BOOK NINE: Never Kiss a ScotExcerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette, June 30, 1821, the Lady Society column:Lady Society has been hearing the most delicious tales. Dare I say rumor has it that Lord Kincadea Scottish earland his two brothers have recently come to Bath and are setting the fans aflutter and the matrons atwitter? I'm tempted to suggest matches for these Scottish rogues, but then again, if I know anything about Scots, they will take what they want, when they want it. Ladies of Bath, if you desire one of them for a husband, I wish you the best of luck!Hampshire, June, 1821The wild Highland lord grasped the woman in his arms, pressing his lips to hers. Wind tore at her skirts as they stood upon the highest point of the heather-covered hill, embracing each other. There was nothing so wondrous as this, nothing so fulfilling as a perfect kiss"A perfect kiss?" Joanna Lennox glared at the last page of her Gothic novel, Lady Jade's Wild Lord. "There is no such thi
Bath, one month later"She'll never marry, not that one, unless she sets her sights low, and maybe not even then." A society mama tsked a little too loudly as Joanna passed by her in the assembly room."Quite right," another woman whispered back. "No one ever asks her to dance. Must be something wrong with her." The words cut deep because Joanna knew the woman was talking about her, and she knew the woman was right.There was only one man in England who seemed to be interested in her at alla rather boring but decently attractive man named Edmund Lindsey. He was only a gentleman, no title but plenty of fortune. Still, Joanna was hesitant to consider him. She felt no passion for him, no great fire in her belly or flutter in her chest. She didn't want to marry Edmund simply because he was her only choice, but what else could she do?The one man she had wanted to marry had given her a wonderful, perfect kiss and then vanished into the night like the rogue he was. It was the sort of thi
Brock smiled against Joanna's lips as she melted against him. She was just as wonderful as he remembered. He kept her wrists pinned against the back of the coach for a moment longer until he felt her surrender to his kiss. When he released her, she curled her arms around his neck. Every time his mouth covered hers, he felt unable to get enough of her natural sweetness or the dreamy intimacy that settled around them as they embraced. His stomach flipped with boyish excitement as he pressed against her. He had his lovely English lass back in his arms where she belonged.In the month since he'd first met her and had to abandon her to rescue his sister, he had been reliving that heated encounter in the library of Joanna's country home. He had vowed to come back for her to make her his.The time had come at last.He longed for a bride, one who could share his bed, make him laugh and smile with her lively talk and brilliant mind, and whose dowry would help repair his crumbling castle. Joa
Edmund Lindsey held the glass of ratafia, frowning as he searched for any sign of Joanna Lennox in the ballroom. He'd gotten used to finding her quickly in a crowd over the last few months. She was taller than most ladies, and her pale-blonde hair was like a shining beacon beneath the chandeliers."Lindsey, you continue to disappoint me," a cold voice said from behind him. Edmund spun to face a handsome aristocrat with dark hair and even darker eyes. The man had appeared from a shadowed corner of the ballroom, unseen by the nearby guests. Edmund glanced about, expecting to spot a door or some pathway to explain the man's sudden appearance, but there was no such place from which he could have emerged. It reminded him of just how skilled the man was and that he was not to be trifled with."Sir Hugo." He bowed his head at the man who had been sending him his orders for the last three months. Those orders had been clearthat he must seduce and marry Joanna Lennox. How he had found himself
Joanna slipped into the silent, still house. Everyone was likely still at the ball. Her shoulders dropped in relief. She would have some time alone to collect herself after the disaster she'd created after that last dance with Brock. She thanked the footman who met her at the door and snuck down to the kitchens where their cook, Mrs. Copeland, was kneading some bread for the next day. The cook's dark-brown hair, streaked with gray, was tucked beneath a white cap, and her cheeks were red with her exertions as she kneaded dough on a counter."Miss Joanna!" The cook grinned and retrieved a small wet cloth to wipe the flour off her hands before she hugged Joanna. Mrs. Copeland was like a favorite aunt to her. She'd always taken good care of the Lennox children and had been their cook for more than fifteen years."Mrs. Copeland, do you have any peach tarts?" Joanna glanced about the tidy kitchen, hoping to find at least a little something to eat before bed. She, like some ladies, was ofte
Brock woke late, the sun pouring through the sash windows of his bedchamber. He rather liked the multipaned glass of the windows. They were commonplace in England, but not back home. He blinked, bleary-eyed, as he remembered he was not in Scotland. He was in England for Rosalind's wedding. He winced as he remembered last night at the ball. Joanna. She'd slapped him, and then he'd tossed her into a coach and almost brought her here to this residence.If Rosalind ever found out what he had tried to do, she would toss him and his brothers out on their ears. She had helped him and their two younger brothers, Brodie and Aiden, secure this townhouse. She called it decent. He called it extravagant. It would indeed have been a fine place to bring Joanna last night, but alas, he'd decided against compromising her to get what he wantedher as his wife.Brock lay still, staring up at the dark green brocade canopy of the expensive bed he'd slept in. The furnishings were new and fashionable, the h
This was madness. Joanna knew she ought to protest, to push Brock away, but all she could hear was her mother and brother's conversation from the previous night, haunting her. Her melancholy thoughts soon faded beneath the hum of her blood under her skin as she surrendered to Brock's kiss.She was not wanted, not desiredyet here was a man who did want her. He not only wanted her but he wanted to know her. And she wanted to know him, this quiet, brooding man who showed her a world of passion whenever he touched her. Perhaps lust could turn to love given enough time?She closed her eyes as their mouths met in a soft, slow kiss. She gripped his massive shoulders, admiring the way he stretched the coat he wore. He towered over her and she couldn't help but feel small and delicate, in a purely feminine way that she liked immensely.The gentlemen at the ball last night were nothing compared to him. He moved with a masculine, nonchalant grace that spoke of years of working every part of hi
Brock watched the rain droplets travel down the glass window of the coach as he and Rosalind rode toward the chapel in Hampshire. She looked resplendent in her fine gown as she laced and unlaced her fingers nervously. Brock reached over and covered her hands with one of his."You don't have to do this, Rosalind. I can help you escape."She laughed, her eyes suddenly brightening. "I want to do this, Brock. I have no doubts about marrying Ashton. I am feeling nervous, though. What if he changes his mind? What if he does not want me?""If he tries to flee the church, Brodie, Aiden, and I will hunt him down." He smiled as he said this, but he was completely serious. He'd be more than happy to drag that blond bastard down the aisle at pistol point to wed Rosalind if that's what she wanted."I'm sure that won't be necessary." Rosalind chuckled but then grew serious. "I heard you and Ashton quarreled yesterday during the tea. What did you fight about?"Brock slid a finger under his colla