This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a $25 Amazon/BN GC. What's better than a dashing duke? A dozen of them! In this case, a baker's dozen--thirteen of your favorite historical romance authors have come together to bring you more than a dozen tantalizing novellas, with one per month, for a year's worth of never-before-released romances. Read an Excerpt from The Duke and the April Flowers By Grace Burrowes April ***Henning, Duke of Clonmere is bound by a promise made by his late father. He must marry one of the Earl of Falmouth’s daughters, though only the oldest, Lady Iris, who considers herself on the shelf, interests Clonmere… In fact, she fascinates him. *** “The waltz will start soon,” Iris said. “We should be going inside.” His Grace of Clonmere remained on the bench beside her. “Might I confide a secret? I’m all waltzed out. I have no more waltzes, minuets, quadrilles, gavottes or Roger de Coverley’s in me. Not tonight. Your sisters have worn me to flinders.” I want my waltz. And yet, Iris was also relieved. To twirl around in Clonmere’s arms, pretending to be merely amused, pretending to merely enjoy what Iris would instead be savoring and resenting and treasuring…. Clonmere’s demurral was in truth a reprieve. “My sisters thrive on society’s entertainments. You will have a waltzing duchess, Your Grace. Best accommodate yourself to that reality now, even if it’s not precisely what you wish for.” Clonmere plucked a flower from the urn beside the bench. “What do you wish for? If you had a fairy godmother, and she granted you a wish-come-true, what would it be, Lady Iris?” Just as the duke was out of waltzes, Iris was out of witty rejoinders. The plain, honest truth begged to be spoken, if only this once, if only to a man making conversation to avoid the ballroom. “A wish? My deepest, most secret wish?” “The wish your heart whispers as you drift into dreams, that wish.” To not end up with cat hair all over my life. To not be a burden on my family. To never… but those wishes were all in the negative. What did Iris wish for affirmatively? She had the sense Clonmere would wait for her answer until Michaelmas, though by then he’d be married to some sister or other. “I wish that a worthy man would regard me, the true me, as the fulfillment of some of his dreams, Your Grace. Not all, of course, just as I wouldn’t expect him to be the sum total of my life either. I was raised to anticipate that I’d find a partner though, and I’m not ashamed to long for it. I wish that man would find me, and kiss me as if all the love in his heart had finally found a home, and as if all the love in my heart was his dearest treasure. Just once, I’d like to experience such a kiss.” The admission surprised her, but also came as something of a relief. Twenty-six was not ancient, and longing for somebody to love was purely human. “You are very brave,” Clonmere said, rising. “Very fierce.” Now he was ready to return to the ballroom? “I am neither.” He offered his hand—not his arm—and Iris rose. She’d confided much more than she’d intended, but the recitation had given her courage. She would not slink off to Surrey, she would not consign herself to the company of dyspeptic cats and literary spinsters. “Where are we going?” she asked, for the duke was not taking her in the direction of the ballroom. “What matters one more waltz, when I can make a lady’s wish come true?” He came to a halt toward the back of the garden. The sound of the ballroom faded to a distant roar, moonlight glinted on a trickle of water splashing from a fountain sculpted into the shape of a blooming rose. “I must make my own wish come true,” Iris said. Clonmere shifted his grip on Iris’s hand, linking their fingers. “On Saturday, I will choose which of Falmouth’s daughters to court. From that day forward, I will be devoted to her and only to her, if she’ll have me. I must make my choice in a manner that offers none of your sisters insult, or the woman I choose for my duchess will forever regret that she caused her siblings to suffer. Jealousy among siblings is the very devil, and I won’t be the cause of it in my wife’s family.” He was trying to make some point, but Iris grasped only the first part of his declaration. “You have not yet made your choice. You aren’t devoted to anybody yet.” “Precisely.” He took off his gloves, a curious thing to do when the supper was still a set of dances away. “I am free to behave as I please, and I please to make your one, honest wish come true—if I may?” A peculiar sensation welled from Iris’s middle, part glee, part terror. “You’d like to kiss me?” “That was your wish.” Her wish had involved a particular kind of kiss, which Clonmere couldn’t possibly deliver. She nodded. He framed her face in the warmth of his hands. “Then… as you wish, my lady.” About the Author: New York Times Bestselling, award-winning author Eileen Dreyer has published 40 novels and 10 short stories under her name and that of her evil twin, Kathleen Korbel in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, historical romance, romantic suspense, mystery and medical forensic suspense. A proud member of RWA's Hall of FAME, she also has numerous awards from RT BookLovers and an Anthony nomination for mystery. She is now focusing on what she calls historic romantic adventure in her DRAKE'S RAKES series. A native of St. Louis, she still lives there with her family. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight. Website: http://eileendreyer.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EileenDreyer Twitter: https://twitter.com/eileendreyer Instagra: https://www.instagram.com/eileendreyerauthor/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/19012.Eileen_Dreyer BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/eileen-dreyer a Rafflecopter giveaway
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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Maggie Mooha will be awarding $15 Boroughs Bucks to 2 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. Jane Austen's most famous lovers, Darcy and Elizabeth, return in a tale of romance, adventure, and danger set in the heart of the Caribbean. Read an Excerpt: She was grateful for all he was doing for her, and for her family despite its low connections and its unseemly behavior. Gratitude, however, was not her overwhelming emotion at that moment. She wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted to kiss him good-bye, again and again. He turned to look at her once more. She swallowed hard. His eyes. They bore into her like a dagger. It was now or never. What if he were killed? What if he lay in his grave never knowing that she loved him? He was prepared to sacrifice everything for her, his position, his reputation, his wealth, and now he was prepared to sacrifice his life. Could she hold her reputation above that? He turned away from her and headed to the door. She could not let him go without telling him of her feelings. What if he was mistaken? What if Wickham killed her father and killed him too? As he opened the door and exited, she said in a barely audible tone, “I love you.” She waited for the click of the door. It did not come. The door opened again, and Darcy entered the room once more. “What did you say?” he asked. She faltered for a moment, then repeated, “I love you,” louder this time. It all happened in an instant. She did not move and yet she was in his arms. He strode across the room with such force that he lifted her off the ground. The touch of his body was intoxicating. Suddenly, a dark cloud crossed his face, and he let her down. He still had not kissed her. “Perhaps you are only grateful to me,” he said, pulling away slightly, but not letting go of her. Oh no, no, he would know. She reached up and caressed his cheek. “How can you doubt me?” she asked. “Do you think I do not know my own mind?” She watched his face. His eyes searched hers as if he would find in them the truth he wanted to know. She touched his face again. He kissed her. About the Author: I’ve always been a storyteller. When I was little, I used to tell my sister stories before we went to sleep. Most of them were serials – Superman and the like. It never occurred to me until much later in life that I should try my hand at writing. Most of my career, I’ve been a music teacher. I’ve found music such a help when crafting a story. I actually see the structure of a book as if it was a musical composition. As for the nuts and bolts of my life, I grew up in the Chicago area and was a teacher there for quite a few years. I had a chance to teach at an international school in Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania, and I spent two years there. After adopting my son, we spent four years at an international school in the Philippines. During that time, I began writing. Now I live in the western U.S. Most of my work has been screenplays. Over the years, I’ve won or placed well in competitions. I’m telling you this so you don’t think I sat down one day and wrote a novel out of the blue. I’ve spent many years working and learning. A long time ago someone called me “an insatiable romantic.” I hope that's still true. Visit with Maggie – Facebook: http://facebook.com/maggie.mooha Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/mmooha Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/mmooha5817 LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/maggie-mooha-120a6624 BUY LINKS: http://www.boroughspublishinggroup.com/books/elizabeth-new-world https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/elizabeth-in-the-new-world-maggie-mooha/1129784411?ean=2940155857334 https://www.amazon.com//dp/B07JP9KXDS https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/elizabeth-in-the-new-world https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/903159 https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1440196638?country=us&mediaType=books&term=Maggie+Mooha&type=book a Rafflecopter giveaway This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Keira Dominguez will be awarding $15 in Boroughs Bucks to 2 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. A MOST PRIVATE BATTLE Read an Excerpt “Always the hero,” Fox stated, appearing from the ballroom as Henry trained his eyes down the hall where Miss Thornton had disappeared. “But it’s caddish to give a girl hopes, Harry. Particularly such a dull-looking mouse.” Henry’s jaw set. It hadn’t been like that. Meeting Miss Thornton had been more like finding a brother-soldier, someone whose warm laughter and ready wit had plucked him out of the madness of Spain and put his feet down on the soil of England. For a few brief minutes, she’d made him feel that he was not wholly alien here. In the face of that, the fashion of her dress was totally irrelevant. Henry followed Fox into the ballroom again and they watched the dancers until Henry put the back of his hand to his mouth, yawning. When Miss Thornton left, all his energy had seemed to go with her, and the weariness that was a massive wave he’d been outrunning since Spain was finally going to break. “You should be in bed,” Fox noted, stifling his own yawn. He raised his voice over the violins and noise of the party. “Speaking of which…. Where—?” The music came to an uneven halt and the long lines of dancers froze like grappling statues. “Dear guests—” A voice rang out from a tiny woman at the dais. Lady Sherbourne. “I had hoped for an exciting party, but did not dare pray for something so memorable. London has brought out one of its finest fogs for us.” Talk rumbled through the room. “That’s torn it,” muttered a man to Henry’s right. “Can’t leave now. I’m for the library sofa. Every man for himself.” Gentlemen closest to the garden doors swung them wide, displaying a thick wall of fog that rolled through the crowd like a malevolent guest, arriving late and sending dangerous greetings left and right. Henry’s heart skittered to a stop. How long had it been since Miss Thornton left? A quarter of an hour? More? The answer made him sick. It was too late to chase after them. About the Author: Keira Dominguez graduated from BYU with a B.A. in Humanities and lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and five children. For the last decade, she has co-authored The Uncrushable Jersey Dress, a blog and Facebook page dedicated to mid-century author, Betty Neels. Cultivating this corner of fandom confirmed the suspicion that people who like sweet romances are as smart, funny, and are as interesting as readers of any other genre. When Keira is not busy avoiding volunteerism at her kids’ schools like it is the literal plague, she enjoys scoring a deal at Goodwill, repainting her rooms an unnecessary amount of times, and being seized by sudden enthusiasms. Take Tea with Keira - website: http://www.keiradominguez.com facebook: http://facebook.com/keiradominguez8/ twitter: http://www.twitter.com/keira_dominguez instagram: http://www.instagram.com/keiradominguezwrites BUY LINKS: http://www.boroughspublishinggroup.com/books/her-caprice https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1451254386?country=us&mediaType=books&term=her%20caprice&type=book,br> https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N9B81QR https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130437723?ean=2940155962496 https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/her-caprice https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/920856 a Rafflecopter giveaway This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ella Quinn will be awarding a $50 gift card - Amazon or iTunes (winner's choice) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. Even the Worthington least likely to wed may find her perfect match Read an Excerpt At a warehouse near the London docks, Lord Phineas Carter-Woods surveyed the numerous boxes he’d brought back with him from Mexico. “The ones marked in red will go to Elsworth.” That was the bulk of them. At some point he’d have to visit the estate he had been bequeathed. “Have the rest sent to my brother’s house in Grosvenor Square, and make sure they aren’t put in the attic.” “Yes, my lord.” Boman, Phinn’s secretary, part-time amanuensis, general factotum, and friend, signaled to one of two carters waiting for instructions. “Have you decided when we’re leaving again?” That was going to be tricky. “I hope to be on our way to Europe in a month, but I’ve promised my brother I’ll look around for a wife. We’ll take it as it comes, shall we?” “What you mean to say”—Boman gave Phinn a stern look—“is that you haven’t told his lordship that you’re not staying in England.” “Let’s just say that I have not had time to divulge all my plans.” Boman was right. Phinn would have to tell his brother, the Marquis of Dorchester, about his intent to leave England again. If only Dorchester and his wife could’ve managed to have a son or two instead of four daughters, they wouldn’t be trying to make Phinn marry. Although, whatever gave them the idea he could do better, he didn’t know. “He isn’t going to be happy.” That was putting it mildly. Phinn had decided not to tell his brother he was leaving again until just before he departed. “I’ll stay for the Season. Once he perceives that I have not found a suitable wife, he’ll be glad to see me go again.” “What happens if some young lady catches your eye?” Good lord! Boman too? “Why is everyone suddenly trying to put a leg-shackle on me?” About the Author: USA Today bestselling author Ella Quinn's studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and two beautiful granddaughters, and a Great Dane. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat. After cruising the Caribbean and North America, she completed a transatlantic crossing from St. Martin to Southern Europe. She's currently living in Germany, happily writing while her husband is back at work, recovering from retirement. Ella loves when readers connect with her. Author Contact and Social Media: Website: https://www.ellaquinnauthor.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EllaQuinnAuthor Twitter: "https://twitter.com/ellaquinnauthor Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7044274.Ella_Quinn Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ella-quinn Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Ella-Quinn/e/B00CAE0FSQ Buy Links: Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2kBb73b Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2HbSxgb Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2MbKRcD Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2H8ecFY BN: http://bit.ly/2HUgIuC Apple Books: https://apple.co/2xtw0GN Kobo: http://bit.ly/2sjC2VE Google Play: http://bit.ly/2lfQCJQ Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2Cn79nm Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2RRaMeM a Rafflecopter giveaway
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How to Marry a Rake in Ten Days by Samantha Holt
The years had added the slightest touch of grey to his hair at the temples. Though he must have shaved in the morning, stubble was beginning to show on his jaw and upper lip. Something about that roughness made her want to reach out and stroke it. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Not a lot but enough that his intense eyes were softened. And his lashes...dear Lord a man should never have such thick, long lashes. It was thoroughly unfair to the fairer sex.
âI always watched you,â he told her in a low voice, the timbre of it spearing deep inside her and making her feel warm and all twisted up inside.
She knew that. But she wouldnât admit as much. A lady shouldnât be aware of these things. However, he likely didnât realise that she understood the reasons behind his stares. He probably had little clue that she even knew he was responsible for Robertâs change of heart.
âI never noticed.â
The lift of one brow told her he didnât believe her. âI watched you dance. Watched you flirt. Watched you laugh.â
âA lady does not flirt.â
âYou did.â
âWell, I have changed.â
His gaze met hers. âI noticed. A pity.â
Angelina eyed him. A pity? Here was the man who had so thoroughly disapproved of her behaviour that he had warned his all too impressionable friend away from her and now he was claiming that he liked that behaviour. Though she supposed such behaviour was favourable in a conquest but not in a wife.
There was no chance she would be a conquest. She was here for a marriage.
âI have grown up, Benedict, that is all.â
His lips curved. âYou have grown up in many ways.â He glanced over her figure. âThe years have done you many favours, Angie. However, Iâm not sure you are all that different.â
âI am,â she insisted. âIâm nothing like I was when we knew each other.â
Benedict released the curl and tilted his head to view her. âWell, we have ten days together. Iâm certain it will become clear whether you have or not.â
âThat sounds almost like a challenge, my lord.â She cursed the words once they were out. Those were the words of impulsive, silly Angie. Even the addition of his title had been used with every intention of being daring instead of polite.
He lifted a shoulder. âPerhaps.â He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She eyed their gloved fingers meeting and tried to force her arm to retreat but she had gone boneless at his touch. He eased his palm into hers and held her hand.
âA challenge would certainly make this rather dry party a little more interesting, do you not think?â
She was too busy gaping at their linked hands to even agree with him. Or tell him no. She already had one challenge to worry about, she didnât need another.
âWe have ten days together. Let me prove to you that you are not changed. That the Angie I knew still resides behind those stiff manners.â
âWhy on earth would I agree to such a thing?â
âTo prove me wrong.â He lifted her hand up toward his mouth and brushed it over her knuckles.
âI have no need to prove it.â
âAre you scared?â
She raised her chin. âNever!â
He released a flash of a grin. âAh, there she is.â
âDamn you, Benedict.â
His grin widened. âAnd again.â
She puffed out her cheeks, feeling how hot and red they were. This was all going so wrong. How was she meant to act like a lady when he was so infuriating? She should probably start thinking about a new job already. Sheâd never persuade Oliver theyâd do well together if this continued.
Angelina tugged away her hand and shook her head. âYou wonât win, Benedict. I can assure you of that. Now it is not appropriate for us to be alone together so I shall bid you good afternoon. Will you tell the marquess that I am suffering with a headache and I shall join them for dinner?â
âOf course, my lady.â He offered a mockingly formal bow and Angelina just knew he had no intention of giving up his idea of scandalising her.
She shook her head again. As if he could scandalise her further.
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âThe Rogueâs Seduction by Lauren Smith
Perdita pushed the door open and froze when she realized it was a bedchamber. Darlington had the audacity to call her to his bedchamber? Did he believe she had come for amorous reasons, or that she would condone such a brazen attempt at seduction? It was entirely possible, given the scandalous hour and the fact she was without a chaperone, but she would set him straight if he dared to try to seduce her. She wished for the hundredth time it would have been possible to visit him during the day, but there had been no alternative. People would have seen her enter his home, and that would be the end of her carefully kept reputation. She tensed when a dark, rich voice spoke. Vaughn Darlington, the viscount dubbed by ton as the Devil of London. His voice sent tingles of excitement and fear through her. She took an instinctive step back toward the door. âFleeing so soon? I would have wagered you were braver than that, Miss Darby. Or perhaps, given the lateness of the hour and the method of this meeting, I should call you Perdita?â She bristled and pushed the hood of her cloak back to better peer around the room. There was a four-poster bed against one wall and a fire crackling in the hearth. The wood floor showed dusty outlines of where carpets had recently been. The dark-green brocaded curtains about the bed were faded, and a few rings were missing, letting the fabric gape in odd places. Worn and peeling silk wallpapers depicting men hunting in the forest covered the walls. A once beautiful wardrobe stood in one corner, a door missing. The shaving stand held a white china basin with a large crack down its side. The masculine air of the room was overpowering, just as the man himself was, but the circumstances and the condition of his rooms filled her with a strange pity that made her go still as she turned her focus on the man himself. Leaning against one worn, ancient chair was Lord Darlington. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had a dangerous look about his all too beautiful face. With piercing blue eyes and light-blond hair, Darlington could have passed for an angel if it werenât for the sensual, wicked curve of his lips. He wore buff trousers and a white lawn shirt, with a dark-blue waistcoat. His cravat had been untied and lay loose over the back of one chair. Perditaâs heart quickened. She had never stood in a room with a man in a state of partial undress like this. She forced herself to rally to the task at hand. âLord Darlington, I come here with a proposal.â Her tone was brusque with a manner of business about it. This was not about seduction, no matter how sinful he made her feel. Though sheâd rehearsed this speech a dozen times on her own, she had not been prepared for the strange and frightening feelings that assaulted her now as she spoke to him alone. He crossed his arms as he studied her with that wicked twist of his lips, making her breath quicken. She shifted in place, and her boots scraped softly against the wood floor. âDo go on.â He chuckled, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. âWell, you seeâ¦â She spoke haltingly, still mortified that she was here begging him for his help. âI need to stop an unwanted marriage proposal.â She twined her fingers nervously as she removed her gloves. âMy mother has convinced a certain gentleman that I am willing to consider his offer, when I most certainly am not.â She tried not to think of Mr. Samuel Milburn and how that man had made it clear he would imprison her in a life that would slowly kill her. She could still see him leaning in close to her and whispering: âThe women I care for know better than to seek the company of others, when I should be enough. My home has all you will need, so I will hear no talk of travel or nights out. They would only distract you from your duty, which would be pleasing me.â He was a brute and a tyrant and worse, but Perditaâs mother, despite her ambitious nature, didnât usually believe in society gossip. Perdita did. Sheâd heard that Milburn had thrown a woman to her death from a window, but because the woman was his mistress, no questions were asked. It had been dismissed as an unfortunate accident. All Perdita knew for sure was that this man was a monster. She had tried to tell her father and mother what sheâd heard, but her words had been dismissed as idle talk. If her older brother Thomas hadnât been away at sea serving in His Majestyâs royal navy, she would have sought his help. In Perditaâs experience, being a wealthy heiress was a terrible burden. It put a mark on her. Sheâd fought off fortune hunters for the last few years, but a man like Milburn was dangerous in other ways. He didnât care about her moneyâhe cared about breaking her spirit and possibly even killing her if she didnât give him what he desired. She was sport. Secluded with My Hellion by Dawn Brower With a sigh, she headed to the door of the cabin and stared at the pile of snow blocking it. Maybe she could start removing it before Gavin returned. The sooner they were inside, the sooner they could find shelter from the storm. She prayed there was a way to light a fire in the hearth. The cold had already seeped into her bones. A broken branch lay near the steps. She picked it up and started to move the snow out of the way. It was a tedious process and sweat started to furrow on her brow. At least she was finding some warmth in it. âGood job,â Gavin said. His husky voice filled her ear and made her shiver from the inside out. He stood directly behind her, his body encasing her in warmth and blocking her from the unforgiving wind. âGive me the branch and Iâll finish.â She handed it over to him reluctantly and waited as he cleaned the rest of the snow from the entrance. He was a handsome sight to behold on any given day, but something about watching him work made her belly flutter. His arms bulged against his jacket and his breeches seemed to hug his thighs tighter. Maybe it was her imagination, but every inch of him appeared larger. She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. Finally, he brushed the last bit of snow off the front step and yanked the door open. He gestured toward her to enter. âAfter you,â he said. She slowly entered the dark cabin, almost afraid to see what lay inside. Gavin came up directly behind her, closing the door behind him. His hot breath brushed across her ear. âYou can go farther in.â His heat enveloped her, and she had no desire to go any farther than where she was. She wanted to lean back against him and marvel in every inch of him. The need to beg him to kiss her almost overtook her. Her cheeks warmed at the idea of his lips pressed against hers. How had she gone this long without feeling that wonderful sensation again? The one moment sheâd kissed him, it had been so chaste and over before the blink of an eye. âI canât see anything,â she said. He exhaled. âWalk a little more inside so I can move past you. I need to start a fire or weâll both freeze.â She did as he told her to do, and he quickly moved past her. With his heat no longer warming her, shivers wracked her body. The sweat on her brow made her skin clammy and cold. The sooner that fire was started, the better off sheâd be. She wanted to urge him to move faster, but it was futile. He couldnât make the fire blaze any faster because she wanted it to. Sheâd have to wait even if it irritated her. âPlease hurry,â she couldnât help the words. Her teeth chattered hard. âSo co-cold.â âYour clothes are probably soaked through,â he said. âYouâre going to have to remove your dress and hang it up to dry.â Surely he didnât suggest⦠âThatâs indecent,â she gasped the words out. âI canât undress.â How to Marry a Rake in Ten Days by Samantha Holt The years had added the slightest touch of grey to his hair at the temples. Though he must have shaved in the morning, stubble was beginning to show on his jaw and upper lip. Something about that roughness made her want to reach out and stroke it. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Not a lot but enough that his intense eyes were softened. And his lashes...dear Lord a man should never have such thick, long lashes. It was thoroughly unfair to the fairer sex. âI always watched you,â he told her in a low voice, the timbre of it spearing deep inside her and making her feel warm and all twisted up inside. She knew that. But she wouldnât admit as much. A lady shouldnât be aware of these things. However, he likely didnât realise that she understood the reasons behind his stares. He probably had little clue that she even knew he was responsible for Robertâs change of heart. âI never noticed.â The lift of one brow told her he didnât believe her. âI watched you dance. Watched you flirt. Watched you laugh.â âA lady does not flirt.â âYou did.â âWell, I have changed.â His gaze met hers. âI noticed. A pity.â Angelina eyed him. A pity? Here was the man who had so thoroughly disapproved of her behaviour that he had warned his all too impressionable friend away from her and now he was claiming that he liked that behaviour. Though she supposed such behaviour was favourable in a conquest but not in a wife. There was no chance she would be a conquest. She was here for a marriage. âI have grown up, Benedict, that is all.â His lips curved. âYou have grown up in many ways.â He glanced over her figure. âThe years have done you many favours, Angie. However, Iâm not sure you are all that different.â âI am,â she insisted. âIâm nothing like I was when we knew each other.â Benedict released the curl and tilted his head to view her. âWell, we have ten days together. Iâm certain it will become clear whether you have or not.â âThat sounds almost like a challenge, my lord.â She cursed the words once they were out. Those were the words of impulsive, silly Angie. Even the addition of his title had been used with every intention of being daring instead of polite. He lifted a shoulder. âPerhaps.â He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She eyed their gloved fingers meeting and tried to force her arm to retreat but she had gone boneless at his touch. He eased his palm into hers and held her hand. âA challenge would certainly make this rather dry party a little more interesting, do you not think?â She was too busy gaping at their linked hands to even agree with him. Or tell him no. She already had one challenge to worry about, she didnât need another. âWe have ten days together. Let me prove to you that you are not changed. That the Angie I knew still resides behind those stiff manners.â âWhy on earth would I agree to such a thing?â âTo prove me wrong.â He lifted her hand up toward his mouth and brushed it over her knuckles. âI have no need to prove it.â âAre you scared?â She raised her chin. âNever!â He released a flash of a grin. âAh, there she is.â âDamn you, Benedict.â His grin widened. âAnd again.â She puffed out her cheeks, feeling how hot and red they were. This was all going so wrong. How was she meant to act like a lady when he was so infuriating? She should probably start thinking about a new job already. Sheâd never persuade Oliver theyâd do well together if this continued. Angelina tugged away her hand and shook her head. âYou wonât win, Benedict. I can assure you of that. Now it is not appropriate for us to be alone together so I shall bid you good afternoon. Will you tell the marquess that I am suffering with a headache and I shall join them for dinner?â âOf course, my lady.â He offered a mockingly formal bow and Angelina just knew he had no intention of giving up his idea of scandalising her. She shook her head again. As if he could scandalise her further. |
AuthorLayna Pimentel is a multi published author of romance since 2013. Educated in computer technology, her true passion is all things romance: music, books, movies and food of course. pre-order todayout nowEventsArchives
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