The scrape of Lord Blakely’s pencil echoed loudly in the reigning silence. When he finished, he set the utensil down carefully.
“You wanted a scientific test, my lord.” Jenny placed her hands flat on the table in satisfaction. “You have one.”
And if the ball was as crowded as such things usually were, he would see dozens of women in every glance. He’d never be able to track them all. She imagined him trying to scribble all the names in his notebook, being forced by his own scientific methods to visit every lady, in order to fairly eliminate each one. He would be incredibly annoyed. And he’d never be able to prove her wrong, because who could say he had recorded every woman?
Ned’s mouth had fallen open. His hand slowly came up to hide a pleased smile. “There,” he said. “Is that specific enough for you?”
The marquess pursed his lips. “By whose clock?”
One potential excuse slipped from Jenny’s grasp. Not to worry; she had others.
“Your fob watch should do.”
“I have two that I wear from time to time.”
Jenny frowned. “But you inherited one from your father,” she guessed.
Lord Blakely nodded. “I must say, that is incredibly specific. For scientific purposes, can you explain how you got all of this from an elephant?”
Jenny widened her eyes in false innocence. “Why, Lord Blakely. The same way I got an elephant from an orange. The spirits delivered the scene as an image into my mind.”
He grimaced. She could not let her triumph show, and so she kept her expression as unchanging and mysterious as ever.
“So,” Ned said, turning to his cousin, “you agree, then?”
Lord Blakely blinked. “Agree to what?”
“When you find the girl in question and fall in love, you’ll agree Madame Esmerelda is not a charlatan.”
The marquess blinked again. “I’m not going to fall in love.” He spoke of that emotion in tones as wooden and unmoving as a dried-out horse trough.
“But if you did,” Ned insisted.
“If I did,” Lord Blakely said slowly, “I’d admit the question of her duplicity had not been scientifically proven.”
Ned cackled. “For you, that’s as good as an endorsement. That means, you’ll consult Madame Esmerelda yourself and leave me be.”
A longer pause. “Those are high stakes indeed. If this is to be a wager, what do you put up?”
“A thousand guineas,” Ned said immediately.
Jenny nearly choked. She’d thought herself unspeakably wealthy for the four hundred pounds she’d managed to scrimp and save and stash away. A thousand pounds was more money than she could imagine, and Ned tossed it about as if it were an apple core.
Lord Blakely waved an annoyed hand. “Money,” he said with a grimace. “What would either of us do with that paltry amount? No. You must risk something of real value. If you lose, you’ll not consult Madame Esmerelda or any other fortune-teller again.”
“Done,” said Ned with a grin. “She’s always right. I can’t possibly lose.”
Jenny couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Because Ned could do nothing but lose. What if he began to doubt Jenny’s long-ago assurances? What if he discovered that he owed his current happiness to the scant comfort of Jenny’s invention? And Jenny could not help but add one last, desperately selfish caveat: What if Ned learned the truth and disavowed this curious relationship between them? He would leave her, and Jenny would be alone.
Again.
She inhaled slowly, hoping the cool air would help her calm down. The two men would go to the ball. Lord Blakely would look around. For all she knew, he might even decide to marry a girl he saw. And once he rejected all the women whose names he’d recorded, she’d tell him he’d seen a different woman at the appointed time out of the corner of his eye.
The wager would become a nullity, and she wouldn’t have to see the fierce loyalty in Ned’s eyes turn to contempt. Jenny’s pulse slowed and her breath fell into an even rhythm.
Lord Blakely lounged back in his chair. “Something has just occurred to me.”
The devilish gleam in his eye froze Jenny’s blood. Whatever it was the dreadful man was about to say, she doubted he’d thought of it at that minute.
“What will stop her from claiming it was some other chit I was meant for? That I saw two girls at the designated time, and chose the wrong one?”
He’d seen through her. A chill prickled the ends of Jenny’s fingers.
Ned frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose if that happens, we’ll have to call the bet off.”
The marquess shook his head. “I have a better idea. Since Madame Esmerelda’s seen everything in the orange, she’ll be able to verify the girl’s identity immediately.”
He met her eyes and all Jenny’s thoughts—her worries for Ned, the loneliness that clutched her gut—were laid bare in the intensity of his gaze.
His lip quirked sardonically. “We’ll take her with us.”
Want to read the rest of this book? You can buy Proof by Seduction now.
Excerpt: Once Upon a Masquerade
Self-made shipping magnate Christopher Black first spies Rebecca Bailey at a masquerade ball and is captivated by her refreshing naïveté and sparkling beauty. But when Christopher’s investigation of the murder of his best friend leads him straight to Rebecca, he fears his ingénue may be a femme fatale in disguise. Now he must decide if he can trust the woman he’s come to love, or if her secrets will be his downfall.
REBECCA’S FEET HURT SO badly they burned. “Where are we going?” she wheezed, pulling back on Christopher’s hand.
“Just a bit further,” he assured her, his grip tightening.
A mild saltiness seasoned the damp air. When they rounded the corner, she understood why. They’d reached the harbor. Merchant vessels towered over the wooden docks along the coastline as waves lapped against their massive hulls.
The hollow rapping of their boots on the pier jarred her frazzled nerves as he led her down the wooden path to a merchantman. “Welcome to The Fair Maiden,” he gasped out when they reached the gangplank. “I’ve been captain of this ship for the last several years.”
He took her elbow and assisted her up the ridged panel. A man on deck approached them from the shadows, and she tensed, ready to run, but Christopher’s step never slowed.
“Jack, let me know immediately if anyone comes near this vessel,” he said.
“Aye, Captain,” the sailor replied, barely sparing her a glance.
Crossing the deck, Rebecca huddled against the chilly breeze off the waters, vaguely recalling this ship as the one Christopher had repaired with his father.
They passed through a door and descended a staircase into the darkness below. At the base of the steps, he lit a lantern hanging from a peg and held it aloft.
“Why are we here?” she asked, her feet shuffling as exhaustion settled in, making each step a chore.
“This was the closest, safest place I could think of.”
They entered a modest room, and he shut the door.
“Is this your cabin?” she asked, spying a bed in the corner.
He set the lantern on a bed table bolted into the wall. “It was.” Christopher stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the end of the bed before running a hand through his untamed hair. “What just happened back in the street?”
She dropped into a desk chair. “I don’t know.” Numbness settled into her bones. Her situation was hopeless.
“You don’t know,” he echoed, dumbfounded. “All right then. What were you doing there? From your clothing, I suspect you knew what manner of place you planned to go.”
“I borrowed the dress,” she muttered. “I…I had to see someone.” Her father was gone, running for his life. Without her to help him… A mist of tears blurred her vision. She didn’t think she could bear it if something happened to him. He was all she had left.
“Must have been someone important.”
�
�It was.” Staring at a black knot in the floorboards, she shook her head. “It would be best if you didn’t get involved in this.”
“Best for whom?”
“For both of us,” she croaked. Each time she saw Christopher Black, she dreamed of things she couldn’t have.
He knelt before her and grasped her hands. “Look at me.”
Lord, she didn’t want to. It hurt too much.
“Rebecca, look at me,” he insisted as his fingers nudged her chin higher.
Lifting her gaze, she willed herself to stop dreaming.
“Talk to me. Let me help you. You could have been killed.”
The eerie groan of the ship’s hull echoed the emptiness in Rebecca’s chest. “What does it matter? No one would care.”
“Don’t say that.” His voice cracked, and his palm smoothed over her cheek, the touch so tender, she nestled her face into his work-worn skin. “God help me, I care.”
She clenched her eyes shut, and tears slid down her cheeks. His words seeped through the numbness and revived her aching heart.
“Don’t cry.” Christopher’s lips grazed her face, kissing her tears away. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Large hands cradled her head, and his mouth settled lightly on her lips.
With a shuddering breath, she kissed him back, refusing to listen to the doubts in her head—the sensible voice that had sent Christopher away. Drawn to the comfort he offered, she slipped off her seat and knelt before him on the floor.
His arms engulfed her in a warm embrace, clutching her to his chest. “When I heard you scream, I almost went out of my mind. My God, I thought I was going to lose you.”
Her skin tingled from his quiet confession. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her with such devotion. She clung to him, drinking in the safety of his arms. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.
Christopher drew back. “You saved yourself. You’re an amazing woman.”
Her hand rose to his clean-shaven cheek. The flickering glow of the lantern cast shadows around them, but the lines of worry were unmistakable.
This man had occupied her thoughts day and night. He’d defended her against sharp tongues, advised her and taken care of her despite her rejection. Now he’d saved her life.
Her lips brushed over his. The dreams she’d held at bay drifted through her mind as his mouth responded to her touch. Achingly sweet, his lips trembled, and his hands roamed over her back.
The world outside of the ship disappeared, washed away by the constant lap of waves against the hull. The dangers they’d escaped, society’s godforsaken rules, even her father faded from her thoughts. For this one night, she would allow herself a moment of happiness.
Her hands skimmed up his solid chest. The heat of his body radiated through the fine fabric, warming her fingertips. He stared down at her hands, and swallowed hard, desire smoldering in his eyes. With brazenness she didn’t realize she possessed, she unknotted his necktie and slid the cloth free, dropping it to the floor.
“Rebecca, I don’t think—”
Shrugging out of her cloak, she lifted a finger to his lips, halting his words. “I want to touch you.”
Under his watchful eye, she removed his vest and unfastened the buttons of his starched white shirt. The coin he’d worn to the masquerade ball glistened in the lamp light.
With the tip of her finger, she touched the warm metal and moved on. Her hands smoothed over his hot skin, exploring the unfamiliar contours of his bare chest, her fingers floating over the taut muscles. She reveled in the restrained power just beneath her fingertips. “You’re beautiful.”
Impulsively, she bent forward and tasted the bared hollow of his throat, and he sucked in his breath. The mild saltiness of his skin tantalized her tongue.
His hand lifted her chin, and his lips captured hers in a hungry kiss, his mouth feverish, demanding. A thrilling tremor raced from her stomach to her toes, and she parted her lips to his probing tongue, eager to experience more.
Returning the fervid play of his mouth, of his tongue, she welcomed the pleasant fog that stemmed all thought. Her insides fluttered with each small tug that trailed from her neck to her waist as Christopher freed her dress buttons. The hooks of her corset followed with a few well-placed yanks, and soon cool air touched her flesh. A shiver passed through her when his warm palm cupped her breast through her cotton chemise.
Nowhere in her mind did she think to stop him. Heaven help her, she craved his touch like a dying woman given a last chance at life.
Her hands roamed freely through his jet-black curls as his lips brushed along her jaw.
“Your scent haunts me,” he groaned, his warm exhale tickling her ear. Wet kisses and soft nips trailed down her throat.
Want to read more? Once Upon a Masquerade by Tamara Hughes is available now.
Other Books by Courtney
The Worth Saga
Coming late 2014
click here to find out more
The Brothers Sinister Series
The Governess Affair
The Duchess War
A Kiss for Midwinter
The Heiress Effect
The Countess Conspiracy
The Suffragette Scandal — 2014
Talk Sweetly to Me — 2014
The Turner Series
Unveiled
Unlocked
Unclaimed
Unraveled
Not in any series
What Happened at Midnight
The Lady Always Wins
The Carhart Series
This Wicked Gift
Proof by Seduction
Trial by Desire
Enhanced Content
A London Street
© Tintin Pantoja.
Before this novella was first published in late 2009, I wanted to do a book trailer. In preparation for that, I commissioned a number of images to use in that trailer.
But I never liked the voiceover I obtained, the video never worked properly, and eventually I ran out of time and gave up on the idea. The illustrator, Tintin Pantoja, graciously allowed me to use these images in the enhanced edition of the work. This is the first image I commissioned: a picture of the street where Lavinia lives.
[Return to the text]
Lavinia
© Tintin Pantoja.
The second one of Tintin’s images: Lavinia looking up from reading a book.
[Return to the text]
Views on Poverty
Q. Lavinia and William have very different ways of reacting to poverty. Do you feel that is owed entirely to the fact that William began life well off, or is it also a result of the different expectations that they would have based on gender (i.e. William would be expected to earn an acceptable income, whereas Lavinia’s focus would presumably be on finding a husband who earned an acceptable income)?
A. This is entirely because William was raised middle class. Lavinia has always been at a certain social status, and so she doesn’t really know what she’s missing. She’s used to the things she has; she doesn’t miss having new dresses and fancy food. William does.
But there’s also a certain amount of naivety at play here, too. Lavinia has never lost anything, and so she can’t imagine what loss feels like. William has, and he knows that what he has now, he might lose again. Even though Lavinia has a lot of financial burdens, she also has a support system—her father and brother—and (although it’s only hinted at in the book) a neighborhood community that is invested in her family and their success. She can’t even truly imagine what it would be like to lose that.
Lavinia has never been hurt the way William has, and she doesn’t know that she should flinch from it.
[Return to the text]
Why heroines need lawyers
Your eBook reader software does not support the playing of audio. If you’d like to read a transcript, please visit http://www.courtneymilan.com/enhanced/twg.php.
Why all heroines need lawye
rs (0:39)
[Return to the text]
The coercion...
Q. William tries, and fails, to coerce Lavinia. Was it difficult to navigate the moral implications of the situation given that William needed to remain a likable and redeemable romantic hero?
A. This is a hard question to answer. When I wrote this novella I don’t know that I truly grappled with all the moral implications that were raised by the scenario. It sounds ridiculous, but questions of consent are not often dealt with by romance novels, and so it did not occur to me to think them through as carefully as I could have. I don’t think this is a bad story—in fact, I rather liked it, for many reasons, and many other readers did as well. But the author I am today, in 2014, would not have written the novella I wrote that was released in 2009.
One of the things that I was trying to do with this novella (and whether I was successful at it, is up to the reader to judge) was to flip the gendered experience of sexual intercourse.
In the usual way of historicals, the woman experiences pain due to the loss of her virginity, and may not feel any pleasure at all during the act. She feels all the consequences of social expectation, all the worry that if her choice is uncovered, she’ll be ruined. To the degree that she’s internalized societal belief, she may even feel dirty. The woman holds all the burden of sex: emotional, financial, social, and when the transaction is complete, she’s the one who has fallen.
Here, William is the one who feels out of his depth. He can’t truly take any pleasure in the intercourse, and he’s the one who worries that he’s ruined himself. He’s the one who is worried about pregnancy, about the social impact. He’s the one who feels dirty as a result, and he’s the one who has to redeem himself.
This Wicked Gift (A Carhart Series Novella) Page 11