
until I realized my heroine wasn’t one who could ever be free enough from her
past to be as light-hearted as all that – Christmas or not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could have scrapped that idea and started over with
someone else; but in my heart I really, REALLY wanted Miss Theresa Birkin to
have a happy-ever-after. Tessie deserved a happy-ever-after. She deserved so
much more than she’d received up to that point. She isn’t so much my most
flawed heroine as she is my most careful. She’s had no choice but to be so,
however. You see, she made the mistake of falling for a rake and ruined her life in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know what that feels like. To make decisions based on
promises and then have the rug and my carefully planned life ripped out from
beneath me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m intimately familiar
with silver-tongued liars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t get me
started!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The catalyst for the Christmas Pact Anthology collection (A
PACT BETWEEN GENTLEMEN and A GENTLEMEN’S PACT) is that 6 gentlemen make a pact
to remain bachelors after the death of their friend. You see, Lord Arrington,
their friend (of the philandering silver-tongued variety) was caught cheating
by his wife and then promptly murdered by her with the help of her fire poker.
The 6 gentlemen in question feel the best way to avoid the same end to their lives is to
simply to avoid marriage in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know what they say about the best-laid plans (or pacts, as the
case may be)…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I posted the dedication to this book on my Facebook page the day the book was released, but I’d like to share it here as well…<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTj3ZagZQzyk3dSOxuSZsqFwPTw1Z9lOpnYCMsCC38KDBnqVj7O1a7EV_BcS6qAy7EqFcrVzhUGND7fZh7aBaAlMPS5mzKlUfethg5O9ebRxkKMwg8ON3Sr8_EQ68PTS7vm8bSLEQGrIe/s1600/Dedication.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTj3ZagZQzyk3dSOxuSZsqFwPTw1Z9lOpnYCMsCC38KDBnqVj7O1a7EV_BcS6qAy7EqFcrVzhUGND7fZh7aBaAlMPS5mzKlUfethg5O9ebRxkKMwg8ON3Sr8_EQ68PTS7vm8bSLEQGrIe/s320/Dedication.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 28px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For every woman out there who has been
cheated on or abandoned ~ A few years ago, my husband of 12 years told me he
was leaving me for another woman. I know I’m not a novelty in that regard, but
when you’re going through a situation like that, you certainly feel like you
are. So as unseemly as it is to admit, I do feel a little kinship for Lady
Arrington and her fire iron. While I could never harm anyone myself, I
certainly understand the emotions that could lead one to that place.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At the time, I had some wonderful friends
who promised to help me hide the body should I decide to “knock him off” (in
jest, of course). But their friendship, their commiseration, their support
helped me through the most difficult time in my life, and I will always love
them for it. Every woman should be as lucky to have such wonderful, devoted,
and loyal friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had Lady Arrington
had friends like mine, I’m certain she wouldn’t have ended up in Newgate
Prison.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am here to say, however, that as hard as
it is to believe when you’re recovering from that sort of betrayal, there
really are some decent and truly good men out there. I am honored to know a
number of them. And after rising from my ashes, I am very fortunate to have
found an honorable hero of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Though Lord Berkswell isn’t the soft, cuddly
sort – and flawed, though he is - Berks is decent and a truly good man who
cares for and loves his family with all his heart. I hope you’ll love him as
much as I do. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~
Ava <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I am a baby, in that every time I read that dedication I cry. I hate to admit that, but it's true. Try as I might, I can never forget the betrayal and utter shock that went through me when my then-husband told me he was leaving me and for whom - a woman I knew, a woman I'd had at my house for holidays and graduations, a woman I <i>never</i> would have suspected was <i>that</i> sort of woman.<br />
<br />
Because I had been through that particular situation, it made me anxious to give Tessie Birkin a well-deserved happy ever after, but it also hurt a little to write, getting into her head, feeling her emotions. She'd been betrayed and I knew exactly what that felt like. Tapping into that emotion can be painful, but also a bit cathartic too. Still, it had to be done. Good people don't always get happy endings in real life, but as an author of fiction, I can certainly make sure that good characters get the ending they deserve. (Bad ones too for that matter, though that's cathartic in a different way.)<br />
<br />
Have you ever REALLY identified with a character in a book?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-31719081818281984792013-11-25T09:11:00.000-08:002013-11-25T09:11:18.261-08:00Yay!! I Can Finally Say...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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For a while now I've been saying that as soon as A SCANDALOUS PAST hit the audiobook shelves, I'd be screaming the news from the rafters. (Consider this post said rafters).<br />
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I know you'd expect every author to say this, but... I really love this book. I adore the heroine, who I think was a bit similar to me when I was younger. A more loyal girl, you'll never find. But I also loved the triangle she finds herself in - torn between good boy Lord Clayworth and bad boy Lord Haversham. Really - I'd take either one.<br />
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It has been a wonderful journey, listening to audio versions of my SCANDALOUS series be born. It has been so much fun re-visiting these books in a new form and hearing Stevie Zimmerman - audio producer extraordinaire - transform these characters and stories into something different, something new. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Though A SCANDALOUS PAST is the last in this particular series, it certainly isn't "the end". Very soon, I hope to announce that my connected HEROES RETURNED series will also be finding its way to the audiobook shelves. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXwUnxZ5uTl929RPTvHKCH0zFB2QpYS-asKdRHWgo1-9c2-H9OgSEm8sefTD7T-4vSq_mZSdDdxouK38SMQGNkCFwTA5EL7L-3eCz-RMQN1ZJkr3j_DNka4bgGSAwsQ5yPrYp1YiruM23/s1600/PastAttempt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXwUnxZ5uTl929RPTvHKCH0zFB2QpYS-asKdRHWgo1-9c2-H9OgSEm8sefTD7T-4vSq_mZSdDdxouK38SMQGNkCFwTA5EL7L-3eCz-RMQN1ZJkr3j_DNka4bgGSAwsQ5yPrYp1YiruM23/s320/PastAttempt1.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/A-Scandalous-Past-Audiobook/B00GLU89IS/ref=sr_1_5?qid=1384259267&sr=1-5">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Past-Book/dp/B00GM5IWMA/ref=la_B005VUIJB6_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384259313&sr=1-5">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/scandalous-past-scandalous/id743055828">iTunes</a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>A</i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">fter years of abuse at the hands of her mother, Cordelia Avery knows the only way out is marriage to the perfect man. A man who will allow her all the freedom she has ever craved. And she has the perfect man picked out. The scandalous Marquess of Haversham might not be perfect to anyone else, but taking the man’s black reputation under consideration, Cordie believes she’ll enjoy all the freedom she’s always wished for in his disreputable arms. If only she could get her heart to go along with the plan and to stop leaping whenever Lord Adonis…er…the Earl of Clayworth is nearby. But the very proper earl is most assuredly the wrong sort for her purposes. </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brendan Reese, the Earl of Clayworth, has no intention of ever marrying again. He's still trying to clean up the mess his first wife left him, even years after her death. To all the world, Clayworth is the epitome of the perfect English gentlemen, and he so wishes that image was the truth. But the truth, as it often can be, is ugly. After all, a perfect English gentlemen would never have a traitor for a mother. And unless Clayworth can find the evidence his late-wife hid, he could face the gallows himself. But a chance encounter with the reckless Cordelia Avery give him the best lead he's had in years to finally put his family's past to rest. Unfortunately, focusing on anything other than Miss Avery seems a nearly impossible task. </span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;">Also available in the Scandalous Series...</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!stone/c184n"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi6JlFhc6s8SA1gWPd0QhKbScoPcDt0AXr4pQdXzQ0isUQ8GRTPqLt97_EUoQWv5sMajgqGtlLEi81biaAAv4kfPDuK-pKc_6q2LdQaDpAh-Lv7tNyQe7Ne_w7nvG_eSsaQ0Xz1PA7Xsu/s200/WifeAttempt1.jpg" width="115" /></a><a href="http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!stone/c184n" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgyNVC95ZsnX97uJBd0KL2lBP_uZ5REZWFnlY-CYERe6-9e6-YIk0yBUPDDgOY_YgziSUBRdSo2LD4kbyoVPU9GrRqOXO5iDLcGs_JSXHVUSIJHyautgVdlh6hdyj_yiLX842Oj2gbulU/s1600/SecretAudio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSq6wEch2blKlHQQ99NXx-017knHVIHqLmvGnUYSTZ-GqnXoxDlOJWHZVwsh9iu5qLuCNdf5rNcdVh1_sawUfxs2c9iDYoXPfk-nuBVb_Gkt2Fd0ri9RYVVVTJt75TMIuZhXwNWiH9z0d/s1600/CharadeAttempt1BIG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!stone/c184n"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSq6wEch2blKlHQQ99NXx-017knHVIHqLmvGnUYSTZ-GqnXoxDlOJWHZVwsh9iu5qLuCNdf5rNcdVh1_sawUfxs2c9iDYoXPfk-nuBVb_Gkt2Fd0ri9RYVVVTJt75TMIuZhXwNWiH9z0d/s200/CharadeAttempt1BIG.jpg" width="115" /></a><a href="http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!stone/c184n"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgyNVC95ZsnX97uJBd0KL2lBP_uZ5REZWFnlY-CYERe6-9e6-YIk0yBUPDDgOY_YgziSUBRdSo2LD4kbyoVPU9GrRqOXO5iDLcGs_JSXHVUSIJHyautgVdlh6hdyj_yiLX842Oj2gbulU/s320/SecretAudio.jpg" width="115" /></a><a href="http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!stone/c184n"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0o4uc0wpfkKyaBK-PqnRnXHERaDTCwVF7aHGrUMxwVXmm0VSQoIV0yGQMw4lA75D8rMmubSzs_Gt9qVe3px-GYZhU1rn5ttiQSHPBVuSeVpYYSdgZZReTGkWb2IwbXAoFQ-rsiynBNlf8/s320/PursuitAttempt1.jpg" width="115" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-2679364639489504402013-11-22T09:05:00.000-08:002013-11-25T09:06:00.092-08:00Romance Ramblings: Planning for Thanksgiving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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During this week's Romance Ramblings, Jerrica calls Ava a "baby woman" more than once and lives to tell the tale. They talk voting, cynical teenagers, planning for Thanksgiving, and bedside manner.<br />
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Today's preparing for Thanksgiving question - How many place settings do you have? </div>
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Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-70083029060254715782013-11-15T09:02:00.000-08:002013-11-25T09:04:01.422-08:00Romance Ramblings: An Homage to Film Noir...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week during Romance Ramblings, Ava and Jerrica discuss worst/best Christmas gifts, projects for the new year, and Ava's impending sainthood (thank you, Christi Caldwell.)<br />
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What is the worst gift YOU've ever received?<br />
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<br />Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-10416488041325121792013-11-08T05:27:00.000-08:002013-11-08T05:27:04.902-08:00Romance Ramblings: Seriously Off the Cuff...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week Ava and Jerrica (along with "That Guy") are imbibing once again. And you know what that means... ONE LIVELY EPISODE OF ROMANCE RAMBLINGS. This week we talk Snapchat (and why Ava can't get her user name and other more sordid details thanks to Eric), discuss how to sound properly German, the fun of audiobooks, and family trees!<br />
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What do you think is the next big social media "thing"? And Eric would like to know your Snapchat user name. ;)</div>
Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-79333369515688046692013-10-22T00:30:00.000-07:002013-10-22T00:30:03.283-07:00A Pact Between Gentleman & A Gentlemen's Pact<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbwBXXAoC3p9G6XtaDNSwdhDa8_pukNDKs1QhyphenhyphenUvYP4kwQIFAGCfXtw3tqKjXTcfbVEpKr75xcJm6DXXPh7Sa0Cc3trv4QEg1lgl99Rv_-Gv2_zgGzyfBmRPCsO2pEF0rOY90GB3oYtBn/s1600/Prologue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbwBXXAoC3p9G6XtaDNSwdhDa8_pukNDKs1QhyphenhyphenUvYP4kwQIFAGCfXtw3tqKjXTcfbVEpKr75xcJm6DXXPh7Sa0Cc3trv4QEg1lgl99Rv_-Gv2_zgGzyfBmRPCsO2pEF0rOY90GB3oYtBn/s320/Prologue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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The Falcon & the Philosopher Inn, Cambridgeshire – December 1814<o:p></o:p></div>
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Flickering light from the hearth at the far end of the taproom cast a warm glow across the floor, wooden beams, and six very serious gentlemen gathered in a circle around one of the tables. Only an occasional pop or crackle from the fire made any sound in the otherwise vacant tavern. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Richard would want us to drink to his name,” Rowan Findley announced, lifting a glass of whiskey out before him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Robert Hurst, the Earl of Northcotte, snorted. “Richard would want to be alive,” he grumbled under his breath, but the others heard him clearly. And on that point they were all in agreement. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Richard Hollace, the late Lord Arrington, had lived life to its fullest. He embodied the sentiment “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.” And unfortunately, the latter was true in his case. It was the way Lord Arrington had passed that had caused such a pallor to be cast upon the taproom. No man liked to think about his own passing, and certainly not passing before one’s time, but to be killed so viciously, and by one’s own wife…<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Which is why we should drink to his name,” David Hounslow, the Marquess of Preston said softly, lifting his glass of whiskey as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Here, here.” Sebastian Stanwick raised his glass. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The other three men followed suit as Findley said, “To Richard Hollace, a damn good friend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“With a generous heart,” Preston added. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“And a wicked sense of humor,” Nicholas Beckford, Lord Edgeworth tossed in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“The life of every party,” agreed Everett Casemore, the Marquess of Berkswell.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Knower of all things equine.” Northcotte smiled sadly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Knower of all things female.” Stanwick frowned. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That last bit swirled about the room, each man ruminating over the truth of it. Had Arrington known fewer females, he might very well be alive this night. He wouldn’t be lying six feet under with a hole in his head in the shape of a fire iron. The six of them wouldn’t have driven through the snow to Cambridgeshire on short notice. And they wouldn’t have sat through their old school chum’s funeral, wondering how such a tragedy could have befallen the man. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One by one, they swallowed the contents of their glasses, each wondering how the world had stopped making sense. Ladies didn’t murder their husbands. They just didn’t do such things, except… Well, except <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one</i> did. Something the lot of them would have thought unfathomable a fortnight earlier had become a tragic and quite frightening truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What’s going to happen to her?” Preston asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“She’s been taken to Newgate,” Edgeworth replied. “I expect they’ll hang her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Richard should have been more careful of her sensibilities,” Stanwick said, raking a hand through his midnight black hair. “He should have taken care that she not find out about his paramours.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I doubt he thought his wife was capable of such a thing,” Berkswell returned.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I doubt any man thinks so.” Findley sighed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“And yet women are very clearly capable of such things,” Northcotte began, “One only has to look as far as Richard for proof.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Again, silence befell the six men. One only did have to look as far as Richard to see that women were very clearly capable of murder. Northcotte had never spoken truer words. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, that settles it then—” Findley broke the silence, slamming his glass on the table in front of him a little harder than was necessary “—I’m never getting married. That’s the best and only way I can think of to avoid Richard’s fate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It only took half a second for Preston to say, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, then, what about you?” Findley glanced from Berkswell to Northcotte to Edgeworth to Stanwick. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Berkswell scrubbed a hand across his jaw and shook his head. “Certainly not worth the risk. My brother can inherit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“As can my cousin,” Northcotte added solemnly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Never planned on marrying anyway.” Edgeworth shrugged. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Nor I,” Stanwick agreed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Then we’re agreed,” Findley announced, lifting his glass in the air once more. “I, Rowan Findley, hereby solemnly vow to never take a wife.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The other five lifted their glasses and repeated the vow in unison. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Famous last words, most assuredly…</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">A PACT BETWEEN GENTLEMEN</span></b><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">In</span><a href="http://www.avastoneauthor.com/" style="color: #274e13;"> </a><b><a href="http://www.avastoneauthor.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">AVA STONE</span></a></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">'s </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">A Bit of Mistletoe</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">, Everett Casemore, the very serious Marquess of Berkswell, returns home for Christmas, slightly shaken by the death of an old friend. Determined not to suffer the same sort of fate at the hands of a woman, Berks resolves himself to eternal bachelorhood. Unfortunately, both his resolve and his peace of mind are threatened by the arrival of a beautiful, thoughtful, but mostly unsuitable lady. * Miss Theresa Birkin knows better than most that an error in judgment can lead one down an unfortunate path. If only she'd been wiser when she was younger. If only she hadn't followed her foolish heart. If only she'd met Lord Berkswell long before now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">In</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><b>JANE CHARLES</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">'s </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Lady Disguised</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">, Mr. Sebastian Stanwick never intended to marry. It was bad enough that his father gambled away everything they owned and then drank himself to death, leaving his mother broken until she could not go on. But the death of his good friend at the hand of the man’s wife only solidifies Stanwick’s decision to remain a bachelor. Women were simply unpredictable and unstable if not taken care of properly. * Hélène Mirabelle wants few things in life. One, is to perform on the stage, and the other, is to be out from under the roof of her overbearing new family: Lord Bentley and the Trent brothers. Since her mother’s recent passing, Hélène's desire to return to Milan and the stage has only grown. A husband could never fit into the plans because no decent man would take an actress as a wife. * One fateful night leaves Hélène questioning if being an actress is the only thing she wants, while Stanwick begins to wonder whether all women are truly prone to madness and if they are, he may never get Hélène off of his mind. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">In </span><b><a href="http://www.catherinegayle.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">CATHERINE GAYLE</span></a></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">’s </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Thick as Thieves</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">, David Hounslow, the Marquess of Preston, will not stand aside while those he loves are hurt. When it becomes clear his brother-in-law’s guest is up to no good, Preston determines to scrutinize every move of the would-be thief. Not that he minds such a task—Lady Frederica is as beautiful and intelligent as she is enigmatic. Considering her close relation to a wastrel brother and her current proclivity for the less-than-savory, Preston never expected to be won over to the lady’s charms. Yet she just might steal his heart. * Desperation has become Lady Frederica Bexley-Smythe’s constant companion due to her brother’s recent affinity for gambling and carousing. With the fate of both her mother and sister resting upon her shoulders, perhaps the time has arrived for Freddie to bend the rules. How else can she secure their future? Unfortunately, Lord Preston’s scrutiny is complicating her task. Far more perplexing than his perusal is his caring nature, which is distracting her from the treasures she intends to steal. But desperate times call for desperate measures…</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">PRE-ORDER Available</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/jerrica-knight-catania/id429838776?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a> | <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-gentleman-s-pact" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">A GENTLEMEN'S PACT</span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">In<b><a href="http://www.jerricasplace.com/"> </a></b></span><b><a href="http://www.jerricasplace.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">JERRICA KNIGHT-CATANIA</span></a></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">'s </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">All He Wants For Christmas</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">, Rowan Findley can't imagine a fate worse than what his friend suffered at the hands of his mad wife, so he's made the decision to remain a bachelor for all eternity. That is, until Olivia walks into his cousin's drawing room for a Christmas party. Her fiery red hair and sweet demeanor remind him of a night so many years ago that he would never forget. * Olivia Edwards can't quite believe her eyes when Rowan Findley waltzes back into her life, as handsome and charming as ever. It's been almost seven years since she's seen him, and the secret she's been harboring all that time has her on edge whenever he's about. Yet she can't deny that she's still drawn to him, nor can she deny the desire she's kept hidden in her heart these many years.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 14.4pt;">In<a href="http://www.aileenfish.com/"> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">AILEEN FISH</span></b></a>’s <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Chasing Lord Mystery</span></i></b>, Lord Northcotte is not in the holiday spirit when he joins his sister’s family shortly after the brutal death of a friend. Discovering a matchmaking scheme is afoot, he tells them he will never marry Lady Miriam or any other woman. Now if only his heart would listen. * Lady Miriam’s mother accused her of chasing Lord Mystery after a noble act by a handsome stranger six years ago became the measure of all other men. Now he’s staying at the home where she’d hoped to escape a summons from her grandfather, the Duke of Danby. Terrified Northcotte will recognize her and reveal the contents of the scandalous letter she wrote him years ago, she can’t decide which is the bigger threat: the duke armed with a special license, or Lord Mystery, who carries a secret she’d never live down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">In </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">JULIE JOHNSTONE</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">’s </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">’</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Tis The Season For Surrender</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">, Lillian Lancaster would rather catch the plague than a husband. Unfortunately, her abusive, recently deceased father’s will stipulates her inheritance hinges upon her marrying a lord. With time running out, Lillian proposes to the guilt-ridden, marriage-adverse Lord Edgeworth after securing his agreement to a marriage in name only. * Edgeworth feels responsible for his former betrothed’s death and believes he doesn’t deserve love, which makes Lillian’s proposal oddly perfect. Commanded by his grandfather to marry by Christmas or become penniless, the obviously perfect choice is a woman who wants nothing to do with him. * When Lillian displays a brave and true heart and Edgeworth reveals his honorable, protective side maintaining a marriage of convenience becomes harder than these two wounded souls imagined. Now, Lillian and Edgeworth must decide if they are courageous enough to risk their hearts and surrender to love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIr2kv5oUf2LllqTRgFgPFGeevynT04FawVksL9DxxBnfy6WPBUKU1TQJigz0wbvVM25b_EOGI9PQrL-EGmEdIZkKb26ZtDmS_K3S4CxhS3pweKLKReUv_KcyiAIP6xcZihbUrCnY9-XOs/s1600/SummonsSeries+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIr2kv5oUf2LllqTRgFgPFGeevynT04FawVksL9DxxBnfy6WPBUKU1TQJigz0wbvVM25b_EOGI9PQrL-EGmEdIZkKb26ZtDmS_K3S4CxhS3pweKLKReUv_KcyiAIP6xcZihbUrCnY9-XOs/s400/SummonsSeries+copy.jpg" width="520" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Summons-Yorkshire-Regency-Christmas-Collection-ebook/dp/B0061CFAGK/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Summons-Regency-Christmas-Collection-ebook/dp/B0061ETYGA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1381832044&sr=8-1&keywords=summons+from+the+duke" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Summons-Castle-Regency-Christmas-Collection-ebook/dp/B0061EKDB0/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Summons-Grace-Regency-Christmas-Collection-ebook/dp/B0061CFACY/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-summons-from-yorkshire-ava-stone/1107033631?ean=2940013240186" target="_blank">B&N</a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-summons-from-the-duke-jerrica-knight-catania/1107033632?ean=2940013240193">B&N</a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/summons-from-the-castle-catherine-gayle/1107033633?ean=2940013240209" target="_blank">B&N</a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-summons-from-his-grace-jane-charles/1107033634?ean=2940013240216" target="_blank">B&N</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-summons-from-yorkshire-regency-christmas-summons-collection-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a> <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-summons-from-the-duke-regency-christmas-summons-collection-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a> <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-summons-from-the-castle-regency-christmas-summons-collection-3" target="_blank">Kobo</a> <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/a-summons-from-his-grace-regency-christmas-summons-collection-4" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/summons-from-yorkshire-regency/id478070066?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/summons-from-duke-regency/id478067683?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/summons-from-castle-regency/id478542941?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/summons-from-his-grace-regency/id478043497?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a></span></td></tr>
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Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-8190195967787791972013-10-18T00:30:00.000-07:002013-10-18T00:30:04.911-07:00Romance Ramblings: Ava & Jerrica's Top 11 1/2...There's often something unpleasant on the news, be it government shutdowns, natural disasters, or tragedies of one form or another. So this week, inspired by the government shutdown, Jerrica and I have compiled a TOP ELEVEN 1/2 list of things you can do to keep your mind off all the unpleasantness going on...<br />
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Do you have anything to add to our list? What is your favorite form of distraction...?Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-70209248206657159892013-10-12T07:46:00.001-07:002013-10-12T07:46:59.232-07:00Romance Ramblings is BACK!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week Ava Stone and Jerrica Knight-Catania catch up at Romance Ramblings. We discuss new houses, pets, the original rebel rouser (who is NOT Ava), and toss around the idea of having Jerrica's twins (in their younger years) pull some sort of prank on one of Ava's characters in an upcoming book.<br />
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I'm not sure why... but the video isn't showing up today. So if you're looking for it. You can find it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ct-HvxpSjqs</div>
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Ava says a bad word (consider that your warning). AND... Jerrica tries to convince us that she can turn into a gourd. </div>
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QUESTION OF THE DAY - what sort of prank should Andrew and Michael Wetherby (when they're children) play on one of Ava's characters? And do you have a suggestion of which character will have a prank pulled on them? </div>
<br />Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3778546691538476905.post-36365920029170410932013-09-30T20:42:00.001-07:002013-09-30T20:43:53.724-07:00Welcome Talented Audiobook Producer - Stevie Zimmerman<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today
it’s my pleasure to welcome audiobook producer <a href="https://www.acx.com/narrator?p=A28436FY1EBCUL" target="_blank">Stevie Zimmerman</a> to Lady
Scribes! I have been fortunate enough to have Stevie produce/narrate all of the
books in my Scandalous Series. (She’s currently hard at work on A Scandalous
Past as we speak.) And I could not be happier. Stevie has such a wonderful
voice and hearing her narrate my stories always brings a smile to my face. It’s
been so long ago that I wrote the Scandalous Series, and hearing her retell the
story reminds me how much I loved writing those books. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
good friends Deb Marlowe and Rose Gordon have also worked with Stevie on some
audiobooks, and we thought it might be fun to have a little “chat” between the
four of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So without further ado,
please welcome Stevie Zimmerman!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>AVA</b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hi, Stevie, thank you so
much for being with us today. I was hoping you could tell everyone how you
became a voice talent and how you started producing audiobooks. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">:
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hello everyone. Lovely to be here! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaeG7jaoPH8o_rs2VCpEpg5dftLC2llG4wMMU5fDOgRY16KNw-SANZTc80S-qJcfDG_z1yMRf_-M2um_rD0TGK2m_XUcP4mZgoc1l7g4c8J5dqhOc96obNe8sylgmkxhueYPN_Dxt3IqW/s1600/WifeAttempt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaeG7jaoPH8o_rs2VCpEpg5dftLC2llG4wMMU5fDOgRY16KNw-SANZTc80S-qJcfDG_z1yMRf_-M2um_rD0TGK2m_XUcP4mZgoc1l7g4c8J5dqhOc96obNe8sylgmkxhueYPN_Dxt3IqW/s200/WifeAttempt1.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/A-Scandalous-Wife-Audiobook/B00C4XGIYI/ref=pd_rsp_tl_rd_3" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Wife-Series-Book-Volume/dp/B00C7Z5JES/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_2" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/scandalous-wife-scandalous/id644838496" target="_blank">iTunes</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well,
I got started quite by chance really. I took an evening class several years ago
that turned out to be a thinly disguised sales pitch for a company making
demos. I decided to ignore their expensive plans for me but was intrigued at
the idea that there <i>might</i> be a niche
for my accent in the US market. I found someone else to make a demo with and
then contacted some local studios (in Hartford, CT) and got a few radio ads. My
first job was doing 10 second ads for Hartford itself – promoting the things
there were to do in town that summer. I think they wanted me because the spots
were so short and my accent at least sounded different in the crowded radio
noise. That started getting me some attention and I was hired to do a lot of
e-learning narrations for companies that needed a voice that would work in lots
of different markets and countries. My natural accent is perceived as sort of
neutral by multi-national companies. I enjoyed the long-form much more than the
quick commercials and so I started trying to find audiobook work. Ava’s
“A Scandalous Wife” was my first ever book!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3JkMVkdVIxRYxh2yZLx1AaJvLtI60HjyQ9PZEHOyBrLWHX62Wy754b83yKLFCLKQ2rrpbwE03nsiSbqLRfY7SfftBnc7Lkde7ynFxLJyJKmy4wJf3mv684zhHS1m2526EENdAt-3Whwl/s1600/Reluctant+Audiobook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3JkMVkdVIxRYxh2yZLx1AaJvLtI60HjyQ9PZEHOyBrLWHX62Wy754b83yKLFCLKQ2rrpbwE03nsiSbqLRfY7SfftBnc7Lkde7ynFxLJyJKmy4wJf3mv684zhHS1m2526EENdAt-3Whwl/s200/Reluctant+Audiobook.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/Her-Reluctant-Groom-Audiobook/B00ECZVCXI/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1379973638&sr=1-1">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Her-Reluctant-Groom-Book/dp/B00EDMMWMK/ref=la_B004QXMVHW_1_5_title_2_audd?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1379973605&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/her-reluctant-groom-groom/id685630186" target="_blank">iTunes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>ROSE</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">: What is your typical day like
recording?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b>: I work
from home so a lot depends on what is going on with the rest of the world – it
needs to be quiet, undisturbed, focused time. Not always the easiest thing in
the world. I have an ancient cat who thinks she should be part of the action
quite often! But ordinarily I try to record several chapters at a go and then
return to edit them later. That way I get more of a flow to the narration and
consistency in the tone and feel of the story and characters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: green; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>DEB</b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Do you read the whole
book before you start recording or do you read them a chapter at a time as you
record?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;">:
</span>I read one chapter at a time. I like to get some sense of discovering the story
along with the reader. I don’t want to know ahead of time that at the end of
the story the bad guy turns out to be the hero and have that affect how I read
him earlier in the story. Going chapter to chapter allows me to be part of the
unfolding, the journey, not some omniscient presence. Perhaps I would have a
different approach with a different type of book, but the novels I have done so
far have all had an element of romantic suspense to them which I want to keep
immediate. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfKa42lQAnohqgc-G4_ZFBRn9nCPBuDYwUA5FKSpDbDaM8fR1TviWum5mYTzFYdHC0RNgatKeX4_fbG-ydKfGbTRklxG-pfn8KvuArM7AbAJARLCC5NSBhnBeRltjYKo_UMrQm-d31Nrj/s1600/CharadeAttempt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfKa42lQAnohqgc-G4_ZFBRn9nCPBuDYwUA5FKSpDbDaM8fR1TviWum5mYTzFYdHC0RNgatKeX4_fbG-ydKfGbTRklxG-pfn8KvuArM7AbAJARLCC5NSBhnBeRltjYKo_UMrQm-d31Nrj/s200/CharadeAttempt1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/A-Scandalous-Charade-Scandalous-Series-Book-2-Volume-2-Audiobook/B00CYLXKFK" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Charade-Book/dp/B00D1YP408/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380065198&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/scandalous-charade-scandalous/id653730969" target="_blank">iTunes</a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>AVA</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">: When I do a search for your name at
Amazon, Audible and iTunes, it seems you have become quite the star of Regency
Romance audiobooks. Was that by chance? Or was it a genre you were looking for?
(And since you ARE English, do you find it odd the number of American writers
who focus on that specific time period of British history?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b>: Thanks
for the ‘star’! When I started auditioning for audiobooks the authors looking specifically
for English accents were all Regency Romance authors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were the first person to offer me an
opportunity and it grew from there. So yes,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>quite by chance. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I do find it
amusing how popular the time period is over here – the popularity of Jane
Austen on TV and in movies has always amazed me. Not because I don’t absolutely
love Jane Austen – when I got married I made it a stipulation that my husband
read “Persuasion” on our honeymoon! But because it always seemed to me her
ironic commentary on England’s class structure and social rules and
restrictions would be lost on a country which so prides itself on inclusiveness
and the possibility of everyone ‘making it’. But the romance of that era is
undeniable, and I see in my daughter, who is all-American, that there is still
a real desire to be swept off your feet by a gallant hero. And there are nasty
gossipmongers and rakes and cads everywhere. Pretty Little Liars is Regency
Romance in modern clothes…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEQVnzRucX7HXESPfbLwcPGZxrekXbVuVW_od03C0pbK6NAgrVavALdrCM9c5r-Y4kGEziTpb5CuzAgmIKxYDxHakn9xA2VTX-NVk-5aT4UJYRhH3Ve9NnbKWqYOe9X6ruitmFfoESPu-/s1600/LL1audio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEQVnzRucX7HXESPfbLwcPGZxrekXbVuVW_od03C0pbK6NAgrVavALdrCM9c5r-Y4kGEziTpb5CuzAgmIKxYDxHakn9xA2VTX-NVk-5aT4UJYRhH3Ve9NnbKWqYOe9X6ruitmFfoESPu-/s200/LL1audio.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/The-Love-List-Audiobook/B00EKS9XLA/ref=sr_1_2?qid=1380065506&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Love-List-Half-House/dp/B00ENM1ZG4/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1380065001&sr=8-6&keywords=stevie+zimmerman" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/love-list-half-moon-house/id690175307" target="_blank">iTunes</a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: green; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>DEB</b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">:</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I adored how you gave
life to the different classes (from guttersnipes to dukes!) in The Love List,
as well as the different nationalities. Do you enjoy the different
accents? Or are they difficult?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">:
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I love doing the accents. It’s one of my favourite parts of the job. And “The
Love List” has a great cast of characters to convey. I don’t have an endless
supply, but when it’s called for it’s a really fun thing to do. I wanted to be
an actress from the age of about 5 and, although I realized when I was in
college that I didn’t have “it”, I am still very involved in theatre as a
director in the DC area. The audiobooks allow me to still do a bit of acting!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>ROSE</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">: Be honest, did you imagine yourself as
the heroine as you read the book?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b>: Honestly,
no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I identify with the longing the
women in all the books feel for romance, for independence within a strong and
protective relationship, for the feeling of being adored and longed for. But
since every heroine is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, and I’m well into my
twentieth year of marriage, that’s about as far as it goes. I did recognize
some of the frustrations she feels (in “Her Reluctrant Groom”) dealing with
such a reluctant and recalcitrant hero, especially when their mutual attraction
is so obvious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56BdVH_dlyusUCxZ0yue2Pw2uJOTk4mXlMq8TuNiYvNeDTpoFJwvGLqVHtKL1_h5xpoeCB4B_ir8IRfkNRJwIFAV701I_mGxNV86SEGgKrEkoTZmBO5Obkau5qtnFlBiafhyphenhyphenXeK3vl6jd/s1600/SecretAudio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56BdVH_dlyusUCxZ0yue2Pw2uJOTk4mXlMq8TuNiYvNeDTpoFJwvGLqVHtKL1_h5xpoeCB4B_ir8IRfkNRJwIFAV701I_mGxNV86SEGgKrEkoTZmBO5Obkau5qtnFlBiafhyphenhyphenXeK3vl6jd/s200/SecretAudio.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/A-Scandalous-Secret-Audiobook/B00DBDZV70/ref=pd_rsp_tl_rd_4" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Secret-Series-Novella/dp/B00DC31UEW/ref=pd_sim_b_1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/scandalous-secret-scandalous/id661313674" target="_blank">iTunes</a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>AVA</b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">As romance authors, I
know I’ve gotten the “look” from people who find out what I write. Do you
experience the same thing when people find out you’re narrating romance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;">:
</span>I think most people I work with in the theatre understand that all
story-telling is valid. It may not be their choice of genre, but ultimately
that’s what all actors and directors and designers are doing. Years ago I had
the privilege of meeting Patrick Stewart, a great Shakespearean actor who had
just taken on the reboot of Star Trek. He was being given a lot of grief about
that but his view was that had Shakespeare been alive, he’d have been writing
just the type of stories Star Trek told every week. Great story telling is
nothing to do with the snobbish values some people want to put on it. Having
said that, there are probably some people I actually haven’t told about this
aspect of my work because it would change how they perceive me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: green; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>DEB</b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, how do you feel about
reading those sex scenes? :-)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b></span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "Times New Roman";">:
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well, I must admit I was a bit surprised when I came upon them in “A Scandalous
Wife” only because I hadn’t expected it. I am no prude but reading them out
loud took a little doing, and I had to make sure no one was eavesdropping! It’s kind of like eating chocolate though –
part of the fun is in the sinning…….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>ROSE</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">: Was there a part where you had to
record it more than once so you could keep a straight face and a steady tone?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Qfuv8RxkRijkYE5yrcfuoYt7l0uzhNmTw8GRm7mdZ92QXAR59wmeK1VyJJE5QKfoxD3rJ49XEP0cVk_f61DLQM-HYDLYHCngyCGeLvXeuWDxkjopBsqMb2ICeL-rPURiLEd9sps03rh/s1600/PursuitAttempt1BIG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Qfuv8RxkRijkYE5yrcfuoYt7l0uzhNmTw8GRm7mdZ92QXAR59wmeK1VyJJE5QKfoxD3rJ49XEP0cVk_f61DLQM-HYDLYHCngyCGeLvXeuWDxkjopBsqMb2ICeL-rPURiLEd9sps03rh/s200/PursuitAttempt1BIG.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/A-Scandalous-Pursuit-Audiobook/B00DZ3MCA0/ref=pd_rsp_tl_rd_1" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Pursuit-Series-Book-Volume/dp/B00E0ODY1E/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1380065001&sr=8-2&keywords=stevie+zimmerman" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/scandalous-pursuit-scandalous/id675791691" target="_blank">iTunes</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b>: So far
no. I have narrated one book that was so sexually focused - and different from
the rest of the books I have done -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that
I decided to put it under a different name. I didn’t realize going in what kind
of book it was, and then I was committed. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed,
although I didn’t get it quite, but that I didn’t want to put listeners off
books such as “The Love List”, “Her Reluctant Groom”, and the Scandalous series
by association with something honestly rather kinky. I hope listeners enjoy my
narration enough to seek out other books I have done, but I also hope I can
stay out of the way enough to allow them to have their own fantasy moments
through those scenes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><b>AVA</b></span>: Well, we
know you are busy working on several projects, Stevie, but we really appreciate
you taking the time to be here with us today and for answering our questions. And
we’d also like to thank you for doing such an excellent job producing our
books! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">STEVIE</span></b>: It’s
been great having this chance to talk about the work! It can feel a little
isolated sometimes, sitting reading into my microphone so it is great to have
this chance to connect with all of you, and your readers. Cheers!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Originally posted at Lady Scribes 9/30/2013</i></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Ava Stonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289002285964909795noreply@blogger.com0