RELEASE DAY!

WELCOME TO THE PARTY

AND TO EXCERPT AND

GIVEAWAY #3

Book 2 of The Welwyn Marriage Wager releases TODAY! Check out this romantic Victorian era novella.

BLURB:

If love’s a game, he’s playing to win.

For reasons of her own, Isabelle Devereaux isn’t looking for a husband. Yet thanks to her mother here she is, in the middle of the social whirl of the Little Season. Thinking to refuse any gentleman who offers for her, Isabelle endures the lavish entertainments, saddened that she’ll remain a spinster.

Enter Baron MacKay, Sandy to his friends, in search of a wife to win a family wager. Dazzled by Isabelle’s beauty, he’s drawn to the vulnerable young lady. From the moment they meet, he charms her with his kind and generous nature until, against her will, Isabelle falls in love with him. Even though she knows marriage to him may end in disaster, she can’t resist his kisses…or where they lead.

Desperate to marry Sandy, Isabelle puts her misgivings aside, but circumstances spiral out of control as their wedding approaches. Isabelle must confront the demons that haunt her and make an agonizing decision: can she marry Sandy without telling him the one impediment that may shatter their happiness forever?

EXCERPT:

Quivering, though she tried her best to stop, Isabelle regretted her words to Lord MacKay almost immediately. The gentleman was a total stranger. They hadn’t even been introduced properly and here she was allowing him to take her out onto a secluded verandah where who knew what liberties he might try to take with her. Still, if she didn’t get out of the stifling ballroom she might run screaming through Lady Winslow’s house out into the night.

Her waltz with Lord Barclay had been a dreadful mistake. She prayed her request to Lord MacKay wasn’t another one.

Clenching her teeth as she remembered the feeling of Lord Barclay’s hands squeezing her waist tightly during the dance, she swallowed quickly before her gorge could rise. She had to get out of here now. “Can we leave, please?”

“Of course.” Without another word, Lord MacKay led her toward the verandah doors, her current hope of heaven. She danced impatiently as he cast a glance over the ballroom, then hesitated. Leaning slightly toward her, he laughed then whispered, “Not yet. Lady Marksby is looking this way.”

Thank goodness for her escort’s cool head. Lady Marksby’s sharp eyes had ruined more than one young lady’s reputation.

“Now, go.” He opened the French doors just wide enough so her hoops could glide through them, then she was out in the night and its blessedly cool air.

Isabelle breathed as deeply as her tightly laced corset would allow, and a measure of calm descended on her. Here in the semi-darkness, she could convince herself that she was safe, that no one would harm her. She glanced at her escort, apprehension rising once more, but he made no move toward her. Still, caution won out and she retreated from him, putting several feet of distance between them and putting her into the shadows beyond the illumination of the overhead lanterns.

“Did Barclay hurt you in any way, Miss Devereaux?”

Isabelle couldn’t see Lord MacKay’s face, but the menace in his voice came through clear as day. She needed to tread carefully with this unknown entity. “Why no, my lord. Why would you think that?”

“Because of the way you jerked away from him just now, after the dance.”

Curse the man for having sharp eyes. She shouldn’t have been so obvious, but when Lord Barclay’s hand had strayed to her waist and she’d felt the pressure of him pulling her toward him, she’d reacted without rational thought. For him to have done it during the dance had been bad enough. To repeat the offense while they were conversing afterward, when anyone could see the liberty—had seen it, apparently—had been too much to bear. “It was nothing, my lord. I…I should not have been so…hasty.”

“Indeed?” Lord MacKay strode forward into the light, his face now clearly visible in the lantern’s glow. It was an arresting face, handsome as a chiseled stone had beauty in its stark planes. Jet black hair glinted coldly in the soft light. His dark eyes under darker brows rested unwaveringly on her. “I must disagree with you, Miss Devereaux. I believe Lord Barclay took egregious liberties with you, both on and off the dance floor.”

“And why would you think that, my lord?” Oh, she should never have come out here with Lord MacKay. Should never have agreed to dance with Lord Barclay. Should never have come to Lady Winslow’s ball at all.

“Because I know Lord Barclay to be a cad of the most dangerous kind.”

“What kind is that?”

“A gentleman with a title that makes matchmaking mamas overlook his lack of decency in the hopes of securing him and his position for their daughters.” Lord MacKay’s stare bore into her. “Did you accept a dance with him because you wished to do so, or was it at the urging of your mother perhaps?”

Isabelle hung her head. “My mother suggested it. She wishes me settled this year.” Which was nothing out of the ordinary in Polite Society. Raising her head, she stared back at the Lord MacKay. “There is nothing inappropriate in dancing with a gentleman.”

“Inappropriate, no. Ill-advised yes, especially when the man in question has no respect whatsoever for women.” He drew himself up, as if about to make a formal declaration. “Did Lord Barclay insult you with attentions that are considered beyond the pale, Miss Devereaux?”

“If he did do so, my lord, there is nothing that can be done about it now.” Her words came out sharper than intended, but Lord MacKay seemed to be bordering on impertinence himself.

“On the contrary, Miss Devereaux, if you tell me he engaged in indecent behavior toward you, it will be my pleasure to call the scoundrel out.”