"Sweep-you-off-your-feet historical romance! Jennifer Haymore sparkles!" --- Liz Carlyle, New York Times bestselling author "Jennifer Haymore's books are sophisticated, deeply sensual, and emotionally complex." --- Elizabeth Hoyt, New York Times bestselling author "For jaded romance readers, Jennifer Haymore is an author to watch!" --- Nicole Jordan, New York Times bestselling author USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore puts a sexy spin on Cinderella in . . . ONE NIGHT WITH AN EARL Beatrice Reece, Lady Fenwick, has retired from polite society. Everyone knows her late husband treated her abominably, and she simply cannot bear the whispers of the ton. But it's the night of London's premier masquerade ball-and Beatrice's one chance to revel in anonymity. She hopes no one will recognize her beneath her mask, not even the sinfully sexy stranger across the room who holds her captive in his gaze . . . Andrew Sinclair would know beautiful Beatrice anywhere from the gentle sway of her hips, the richness of her hair, and the lushness of her body. When he asks her to dance, the attraction is instant and all-consuming. The only woman he's ever truly wanted is finally in his arms. But when the clock strikes twelve, will this one reckless night fade into the morning light? (30,000 words)
Release date:
April 1, 2014
Publisher:
Forever Yours
Print pages:
118
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Beatrice Reece, Lady Fenwicke, stood tall before the full-length mirror in her dressing room. Her gaze moved from the circlet upon her head, made of baby leaves and blue rosebuds, to the linen draped in folds over her body and touching the floor, hiding her silk slippers. She’d saved her money to buy these slippers. They matched the pale blue of her dress, and they were beautiful, with a filigree heart attached to the tops and a beautiful aquamarine stone at the center of each heart.
Thin, twisted black ropes held the flowing dress on, wrapping over her shoulders and between her breasts before cinching at her waist, the two ends dropping down almost to her hemline. She could have been dressed as any Greek goddess but for those black ropes and the black velvet that edged the costume at the hem and neckline.
“You are a perfect Persephone,” Jessica murmured from behind her.
Beatrice turned to her best friend in the world, frowning. “Do you think so?” She turned back to the mirror, narrowing her eyes at the bare skin of her upper arms. “It’s rather scandalous, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” Jessica grinned at Beatrice in the mirror. “Listen, Bee, this is Madame Lussier’s masquerade. There are certain allowances made at these kinds of parties that are simply outside of our usual social sphere. Being in disguise allows people freedoms they wouldn’t ordinarily have. You wouldn’t know this, of course, because you are such a recluse.”
Beatrice sighed. “‘Recluse’ is a rather strong word. You know why I prefer to stay out of the public eye.”
“I do know why.” Jessica came up beside her and took her hand, raising it so Beatrice could see their clasped hands in the mirror. Jessica squeezed her fingers tightly. “And I understand,” she said softly. “But it’s been over two years. It’s time to move past it.”
Jessica was right. It was time for her to rejoin the world. And tonight her anonymity gave her the confidence to try.
Beatrice might have continued to worry about her bare arms showing if Jessica’s costume hadn’t been so much more revealing. Jessica was an Egyptian queen tonight, her dress skintight, low cut, and sleeveless. A wispy shawl made of the lightest material covered her shoulders, and she wore massive amounts of heavy, Egyptian-inspired gold jewelry. A golden cobra encircled her head, poised to strike at the center of her forehead, and her blond hair flowed in soft waves down her back.
Her dress would garner much more attention than Beatrice’s would. And Beatrice was fine with that. She would be perfectly content to have Jessica receive all the attention tonight. She would stand to the side, a happy wallflower, sip at her punch, and try to guess the identities of those in costume.
Jessica stepped back, hands on hips, and gave her a critical look before grinning. “You look perfect. You make a ravishing female Death, I must say.” There was humor in her voice.
A smile tugged at the edges of Beatrice’s lips. “Persephone wasn’t death. She brought life to the land.”
“Half the time,” Jessica argued, “but the other half, she lived in the underworld with Hades, and she certainly was the Queen of Death.”
“You’re right. Are you sure the idea isn’t too…I don’t know…too dour?”
Jessica laughed, a sound that always made Beatrice feel lighter. “Of course not. Among gruesome monsters and men and women trying to actually portray Death, you will be a breath of fresh air.” She spun away and walked toward the bed, returning with a small velvet-covered box. “Now. I have two gifts for you. First a gift from David and me.”
David was Jessica’s husband, a grumpy sailor who loved Jessica beyond all measure. Jessica and David had come to Beatrice last month to celebrate her birthday with her in her sitting room, bringing her little presents and going into the kitchen to help her bake a pineapple cake—Beatrice’s favorite—while Beatrice’s parents had scowled at them and whispered in disgusted tones about their only daughter behaving as if she were no better than the servants.
Beatrice opened the box and gasped. It was a gold linked chain with small rubies spaced at intervals around it.
“Rubies?” she breathed.
“Perhaps,” Jessica said with a smile. “But in Persephone’s case, they are pomegranate seeds. There are six of them, see? They are the six seeds that she ate that doomed her to spend six months of the year in the underworld with Hades.”
“It’s beautiful,” Beatrice said.
Jessica laughed as she took it from the box and secured it around Beatrice’s neck. “No more beautiful than the sapphire earrings you gave me last year. We are equal now.”
Beatrice gave Jessica a tight hug. “Thank you.”
“But we’re not finished. I promised you people wouldn’t recognize you tonight, did I not?”
“You did.” Anonymity had been her only condition before she agreed to go to tonight’s masquerade.
Two years ago, a few months after her husband had been killed by the Duke of Wakefield, Beatrice had attempted to make a reappearance in her old social circles. The rumors had started immediately, followed by a full-blown scandal. People had whispered when she’d walked past or given her the cut direct or sneered in her face. Caricatures of her gleefully applauding over her husband’s dead body had appeared in the papers.
Society’s scorn had cut almost as deeply as her husband’s belt. She’d begun to stay inside, needing to hide from it all.
Now she was ready to venture to a masquerade, because there Beatrice could step out of herself and become someone other than Lady Fenwicke, a title and persona she despised but could never scrub away.
Jessica turned to her, holding a large box in her hand. She placed the box on Beatrice’s dressing table and removed the lid. “Look,” she said, stepping aside.
A mask lay on a bed of white silk. It was an almost-full mask, enough to cover most of Beatrice’s face, ending just above her lips and swooping low over her cheeks.
And the design…Beatrice had never seen anything like it. It appeared to be made of thin, blackened steel. It had a Baroque look, with a filigree design that would allow flesh to peek from between the elaborate twists and scrolls of metal. The almond-shaped cutouts for her eyes were encrusted with crushed stone that glimmered like tiny gems in the lamplight. Beatrice reached out to touch the rough-looking little stones.
“Black diamonds,” Jessica said. Beatrice drew her hand back quickly. When she looked at Jessica, wide-eyed, her friend laughed again. “It’s not from me. Max, Jonathan, and Will bought it for you when I admonished them for not remembering your birthday last month.”
“Jess,” Beatrice breathed. “You shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have.”
Max, Jonathan, and Will were Jessica’s three brothers-in-law. Max was the Duke of Wakefield—the man who’d killed Fenwicke to save her and Jessica from his madness. Jonathan was the Earl of Stratford, and Will was a gentleman. While she knew they could afford this luxury, it was still too much.
“I certainly should have reprimanded them, and strongly. They are very forgetful, and in my opinion, forgetfulness is a true sin.” Jessica straightened, looking affronted by their failure to acknowledge Beatrice’s birthday, even now. “And they love you like a sister, so of course they wanted to compensate for their poor behavior. This”—she waved her hand at the mask—“was my idea, and they were more than happy to help.”
“I love you,” Beatrice said softly. “You and David both. And your sisters and brothers-in-law, too,” she added, her eyes stinging with tears. “You are my family.”
“And you are ours.” Jessica pointed a stern finger at Beatrice. “No melancholy, and that’s an order.”
Beatrice gave a little laugh, because her friend sounded like David now, spouting out orders to his seamen. “Yes, ma’am.” She . . .
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