She? She was very specific. Far too specific. He’d come to London to discuss the possibility of marriage. No, more than that—the necessity of it. And to seek Augusta’s help in securing the perfect candidate, a woman with an ample dowry to keep Hartwell afloat, enough connections to earn his father’s approval, and such a rabid desire to be a countess that she might not notice how ill-suited he was to be an earl.
The notion that she’d found a match so quickly, and that the young woman might be here among the crush of attendees . . . that he did not expect. And in Lucius’s experience, the unexpected never heralded a pleasant turn of events.
“Does she? I wasn’t aware you’d settled on anyone. Is she here tonight?”
He looked around, scanning one perspiring feminine face after another. None of them stood out. None of them stopped him short and made him wish to continue to look, to learn what lay beyond a flushed cheek or bright, smiling eyes.
“Not tonight, no. She is traveling at the moment.”
That finally earned his attention and he turned to question Augusta further just as an older woman approached and embraced her, gushing about how long it’d been since they’d last seen each other.
As Aunt Augusta allowed herself to be pulled away to join a lively conversation, his sister, Julia, and brother-in-law, Marcus Darnley, approached. Marcus and Lucius exchanged nods. Julia merely sipped at the liquid in her glass as she watched him, much as his aunt had moments before. But Julia’s was a different gaze. Her eyes narrowed, not out of concern, but in judgment.
“Do stop glaring at everyone, Lucius. People will think you as frightful as Papa.”
His sister’s tone held a note of irritation along with the command, and he allowed himself a slight twitch of his mouth that none but those who knew him best would ever mistake for a grin.
“He must continue glaring, love. I believe he enjoys nurturing his grim reputation.” Marcus Darnley leaned in to whisper the words to his wife, though Lucius didn’t care who heard him. His sister’s husband tweaked him as often as she chastised him. And though he would never admit it, he found as much enjoyment in Marcus’s teasing as he did in his sister’s scolding. He and Julia had missed out on years of sibling squabbles as children, and he didn’t mind catching up now.
But Lucius would never apologize for being discerning about how he spent his time and whom he took into his confidence. His reputation as one of society’s most dour bachelors served him well. It kept giggling debutantes, scheming mothers, and nearly everyone else at bay. Marriage was necessary—he accepted it as his chief goal for the year. But not the game, the silly business of inane conversations, coy flirtation, and stolen kisses on balconies. Lucius was quite content to leave such carrying on to rogues like his friend Robert Wellesley and allow Augusta to find him a sensible, practical, and exceedingly wealthy bride.
Time was too precious a commodity to waste on games. Managing Hartwell, a task he loved but had never been groomed for, consumed his days and nights. But Julia played on his sense of obligation and had urged him to help make Delia Ornish’s gallery gathering a success. Mrs. Ornish’s friendship with their late mother had indebted them both to the wealthy social butterfly.
Marcus stood close to Lucius and leaned in to speak confidentially. “There are some lovely young women in attendance tonight. Don’t you agree, Grimsby? Surely one of them must strike your fancy.”
His sister and her husband were unaware of Augusta’s matchmaking efforts.
“Yes and no.” Lucius lifted the flute of champagne to his mouth and sipped.
Marcus quirked a brow at him, begging explanation.
“Yes, there are lovely women in attendance. No, none of them strikes my fancy.”
The women in the crush of attendees were stunning in their finery. Every color and shape one could desire. But none of them stirred him.
Marcus wouldn’t be deterred. “Are you never lonely, old chap?” His brother-in-law turned his eyes to Julia as he spoke.
Lucius caught the look, and an ember of loneliness kindled in his chest. He didn’t desire any of the women before him, yet he did envy the easy companionship that his sister and brother-in-law shared. He could envy it but never imagine it for himself. Even if Aunt Augusta’s scheme was successful, it wouldn’t be a love match. He’d seen the results of what such an attachment had done to his father, a man whose adoration for his wife became a destructive obsession, sparking jealous rages that drove her—and Lucius—from their home.
He wouldn’t lose himself in that kind of passion. Now, with the responsibility of Hartwell laid on his shoulders, he couldn’t spare the time for it. Let his father indulge in maudlin sentimentality; Lucius had an estate to run.
“I haven’t the time for loneliness.” He lied easily and ignored the look Marcus shot him, fearing he’d read pity there.
A fracas near the gallery’s entrance offered a welcome distraction. Turning away from Marcus, Lucius craned his neck to spot the cause of the ruckus. The room was so full of bodies it was difficult to see the front of the building, despite his height. But whatever the commotion, it caused a few shouts mingled with cries of outrage.
Then he saw the trouble. A woman. A bluestocking, more precisely, wearing a prim black skirt and plain white shirtwaist, spectacles perched high on her nose, pushed her way through the throng of ladies in colorful evening gowns and men in black tails. She looked like a magpie wreaking havoc among the canaries, though her hair was as striking a shade as any of the finery around her. The rich auburn hue shone in the gaslight, and though she’d pinned her hair back in a severe style, several rebellious curls had escaped and hung down around her shoulders.
As he watched the woman’s progress, a gentleman grasped her arm roughly, and an uncommon surge of chivalry made Lucius consider interceding. But in the next moment the woman proved she needed no rescuer. Stomping on the man’s foot, she moved easily out of his grasp and continued on her path—a path that led directly to Lucius.
About the Author
Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, CHRISTY CARLYLE writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Christy Carlyle
One Scandalous Kiss
One Tempting Proposal
Coming Soon
One Dangerous Desire
Give in to your Impulses . . .
Continue reading for excerpts from
our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
MONTANA HEARTS: HER WEEKEND WRANGLER
By Darlene Panzera
I NEED A HERO
A MEN IN UNIFORM NOVELLA
By Codi Gary
BLUE BLOODED
A BENEDICTION NOVEL
By Shelly Bell
BEST WORST MISTAKE
A BRIGHTWATER NOVEL
By Lia Riley
An Excerpt from
MONTANA HEARTS: HER WEEKEND WRANGLER
by Darlene Panzera
Darlene Panzera returns with a sweet new Western series perfect for fans of Debbie Macomber’s heartwarming romances.
Bree Collins has finally come home to Fox Creek, Montana, to manage her family’s guest ranch. She knows she can handle any challenges that come her way, but when the infuriating Ryan Tanner reappears in her life, Bree suddenly has doubts about her ability to stay professional—and away from the handsome cowboy.
Bree stayed a few more minutes to
watch them sway in time to the music, then spun around to search for the three CEOs and collided straight into a hard, chiseled chest. A soothing warmth spread over her entire body as she glanced up into Ryan’s handsome face and gasped. “You’re here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
She leaned to the side and glanced at the three men behind him. “And you brought your brothers!”
“Yeah, they’re the reason I’m late. They didn’t want to come but I knew how much it meant to you, and why,” he said, giving her a mischievous grin. “So I had to negotiate a deal to get them here.”
Bree smiled because of the way his mouth twitched when he grinned, because of the excitement in his eyes when he looked at her, and because of the way his dark navy blue dress shirt and jeans clung to his splendid physique. Whoa, girl! Remember to keep it casual. Recollecting her thoughts, she met his gaze and asked, “What kind of deal?”
Ryan placed a hand on either side of her waist, his touch firm and . . . pleasantly possessive. “I had to trade them my earnings from working your ranch so they can buy a set of new tires for their quad.”
He did that for her?
“Which means,” he continued, flashing her another pulse-kicking grin, “I’m a little short on money and I’d be willing to be your weekend wrangler for the rest of the summer, if you’ll have me.”
Stunned, Bree sucked in her breath and stared at him, unable to speak, unable to process exactly what this would mean for her family, unable to think of anything except that Ryan Tanner was absolutely, undeniably, the very, very best! With a little hop, she squealed, unable to hold back her delight, and with her heart taking the lead, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
It was a quick kiss, over before she even realized what she had done, but when Bree pulled back she didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Ryan.
His gaze locked with hers for several long, breathless moments, then he cupped her cheek with his hand and drew her back toward him . . . and this time he kissed her.
His mouth was warm, tender, and soft against her own and filled with such passion she blocked out every sound around them, every presence, everything except the fact that Ryan Tanner, the guy she’d wanted to dance with since high school, held her in his arms.
An Excerpt from
I NEED A HERO
A Men in Uniform Novella
by Codi Gary
Sergeant Oliver Martinez joined the military to serve his country—not plan parties. But after a run-in with his commanding officer, Oliver is suddenly responsible for an upcoming canine charity event. Worse, he’s got to work with the bossiest, sexiest woman he’s ever met—who just happens to be the general’s daughter. When tempers flare and a scorching kiss turns into so much more, Oliver and Eve will have to decide if this attraction is forever . . . or just for now.
The dog bounded to her, wiggling and licking wherever he could. She held her hand behind her, and Oliver gave her the leash. Once she had it hooked onto Beast’s collar, she stood up with a mischievous smile. “I don’t know why he gives you so much trouble.”
“Oh, I’m sure Best put him up to it,” Oliver grumbled.
“Ah, and he gets a kick out of messing with you, huh?”
“That’s just because I’ve let it go until now, but the dude owes me a sofa and chair.”
Eve laughed and held the leash out to him. “I wonder if maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot. Perhaps you should open your mind to the possibility that Beast has issues and this is his way of dealing with them.”
Oliver took her advice with a healthy dose of skepticism. “What makes you think he has issues?”
“Well, for starters, he came from the animal shelter, so he’s got to have some baggage. The question is, was he turned in because he has behavioral problems and his previous owners just couldn’t deal? Or were the owners jackasses who just didn’t want him anymore?” Her tone was sad as she added, “If he was loved, it’s easy to assume that he is confused and misses it.”
Oliver studied Eve. Her dreamy, sweet expression tugged at his heart and he wondered who she was thinking about. A loved one she missed? A past lover? A bitter rush of jealousy churned in his stomach. He didn’t want to think about another man having even a sliver of Evelyn’s affections. Not when he wanted them all to himself.
“How is it you seem to know so much about what he’s feeling? Are you an event planner by day and dog psychic by night?” He had been trying to make a joke, but one look at her face told him he’d insulted her.
“I’m just making an observation,” she said curtly.
“Hey.” He reached out and touched her arm, turning her toward him. “I was just teasing you.”
She remained silent, and he took her chin in his hand, tilting her gaze up to meet his. “Why does it always seem like I can never say the right thing to you?”
A small smile played across those bee-stung lips. “Maybe I make you nervous.”
Oliver rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip and her sharp, warm breath spread over his skin. “Oh, you definitely make me nervous.”
“I do?” Her breathless question stirred his cock to life.
“Yeah, you do. I can’t relax around you, not with the way you make me feel,” he said.
“How is that?” Her tone was soft, and Oliver dipped his head, his mouth hovering over hers.
“Like I’m standing in the sunshine every time I’m near you,” he said.
“Oh.”
Oliver didn’t give her a chance to escape this time and covered her mouth with his, groaning as the sweet taste of her overwhelmed him. His hands slid back to cradle the back of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair and loosening her ponytail. A tiny sigh escaped her and he took advantage, slipping his tongue between her parted lips, coming undone when her tongue tangled with his. He felt her hands grip his waist, pulling him tighter against her body and he wanted more. Never had he gotten so caught up in one kiss. And never had he ignored every warning bell for a woman, but with Evelyn, it was like common sense went out the window and was replaced by uncontrolled passion.
Oliver felt something pushing between them and opened his eyes to look down at Beast, who was trying to use his giant head to separate them. Ignoring him, Oliver maneuvered them toward the couch, tumbling Eve down onto the mangled leather.
The kiss broke long enough for Eve’s eyes to pop open and she giggled. “Somehow, I never imagined making out on a cloud of couch stuffing.”
Oliver grinned down at her. “What can I say? I’m an original.”
“You’re definitely different,” she said.
“Is that a compliment?” His lips found the pulse point behind her ear and he felt her heart race against his mouth.
“I think so.”
“You don’t sound sure,” he murmured against her jaw.
“Probably ’cause I can’t think while you’re kissing me,” she whispered.
His mouth brushed hers. “Want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
An Excerpt from
BLUE BLOODED
A Benediction Novel
by Shelly Bell
In the next sexy and suspenseful novel from Shelly Bell, an investigative reporter and an ex-military Dom witness a murder outside of the sex club, Benediction, and uncover a deadly political conspiracy while trying to clear their names . . .
An Avon Red Impulse Novel
Puffing on his Cuban cigar, the Senator reclined in his chair, a tumbler of scotch on the rocks in front of him. He stared down the two men sitting on the other side of his desk, daring them to repeat the words that had just been uttered.
Sweating profusely, FBI Agent Seymour Fink tugged on his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the buttoned collar of his shirt.
For a moment, the Senator considered retrie
ving his gun from his desk drawer and shooting the agent in the head, but he couldn’t risk getting blood or splatters of brain matter on his tuxedo. After all, he had an important dinner to attend in an hour and didn’t want to disappoint his wife.
He downed the rest of his drink, then shook the ice in the glass the way he’d like to shake the mobster who was fucking with him. “Tell me what you’re going to do to fix the problem,” he said calmly, unwilling to allow this minor bump in the road to waylay his plans.
“Do, sir?” Using the sleeve of his suit jacket, Agent Fink wiped the sweat from his brow, cigar smoke circling around his head like a boa constrictor. “I’m not certain we should do—”
“You listen to me, you little prick. There is nothing that will stand in my way.” The Senator hurled his tumbler against the wall above the fireplace, shattering the glass into a million tiny pieces. “Do you understand me? I’ve got your balls in a vise underneath my blade, so let’s try this again. What are you going to do to fix the problem?”
Seymour swallowed convulsively. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”
“Don’t pull that bullshit now. You knew when I approached you that lives would be lost for the greater good,” the Senator said. He handed off his cigar and nodded to the other agent, a bruiser of a man who he’d chosen not only for his twenty years of service to this country, but for his lack of empathy. Agent Richard Evans understood the risks involved in his job, the three bullets he’d taken in the chest a testament to that fact.
Evans pinched the fat cigar between his fingers and in a flash, locked his partner’s head under his arm, pinning Fink’s hands to the table and singeing the top of one with the foot of the cigar. Fink screamed, his smaller body thrashing wildly as he fruitlessly tried to escape from his partner and the pain he was inflicting.
The acrid scent of burnt flesh overpowered the cigar’s sweet one, a smell he would forever more attribute to power.
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