- Book info
- Sample
- Media
- Author updates
- Lists
Synopsis
The Somerset sisters, three beautiful, headstrong debutantes in Regency London, are discovering that a bit of scandal is a delightful thing....
For the sake of propriety, and her younger sisters' reputations, Iris Somerset has kept her rebellious streak locked away. But though she receives a proposal from Phineas Knight, Lord of Huntington, Iris can't marry a man she knows isn't truly enamored with her. In fact, Iris no longer wants to be chosen — she wants to choose. Under the clandestine tutelage of "wicked widow" Lady Annabel Tallant, she'll learn how to steer her own marriage prospects — and discover her secret appetites.
What kind of debutante refuses a marquess? Finn is surprised, a little chastened — and thoroughly intrigued. This new, independent version of Iris is far more alluring than the polished socialite she used to be. Finn believed he needed a safe, quiet wife to curb his wilder impulses. But the more Iris surprises him, the more impossible it becomes to resist their deepest desires....
Contains mature themes.
Release date: February 6, 2018
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Print pages: 320
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Reader buzz
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
Author updates
Close
More or Less a Marchioness
Anna Bradley
Prologue
London, late April, 1817
An honorable gentleman would never be so callous as to wager a lady’s future on the turn of a card. Most of the time, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was an honorable gentleman.
This wasn’t one of those times.
“Disgraceful, Huntington.” Lord Derrick, who was a gentleman all the time, sat next to Finn at the gaming table, his lip curled with disgust. “Disgraceful, and unworthy of you.”
Finn didn’t argue the point. God knew the whole business was despicable enough. Unless he happened to win, of course. Then the wager simply became a neat way to rid himself of a troublesome rival.
Neat, and quick. A card turned, and the matter settled.
The economy of the thing appealed to Finn. As far as the winnings themselves were concerned, they were a secondary consideration, and a distant one at that.
Either of the two young ladies in question would do.
“It’s too late for regrets now, Derrick. The game has begun.” Finn drummed his fingers on the table, one eye on his cards, the other shifting back and forth between his two opponents.
Lord Harley, as usual, was grinning like a fool. One didn’t like to lose to a half-wit like Harley, but men like him were much like rookery vermin—disgusting enough, but so common one hardly gave them a second thought.
Lord Wrexley, however, was another matter. Of the two men facing Finn across the table, Wrexley was the one who’d slide a blade between his ribs the moment he turned his back. Wrexley bore watching, because there was nothing more dangerous than a reckless man who didn’t have a thing to lose.
“You’ll regret it soon enough, Huntington. Harley has the devil’s own luck at cards. Damn it, Harley.” Lord Derrick raised his voice. “Why can’t you wager over bank notes, like every other scoundrel in London?”
Harley peered over the edge of his cards, his infuriating grin widening. “We are wagering over bank notes. If you recall, Lady Honora has fifty thousand of them.”
“Miss Somerset has forty thousand, and eyes so deep a blue she’s brought half of London to its knees.” Lord Derrick shot a contemptuous look across the table. “But I suppose that isn’t bloody good enough for you, is it, Harley?”
Harley laughed. “What a romantic notion. But if forty thousand and a pair of blue eyes were enough to tempt any of us, we wouldn’t be in the middle of this wager.”
“Quite the opposite, Harley. Why bother to wager for a lady who doesn’t tempt you?” Lord Wrexley curled his fingertips over the edge of his cards, his lips stretching into a provoking grin as his gaze met Finn’s. “I’d sink lower than my knees for Miss Somerset.”
Lord Derrick snorted. “So low you’d wager over your own cousin’s future, as if she were a prime bit of horseflesh at Tattersall’s? Lady Honora deserves better from all of you, but especially from you, Wrexley.”
Wrexley shrugged, and rapped a knuckle on the table. “Finish it, Harley.”
Lord Harley tossed a card across the table to him, then looked at Finn. “Well, Huntington? Another card, or will you hold?”
Finn glanced down at his hand again. They were playing vingt-et-un, and he held fourteen points. It didn’t look promising.
He tapped the table once. Harley passed him a card, then placed the deck face-down beside him, without taking a card for himself.
Another bad sign.
“What the devil have you got against Miss Somerset, Huntington?” Lord Derrick’s scowl was turning blacker with each card tossed across the baize.
“She’s well enough.”
This terse answer didn’t satisfy Lord Derrick. “She’s as lovely a lady as I’ve ever seen, and you don’t give a bloody damn if her fortune is ten thousand shy of Lady Honora’s. Why not just court Miss Somerset, and be done with it?”
For any other gentleman, Miss Somerset was a tempting option. She’d been raised in Surrey, and still had a tedious whiff of the country in her manners, but even so she was undeniably a diamond of the first water. Despite her success on the London marriage mart, however, she wasn’t Finn’s first choice. She did have beautiful eyes—that much was beyond dispute—but there was occasionally a flash of willfulness in those blue depths Finn didn’t quite like.
“Too lively for my tastes.”
Lady Honora Fairchild, on the other hand, was the type of young lady who’d never give him a moment’s concern. She was as docile and sweet-tempered as a new spring lamb, and thus the perfect choice for a wife. She’d make a splendid marchioness.
Lord Derrick crossed his arms over his chest and lapsed into a moody silence.
“Well, Huntington?” Harley was licking his lips like a man who already tasted victory. “Are we to sit here all night while you ponder the vagaries of fate? Look at your bloody card.”
Finn turned over a corner of his card.
A five.
He flipped it face up, then tossed all his cards to the middle of the table. “Nineteen.”
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Wrexley’s face, but Finn could see right away his hand wouldn’t beat Harley’s. A man with losing cards didn’t wear such a gleeful smirk.
Harley slapped his cards down. “Twenty. Bad luck, Huntington.”
Finn frowned at Harley’s cards, scattered on the table in front of him. Well, that was it, then. Harley would snap up Lady Honora at once and get to work straight away on squandering her fortune.
“Well, Wrexley?” Lord Harley could hardly contain his delight. “Is Huntington to remain a bachelor until next season, or not?”
Lord Wrexley flicked a careless gaze over Harley, then Finn, and tossed his cards into the pile. “Twenty-two.”
“Damn shame, Wrexley.” Harley was more amused than sympathetic.
A shame, or potentially ruinous. The present Lord Wrexley, like every Lord Wrexley before him, had an inconvenient fondness for wagering, and his fortune hadn’t survived his latest run of bad luck. He still had his title, of course, but little else aside from his handsome face and charming manners to recommend him. He’d aimed rather high with Miss Somerset to begin with. If he’d had hopes of her, she must have encouraged him.
Not very discerning of her, particularly since Wrexley didn’t appear to return the sentiment. If he was devastated by his loss, his face didn’t reflect it. He merely shrugged, and pushed his chair back from the gaming table. “There are other heiresses. But you look glum, Huntington. Not at all like a man who’s just secured a chance at forty thousand and London’s most celebrated blue-eyed belle. Don’t say you’re in love with my cousin.”
In love, with Lady Honora? Hardly. If he was in love with the chit, he’d never marry her. A man didn’t want to lose his head over any woman, but especially not his wife. It would only complicate things, and Finn didn’t care for complications. “Love hasn’t got a damn thing to do with marriage.”
“Well, what’s the trouble, then?” Harley gathered up the cards and slipped them into his coat pocket. “One would think you were being forced to marry a lady with empty pockets and a face like a sheep. If you don’t fancy Miss Somerset, leave her to Wrexley. He seems keen to have her.”
Finn leaned back in his chair and studied Wrexley’s face. Losing a wager brought out Wrexley’s vengeful tendencies, and he’d never been as good at hiding them from Finn as he was the rest of London. “Is that so, Wrexley?”
“I only think it’s a pity to see such a lovely lady wasted on a man who doesn’t have a proper appreciation for her. But perhaps you’d care to make another wager on her, Huntington?”
Given that Finn had already wagered on Miss Somerset once, he didn’t have much right to be offended by Wrexley’s crass offer, but irritation made his lips tighten. “Make another wager on her? Now, Wrexley. That’s no way to talk about my future betrothed.”
Wrexley shrugged again, then shoved his arms into his coat. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations, then.” He nodded at Harley and Lord Derrick. “I wish you a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”
Harley watched him go, then turned back to Finn. “A friendly word, Huntington. Wrexley can be vicious when he wants something, rather like a highwayman after a gold pocket-watch. If he’s made up his mind to have the lovely Miss Somerset, he might sink to questionable stratagems to get her. If you do decide to court her, you’d do well to keep an eye on him.”
Finn had long since made it a point to keep an eye on Wrexley, but he merely nodded. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“You’d be a fool not to court her, you know. It won’t be a hardship to bed her.” Harley grinned like a man who’d given the matter a good deal of thought. “I’d wager she’s a spirited one.”
Lord Derrick, who’d remained silent during this exchange, slammed his fist down on the table. “No, you won’t. Haven’t you two disgraced yourselves enough for one night? No more bloody wagering.”
“Yes, if it’s all the same to you, Harley,” Finn drawled, “I’ll decline that wager, for Miss Somerset’s sake.”
“That’s good of you, Huntington, but it’s a bit late for chivalry now. I can’t help but feel sympathy for the lady, to be wasted on such an indifferent husband. Rather like being married to a block of ice, isn’t it? Once she’s done her duty and squeezed out an heir or two for you, she may have a mind to take a lover, and I’ll take care to be in her way when she does.”
Finn gave Lord Harley a sour look. “If you’re so enamored of her, why did you wager for the right to court Lady Honora?”
“Money, of course. What else? Besides, I don’t think Miss Somerset cares for me, despite my many charms. I have a suspicion she’d refuse me if I offered for her.”
“If she wouldn’t accept you as a husband, Harley, she won’t accept you as a lover.”
Harley laughed. “Marriage has a way of lowering a lady’s expectations in that regard.”
“A gentleman’s, as well.” Though if boredom was the only challenge he faced in his marriage, Finn would count himself fortunate enough.
Harley pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That’s what mistresses are for. But you already know that, don’t you, Huntington?”
Lord Derrick waited for Harley to leave before he turned a disgusted look on Finn. “Bloody waste of time. You were a damn fool to let Harley talk you into that wager.”
“No real harm was done.” Harley was right. If Finn couldn’t have Lady Honora, he’d settle for Miss Somerset. She’d do well enough. Willfulness could be tamed, after all.
“No harm to you, but what if Miss Somerset should hear of it? It will hurt her feelings, and she might just decide to discourage your courtship. What then, Huntington?”
“Don’t be absurd, Derrick. There isn’t a lady in London who’d discourage a marquess. In any case, she won’t hear of it. Wrexley and Harley can’t say a word without implicating themselves. None of us will speak of it.”
Lord Derrick frowned as Finn rose and plucked his coat off the back of his chair. “Now you’ve settled the question of a wife, it’s off to see your mistress?”
“I may as well enjoy her while I can.”
He’d end it with her once he was betrothed. He was the Marquess of Huntington, after all, and despite his occasional lapses into the wickedness he’d inherited from his mother, he was a man of honor, like his father before him.
But he wasn’t betrothed yet, and Lady Beaumont was just a short carriage ride away, waiting for him, her lush body warm and eager.
As for Miss Somerset…
He’d have preferred Lady Honora, but Miss Somerset was nearly as pliable as her rival, and her grandfather had been an earl. Once the question of lineage was settled, what difference did it make which lady became his marchioness?
When it came to wives, one of them was as good as another.
Chapter One
Three months later
“Lord Huntington won’t kiss me.”
Iris Somerset drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then heaved it back out again in such a long sigh her lungs flailed in protest.
Goodness, it felt good to say that at last.
It had been weeks since she’d drawn a full breath. She’d been dangerously close to suffocation since the start of the season, when the Marquess of Huntington had singled her out as the fortunate recipient of his exalted attentions.
Of course, she hadn’t meant to blurt out her confession here. One didn’t speak of kissing in the middle of Lady Fairchild’s rose garden. It was considered a great honor to be invited to her ladyship’s Hampstead estate for her annual scavenger hunt, and a certain level of decorum was expected.
But she’d come this far, so she may as well finish it. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to lure him into an indiscretion, but it’s like trying to coax a fish to hang itself on the hook.”
Iris crossed her arms over her chest, eyed her two companions, and braced herself for the inevitable uproar.
As usual, Lady Honora broke first. “Hush, Iris! He could be right on the other side of this hedge!” She darted a panicked look around the garden to make certain they were alone, then swung back to Iris, a scandalized expression on her pretty face. “What do you mean, he won’t kiss you? Of course he won’t kiss—”
“Why don’t you just kiss him, then? He’ll succumb to his savage desires the moment your lips touch his, and that will solve the problem in an instant.” Violet snapped her fingers.
At any other time Iris might have found it amusing they’d each reacted just as she’d predicted they would, but Lord Huntington’s lack of interest wasn’t a laughing matter. “As far as I know, he hasn’t got any savage desires. That’s the problem, Violet.”
Lady Honora winced at the word desires. “My goodness, Iris. What do you expect? He’s an honorable gentleman.”
Violet frowned. “Honorable gentlemen don’t have desires?”
“No! I mean, yes, of course they…oh, how should I know?” Lady Honora turned on Violet. “If they do have desires, they keep them well hidden out of respect to their betrothed.”
Iris couldn’t deny Lord Huntington treated her with the utmost respect. He was unfailingly solicitous and polite, just as one would expect from a gentleman of such impeccable character. No proper young lady could complain of such treatment.
How disconcerting to find, mere weeks before she was to become the Marchioness of Huntington, that she wasn’t, after all, a proper young lady. “He’s too respectful, if you ask me.”
Violet wiped her tears of laughter on the sleeve of her gown. “Well, you’ll have him all to yourself soon enough. Can’t you wait to lure him into a kiss in the privacy of your bedchamber after you’re wed?”
“I can wait, yes, but he shouldn’t be able to.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Honora was wringing her hands. “I’m sure we shouldn’t be discussing kissing. Or luring. Or bedchambers.”
“Perhaps not, Honora, but who else am I meant to talk to if not you and Violet? Do you suppose I’ll discuss kissing and bedchambers with my grandmother?”
The idea Iris would have such a discussion with Lady Chase, their elderly, cantankerous grandmother, sent Violet off into fresh gales of laughter.
Iris glared at her younger sister. “You may laugh all you like, Violet, but you’d do well to keep in mind you’ll have to manage your own troublesome suitors soon enough. Now, what am I meant to do to encourage, ah…a physical expression of affection?”
“Do?” Lady Honora gasped in horror. “Why, nothing at all. How can you ask such a thing, Iris?”
“How can I not ask it, Honora? If anyone bothered to show young ladies how to subtly indicate to a gentleman a kiss would be welcome, I wouldn’t need your advice at all. For pity’s sake, all that time spent practicing the quadrille and pounding away at the pianoforte, but not a word about how to orchestrate a seduction.”
“Seduction?” Lady Honora looked ready to swoon. “Have you lost your wits?”
“Well, what have you done to encourage him so far?” Violet had overcome her fit of hysteria, and she clapped her hands together with her usual practicality, as if preparing to marshal her troops.
Iris gave a helpless shrug. The truth was, she didn’t have the faintest idea how to entice a gentleman into a kiss. “Whatever I could think of. Gazed into his eyes, brushed his hand with mine when he takes my arm—that sort of thing. We’ve walked alone in Grandmother’s garden several times, once in the moonlight, even, but Lord Huntington is immune to every amorous overture.”
Immune, or oblivious. Iris hadn’t yet decided which. The latter could be overcome easily enough, but the former…
That was a bit more worrying.
Violet tapped her bottom lip with her finger, considering. “Have you licked your lips? I read somewhere glistening lips make gentlemen think of kissing.”
Iris stared at her sister. Wherever did Violet get such notions? “I haven’t tried that, no.”
Lady Honora let out a little moan of distress and covered her face.
“Oh, do stop moaning, Honora. It’s a kiss, not a ruination, and they are betrothed, after all.” Violet paused, her gaze narrowing on Honora’s flushed face. “You’re betrothed too, come to that. Has Lord Harley kissed you?”
Lady Honora’s flush spread to the roots of her hair. “Well, I—that is…oh, for goodness’ sakes, Violet. Very well. Yes, he managed to corner me into it once, in this very garden. He’s quicker than he looks, you see.”
Lady Honora’s voice quivered with distaste. She didn’t care at all for Lord Harley, but Lady Fairchild insisted on the match, and Honora wouldn’t dare to question her mother’s wishes.
Violet’s brows drew into a puzzled frown. “Well, perhaps the glistening lips would help, but otherwise I can’t account for it. Lord Huntington is quite…well, he’s a vigorous sort of gentleman, isn’t he?”
They all paused for a moment to consider the question of Lord Huntington’s vigor.
A moment was all it took.
Lady Honora let a tiny sigh escape, and Iris and Violet responded with breathless sighs of their own.
Physically speaking, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was utter perfection.
His presence was enough to set feminine eyelashes fluttering across every ballroom in London, and for good reason. But it wasn’t just his broad shoulders, his cool hazel eyes, or his thick golden-brown hair that made every bosom in London heave with delight. It wasn’t even his ancient title, or the impressive fortune that accompanied it, though any one of these things was more than enough to recommend him to a young lady.
No, it was the man himself. He was the quintessential English gentleman. Honorable, handsome, and intelligent, fashionable without being a fop, skilled with the sword and pistol, and an accomplished whip, Lord Huntington was what every lady sighed for, and every gentleman aspired to be, and if he was a bit too cold and grand for some tastes, fashionable society didn’t blink at it.
The man was a marquess, after all.
Lady Honora sighed again. “His face is perfect in every regard.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “No one is flawless, Honora, not even Lord Huntington.”
“Well, what’s his flaw, then? I defy you to identify one.”
“It’s that tiny dimple in the center of his chin,” Violet declared without hesitation.
“But that dimple is charming. Don’t you think so, Iris?”
Iris had grave concerns about Lord Huntington’s frigid propriety, but his face was beautiful, and it was nothing short of heresy to remain silent while her sister maligned that lovely dimple. “I’ve always been rather enamored of it. How is it a flaw, Violet?”
Violet gave them a triumphant look. “Because, any lady who dreams of kissing him—and that’s every lady in London, by my reckoning—must decide whether to start with his delicious lips, or that distracting little dimple.”
There was a brief silence, then Iris and Violet burst into laughter.
Even Lady Honora couldn’t resist a smile. “How did you come to be so wicked, Violet?”
“We’re discussing Iris’s wickedness, if you please, Honora. Though I don’t know if it’s so very wicked for her to want an innocent kiss from her betrothed. It’s not as if she expects him to drag her off into the bushes and ravage her.”
“No, but when I try to lure him into a kiss, I do expect him to cooperate.” Iris glanced at Honora. “I only want to see if I find it acceptable. Is that so shocking?”
If she could judge by the tingle of anticipation in her belly every time she looked at his lips, she’d find it quite acceptable, indeed, but what use were his handsome lips if he kept them to himself?
Iris hesitated, then swallowed down the last bitter remnants of her pride. “Do you suppose he doesn’t want to kiss me?”
The humiliating truth was, she’d suspected for some time he didn’t have any true affection for her. His courtship had been utterly correct, but Iris had nevertheless been surprised when he came up to scratch. He could have whoever he wanted, after all. Every young lady in London had spent the entire season sighing over him.
Once he did take his suit to her grandmother, he’d been given approval readily enough. Indeed, no one would think to refuse Lord Huntington anything, including Iris, who’d accepted him as a matter of course, and perhaps just the tiniest flash of guilty triumph at having secured the one gentleman every lady in London yearned for.
But it wasn’t long before a distressing voice in her head began whispering Lord Huntington wasn’t all that enamored of her, and no matter what she did, it wouldn’t be silenced. She didn’t expect him to make some elaborate declaration, or attempt a seduction. He wasn’t a demonstrative sort of gentleman. But an innocent kiss would go a long way to relieve her doubts about his affections.
But the kiss was not forthcoming, and Iris couldn’t quite hide her unhappiness as she looked at Violet and Honora. “Perhaps he regrets making an offer, and wishes he were betrothed to another lady.”
Honora rushed to wrap an arm around Iris’s shoulder. “Oh no, Iris. I’m sure that’s not it. No one is lovelier than you.”
Violet, who refused to hear a disparaging word about any of her four sisters, looked offended at the very suggestion. “Every eligible gentleman this season has been angling for your hand, Iris. Lord Huntington is fortunate to get you, and I daresay he knows it. You’re everything the belle of her season should be.”
Lady Honora squeezed Iris’s arm. “Violet’s right, Iris. Social custom, habit, propriety—all conspire to keep you from becoming familiar with each other before you’re wed. Lord Huntington’s behavior is utterly correct. As a gentleman, he can’t breach decorum, even if he wishes to.”
Iris drew in a shaky breath. Perhaps they were right, and she was fretting over nothing. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. It’s just…I thought courtship would be different. More romantic, somehow. It’s foolish of me, I suppose.”
“I don’t think it’s foolish at all. It’s a simple kiss, for goodness’ sake, and little enough to ask. Surely between the three of us we can come up with a way for Iris to tempt Lord Huntington into a kiss. Now let’s see—she’s tried moonlit walks, a touch to the hand, gazing into his eyes, and she’ll try the glistening lips.” Violet was ticking points off on her fingers. “It’s a good start, I daresay, but there must be more she can do. Help me think, Honora.”
A long silence ensued as they each considered the possibilities, and it continued to stretch until at last Violet made a disgusted noise in her throat. “For pity’s sake. I can’t think of another thing. You’re quite right, Iris. Once a lady is betrothed, what good does it do her to know how to flirt a fan? The accomplishments expected of a young lady on the marriage mart are utterly useless once she sets foot outside Almack’s.”
Lady Honora shook her head at this. “Well, Iris’s accomplishments worked well enough to secure her an enviable suitor. She is betrothed to the Marquess of Huntington, after all.”
“Yes, but what am I meant do once I’m married to him? No one says a word about that, do they? Indeed, no one seems to care much what happens to a lady after she’s secured a proper husband, unless she does something scandalous.”
“My goodness, Iris. What a depressing thought.” Violet took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “You’ll give yourself the vapors. Come now, I know just what you need to cheer you up.”
“You do?” Iris gave her sister a hopeful look. “What is it?”
“A kiss from Lord Huntington, of course.”
Iris deflated again. “I’ve tried everything I can think of, Violet—”
“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried to kiss him.” Violet seized her arm with one hand, and pointed toward a pathway that led to the back of the garden, her face flushed with sudden excitement. “He just went down that pathway. Quickly. Go after him, and kiss him!”
Lady Honora grabbed Iris’s other arm. “No! She can’t go chasing Lord Huntington all over the garden. It isn’t proper. What will my mother say if she finds out?”
“She won’t find out unless you tell her, Honora. There’s no one about in this part of the garden. Go on, Iris. It’s a scavenger hunt, after all.” Violet’s lips turned up in a grin. “Surely a kiss from Lord Huntington wins you the game.”
Iris took a hesitant step forward, but then stopped. What if she should look into those cool hazel eyes of his and see nothing but indifference? “What if he…what if he rebuffs me?”
To her surprise, Lady Honora released her arm and gave her a gentle push in the direction Lord Huntington had gone. “He won’t, Iris. He never would have made you an offer if he didn’t care for you, but if a kiss will ease your doubts, then it’s worth the lapse in propriety.”
Iris took a few stumbling steps forward, then a few more. Her heart rushed into her throat at the idea of kissing Lord Huntington, but when she looked back, Violet and Honora both smiled reassuringly at her.
“Go on.” Violet waved her forward. “We’ll wait for you on the terrace.”
Iris plunged blindly into the foliage until she saw him ahead of her, hurrying along the twisting pathways. She would have lost him entirely if she hadn’t caught occasional glimpses of his dark green coat among the brighter greens in the garden.
“Lord Huntington?” She was a bit breathless from chasing after him, but she was only a few paces away when she called out. There could be no doubt he’d heard her. Yet he hesitated before turning to face her, and once he did…
Oh, dear God.
It took every bit of bravery Iris could muster not to flee back into the safety of the garden. He never fell into spasms of joy when he saw her, but he was looking at her now as if she were an offensive bit of garden fungus.
“Miss Somerset.” His smiled was strained. “I suppose you’re on your way back to the terrace?”
Iris gave him a puzzled look. It was an odd question, since she was walking in the opposite direction. “No, my lord. I still need to find the red rose petals for the scavenger hunt, and Lady Honora sent me this way. She said all the nicest red roses are at the back of the garden.”
“I’m sure I saw some closer to the house.”
His tone was polite enough, but a frown played at the corners of his lips. Even so, Iris’s foolish heart began to pound with anticipation when she met his gaze. His hazel eyes were changeable, and this afternoon they were more golden than brown, with just the faintest hint of green.
A little sigh escaped her. If a lady were to kiss a gentleman, she could do a great deal worse than Lord Huntington.
“I’m sure you must be fatigued after so long a time in the sun. Allow me to escort you back to the terrace.”
He o. . .
London, late April, 1817
An honorable gentleman would never be so callous as to wager a lady’s future on the turn of a card. Most of the time, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was an honorable gentleman.
This wasn’t one of those times.
“Disgraceful, Huntington.” Lord Derrick, who was a gentleman all the time, sat next to Finn at the gaming table, his lip curled with disgust. “Disgraceful, and unworthy of you.”
Finn didn’t argue the point. God knew the whole business was despicable enough. Unless he happened to win, of course. Then the wager simply became a neat way to rid himself of a troublesome rival.
Neat, and quick. A card turned, and the matter settled.
The economy of the thing appealed to Finn. As far as the winnings themselves were concerned, they were a secondary consideration, and a distant one at that.
Either of the two young ladies in question would do.
“It’s too late for regrets now, Derrick. The game has begun.” Finn drummed his fingers on the table, one eye on his cards, the other shifting back and forth between his two opponents.
Lord Harley, as usual, was grinning like a fool. One didn’t like to lose to a half-wit like Harley, but men like him were much like rookery vermin—disgusting enough, but so common one hardly gave them a second thought.
Lord Wrexley, however, was another matter. Of the two men facing Finn across the table, Wrexley was the one who’d slide a blade between his ribs the moment he turned his back. Wrexley bore watching, because there was nothing more dangerous than a reckless man who didn’t have a thing to lose.
“You’ll regret it soon enough, Huntington. Harley has the devil’s own luck at cards. Damn it, Harley.” Lord Derrick raised his voice. “Why can’t you wager over bank notes, like every other scoundrel in London?”
Harley peered over the edge of his cards, his infuriating grin widening. “We are wagering over bank notes. If you recall, Lady Honora has fifty thousand of them.”
“Miss Somerset has forty thousand, and eyes so deep a blue she’s brought half of London to its knees.” Lord Derrick shot a contemptuous look across the table. “But I suppose that isn’t bloody good enough for you, is it, Harley?”
Harley laughed. “What a romantic notion. But if forty thousand and a pair of blue eyes were enough to tempt any of us, we wouldn’t be in the middle of this wager.”
“Quite the opposite, Harley. Why bother to wager for a lady who doesn’t tempt you?” Lord Wrexley curled his fingertips over the edge of his cards, his lips stretching into a provoking grin as his gaze met Finn’s. “I’d sink lower than my knees for Miss Somerset.”
Lord Derrick snorted. “So low you’d wager over your own cousin’s future, as if she were a prime bit of horseflesh at Tattersall’s? Lady Honora deserves better from all of you, but especially from you, Wrexley.”
Wrexley shrugged, and rapped a knuckle on the table. “Finish it, Harley.”
Lord Harley tossed a card across the table to him, then looked at Finn. “Well, Huntington? Another card, or will you hold?”
Finn glanced down at his hand again. They were playing vingt-et-un, and he held fourteen points. It didn’t look promising.
He tapped the table once. Harley passed him a card, then placed the deck face-down beside him, without taking a card for himself.
Another bad sign.
“What the devil have you got against Miss Somerset, Huntington?” Lord Derrick’s scowl was turning blacker with each card tossed across the baize.
“She’s well enough.”
This terse answer didn’t satisfy Lord Derrick. “She’s as lovely a lady as I’ve ever seen, and you don’t give a bloody damn if her fortune is ten thousand shy of Lady Honora’s. Why not just court Miss Somerset, and be done with it?”
For any other gentleman, Miss Somerset was a tempting option. She’d been raised in Surrey, and still had a tedious whiff of the country in her manners, but even so she was undeniably a diamond of the first water. Despite her success on the London marriage mart, however, she wasn’t Finn’s first choice. She did have beautiful eyes—that much was beyond dispute—but there was occasionally a flash of willfulness in those blue depths Finn didn’t quite like.
“Too lively for my tastes.”
Lady Honora Fairchild, on the other hand, was the type of young lady who’d never give him a moment’s concern. She was as docile and sweet-tempered as a new spring lamb, and thus the perfect choice for a wife. She’d make a splendid marchioness.
Lord Derrick crossed his arms over his chest and lapsed into a moody silence.
“Well, Huntington?” Harley was licking his lips like a man who already tasted victory. “Are we to sit here all night while you ponder the vagaries of fate? Look at your bloody card.”
Finn turned over a corner of his card.
A five.
He flipped it face up, then tossed all his cards to the middle of the table. “Nineteen.”
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Wrexley’s face, but Finn could see right away his hand wouldn’t beat Harley’s. A man with losing cards didn’t wear such a gleeful smirk.
Harley slapped his cards down. “Twenty. Bad luck, Huntington.”
Finn frowned at Harley’s cards, scattered on the table in front of him. Well, that was it, then. Harley would snap up Lady Honora at once and get to work straight away on squandering her fortune.
“Well, Wrexley?” Lord Harley could hardly contain his delight. “Is Huntington to remain a bachelor until next season, or not?”
Lord Wrexley flicked a careless gaze over Harley, then Finn, and tossed his cards into the pile. “Twenty-two.”
“Damn shame, Wrexley.” Harley was more amused than sympathetic.
A shame, or potentially ruinous. The present Lord Wrexley, like every Lord Wrexley before him, had an inconvenient fondness for wagering, and his fortune hadn’t survived his latest run of bad luck. He still had his title, of course, but little else aside from his handsome face and charming manners to recommend him. He’d aimed rather high with Miss Somerset to begin with. If he’d had hopes of her, she must have encouraged him.
Not very discerning of her, particularly since Wrexley didn’t appear to return the sentiment. If he was devastated by his loss, his face didn’t reflect it. He merely shrugged, and pushed his chair back from the gaming table. “There are other heiresses. But you look glum, Huntington. Not at all like a man who’s just secured a chance at forty thousand and London’s most celebrated blue-eyed belle. Don’t say you’re in love with my cousin.”
In love, with Lady Honora? Hardly. If he was in love with the chit, he’d never marry her. A man didn’t want to lose his head over any woman, but especially not his wife. It would only complicate things, and Finn didn’t care for complications. “Love hasn’t got a damn thing to do with marriage.”
“Well, what’s the trouble, then?” Harley gathered up the cards and slipped them into his coat pocket. “One would think you were being forced to marry a lady with empty pockets and a face like a sheep. If you don’t fancy Miss Somerset, leave her to Wrexley. He seems keen to have her.”
Finn leaned back in his chair and studied Wrexley’s face. Losing a wager brought out Wrexley’s vengeful tendencies, and he’d never been as good at hiding them from Finn as he was the rest of London. “Is that so, Wrexley?”
“I only think it’s a pity to see such a lovely lady wasted on a man who doesn’t have a proper appreciation for her. But perhaps you’d care to make another wager on her, Huntington?”
Given that Finn had already wagered on Miss Somerset once, he didn’t have much right to be offended by Wrexley’s crass offer, but irritation made his lips tighten. “Make another wager on her? Now, Wrexley. That’s no way to talk about my future betrothed.”
Wrexley shrugged again, then shoved his arms into his coat. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations, then.” He nodded at Harley and Lord Derrick. “I wish you a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”
Harley watched him go, then turned back to Finn. “A friendly word, Huntington. Wrexley can be vicious when he wants something, rather like a highwayman after a gold pocket-watch. If he’s made up his mind to have the lovely Miss Somerset, he might sink to questionable stratagems to get her. If you do decide to court her, you’d do well to keep an eye on him.”
Finn had long since made it a point to keep an eye on Wrexley, but he merely nodded. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“You’d be a fool not to court her, you know. It won’t be a hardship to bed her.” Harley grinned like a man who’d given the matter a good deal of thought. “I’d wager she’s a spirited one.”
Lord Derrick, who’d remained silent during this exchange, slammed his fist down on the table. “No, you won’t. Haven’t you two disgraced yourselves enough for one night? No more bloody wagering.”
“Yes, if it’s all the same to you, Harley,” Finn drawled, “I’ll decline that wager, for Miss Somerset’s sake.”
“That’s good of you, Huntington, but it’s a bit late for chivalry now. I can’t help but feel sympathy for the lady, to be wasted on such an indifferent husband. Rather like being married to a block of ice, isn’t it? Once she’s done her duty and squeezed out an heir or two for you, she may have a mind to take a lover, and I’ll take care to be in her way when she does.”
Finn gave Lord Harley a sour look. “If you’re so enamored of her, why did you wager for the right to court Lady Honora?”
“Money, of course. What else? Besides, I don’t think Miss Somerset cares for me, despite my many charms. I have a suspicion she’d refuse me if I offered for her.”
“If she wouldn’t accept you as a husband, Harley, she won’t accept you as a lover.”
Harley laughed. “Marriage has a way of lowering a lady’s expectations in that regard.”
“A gentleman’s, as well.” Though if boredom was the only challenge he faced in his marriage, Finn would count himself fortunate enough.
Harley pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That’s what mistresses are for. But you already know that, don’t you, Huntington?”
Lord Derrick waited for Harley to leave before he turned a disgusted look on Finn. “Bloody waste of time. You were a damn fool to let Harley talk you into that wager.”
“No real harm was done.” Harley was right. If Finn couldn’t have Lady Honora, he’d settle for Miss Somerset. She’d do well enough. Willfulness could be tamed, after all.
“No harm to you, but what if Miss Somerset should hear of it? It will hurt her feelings, and she might just decide to discourage your courtship. What then, Huntington?”
“Don’t be absurd, Derrick. There isn’t a lady in London who’d discourage a marquess. In any case, she won’t hear of it. Wrexley and Harley can’t say a word without implicating themselves. None of us will speak of it.”
Lord Derrick frowned as Finn rose and plucked his coat off the back of his chair. “Now you’ve settled the question of a wife, it’s off to see your mistress?”
“I may as well enjoy her while I can.”
He’d end it with her once he was betrothed. He was the Marquess of Huntington, after all, and despite his occasional lapses into the wickedness he’d inherited from his mother, he was a man of honor, like his father before him.
But he wasn’t betrothed yet, and Lady Beaumont was just a short carriage ride away, waiting for him, her lush body warm and eager.
As for Miss Somerset…
He’d have preferred Lady Honora, but Miss Somerset was nearly as pliable as her rival, and her grandfather had been an earl. Once the question of lineage was settled, what difference did it make which lady became his marchioness?
When it came to wives, one of them was as good as another.
Chapter One
Three months later
“Lord Huntington won’t kiss me.”
Iris Somerset drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then heaved it back out again in such a long sigh her lungs flailed in protest.
Goodness, it felt good to say that at last.
It had been weeks since she’d drawn a full breath. She’d been dangerously close to suffocation since the start of the season, when the Marquess of Huntington had singled her out as the fortunate recipient of his exalted attentions.
Of course, she hadn’t meant to blurt out her confession here. One didn’t speak of kissing in the middle of Lady Fairchild’s rose garden. It was considered a great honor to be invited to her ladyship’s Hampstead estate for her annual scavenger hunt, and a certain level of decorum was expected.
But she’d come this far, so she may as well finish it. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to lure him into an indiscretion, but it’s like trying to coax a fish to hang itself on the hook.”
Iris crossed her arms over her chest, eyed her two companions, and braced herself for the inevitable uproar.
As usual, Lady Honora broke first. “Hush, Iris! He could be right on the other side of this hedge!” She darted a panicked look around the garden to make certain they were alone, then swung back to Iris, a scandalized expression on her pretty face. “What do you mean, he won’t kiss you? Of course he won’t kiss—”
“Why don’t you just kiss him, then? He’ll succumb to his savage desires the moment your lips touch his, and that will solve the problem in an instant.” Violet snapped her fingers.
At any other time Iris might have found it amusing they’d each reacted just as she’d predicted they would, but Lord Huntington’s lack of interest wasn’t a laughing matter. “As far as I know, he hasn’t got any savage desires. That’s the problem, Violet.”
Lady Honora winced at the word desires. “My goodness, Iris. What do you expect? He’s an honorable gentleman.”
Violet frowned. “Honorable gentlemen don’t have desires?”
“No! I mean, yes, of course they…oh, how should I know?” Lady Honora turned on Violet. “If they do have desires, they keep them well hidden out of respect to their betrothed.”
Iris couldn’t deny Lord Huntington treated her with the utmost respect. He was unfailingly solicitous and polite, just as one would expect from a gentleman of such impeccable character. No proper young lady could complain of such treatment.
How disconcerting to find, mere weeks before she was to become the Marchioness of Huntington, that she wasn’t, after all, a proper young lady. “He’s too respectful, if you ask me.”
Violet wiped her tears of laughter on the sleeve of her gown. “Well, you’ll have him all to yourself soon enough. Can’t you wait to lure him into a kiss in the privacy of your bedchamber after you’re wed?”
“I can wait, yes, but he shouldn’t be able to.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Honora was wringing her hands. “I’m sure we shouldn’t be discussing kissing. Or luring. Or bedchambers.”
“Perhaps not, Honora, but who else am I meant to talk to if not you and Violet? Do you suppose I’ll discuss kissing and bedchambers with my grandmother?”
The idea Iris would have such a discussion with Lady Chase, their elderly, cantankerous grandmother, sent Violet off into fresh gales of laughter.
Iris glared at her younger sister. “You may laugh all you like, Violet, but you’d do well to keep in mind you’ll have to manage your own troublesome suitors soon enough. Now, what am I meant to do to encourage, ah…a physical expression of affection?”
“Do?” Lady Honora gasped in horror. “Why, nothing at all. How can you ask such a thing, Iris?”
“How can I not ask it, Honora? If anyone bothered to show young ladies how to subtly indicate to a gentleman a kiss would be welcome, I wouldn’t need your advice at all. For pity’s sake, all that time spent practicing the quadrille and pounding away at the pianoforte, but not a word about how to orchestrate a seduction.”
“Seduction?” Lady Honora looked ready to swoon. “Have you lost your wits?”
“Well, what have you done to encourage him so far?” Violet had overcome her fit of hysteria, and she clapped her hands together with her usual practicality, as if preparing to marshal her troops.
Iris gave a helpless shrug. The truth was, she didn’t have the faintest idea how to entice a gentleman into a kiss. “Whatever I could think of. Gazed into his eyes, brushed his hand with mine when he takes my arm—that sort of thing. We’ve walked alone in Grandmother’s garden several times, once in the moonlight, even, but Lord Huntington is immune to every amorous overture.”
Immune, or oblivious. Iris hadn’t yet decided which. The latter could be overcome easily enough, but the former…
That was a bit more worrying.
Violet tapped her bottom lip with her finger, considering. “Have you licked your lips? I read somewhere glistening lips make gentlemen think of kissing.”
Iris stared at her sister. Wherever did Violet get such notions? “I haven’t tried that, no.”
Lady Honora let out a little moan of distress and covered her face.
“Oh, do stop moaning, Honora. It’s a kiss, not a ruination, and they are betrothed, after all.” Violet paused, her gaze narrowing on Honora’s flushed face. “You’re betrothed too, come to that. Has Lord Harley kissed you?”
Lady Honora’s flush spread to the roots of her hair. “Well, I—that is…oh, for goodness’ sakes, Violet. Very well. Yes, he managed to corner me into it once, in this very garden. He’s quicker than he looks, you see.”
Lady Honora’s voice quivered with distaste. She didn’t care at all for Lord Harley, but Lady Fairchild insisted on the match, and Honora wouldn’t dare to question her mother’s wishes.
Violet’s brows drew into a puzzled frown. “Well, perhaps the glistening lips would help, but otherwise I can’t account for it. Lord Huntington is quite…well, he’s a vigorous sort of gentleman, isn’t he?”
They all paused for a moment to consider the question of Lord Huntington’s vigor.
A moment was all it took.
Lady Honora let a tiny sigh escape, and Iris and Violet responded with breathless sighs of their own.
Physically speaking, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was utter perfection.
His presence was enough to set feminine eyelashes fluttering across every ballroom in London, and for good reason. But it wasn’t just his broad shoulders, his cool hazel eyes, or his thick golden-brown hair that made every bosom in London heave with delight. It wasn’t even his ancient title, or the impressive fortune that accompanied it, though any one of these things was more than enough to recommend him to a young lady.
No, it was the man himself. He was the quintessential English gentleman. Honorable, handsome, and intelligent, fashionable without being a fop, skilled with the sword and pistol, and an accomplished whip, Lord Huntington was what every lady sighed for, and every gentleman aspired to be, and if he was a bit too cold and grand for some tastes, fashionable society didn’t blink at it.
The man was a marquess, after all.
Lady Honora sighed again. “His face is perfect in every regard.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “No one is flawless, Honora, not even Lord Huntington.”
“Well, what’s his flaw, then? I defy you to identify one.”
“It’s that tiny dimple in the center of his chin,” Violet declared without hesitation.
“But that dimple is charming. Don’t you think so, Iris?”
Iris had grave concerns about Lord Huntington’s frigid propriety, but his face was beautiful, and it was nothing short of heresy to remain silent while her sister maligned that lovely dimple. “I’ve always been rather enamored of it. How is it a flaw, Violet?”
Violet gave them a triumphant look. “Because, any lady who dreams of kissing him—and that’s every lady in London, by my reckoning—must decide whether to start with his delicious lips, or that distracting little dimple.”
There was a brief silence, then Iris and Violet burst into laughter.
Even Lady Honora couldn’t resist a smile. “How did you come to be so wicked, Violet?”
“We’re discussing Iris’s wickedness, if you please, Honora. Though I don’t know if it’s so very wicked for her to want an innocent kiss from her betrothed. It’s not as if she expects him to drag her off into the bushes and ravage her.”
“No, but when I try to lure him into a kiss, I do expect him to cooperate.” Iris glanced at Honora. “I only want to see if I find it acceptable. Is that so shocking?”
If she could judge by the tingle of anticipation in her belly every time she looked at his lips, she’d find it quite acceptable, indeed, but what use were his handsome lips if he kept them to himself?
Iris hesitated, then swallowed down the last bitter remnants of her pride. “Do you suppose he doesn’t want to kiss me?”
The humiliating truth was, she’d suspected for some time he didn’t have any true affection for her. His courtship had been utterly correct, but Iris had nevertheless been surprised when he came up to scratch. He could have whoever he wanted, after all. Every young lady in London had spent the entire season sighing over him.
Once he did take his suit to her grandmother, he’d been given approval readily enough. Indeed, no one would think to refuse Lord Huntington anything, including Iris, who’d accepted him as a matter of course, and perhaps just the tiniest flash of guilty triumph at having secured the one gentleman every lady in London yearned for.
But it wasn’t long before a distressing voice in her head began whispering Lord Huntington wasn’t all that enamored of her, and no matter what she did, it wouldn’t be silenced. She didn’t expect him to make some elaborate declaration, or attempt a seduction. He wasn’t a demonstrative sort of gentleman. But an innocent kiss would go a long way to relieve her doubts about his affections.
But the kiss was not forthcoming, and Iris couldn’t quite hide her unhappiness as she looked at Violet and Honora. “Perhaps he regrets making an offer, and wishes he were betrothed to another lady.”
Honora rushed to wrap an arm around Iris’s shoulder. “Oh no, Iris. I’m sure that’s not it. No one is lovelier than you.”
Violet, who refused to hear a disparaging word about any of her four sisters, looked offended at the very suggestion. “Every eligible gentleman this season has been angling for your hand, Iris. Lord Huntington is fortunate to get you, and I daresay he knows it. You’re everything the belle of her season should be.”
Lady Honora squeezed Iris’s arm. “Violet’s right, Iris. Social custom, habit, propriety—all conspire to keep you from becoming familiar with each other before you’re wed. Lord Huntington’s behavior is utterly correct. As a gentleman, he can’t breach decorum, even if he wishes to.”
Iris drew in a shaky breath. Perhaps they were right, and she was fretting over nothing. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. It’s just…I thought courtship would be different. More romantic, somehow. It’s foolish of me, I suppose.”
“I don’t think it’s foolish at all. It’s a simple kiss, for goodness’ sake, and little enough to ask. Surely between the three of us we can come up with a way for Iris to tempt Lord Huntington into a kiss. Now let’s see—she’s tried moonlit walks, a touch to the hand, gazing into his eyes, and she’ll try the glistening lips.” Violet was ticking points off on her fingers. “It’s a good start, I daresay, but there must be more she can do. Help me think, Honora.”
A long silence ensued as they each considered the possibilities, and it continued to stretch until at last Violet made a disgusted noise in her throat. “For pity’s sake. I can’t think of another thing. You’re quite right, Iris. Once a lady is betrothed, what good does it do her to know how to flirt a fan? The accomplishments expected of a young lady on the marriage mart are utterly useless once she sets foot outside Almack’s.”
Lady Honora shook her head at this. “Well, Iris’s accomplishments worked well enough to secure her an enviable suitor. She is betrothed to the Marquess of Huntington, after all.”
“Yes, but what am I meant do once I’m married to him? No one says a word about that, do they? Indeed, no one seems to care much what happens to a lady after she’s secured a proper husband, unless she does something scandalous.”
“My goodness, Iris. What a depressing thought.” Violet took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “You’ll give yourself the vapors. Come now, I know just what you need to cheer you up.”
“You do?” Iris gave her sister a hopeful look. “What is it?”
“A kiss from Lord Huntington, of course.”
Iris deflated again. “I’ve tried everything I can think of, Violet—”
“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried to kiss him.” Violet seized her arm with one hand, and pointed toward a pathway that led to the back of the garden, her face flushed with sudden excitement. “He just went down that pathway. Quickly. Go after him, and kiss him!”
Lady Honora grabbed Iris’s other arm. “No! She can’t go chasing Lord Huntington all over the garden. It isn’t proper. What will my mother say if she finds out?”
“She won’t find out unless you tell her, Honora. There’s no one about in this part of the garden. Go on, Iris. It’s a scavenger hunt, after all.” Violet’s lips turned up in a grin. “Surely a kiss from Lord Huntington wins you the game.”
Iris took a hesitant step forward, but then stopped. What if she should look into those cool hazel eyes of his and see nothing but indifference? “What if he…what if he rebuffs me?”
To her surprise, Lady Honora released her arm and gave her a gentle push in the direction Lord Huntington had gone. “He won’t, Iris. He never would have made you an offer if he didn’t care for you, but if a kiss will ease your doubts, then it’s worth the lapse in propriety.”
Iris took a few stumbling steps forward, then a few more. Her heart rushed into her throat at the idea of kissing Lord Huntington, but when she looked back, Violet and Honora both smiled reassuringly at her.
“Go on.” Violet waved her forward. “We’ll wait for you on the terrace.”
Iris plunged blindly into the foliage until she saw him ahead of her, hurrying along the twisting pathways. She would have lost him entirely if she hadn’t caught occasional glimpses of his dark green coat among the brighter greens in the garden.
“Lord Huntington?” She was a bit breathless from chasing after him, but she was only a few paces away when she called out. There could be no doubt he’d heard her. Yet he hesitated before turning to face her, and once he did…
Oh, dear God.
It took every bit of bravery Iris could muster not to flee back into the safety of the garden. He never fell into spasms of joy when he saw her, but he was looking at her now as if she were an offensive bit of garden fungus.
“Miss Somerset.” His smiled was strained. “I suppose you’re on your way back to the terrace?”
Iris gave him a puzzled look. It was an odd question, since she was walking in the opposite direction. “No, my lord. I still need to find the red rose petals for the scavenger hunt, and Lady Honora sent me this way. She said all the nicest red roses are at the back of the garden.”
“I’m sure I saw some closer to the house.”
His tone was polite enough, but a frown played at the corners of his lips. Even so, Iris’s foolish heart began to pound with anticipation when she met his gaze. His hazel eyes were changeable, and this afternoon they were more golden than brown, with just the faintest hint of green.
A little sigh escaped her. If a lady were to kiss a gentleman, she could do a great deal worse than Lord Huntington.
“I’m sure you must be fatigued after so long a time in the sun. Allow me to escort you back to the terrace.”
He o. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
More or Less a Marchioness
Anna Bradley
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
