Releasing
August 30, 2016.
Zebra
Zebra
Blurb
First, Vanessa Kelly brought readers The Renegade Royals. Now, in a delightfully witty new series, she introduces The Improper Princesses—three young women descended from royalty, each bound for her own thrilling adventure . . .
First, Vanessa Kelly brought readers The Renegade Royals. Now, in a delightfully witty new series, she introduces The Improper Princesses—three young women descended from royalty, each bound for her own thrilling adventure . . .
Despite
being the illegitimate daughter of a prince, Gillian Dryden is
happily ignorant of all social graces. After growing up wild in
Italy, Gillian has been ordered home to England to find a suitable
husband. And Charles Valentine Penley, the excessively proper,
distractingly handsome Duke of Leverton, has agreed to help transform
her from a willful tomboy to a blushing debutante.
Powerful
and sophisticated, Charles can make or break reputations with a
well-placed word. But his new protégée, with her habit of hunting
bandits and punching earls, is a walking scandal. The ton is aghast .
. . but Charles is thoroughly intrigued. Tasked with taking the
hoyden in hand, he longs to take her in his arms instead. Can such an
outrageous attraction possibly lead to a fairytale ending?
Link
to Follow Tour:
http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/05/my-fair-princess-improper-princesses-1.html
Goodreads
Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28109694-my-fair-princess
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/172996-the-improper-princesses
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/172996-the-improper-princesses
Author
Info
Vanessa Kelly is an award-winning author who was named by Booklist, the review journal of the American Library Association, as one of the “New Stars of Historical Romance.” Her Regency-set historical romances have been nominated for awards in a number of contests, and her second book, Sex and The Single Earl, won the prestigious Maggie Medallion for Best Historical Romance. Her current series, The Renegade Royals is a national bestseller. Vanessa also writes USA Today bestselling contemporary romance with her husband, under the pen name of VK Sykes.
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Giveaway (a
Grand Prize winner to get a $25 Amazon gift card; and four
runners up to receive a copy of CONFESSIONS OF A ROYAL BRIDEGROOM and
HOW TO MARRY A ROYAL HIGHLANDER.)
Excerpt
Her grandmother let out a heavy
sigh, and even Griffin shook his head. The duke, however, simply
regarded her with a perfectly unruffled manner, as if she were some
recently discovered species, only vaguely interesting. Gillian began
to get quite a bad feeling that she’d finally met her match.
She’d been hearing for weeks
how Leverton was the key to solving Gillian’s
little problem, as her
family called it. According to them, he was perfectly
suited to guide her into society’s good graces, and perfectly
capable of managing away even the most troublesome elements of her
background.
He must be a bloody perfect
miracle worker, if that was the case.
As she cautiously eyed him, she
couldn’t help concluding that he did seem rather perfect in some
respects. He was certainly prettier than she was, with thick,
tawny-colored hair, striking blue eyes, and a face straight off a
Greek statue. And he was certainly a good deal more stylish than she
was, although that was true of almost anyone. But even she could
appreciate the way his beautifully tailored coat showcased his broad
shoulders, and how his breeches clung to his muscled legs with nary a
wrinkle. As for his cravat, it was practically a work of art.
In fact, he was so damn perfect
it made her stomach hurt. She’d been drawn in by perfection before,
and it had almost ruined her.
“Stop trying to shock us,
Gillian,” her grandmother said. “You know quite well it won’t
work.”
“Au contraire,
Lady Marbury,” Griffin said. “I find myself quite riven with
horror.”
He flashed Gillian the
conspiratorial smile that always made her feel someone truly did
understand her. And, more important, Griffin didn’t find her
wanting, unlike apparently everyone else in London. She couldn’t
wait to shake the dirt of England from her boots and return to
Sicily—the sooner, the better.
“Miss Dryden is quite right,”
Leverton said.
Gillian frowned. “I am? About
what, exactly?”
He slowly crossed the room to
her. He didn’t prowl, precisely, but something in the way he moved
made her think of . . . a wolf, perhaps. Slipping silently through
the night as he hunted in silence.
An exceedingly clever wolf, she
guessed. One with very sharp teeth well suited for ripping apart a
person’s carefully ordered life.
Leverton’s height forced her to
tilt back her head to meet his gaze, and she found herself staring
into eyes a beautiful shade of cobalt. She had to admit they were
really quite amazing.
“Please believe me, Miss
Dryden, when I say I meant no insult. I was merely surprised by a few
details regarding your situation. It caused me to forget my manners.”
A glint of amusement lurked in his gaze.
Her stomach twisted at the notion
that he might be laughing at her. But when he smiled, her stomach
seemed to untwist and start dancing with butterflies.
“Come, my dear girl,” he said
in his beautifully cultured voice. “I beg you to forgive me before
I’m compelled to do something drastic—like throw myself at your
feet. That would be embarrassing for both of us.”
“Bloody coxcomb,” Griffin
muttered.
Leverton ignored the aside,
keeping his attention on Gillian. Her heart began to thump and heat
crawled up her neck. “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. “I forgive
you.”
“You are most gracious,”
Leverton said. “Now, perhaps we can start over and leave all this
awkwardness behind.”
“What a splendid idea,”
Grandmamma said. “Your Grace, my granddaughter, Miss Gillian
Dryden.”
The duke bowed as if she hadn’t
just tumbled through the door, and as if they hadn’t just spent the
last few minutes insulting each other.
“Gillian, I have the pleasure
of introducing you to the Duke of Leverton,” Grandmamma added.
“Good Lord. I know who he is,”
Gillian replied, not hiding her exasperation.
“Then make him a curtsey, my
dear. A proper one.”
Repressing the urge to roll her
eyes—one curtsey was as good as another, as far as she was
concerned—Gillian dipped down and quickly came up.
Leverton’s eyebrows ticked up.
On him, she rather expected it was the equivalent of a horrified
gasp.
Well, nobody ever said she was
graceful, at least when it came to that sort of silliness.
“Hmm,” he said. “We’ll
have to work on that.”
“It’s all nonsense, if you
ask me,” Gillian said. “All this bowing and scraping like a
peasant before his master. Perhaps you’d like me to polish your
boots while I’m at it.”
His disapproving gaze made her
blink, and she almost took a step back. This was a man who did not
like being crossed.
“Gillian Dryden, you will cease
acting like heathen,” her grandmother rapped out.
“I had no idea you had
revolutionary tendencies, Miss Dryden,” the duke said. “How very
interesting. And no, I would not like you to polish my boots. My
valet would not approve.”
Now he sounded bored. And if he
was bored, he would be more likely to go away and leave her alone.
Splendid.
Still, she couldn’t help
feeling irked by his dismissive tone and demeanor. The Duke of
Leverton was certainly a snob and probably a fop. She didn’t know
which was worse.
“Why would you think I have
revolutionary tendencies, sir?” she added in a sugary-sweet voice.
“Is it because I think I’m as good as anyone else, despite my
unfortunate social status?”
Gillian braced herself for the
expected put-down. She’d grown used to being labeled a prince’s
by-blow, or worse. It was best to simply accept it and then do her
best to avoid anyone who looked down on her because of her parentage.
She’d learned that hard lesson a long time ago.
The duke studied her for a few
moments before replying. “Of course you are.”
“Of course I am what?” she
asked.
“As good as anyone else. Any
sensible person must think so,” he said.
“That eliminates most of the
ton,”
Griffin said.
Leverton seemed to weigh her
brother’s droll comment. “I believe your assessment is too
pessimistic, Steele. Shall we say, perhaps fifty percent?”
The exchange was so silly that
Gillian had to laugh. Leverton’s eyebrows ticked up again, but not,
she thought, with disapproval. Then he flashed her another dazzling
smile that made her feel like the floor had just tipped sideways.
“That’s much better,” he
said.
She shook her head, exasperated.
“I don’t understand any of this.”
Excerpt
#4
They stood on the quiet street,
locked in a silent contest of wills. Gillian half expected him to
begin lecturing her again. Yet his gaze warmed with understanding—and
sympathy.
“I am not the first man to ask
you to trust him, am I?” he asked.
She winced. “Blast. Is it that
obvious?”
He started her forward again, for
which Gillian was grateful. It would be easier to discuss such an
embarrassing topic if he wasn’t looking at her.
“I put two and two together,”
he said. “And, as a reminder, I would suggest you refrain from
using terms like blast
when in polite company.”
“All right, but only on the
understanding that I can say whatever I want to immediate family.”
“I suppose I can’t really
stop you, can I?
“I doubt it. Some things are
just bloody difficult to change.”
“You can’t shock me, you
know. Although I think I must drop a word in your brother’s ear,
all the same.”
“Ha. That’s not much of a
threat. I was using bad language long before I ever met Griffin.”
“No doubt.”
Gillian pretended to ponder for a
moment. “Perhaps if you write down all the words I’m not supposed
to say, I can commit them to memory.”
“I’m quite sure you know
exactly what you should and shouldn’t say,” he said.
Gillian couldn’t help giving
him a little smirk.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll
leave the language lessons for some future date. We have again been
diverted from our main topic, which is—”
“Mr. Stratton.” The duke
clearly wasn’t going to let it go, so she might as well get it over
with. “From your reaction, I imagine you already have a good idea
of what he said.”
“Did he insult you or importune
you?” he asked in a hard voice.
“Mr. Stratton would be walking
with a limp right now if he had. Or not walking at all, depending on
my aim.”
Leverton made a slight, choking
noise, then cleared his throat. “Then what did he say, exactly?”
“He asked me to meet him for a
walk or a drive in the park.”
“By yourself? And without
telling your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Bastard,” Leverton muttered.
She couldn’t resist. “Language,
Your Grace. But don’t worry. Why would I want to go driving in the
park with a married man? I’m supposed to be finding a husband, not
larking about with ineligible men.”
“You’re not to be engaging in
such behavior with an unmarried man, either. Not unless you have the
expression permission of your mother or grandmother, and only after
they’ve met your escort.”
“I’m not a half-wit, nor am I
naïve. I know exactly what men like Stratton are after. I’m quite
familiar with the type.”
That silenced him for half a
block. “I’m sorry you even have to worry about that,” he
finally said.
“Grandmamma warned me some
years ago what to expect.” After Pietro. Because of that gentleman,
Gillian would never be naïve again. “I have no intention of
allowing myself to become a member of the demimonde. I would not
enjoy such a life.”
“I should bloody well hope
not,” Leverton said.
Gillian feigned astonishment.
“Sir, I am truly shocked. Perhaps I should draw up a list of words
for you.”
“I would ask for your apology,
but I doubt very much that I offended you.”
“Of course not. I’m as tough
as old boots.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re
as deserving of respect as any young woman. I regret that we even
need to have this unfortunate discussion.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I
know you’re trying to help. And I don’t mind at all. Truly.”
“You should mind,” he said.
“But back to Stratton.”
Gillian groaned. “Must we?”
“I need you to understand that
he might well not be the only cad who tries to take advantage. I want
you to be well armored against that possibility.”
“Of course. But Mr. Stratton is
harmless, you know.”
He shook his head. “He’s
exactly the type you have to worry about.”
Gillian heard something in his
voice that gave her pause—an undertone of bitterness. This was more
than a well-intentioned warning. It sounded personal to Leverton.
“I’ll be careful, Your Grace.”
“You’re to come to me or to
your grandmother if you have any concerns of this nature at all.”
“Yes, I promise.”
He let out a reluctant laugh.
“Now you’re patronizing me. Or behaving as if I’m a fussy old
maid who sees a rake lurking behind every tree.”
“No, you’re behaving like
someone who cares. But why are you doing this?”
“Warning you about bounders
like Stratton?”
She tugged on his arm. “Now
you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“Perhaps just slightly
evasive,” he said with a wry smile. “But now let me ask you a
question. Do you want this little experiment your grandmother cooked
up to actually work?”
“You mean teaching me not to
swear, and how to curtsey without falling on my ear?” she asked in
as innocent a voice as she could muster. Sadly, Gillian didn’t do
innocent very well.
Excerpt
#5
“Letitia, I’m the one who
should be insulted. You rejected me once, and now you’re
propositioning me in the middle of a ballroom. Did you really believe
I would fall for your tricks again?”
She struggled to control her
temper and made a credible job of it. “Poor Charles, you always
were a fool. That, I see, has not changed.”
“Well, now that we’ve
exchanged a sufficient number of insults, I think—”
Before he could finish, Jack
materialized from behind a nearby pillar. “Excuse the
interruption,” he said brusquely, “but I need to borrow
Leverton.”
Letitia sneered. “You may have
him. He’s quite as rude as you are, Lendale, which I had not
thought possible.”
Jack laughed. “Up to the old
game again, eh, Letitia?” He looked at Charles. “She tried it on
me a few weeks ago, if you can believe it.”
Her pale blue gaze brimmed with
hatred. “You are no gentleman.”
“And you are no lady, so we’re
even,” Jack said in a cheerful voice.
Charles thought she would choke
on the spot. And he thought he would choke on the laugh he decided to
swallow. “I suppose I should be annoyed that I was her second
choice. Again.”
“Consider yourself lucky,”
Jack replied. “But enough of this nonsense, old boy. You need to
rejoin your party immediately.”
The vague anxiety that had been
lurking around the edges of Charles’s consciousness sprang into
sharp definition.
“Dear me,” Letitia said in a
catty voice. “There is a commotion on the other side of the dance
floor, and I believe I see your protégé, Your Grace. She seems to
be engaged in some kind of dispute with my husband and Lord Andover.”
When Charles took a hasty step
toward the dance floor, Letitia grasped his arm. “Are you sure you
want to do that? You know how much you hate scandal, my dear
Charles.”
“Letitia, what did you do?”
he asked.
She shrugged her beautiful white
shoulders. She’d almost destroyed him years ago, and now she’d
apparently decided to do it to Gillian.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because she decided she wanted
you, old son,” Lendale said. “And she clearly thought Miss Dryden
was an impediment.”
“I don’t have time for this,”
Charles said, disgusted. He stalked away, trying to ignore Letitia’s
mocking laugh. He wove his way through the crowd, moving as quickly
as he could without knocking anyone over.
“Why the hell weren’t you
keeping on eye on Gillian?” Charles snapped when Lendale caught up
with him.
“I’d just gone off to get
some refreshments, for God’s sake. I’d snagged a footman with a
tray of drinks when I saw that Letitia had trapped you in her evil
snare.”
“You shouldn’t have left
Gillian on her own, Jack.”
“She’s your damn
responsibility, not mine. Besides, she was with her grandmother the
last time I saw her. How the hell was I supposed to know she would
get into an argument with one of the greatest morons in London?”
“You have no idea how many ways
that blasted girl can get into trouble,” Charles said. “And
speaking of Lady Marbury, where is she?”
“There she is,” Jack said,
all but pushing a corpulent earl out of their way. They ignored his
protests as they hurried to join her.
“Charles, there you are,” she
said in a relieved voice. “I stepped away to the retiring room, and
I came back to this. You must make Lord Andover go away before
Gillian does something dreadful.”
“I intend to,” he said in a
grim voice. Unfortunately, he was still several feet away when he saw
Gillian’s lips curve up in a smile that made it clear mayhem was
about to occur.
By the time he got clear of a
gaggle of excited debutantes, Gillian was practically standing on
Andover’s toes, saying something that Charles couldn’t hear over
the din of the crowd. A moment later, she delivered an outstanding
right hook that caught Andover under the chin.
Since the earl was well-known at
Gentleman Jackson’s for having a glass jaw, the effect was both
predictable and profound. He toppled like a felled tree, straight
into a cluster of bystanders, including a footman carrying a tray of
champagne goblets. The poor footman tumbled into a middle-aged matron
possessed of a well-padded figure, and both went crashing down to the
floor, along with the champagne.
“What a nice, flush hit,”
Jack said in an admiring voice.
“Do not
tell her that,” Charles growled as he elbowed past a pair of girls
who were shrieking and fanning themselves in a dramatic fashion.
Jack shot a sly grin at Charles.
“I don’t mean to interfere, old boy, but you might want to drop a
word in Miss Dryden’s ear that boxing isn’t usually the done
thing in the middle of a ballroom.”
“Thank you for that extremely
helpful bit of advice, you idiot,” Charles said in a blighting
tone.
Jack simply laughed.
Charles stalked up to Gillian,
who stood over Andover, flexing her hand. When she glanced up at him,
she let out a sigh. At least he thought she sighed, since it was hard
to hear anything in the growing pandemonium.
Gillian clasped her hands at her
waist and patiently waited, a picture of serene beauty in the midst
of chaos.
“Well, Miss Dryden,” Charles
said, “now that you’ve provided the main entertainment for the
evening, what have you planned for an encore?”
She flicked a glance around the
crowded ballroom that seethed with excitement and gossip. Then she
looked back at him and shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far
ahead, Your Grace. I am, however, entirely open to suggestion.”
Excerpt
#6
“No thanks are necessary. I am
happy to assist in any little way I can,” he said.
That was balderdash. Leverton had
been incredibly helpful, especially in dealing with all the commotion
at Lady Barrington’s ball. He’d brought the situation quickly
under control after Honoria and Sarah had explained how Andover had
insulted them all in the grossest manner. The duke had glared down at
the still unconscious earl before plucking a goblet of champagne from
the tray of one of the footmen. Much to the delight of the crowd,
Leverton had poured the cold beverage onto the earl’s face.
After Andover came spluttering to
life, Lord Lendale and Mr. Stratton had hauled the earl to his feet
and carted him off. Leverton, meanwhile, had herded Gillian and her
friends back to their respective grandmothers as if nothing untoward
had occurred.
But the damage from Gillian’s
knockout had been done. Clearly, a young lady was simply expected to
stand meekly by while a man insulted her. Well, people who subscribed
to that philosophy would continue to be sadly disappointed if they
thought she would ever put up with that sort of behavior. That didn’t
mean, however, that she wasn’t embarrassed, mostly for her
grandmother’s sake. Poor Grandmamma had been mortified, and furious
with Gillian for drawing even more attention to the Marbury family
with her impulsive behavior. According to her grandmother, Gillian
and the girls should have simply excused themselves and walked away
from the caddish earl.
Gillian had never been very good
at walking away.
“I’ve not yet properly
thanked you for taking my side of things,” she said. “I think
Grandmamma would have murdered me if you hadn’t come to my defense.
According to her, no man of sense will ever wish to marry me. ” In
fact, her grandmother had told Gillian that her actions had now made
her toxic. And
while something like that had been a key component of her plans, it
still hurt to be described in those terms.
“The situation is far from
hopeless,” Leverton said. “But I should have done a better job of
looking out for you.”
“You didn’t exactly drop me
in the Mongolian Desert to fend for myself. Lord Lendale didn’t
leave for long, and Grandmamma was lurking about somewhere.”
He looked disgusted with himself.
“I didn’t expect Lendale to leave you alone at all. I should be
apologizing to you for failing to protect you from a cad like
Andover.”
“Well, you did seem fairly
distracted at the time.”
He shot her a sharp glance, but
didn’t answer as he steered her around a group of nursemaids and
their charges on their way home from the park.
“It’s easy to get distracted
at large gatherings,” he finally said in a cool voice.
“Ah, I see. You’re trying to
warn me off this particular topic of conversation.”
He gave her a reluctant smile.
“Is it working?”
“No,” she said. “You
already know I have deplorable manners.”
“That is rather an
understatement.”
“Think of it as yet another
opportunity for a lesson in my social schooling. You’d given me the
impression the other day that you didn’t particularly like Lady
Letitia.”
Gillian knew she was being
shockingly nosy, but she had to ask. She’d been thinking about the
intimate scene between Leverton and Lady Letitia ever since the
ball—when she wasn’t stewing over her own idiotic behavior, that
is.
“Is there a question in there,
Miss Dryden?”
“Now you’re being
deliberately dense. Of course there is.”
“Then I suggest you cease
beating about the bush and just ask it.”
“Very well. Not to be too
blunt—”
“Which I feel very sure you
will be,” he interjected.
“As I was saying,” she said
firmly, “it seemed to me that you and Lady Letitia were, hmm,
exceedingly friendly with each other at the ball. Now, I understand
that married ladies, married gentlemen, and unmarried gentlemen all
engage in affairs with one another quite regularly. It seems rather
taken for granted in the ton.”
She frowned. “Now that I think about it, the only people who don’t
engage in such affairs are unmarried ladies. I understand why, of
course. But it doesn’t seem all that fair, does it?”
When he didn’t answer, she
glanced up at him. His expression suggested she’d just starting
flapping her arms and crowing like a rooster.
“Miss Dryden, are you by any
chance a devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft? Because that would be most
unfortunate, I assure you. As is the tone of this disturbing
conversation.”
Gillian waved a hand, banging her
reticule into her elbow. “Yes, I know I’m not supposed to talk
about things like this, but I have to ask someone if I’m to learn
how to get along with all the silly people you’re forcing me to
meet. Grandmamma certainly won’t discuss anything with me.”
“Nor will I, except to say that
there are many, many people in society who do not engage in illicit
behavior.”
She eyed him dubiously, but he
clearly wasn’t going to budge. “All right. But I would still like
to know about you and Lady Letitia.”
“There is
nothing to know about me and Lady Letitia,” he said in an austere
voice. His face was like a mask.
“You’re very good at that,”
she said.
“What?”
“Hiding your feelings.”
“The only feeling I hold toward
this particular topic is irritation.”
“Hmm,” she said. “You don’t
like to even talk about scandals, do you?”
“No.” He lifted an imperious
eyebrow. “Do you?”
She shrugged. “I’m rather
agnostic on the subject. By definition, I’m a walking scandal, so
I’ve had to get used to it.”
“Miss Dryden, you are not
a walking scandal. You
are a young lady with a happy future ahead of you. In order to
achieve that future, you simply need to listen to your elders and
obey them. That includes me.”
“That’s no fun,” she said.
“Young ladies are not supposed
to have fun.”
Gillian stopped, forcing him to
stop too. “And that attitude is exactly why young ladies get into
trouble, sir. You treat us like hothouse flowers and refuse to
explain things to us. I assure you, ignorance is not
bliss. It would be much
better to treat us like sensible human beings with the capacity to
understand what is in our best interest.”
Excerpt
#7
The next thing Gillian knew, he
was shoving her down onto the sand. He came down on top of her,
mashing her flat.
It took her a moment to catch her
breath, since there wasn’t a particle of air between them. She was
certainly becoming intimately acquainted with various parts of
Leverton’s impressive anatomy.
“Who is it?” She felt a spurt
of hope. Perhaps some of the smugglers had returned. Now that Teddy
was safely out of the way, Leverton might even help her track them.
They might not see eye to eye on everything, but he would be furious
that smugglers were trespassing on his lands.
“Wait,” he breathed out.
He cautiously lifted his head to
peer over the rise of sand between them and the beach. The sound of a
cantering horse, hooves thudding into the hard-packed flats, quickly
grew and then faded away down the beach. Leverton still didn’t
move, his attention focused in the direction of the mysterious rider.
“Could you please get off me,”
she finally said. “You are completely squashing me.”
He looked down at her and
frowned, as if surprised to see her there. Gillian raised a sardonic
brow.
“I beg your pardon,” he
murmured, as if they were on the dance floor and he’d simply trod
on her foot.
He rolled off, but kept an arm
slung across her waist. Gillian tried to push it away, but it felt
like a tree trunk was pinning her down. She let out an aggrieved sigh
and dropped her head back onto the sand.
“Whoever it was, he’s long
gone,” she said. “Why are we still lying here?”
“I just wanted to make sure,”
Leverton answered. “I think it’s now safe to get up.”
“I should hope so. I feel like
I’ve spent half the night lying on this blasted beach.” With
nothing to show for it but sand in her breeches and an irate duke.
Leverton rolled into a crouch and
then smoothly rose. He reached down a hand to pull her up. “And
whose fault is that?”
Gillian pulled the tails of her
coat back in place and started brushing herself off. “Not mine. If
you hadn’t shown up, I could have tracked the smugglers back to
their lair. That, as you must admit, would have been very helpful.”
“Their lair? Good God, you’ve
been reading too many lurid novels. Wait, I forgot,” he said,
holding up a hand. “You actually believe you’re living in one.
You fancy yourself some sort of heroine, dashing about, trying to
right all the wrongs of the world.”
“No, I fancy myself as the
hero.” She wiggled a leg, hoping to at least shake some of the sand
from her backside down to her boot. “The heroines are always
moaning and falling down in a faint, waiting for the men to rescue
them. I don’t have time for that sort of nonsense.”
“That is quite obvious to
anyone who knows you. Well, I think we’ve both had enough larking
about for one night. Are you ready to go, Miss Dryden, or shall we
wait to see the sunrise?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm,
Leverton,” she said as she bent to retrieve her cap. It had fallen
off when he tackled her. “And you still haven’t said if you
recognized the rider. It wasn’t one of the smugglers, was it?”
“No, it was a riding officer,
on patrol. He was obviously too late to be of any use.”
“Why didn’t you flag him
down?” she snapped.
“As I just said, there was no
point,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “The smugglers were
long gone.”
“No point? He was on a horse.
He could have easily caught up with them. What were you thinking to
just let him go by like that?” Her mother would be horrified at the
way Gillian was speaking to him, but she couldn’t help it. Leverton
had let another opportunity slip away. What was wrong with the
blasted man?
“I was thinking I didn’t want
to expose you to more scurrilous gossip,” he said, clearly growing
irate again. “I am trying to protect your reputation, Miss Dryden.
Explaining your presence here in the middle of the night to a riding
officer would hardly assist me in achieving that goal.”
“I don’t give a hang about my
reputation,” she shouted. “That was our best chance to find my
jewels, and you ruined it.”
“It is blindingly obvious that
you care not a whit for your reputation. You take every occasion to
be outrageous, to behave like a—”
He bit off whatever insult it was
he was going to level. Then he sucked in a deep breath, as if trying
to calm himself.
“Gillian,” he said.
She waved an impatient hand,
ignoring the way her chest seemed to twist and tighten. His tone
practically reeked with disdain. “Light-skirt? Doxy? Which is it?
Go ahead and say it if it makes you feel better. It won’t bother me
in the slightest.”
It was a lie. She’d spent a
lifetime learning to ignore the acidic little jabs and the steady
drip of smirking insults, but the pain they’d caused was nothing
compared to knowing he felt the same. It seemed to hollow her out,
leaving an empty darkness that could never be filled.
“I wasn’t going to say any
such thing,” he said. “I never would.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter.
Now, can we please go?” She needed to move, to get away from him.
Tears stung her eyes, and she could feel her throat going thick. The
notion that she would cry over this—over him—was simply
appalling. Gillian hadn’t truly cried since the death of her
stepfather. That Leverton had the power to call forth such a dreadful
sign of weakness infuriated her.
Perversely, that made her want to
cry even more. What in God’s name was wrong with her?
She tried to shove past him
again, but he stepped in front of her and grasped her shoulders.
“Let me go.”
“Not until you let me
apologize,” he said in a gravelly voice.
She tried to wriggle out from
under his grip. His gloved fingers held her tight.
“I don’t need any apologies
from the likes of y-you.” Gillian almost fainted in horror to hear
the break in her voice. She’d called him a coward, and yet here she
was acting like a silly female with the vapors. As if his words truly
had the power to harm her.
Sadly, it appeared they did.
She sniffed as she tried to
steady herself. Unfortunately, one exceedingly defiant sob seemed
intent on forcing itself out.
Damn and blast.
“Are you crying, Gillian?”
Leverton asked in a voice of soft amazement.
“Don’t be ridiculous. As if I
would cry over something as stupid as this.” As if she would cry
over the mistaken assumption that he liked her, when apparently he
did not.
“Then what is this I see on
your cheek?” He gently brushed a gloved finger over her face. “Yes,
there is a tear, sparkling like a jewel. How extraordinary.”
“Don’t you dare make fun of
me.” She glared up at him, rather a tricky feat when one was trying
not to bawl.
He barked out a laugh. “Believe
me, I find this situation anything but amusing. Painful would be a
more apt description.”
That dried her tears. “If you
don’t let me go this instant, I will make you very sorry. And I
don’t give a damn if you are a bloody duke.” He wouldn’t be the
first man she’d kneed in the bollocks, and she didn’t suppose
he’d be the last.
“Right now, I don’t give a
damn either.” And with that, Leverton hauled Gillian up on her toes
and covered her mouth in a fierce, smoldering kiss.
