The Ultimate Lover

by Adrienne Basso

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

In this Regency romance novella, a daring lady sets out to lose her maidenhood to the town’s most dangerous rogue—but she could lose her heart as well. 

To wreck her domineering brother-in-law’s scheme to marry her off, spirited widow Lady Amelia Wheatley must irreparably ruin her reputation. And what better way than to gamble that she can seduce Gareth Travers, the wild young Viscount of Longley? But Amelia never bargained that their one night of passion would make Gareth determined to win her forever.

Praise for the writing of Adrienne Basso

“Basso has a gift for creating . . . Stories tinged with simmering passion and poignancy.” —RT Book Reviews on How to Enjoy a Scandal

“Sinfully sensual.” —Booklist on The Christmas Countess

Release date: April 1, 2013

Publisher: eKensington

Print pages: 160

Sample

Hampshire, England

Summer 1807

“Is there any news?” the woman asked the moment the servant entered her room.

Her maid nodded and moved closer quickly, displaying surprising agility considering her advanced years.

“The earl called for a second bottle of wine and then he requested quills, an inkpot, and parchment be brought to him in the drawing room. The drawing room!” The elderly female servant rolled her eyes, leaned forward, and continued.

“Hugh said he and Mr. Bascomb were laughing their fool heads off when he left them, not ten minutes ago.”

“So Mr. Bascomb is still in the house?”

“Hugh will bring us word when Mr. Bascomb is gone.”

Lady Amelia Wheatley, Dowager Countess of Monford, bit her bottom lip and nodded her thanks to her maid, Mildred. If quill and paper had been required by the earl it could mean but one thing. In all likelihood a marriage contract was being written and signed at this very moment.

Amelia blinked back her tears. ’Twas her worst fear come to life.

The earl was her brother-in-law and her only male relative. He had courted the favor of Mr. Bascomb, a rich, social-climbing merchant, for several months hoping the man would be interested in becoming a member of the family. By marrying her. Apparently all that hard work and effort was about to come to fruition.

Amelia had been a widow for three years and would be celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday in a few months. One would think at this stage in her life she no longer had to worry about things like forced marriages and unwanted husbands, but it seemed that fate would not allow her to spend the rest of her days as she wished, living a quiet, peaceful life, blissfully free of the rule of any one man.

“Shall I ring for tea to be brought up, my lady? A good strong cup might settle your nerves.”

“How well you know me, dear Mildred.” Amelia smiled faintly at the maid, distressed at the adverse effect this was having on the older servant. Mildred’s voice was anxious, slightly breathless, her face lined with concern. “However, I insist you have two cups sent up with the tray so you may join me,” Amelia declared.

“My lady! ’Tis scandalous to be drinking tea with your maid.”

“Then I shall be scandalous.” Amelia’s smile widened at the very idea. The most daring, outrageous thing she had ever done was put aside her widow’s weeds three weeks earlier than what was considered proper and respectful. This one great act of defiance had been met with little reaction, for neither the family nor her neighbors seemed to notice.

Hoping to distract Mildred from the current problem as they waited for the tea tray, Amelia restricted her conversation to innocuous mundane topics. When those subjects quickly ran their course, the pair fell into a comfortable silence.

In the quiet of the early afternoon Amelia could hear the faint patter of raindrops against the window glass. It surprised her, for the day had begun with such bright sunshine.

Hugh arrived with a ladened tea tray. Amelia wanted to scold him for carrying such a heavy burden up so many stairs, but years of firsthand experience with the old footman’s stubborn pride kept her quiet.

“Mr. Bascomb is still with the earl,” the footman announced. “It’s been over two hours and not a peep from them.”

Amelia kept her expression carefully blank. “Have they requested anything else? Tea, perhaps?”

“Tea?” The footman snorted. “After polishing off two bottles of the finest claret in the wine cellar? Not likely.”

“Mildred mentioned that you brought the earl quill, inkpot, and parchment. How would you judge his mood?”

“Smiling like a jackal, he was.”

“And Mr. Bascomb?”

“I won’t lie to you, your ladyship. They were thick as thieves and up to no good, if you ask me.”

Mildred stared at Hugh. “Oh, stop your blabbering, you old fool. You’re scaring my lady half to death.”

“No, Hugh’s right to tell me the truth. At least now I’ll know what to expect.”

Amelia sensed the footman’s remorse. Though he had difficulty showing it, she knew his loyalty toward her ran deep and strong.

“I’ll bring you word myself the moment Mr. Bascomb is gone,” the footman promised.

“I am grateful for your kindness,” Amelia replied.

The footman left and the room once again fell silent. While Amelia poured the tea, Mildred hovered at her elbow. Though appreciative of her maid’s concern, it took great concentration not to spill any of the hot brew.

“This was the perfect suggestion, Mildred. The tea is precisely what I needed to settle my nerves.” Amelia kept her voice deliberately low and calm, showing none of her inner fear.

Mildred nodded her head encouragingly. “Have a cake, too. They are one of Cook’s best efforts.”

Amelia dutifully placed a cake she had no intention of eating on her plate and encouraged the maid to take several for herself.

Feeling frustrated and restless, Amelia put her nearly full teacup aside and walked to the window. The storm had increased intensity, for the rain now drummed fiercely. She unhooked the latch and pushed open the window, breathing deeply the tang of musky dampness. It smelled of wet earth. She envied the ease with which nature could wash clean its sins and start anew.

“You’ll catch your death standing by that damp window,” Mildred admonished. Amelia turned absently, unaware that she had been shivering.

“Well, that is one solution to my current dilemma. Though I fully believe he would try, even the earl would have difficulty convincing Mr. Bascomb it would be in his best interest to marry a corpse.”

“My lady! ’Tis bad luck to speak of your own passing with such a glib tongue.”

Amelia refrained from commenting that death would be preferable to a second marriage, knowing it would sound overly dramatic. The problem was that the sentiment was uncomfortably close to the truth.

Remembering the years of her marriage brought forth a rush of hot and cold chills. Thanks to her indulgent parents, Amelia had been granted more freedom than most young women of her age and class when it came to selecting a husband. George Wheatley had recently inherited his title and the earl had fully captured her impressionable imagination with his striking features, charming manners, and noble bearing.

She believed herself to be irresistibly and wildly in love with George, just as the poems and stories and songs described. So at twenty she had married a man of her own choice, with her parents’ blessing. Naively blinded by love, she had stepped willingly into what eventually became a waking nightmare.

Resolutely, Amelia thrust the memories deep inside her, locking them away once again. She had buried her unhappiness and pain the day George died. That was part of her past—it did no good to look back and remember with regret her many mistakes.

She needed to focus on the future. She looked again out the window, her eyes squinting to see through the steady rain. In the faint distance she could make out the five chimneys of the Dower House. The brick climbed toward the clouds, tall and straight, seeming to mock her by its deceptively strong appearance.

The Dower House was to have been her haven, her reward for enduring twelve years of marriage to an oftentimes harsh and brutal man. For years she had dreamed of setting up her own small household at the edge of the estate, a home that was completely her own, where she was answerable to no one. With Mildred and Hugh as her servants, a small reward to them for their continued loyalty, along with a competent cook and several day maids to handle the heavier chores.

There had even a small provision in George’s will for a monthly allowance to maintain that household. Yet, after three years, Amelia had still not taken up residence because the Dower House had fallen into a state of such disrepair it was uninhabitable. The roof leaked in several places, all the fireplaces on the second floor smoked badly, the foundation on the south facade was rotten through, and many panes of glass were broken.

It would take far more than the small allowance she was given to properly repair the house. She needed the help and permission of the current earl, her brother-in-law. Yet he had been steadily refusing her pleas for funds for nearly three years. Amelia finally understood why. Apparently he had decided it would best suit his purposes to marry her off to a rich local merchant.

It seemed the most bitter of irony that George’s death had not set her free, but placed her in an even more tenuous position.

“The earl has sent for you, my lady.”

For an instant her tongue felt frozen an. . .