“His bride,” his mother said bitterly. “His bride.” She threw Clara the sort of look Caesar must have given Brutus when the knife went in.
“This way at least, the deed was done behind the scenes,” Longmore went on, “not in front of the whole blasted ton.”
While his mother stirred this idea around in her seething mind, the carriage reached the front of Warford House. The footmen opened the carriage door, and the family emerged, the ladies shaking out their skirts as they stepped out onto the pavement.
Longmore said nothing and Clara said nothing but she shot him a grateful look before she hurried inside after their mother.
His father, however, lingered at the front step with Longmore. “Not coming in?”
“I think not,” Longmore said. “Did my best. Tried to pour oil and all that.”
“It won’t end,” his father said in a low voice. “Not for your mother. Shattered dreams and wounded pride and outraged sensibilities and whatnot. You see how it is. We can expect no peace in this family until Clara finds a suitable replacement for Clevedon. That’s not going to happen while she keeps encouraging that pack of loose screws.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Make them go away, will you, dammit?”
Countess of Igby’s ball
Saturday 30 May 1835
One o’clock in the morning
LONGMORE HAD BEEN looking for Lord Adderley for some time. The fellow having proven too thick to take a hint, Longmore had decided that the simplest approach was to hit him until he understood that he was to keep off Clara.
The trouble was, Sophy Noirot was at Lady Igby’s party, too, and Longmore, unlike Argus, owned only the usual number of eyes.
He’d become distracted, watching Sophy flit hither and yon, no one paying her the slightest heed—except for the usual assortment of dolts who thought maidservants existed for their sport. Since he’d marked her as his sport, Longmore had started to move in, more than once, only to find that she didn’t need any help with would-be swains.
She’d “accidentally” spilled hot tea on the waistcoat of one gentleman who’d ventured too close. Another had followed her into an antechamber and tripped over something, landing on his face. A third had followed her down a passage and into a room. He’d come out limping a moment later.
Preoccupied with her adventures, Longmore not only failed to locate Adderley, but lost track of the sister he was supposed to be guarding from lechers and bankrupts. This would have been less of a problem had Sophy been watching her more closely. But Sophy had her own lechers to fend off.
Longmore wasn’t thinking about this. Thinking wasn’t his favorite thing to do, and thinking about more than one thing at a time upset his equilibrium. At the moment, his mind was on the men trespassing on what he’d decided was his property. Unfortunately, this meant he wasn’t aware of his mother losing sight of Clara at the same time. This happened because Lady Warford was carrying on a politely poisonous conversation with her best friend and worst enemy Lady Bartham.
In short, nobody who should have been paying attention was paying attention while Lord Adderley was steering Clara, as they waltzed, toward the other end of the ballroom, toward the doors leading to the terrace. None of those who should have been keeping a sharp eye out saw the wink Adderley sent his friends or the accompanying smirk.
It was the crowd’s movement that brought Longmore back to his surroundings and his main reason for being here.
The movement wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t meant to be. Men like Longmore were attuned to it, though. He had no trouble recognizing the sense of something in the air, the shift in the attention in some parts of the room, and the drifting toward a common destination. It was the change in the atmosphere one felt when a fight was about to happen.
The current was sweeping toward the terrace.
His gut told him something was amiss. It didn’t say what, but the warning was vehement, and he was a man who acted on instinct. He moved, and quickly.
He didn’t have to push his way through the crowd. Those who knew him knew they’d better get out of the way or be thrust out of the way.
He stormed out onto the terrace. A small audience had gathered. They got out of his way, too.
Nothing and nobody obstructed his view.
About the Author
LORETTA CHASE has worked in academe, retail, and the visual arts, as well as on the streets—as a meter maid—and in video, as a scriptwriter. She might have developed an excitingly checkered career had her spouse not nagged her into writing fiction. Her bestselling historical romances, set in the Regency and Romantic eras of the early 19th century, have won a number of awards, including Romance Writers of America’s RITA®. For more about her past, her books, and what she does and doesn’t do on social media, please visit her website, www.LorettaChase.com.
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Also by Loretta Chase
Scandal Wears Satin
Silk Is For Seduction
Don’t Tempt Me
Your Scandalous Ways
Not Quite A Lady
The Last Hellion
Lord of Scoundrels
Captives of the Night
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: SWEET ON YOU
By Darlene Panzera
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: RECIPE FOR LOVE
By Darlene Panzera
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: TASTE OF ROMANCE
By Darlene Panzera
ONE TRUE LOVE
A CUPID, TEXAS NOVELLA
By Lori Wilde
An Excerpt from
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: SWEET ON YOU
by Darlene Panzera
Darlene Panzera, author of Bet You’ll Marry Me, launches a delicious new series that proves business and pleasure don’t mix . . . or do they?
Andi cast a glance over the rowdy karaoke crowd to the man sitting at the front table with the clear plastic bakery box in his possession.
“What am I supposed to say?” she whispered, looking back at her dark-haired sister Kim and their redheaded friend Rachel as the three of them huddled together. “ ‘Can I have your cupcake?’ He’ll think I’m a lunatic.”
“Say ‘please,’ and tell him about our tradition,” Kim suggested.
“Offer him money.” Rachel dug through her dilapidated Gucci knockoff purse and withdrew a ten-dollar bill. “And let him know we’re celebrating your sister’s birthday.”
“You did promise me a cupcake for my birthday,” Kim said with an impish grin. “Besides, the guy doesn’t look like he plans to eat it. He hasn’t even glanced at the cupcake since the old woman came in and delivered the box.”
Andi tucked a loose strand of her dark blonde hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t used to taking food from anyone. Usually she was on the other end—giving it away. Her fault. She didn’t plan ahead.
Why couldn’t any of the businesses here be open twenty-four hours a day, like in Portland? Out of the two dozen eclectic cafes and restaurants along the Astoria waterfront promising to satisfy customers’ palates, shouldn’t at least one cater to late-night customers like herself? No, they all shut down at 10:30 P.M., some earlier, as if they knew she was coming. That was what she got for living in a small town. Anticipation, but no cake.
However, she was determined not to let her younger sister down. She’d promised Kim a cupcake for her twenty-sixth birthday, and she’d try her best to procure one, even if it meant making a fool of herself.
Andi shot her ever-popular friend Rachel a wry look. “You know you’re better at this tha
n I am.”
Rachel grinned. “You’re going to have to start interacting with the opposite sex again sometime.”
Maybe. But not on the personal level Rachel’s tone suggested. Andi’s divorce the previous year had left behind a bitter aftertaste that no amount of sweet talk could dissolve.
Pushing back her chair, Andi stood up. “Tonight, all I want is the cupcake.”
Andi had taken only five steps when the man with the bakery box turned his head and smiled.
He probably thought she was coming over hoping to find a date. Why shouldn’t he? The Captain’s Port was filled with people looking for a connection. If not for a lifetime, then at least for the few hours they shared within the friendly confines of the restaurant’s casual, communal atmosphere.
She hesitated mid-step before continuing forward. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Dressed in jeans and a navy blue tie and sportcoat jacket, he was even better looking than she’d first thought. Thirtyish. Light brown hair, fair skin, sparkling chocolate brown eyes. Oh, my. He could have his pick of any girl in the place. Any girl in Astoria, Oregon.
“Hi,” he greeted.
Andi swallowed the nervous tension gathering at the back of her throat and managed a smile in return. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s my sister’s birthday, and I promised her a cupcake.” She nodded toward the see-through box and waved the ten-dollar bill. “Is there any chance I can persuade you to sell the one you have here?”
The guy’s brows shot up. “You want my cupcake?”
An Excerpt from
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: RECIPE FOR LOVE
by Darlene Panzera
In the second installment of Darlene Panzera’s new series, another Creative Cupcakes founder discovers that a little magic may be the secret ingredient in the recipe for love.
Rachel pushed through the double doors of the kitchen, took one look at the masked man at the counter, and dropped the tray of fresh-baked cupcakes on the floor.
Did he plan to rob Creative Cupcakes? Demand she hand over the money from the cash register? Her eyes darted around the frilly pink-and-white cupcake shop. The loud clang of the metal bakery pan hitting the tile had caused several customers sitting at tables to glance in her direction. Would the masked man threaten the other people as well? How could she protect them?
She stepped over the white-frosted chocolate mess by her feet, tried to judge the distance to the telephone on the wall, and turned her attention back to the masked man before her. Maybe he wasn’t a robber, but someone dressed for a costume party or play. The man with the black masquerade mask covering the upper half of his face also wore a black cape.
“If this is a holdup, you picked the wrong place, Zorro.” She tossed her fiery red curls over her shoulder with false bravado and laid a protective hand across the old bell-ringing register. “We don’t have any money.”
His hazel eyes sparkled through the holes in the mask, and he flashed her a disarming smile. “Maybe I can help with that.”
He turned his hand to show an empty palm, and relief flooded over her. No gun. Then he closed his fingers and swung his fist around in the air three times. When he opened his palm again, he held a quarter, which he tossed her way.
Rachel caught the coin and laughed. “You’re a magician.”
“Mike the Magnificent,” he said, extending his cape wide with one arm and taking a bow. “I’m here for the Lockwell party?”
Rachel pointed at the door leading to the back party room. The space had originally been a tattoo shop, but the tattoo artist had relocated to the rental next door. “The Lockwells aren’t here yet. The party doesn’t start until three.”
“I came early to set up before the kids arrive,” Mike told her. “Can’t have them discovering my secrets.”
“No, I guess not,” Rachel agreed. “If they did, Mike the magician might not be so magnificent.”
“Magnificence is hard to maintain.” His lips twitched as if he were suppressing a grin. “Are you Andi?”
She shook her head. “Rachel, Creative Cupcakes’ stupendous co-owner, baker, and promoter.”
This time a grin did escape his mouth, which led her to notice his strong, masculine jawline.
“Tell me, Rachel, what is it that makes you so stupendous?”
She gave him her most flirtatious smile. “Sorry, I can’t reveal my secrets, either.”
“Afraid if I found out the truth I might not think you were so impressively great?”
Rachel froze, fearing Mike the magician might be a mind reader as well. Careful to keep her smile intact, she forced herself to laugh off his comment.
“I just don’t think it’s nice to brag,” she responded playfully.
“Chicken,” he taunted in an equally playful tone, making his way toward the party room door.
Despite the uneasy feeling he’d discovered more about her in three minutes than most men did in three years, she wished he’d stayed to chat a few minutes more.
Andi Burke, wearing one of the new, hot pink Creative Cupcakes bibbed aprons, came in from the kitchen and stared at the cupcake mess on the floor. “What happened here?”
“Zorro came in, gave me a panic attack, and the tray slipped out of my hands.” Rachel grabbed a couple paper towels and squatted down to scoop up the crumpled cake and splattered frosting before her OCD-about-kitchen-safety friend could comment further. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the mess.”
“I should have told you Officer Lockwell hired a magician for his daughter’s birthday party.” Andi bent to help her, and, when they stood back up, asked, “Did you speak to Mike?”
Rachel nodded, her gaze on the door to the party room as it opened and Mike reappeared.
Tipping his head toward them as he walked across the shop, he said, “Good afternoon, ladies.”
An Excerpt from
THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: TASTE OF ROMANCE
by Darlene Panzera
In the final installment of Darlene Panzera’s charming series, one lonely cupcake decorator will learn that love is worth the risk . . . once she gets a little taste of romance.
Focus, Kim reprimanded herself. Keep to the task at hand and stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.
But she didn’t need to hear the crack of the teenage boy’s heart to feel his pain. Or to remember the last time she’d heard the wretched words, “I’m leaving” spoken to her.
She tried to ignore the couple as she picked up the pastry bag filled with pink icing and continued to decorate the tops of the strawberry preserve cupcakes. However, the discussion between the high school boy and the young woman she assumed to be his girlfriend kept her ears attentive.
“When will I see you again?” the boy asked.
Kim glanced toward them, leaned closer, and held her breath.
“I don’t know,” the girl replied.
The soft lilt in her accent thrust the familiarity of the conversation even deeper into Kim’s soul.
“I’m going to the university for two years,” the girl continued. “Maybe we’ll meet again after.”
Not likely. Kim shook her head, and the bottom of her stomach locked down tight. From past experience, she knew that once the school year was over in June, most foreign students went home, never to return.
And left many broken hearts in their wake.
“Two years is a long time,” the boy said.
Forever is even longer. Kim drew in a deep breath as the unmistakable catch in the poor boy’s voice replayed again and again in her mind. And her heart.
How long were they going to stand there and torment her by reminding her of her parting four years earlier with Gavin, the Irish student she’d dated in college? Dropping the bag of icing on the Creative Cupcakes counter, she moved toward them.
“Can I help you?” Kim asked, pull
ing on a new pair of food handler’s gloves.
“I’ll have the white chocolate macadamia,” the girl said, pointing to the cupcake she wanted in the glass display case.
The boy dug his hands into his pockets, counted the meager change he’d managed to withdraw, and turned five shades of red.
“None for me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “How much for hers?”
“You have to have one, too,” the girl protested. “It’s your birthday.”
Kim took one look at his lost-for-words expression and took pity on him. “If today is your birthday, the cupcakes are free,” she said. “For both you and your guest.”
The teenage boy’s face brightened. “Really?”
Kim nodded and removed the cupcakes the two lovebirds wanted from the display case. She even put a birthday candle on one of them. A heart on the other. Maybe the girl would come back for him. Or he would fly to Ireland for her. Maybe.
Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut for a brief second. When she opened them again, she set her jaw. Enough was enough. Now that they had their cupcakes, she could escape back into her work and forget about romance and relationships and every regrettable moment she’d ever wasted on love.
She didn’t need it. Not like her older sister, Andi, who’d recently lost her heart to Jake Hartman, their Creative Cupcakes financer and a news writer for the Astoria Sun. Or like her other co-owner friend, Rachel, who’d just gotten engaged to Mike Palmer, a miniature model maker for movies who also doubled as the driver of their Cupcake Mobile.
All she needed was to dive deep into her desire to put paint on canvas. She glanced at the walls of the cupcake shop, adorned with her scenic oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she’d have the money to open her own art gallery and she wouldn’t need to decorate cupcakes anymore.
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