The Lady Gets Lucky EPB

by Joanna Shupe

  Dedication

  For my grandmothers,

  one Southern and one Italian/German,

  who both instilled a love of food in me.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Acknowledgments

  Announcement

  About the Author

  Also by Joanna Shupe

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Chateau de Falaise

  Newport, 1895

  “You are the most adorably charming man,” the older woman said as she patted Kit’s arm. “This house party would be dreadfully dull without you.”

  Since the end of dinner service, Kit had held court in the drawing room, with no less than eight pairs of eyes on him at all times. Over coffee and port, he joked and smiled, nodded and winked. Dazzled everyone in attendance without breaking a sweat.

  In fact, charm was his only strength. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting a genuine-sounding laugh, a grin to win over the hardest of hearts. He knew how to put others at ease and make them feel important. Now he did this without even thinking, the effort so rote he’d forgotten why he started doing it in the first place.

  And he’d started to hate himself for it.

  “While all that is undoubtedly true,” he said to the small group of mothers and chaperones, “I fear it is time for me to return to my room. If you ladies will excuse me.” He inclined his head and stepped back.

  “But it’s early yet,” one of the women protested, even though most everyone had retired hours ago.

  Kit let his lips curl with a hint of wicked intent. “I never said I intended to sleep.”

  They tittered and fanned themselves—as he knew they would—which gave him the opportunity to slip away. The corridors were blessedly empty and the farther he got from the others, the more he was able to relax.

  When he finally reached his guest room, he unknotted his bow tie and splashed bourbon in a crystal tumbler, not stopping until the glass was nearly full. The silence calmed him, a soothing respite from talking for six hours straight.

  You have no one to blame but yourself.

  True. In the beginning, his finely honed skills were his armor, a way to ensure he was never lonely or felt out of place ever again. But the problem with armor was twofold: it was hard to shed and he was vulnerable without it. Who was he underneath? The possibilities were too terrifying to contemplate.

  A quiet knock sounded on his door. A tap, actually, as if someone was trying to get his attention while not causing too much noise. It was a familiar technique, one he’d employed often—as recently as this afternoon, in fact.

  He hadn’t been in the house even a full day when one of the chaperones invited him to her bedchamber, asking for help with her window casing. There’d been no problem with the window, of course, but Kit had provided other kinds of help, the kind that required little clothing and a flat surface. The interlude had been enjoyable for both of them, but she’d worn him out.

  Any more window-casing issues would need to wait until the morning.

  A second knock, slightly louder this time, had him striding to the door. As he pulled it open, he said, “Mary, my dear—” The words died in his throat. A slight girl, looking quite nervous, stared up at him. He remembered seeing her at dinner but couldn’t recall her name. Had they even been introduced?

  He gave her an easy smile. “Hello. Are you lost?”

  “No.” She darted a glance down the corridor. “May I come in?”

  Interesting. He was still confused, though. This was one of the virginal heiresses trying to catch Harrison’s eye at the house party. True, Harrison had already set his eye on someone—Maddie—but the heiresses didn’t know that. So, why was the girl here?

  He cocked his head. “You want to visit my room? Alone, at night?”

  “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “Please. Before someone sees me.”

  Shrugging, Kit widened the crack until the girl was able to squeeze through. She stood in the middle of his bedchamber, head swiveling and hands wringing, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. Brown hair was elegantly styled atop her head, and she still wore her evening gown, an expensive cream silk with no embellishments or dazzle, as if she didn’t need frivolity. It was a refreshing and straightforward approach to sartorial matters and he liked it. She was adorable, in a younger sister sort of way.

  He closed the door quietly and found his bourbon. “Would you care for a drink?”

  She blinked several times, her expression shocked. “Goodness, no. I can’t drink.”

  Even more interesting. “Because?”

  “Because . . . Well, I don’t know. My mother never lets me and—”

  “Your mother isn’t here at the moment.” He went ahead and poured her a small drink. “And I think an illicit visit requires illicit refreshment, don’t you?”

  She took the heavy glass from his hand and stared at the contents as if waiting for something to happen. Were all virgins this cute?

  The side of his mouth hitched. “It won’t bite, I promise. Go on, sip it.”

  Shaking her head, she placed the glass on the dresser without sampling the spirits and walked to a pair of armchairs by the fire. “May we sit? You are making me nervous standing there all . . .” She waved her hand at him, as if to indicate his general self.

  “All . . . ?”

  “All tall and handsome. It’s quite disorienting.”

  Amused, he lowered himself into a chair. “I’d apologize but I fear I wouldn’t mean it. I’ve never been handed a more flattering comment, unintentional as it may have been.”

  “I beg your pardon. I tend to say the wrong thing. It’s a terrible habit.”

  “If complimenting me is a result of that terrible habit, then may you never reform.” He took a sip and watched her over the rim of his glass. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. Embarrassment? Excitement? “A bit unusual for me to be the responsible party in this situation, but I feel I must point out the danger of what we’re doing. If we’re caught, it could prove incredibly awkward for you.”

  She didn’t flinch. “We won’t be caught. My mother has taken her nightly laudanum and I made sure the maids were dismissed for the evening.”

  “Ah. Then all that’s left is for you to tell me why you’re here.”

  Clearing her throat, she folded her hands in her lap, fingers twisted tightly. “From what I have observed, you seem to know what you are doing with women.”

  He pressed his lips together to avoid laughing. Something told him amusement would offend her, and he had the strangest urge to protect her feelings. “I do have a bit of experience with women, yes. Comes with the tall and handsome territory, I’m afraid.
”

  “That’s perfect,” she said, looking oddly relieved. “You are exactly what I need.”

  Indeed, this conversation was taking an unexpected turn. “I don’t understand. You are here to try to marry Harrison Archer.”

  The young lady waved her hand. “Oh, Mr. Archer is in love with Miss Webster. Everyone can see that.”

  She’d noticed as much after one dinner? Perhaps his late-night visitor was more than she seemed. “You are very astute, aren’t you? I mean, you say I’m handsome and you aren’t wrong, but you also picked up on Harrison’s feelings for Maddie.”

  She sank into the plush armchair, shrinking before his eyes. “Oh, it’s merely a lucky guess. I don’t know anything.”

  “Are you embarrassed of being called clever?” When she sighed and looked down at her hands, he had his answer. “Being smart is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Of course you’d say that,” she said. “You’re a man. It’s not the same for women. We shouldn’t aspire for intelligence.”

  “That’s absurd. Who told you such nonsense?”

  “My mother.”

  No spirits and an attitude of women worthy of a caveman? “I believe I don’t care for your mother.”

  “We are losing focus.”

  He grinned as he sipped from his glass. This young woman was entertaining, in an unusual way. “And what focus is that?”

  “I would like your help in learning how to seduce a man.”

  The bourbon slid down the wrong pipe and Kit choked, bending over and coughing as he struggled for air. Droplets rolled down his chin, so he wiped his face. “You what?”

  She swallowed, her delicate throat working. “I’d like you to teach me how to seduce a man.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to seduce and marry one.”

  Her tone indicated that the explanation was simple, like he was an idiot for not understanding. He held up a hand. “Wait a moment. We should back up and begin again.” He put the heavy glass on the side table. “First things first. What is your name?”

  Oh, God. He didn’t even know her name.

  Here she was, blathering on for almost ten minutes, and Mr. Ward hadn’t a clue as to who she was. It was utterly mortifying.

  Skin aflame, Alice forced out, “Miss Alice Lusk.”

  “Were we introduced earlier?”

  “No. I was . . .” Watching you from afar. That sounded bizarre and off-putting, so she said, “Conversing with the other guests.”

  “Ah,” he said, his dark eyes glittering. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lusk. I am Mr. Christopher Ward, but friends call me Kit.”

  She knew all this, but politeness dictated that she smile and nod. “A pleasure to meet you, as well, Mr. Ward.”

  “You may call me Kit, as we are past formality, I think.” He indicated the bedchamber and Alice’s internal body temperature rose even further. “Now, what is this about seducing a man?”

  “I need to learn how it’s done.”

  “Why?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? Seduction, man, wedding. “So that I may marry him.”

  The side of his mouth kicked up, making him appear even more roguish. “Lure him into a compromising position where you’re both discovered and—gasp!—you’re forced to marry. Is that it?”

  “No!” Goodness, that sounded Machiavellian. Her plan wasn’t as crafty as all that. “I don’t wish to trap a man into marrying me.” That was worse than being married solely for her dowry. The last thing Alice wanted was a husband resentful of being duped for the next fifty-odd years.

  “Then what is your plan?”

  She bit her lip and stared at her lap. The plan occurred to her tonight during dinner. With her second season now behind her, it was apparent that the right man was not going to come along and sweep Alice off her feet. The right men were not interested in a girl like her. They flocked to the pretty, outgoing debutantes. The only men who paid Alice any attention were the desperate fortune hunters and the older widowers looking for a young biddable bride. Certainly no man who would ever love her for herself. Mama said this was expected, that Alice’s dowry was her only redeeming quality.

  The men won’t mind your plain face when they hear the size of your dowry.

  It was true. Alice hadn’t the first clue as to how to attract a man with her character, rather than her father’s bank account. And she couldn’t change her dowry, so where did that leave her? Utterly doomed, no doubt.

  Then an offhanded comment at dinner gave her an idea. Maddie caught Alice watching Kit and had tried to warn her off. “Kit is the very Devil. With one smile, he manages to turn even the shyest woman into a vixen. It never fails,” Maddie had said.

  The words had bounced around in Alice’s brain and, even more curious, she’d continued to observe him. With black hair and dark eyes, strong jaw and elegant nose, he was wickedly handsome. The black evening wear hugged his lean body, showing off wide shoulders and long limbs. Looking at him caused hundreds of imaginary butterflies to erupt in her stomach.

  But it was more than his looks. He was comfortable in his own skin, commanding a room the instant he walked inside. During the cocktail hour nearly every woman—young and old—had fought for a scrap of his attention. He’d entertained them with easy smiles and raucous stories, the group hanging on his every word.

  During the soup course, he’d winked at an older woman across the table and she offered a bold stare in return, one that burned with hidden meaning. He had flirted right there at the dinner table, out in the open, which Alice found astounding. What conjurer’s magic did he possess to cause women to act this way?

  He manages to turn even the shyest woman into a vixen.

  And Alice began to wonder about her own dilemma. Was Kit capable of such a metamorphosis . . . even with the most unlikely of pupils?

  She needed more confidence, more . . . experience. No man would fall in love with an insipid, timid mouse. If she could transform herself into a girl like Maddie—fun and sociable—then perhaps she could land a handsome husband.

  “Alice,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your plan is what?”

  Was he actually going to make her say it? Uttering the words aloud to this gorgeous, charming man would be humiliating. “Is it necessary for you to know?”

  “I’m afraid it is, dear Alice. I cannot aid and abet the tricking of some poor unsuspecting fellow.”

  “I am not tricking anyone.”

  He picked up his glass once more, long fingers wrapping around the heavy crystal. “That remains to be seen.”

  Sakes alive, he was going to force her to say it. She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. You can do this, Alice. You need to become a vixen, remember? “I am quite shy around the opposite sex. That, combined with my large dowry, attracts a certain type of man, one not interested in me. Do you understand?”

  “You are hoping to marry for love.”

  “Yes, or as close to love as I can get.”

  He studied her over the rim of his glass as he drank. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his inscrutable gaze glittering in the gaslight. The longer his silence lasted, the more nervous she became. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Clearly, this had been a mistake. He was trying to think of a way to refuse without hurting her feelings.

  She started to push out of her chair. “I should go. This was a—”

  “Wait a moment.” He held out his free hand, staying her. “Don’t rush off. Give a man time to think, if you please.”

  Heart pounding, Alice sank into the plush upholstery and tried not to faint from mortification. Would he tell the other guests of her strange request? She’d become the laughingstock of the house party. Her mother would learn of it, too.

  Oh, God. She’d made a terrible error in judgment in coming here.

  “You’re panicking. Calm down, Alice.” Tapping his fingers on the glass, he cocked his head. “Why me?”

  Was he actu
ally considering it?

  Hope caused her to sit straighter in her chair. “Because Miss Webster said you manage to turn even the shyest woman into a vixen.”

  Kit threw his head back and laughed, the muscles in his throat shifting under sun-kissed skin. “Maddie would say as much. She’s always telling me to mind my manners around her friends. Still, that doesn’t necessarily make it true.”

  “You’re being humble. From what I observed tonight, I believe her.”

  “Well, I’m not certain I believe you’re even shy. You haven’t had much trouble talking to me and you’ve barged into my room like a general headed into battle.”

  Irritation swept over her skin like a hot cloth, and she lifted her chin. “I am ridiculously shy.”

  He nodded as his mouth twisted into a teasing grin. “Indeed, I can tell. More bourbon, Alice?”

  Oh, he was annoying. “Will you help me or not?”

  Standing, he went to refill his glass at the sideboard. She couldn’t help but stare at the wide shoulders stretching the fabric of his fine shirt, the way the white silk vest hugged his torso. He possessed lean hips and a firm backside only achieved through vigorous activity. Kit was the finest-looking man she’d ever seen, and his appearance sent heat cascading through her belly.

  Yet, he was right. She wasn’t so nervous with him any longer. Why?

  When he turned around, she tried to pretend as if she hadn’t been ogling him. Considering the smirk on his face, she likely failed. He leaned against the sideboard. “What does my help mean? Am I taking you to bed? Drawing you diagrams? Writing a treatise? I’m not quite sure what you expect.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip. “Well, I’m hardly your type of woman. It is safe to say that”—she gestured to the bed—“is impossible. I thought more like question and answer sessions, or role-playing. Insight into the male mind and what they find attractive.”

  A crease appeared between his brows, deepening as she spoke. “I don’t have a type of woman,” he said, “but if I did, how are you so certain you’re not it?”

  Because you’re perfect and I’m . . . me.

  Kit could have his pick of women at this house party. Probably already had, considering he’d believed her to be someone named Mary at the door a few moments ago. “If nothing else,” she said, “I am realistic about my appeal, which is why drastic measures must be taken.”