Made for Mischief
All she really wanted
was one naughty night before returning to her life as a sheltered country
spinster! Crawling beneath a bed in London's most notorious brothel was beyond
the pale, even for known eccentric Arabella Spencer. Little did she imagine
that lust, desire, and yes, love was just within her grasp. When Grayson St.
James, Lord Mercer, newly returned from fighting Napoleon, dragged a squirming,
dusty bluestocking from beneath his bed, he was...well..aghast! She wanted
adventure, did she? She wanted to learn about sex, did she? He was just the man
to teach her! As a vow of vengeance and a case of mistaken identity unite
Grayson and Arabella in a common goal, the dour Lord Mercer finds himself
laughing for the first time in longer than he can recall but will an unknown
threat bring them together or tear their world apart?
Excerpt:
Glancing toward the town
hall entrance, she caught a flash of scarlet, a dark head bent near the rapidly
speaking vicar’s wife. Mabel stood next to Berta, mouth agape, as the man
turned to bow low over her outstretched hand.
Of course, she knew this
must be Lord Mercer, come to greet the villagers after his long absence.
Narrowing her gaze, lifting the quizzing glass for a better look, she felt the
thick, circular lens slip from nerveless fingers and her eyes popped open wide
in disbelief. The beat of her heart paused then lurched wildly.
No! It couldn’t be! Could
it? Her heart thudded within her chest as a ball of dread caused her throat to clog
tighter than a miser’s fist.
“Are you all right, Miss
Arabella?” Abner asked.
She couldn’t speak over the
knot in her throat. She made a garbled sound and continued to stare in
disbelief, barely noting Abner’s possessive touch on her shoulder.
All noises dwindled to a
mere pinpoint of sound that seemed to come at her as if through a dark tunnel.
She thought she might swoon when she was not the swooning sort at all. She
would know those broad, broad shoulders anywhere, just as she would recognize
that cruel slashing smile.
Gripping the china plate in
white-knuckled hands, she stared, horrified. Backing up cautiously, struggling
against the need to bolt from the room like a frightened rabbit, she halted at
the feel of something hard and firm at her back. It was Abner, of course.
Dazed, she watched as the dratted man said something to Berta Morrison, who
smiled and turned her gaze in Arabella’s direction.
Black eyes widened, and
then abruptly narrowed, in sudden comprehension, darkening in cruel delight. God
help her, the dastardly man from London, the man who’d stolen her every waking
thought was here. Tonight!
He stood head and shoulders
above everyone else so it wasn’t difficult to determine that he was heading her
way. She tried to back up another step, as the crowd parted to let him pass.
Without missing another
beat, the denizens of Upper Biddleton returned to their dancing, their
conversations, never knowing that the life of one of their own was about to
change drastically.
“Toodle ooh, Arabella,
dear. Toodle ooh!” Berta warbled in a trilling voice as she marched elbow to
elbow with the soldier bearing down on her. Mabel, gasping to keep up, eyes
alight with interest, hurried from behind as she struggled to keep pace.
Should she not know the
name of the man who was about to murder her? The wild thought flashed through
her mind as she took note of his blacker than sin eyes and the dangerous glint
they contained. Her own Mr.Gray, who was in reality bloody Lord Mercer, would
kill her or ruin her and at the moment, she wasn’t quite sure which was worse.
“How do you do?” he asked
with a short bow.
When he lifted his head,
she thought she might die. A black brow arched in a mocking manner over his
left eye. Memories of him had not done him justice, she thought wildly, as her
heart took up a rapid pitter-patter within her chest. What was it about a man
in uniform that was so very striking? The red coat of His Majesty’s army was
splendid with his dark coloring. Dear, God! She was going to faint dead away.
“It is a pleasure to see
you… um… at last,” he murmured.
Not again. His gaze
slid mockingly over her body, and she fought the urge to cover her exposed
chest with her gloved hands.
Fear threatened to choke
her. He looked so angry, so very mean. Obviously, he had not forgiven her for
disappearing from his bed. Would he ruin her now? Destroy her spotless
reputation with just a word?
But, then another thought
intruded, more horrifying than the last.
This man was sweet Andrew’s
brother. The surly, moody half-brother of her late fiancé.
Dear heavens! It couldn’t
be. It just couldn’t. With a gasp of despair, she released the china plate she
clutched and it fell from her numb fingers adding to the sudden silence that
had fallen among the tidy group. She was caught now in the web of her own
making while they stood there without a clue that the world had suddenly, and
quite devastatingly, shrank in size.
“Dear heavens.” She gasped
as the fragile plate broke neatly into three pieces. “Just look at what I’ve
done.”
“Never you mind, Arabella,”
Berta soothed. “’Tis not important.” She turned a teasing scowl on Lord Mercer.
“And you, good sir, must wait for a proper introduction, if you please. Did you
leave your manners on the field of battle? Lord Mercer, this is our very dear Miss
Spencer who has lived in Upper Biddleton these past eight years. Arabella,
dear, this is the prodigal Grayson St. James, Lord Mercer, and as you already
know, your very own Andrew’s brother.”
Arabella stood gaping,
trying for all she was worth to appear calm. “And this,” Berta continued with a
twinkle in her eyes, “is my son, Abner, who is a very, very close friend of
Arabella’s.”
Hell’s bells! Obviously,
Berta saw more in her friendship with Abner than just simple courtesy. Another
problem to add to the confused morass that was her life.
“Mmm, another conquest now
that my poor brother dwells in the afterlife?” Though the words were delivered
softly, she flinched at the steely glint in Grayson’s eyes.
She gasped. “Merciful
heavens, no!”
But, she might as well not
have spoken for the two men were busy exchanging guarded greetings while Berta
and Mabel had struck up their own private dialogue. She was for just an
instant, very much alone.
Casting about for a way
out, perhaps a very quick retreat, she ignored the social niceties and
discreetly backed away. A press of bodies moved closer, effectively separating
her from this nightmare of a man.
Oh yes. She knew what he
was. He was a debaucher of young ladies and a kidnapper with an evil sense of
humor.
Step by step, she moved
closer to a row of open windows and the safety of a back door. But, just as she
stepped past the threshold, she couldn’t resist another peek.
Black eyes bored into hers,
and she swore it was like looking into the eyes of a cobra. He was very angry
but, as yet, had not seen fit to ruin her reputation. Eager for a respite, she
did the only sane thing she could do. She ran.
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