Lesson #1: Never Tempt a Lady Become a bride? Never! Lady Marianne Shelton has come to London to experience life, and marriage is not part of her plan. To finance her independent future, the pretty country miss pens a series of anonymous stories. Soon they are the talk of the ton-and only she knows that her wicked hero is based on none other than bold, brash Thomas Effington, the future Duke of Roxborough.
Lesson #2: Never Deny a Marquess, Thomas has been thrust into le of Marianne's protector. When she threatens to experience life with the first willing rogue to come along, he decides the best recourse is to tutor her himself. And when he accidentally compromises her honor, he's willing to accept their only recourse: a wedding. Marianne claims she wants no part of marriage, but her intoxicating allure and disarming willingness make her irresistible. And now Thomas is determined to teach her a lesson: that true love will last forever.
"Blast it all last it all, I'm a marquess, not a bloody governess." Thomas Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley and future Duke of Roxborough, drained the glass of brandy he held in his hand and promptly poured another.
Randall, Viscount Beaumont, studied him over the rim of his own glass. "You've mentioned that already this evening. Several times, in fact."
"It bears repeating." Thomas sank into a wing chair identical to the one his friend occupied. Both were angled toward the massive oak desk that had well served the previous eight Dukes of Roxborough.
For a moment he considered suggesting they move to the sofa facing the fireplace at the far end of the long Effington House library. In spite of the fine spring day, the evening was cool and the warmth of the fire would be welcome. Still, these chairs were closer to the cabinet that housed his father's supply of spirits and their proxirnity was more important than mere creature comfort.
Thomas drew a long, appreciative swallow. There was a great deal of warmth to be had right here. "I ask you, Rand, how can my family possibly expect me to find a bride-their idea, mind you, not mine -- if I'm also expected to play nursemaid?"
"I'd scarce call it playing nursemaid. Or perhaps I've misunderstood." Rand glanced wryly at his drink. "It's entirely possible I've overlooked some of the finer details of your dilemma."
"It's quite simple." Thomas heaved a heartfelt sigh and launched into a recitation he thought he'd already given at least once tonight, although at the moment he was not entirely certain. "Last year my sister, Gillian, married Richard, the Earl of Shelbrooke. You know him, don't you?"
"I know of him."
"He promised his three youngest sisters -- they've been raised in the country -- a season in London, with all the stuff and nonsense such a thing entails to women. My mother --"
"Ah, yes, the Duchess of Roxborough," Rand said, "and a woman not to be trifled with, if rumor serves."
"None of the Effington women are to be trifled with. From my grandmother to my youngest cousins, they are stubborn and opinionated to the last." Thomas glared at his glass. "My mother had planned to take Richard's sisters under her wing personally and had gone so far as to arrange for a come-out ball for them. It seems my sister was something of a disappointment to her when she married her first husband after only one season. It was all my mother could do to keep from drooling at the very thought of steering not one but three young women through the rigors of a first season. And as an added bonus, I'd finally agreed to seriously look for a bride." He narrowed his eyes. "She was quite beside herself with glee at the thought of it all."
Rand snorted with ill-concealed amusement.
Thomas slumped deeper in his chair. "Unfortunately, my parents are no longer in England, and I've been forced into the temporary role of head of the family, with all the accompanying headaches and responsibilities."
"Pity. Are you up to it?"
"When it comes to handling estate concerns or family business or my own financial affairs, for that matter, I haven't a worry. Effington men may well spend their nights in questionable pursuits, but we are remarkably competent when it comes to the maintenance and increase of the family fortune. Runs in the blood." He grinned and raised his glass in a salute. "Even my more disreputable ancestors didn't squander whatever wealth they'd stolen."
Rand laughed and lifted his glass. "To the Effington ancestors, then." He took a sip. "A shame the Beaumonts can't say the same. Now, where have the duke and duchess gone?"
About the Author
VICTORIA ALEXANDER was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and has never looked back.
Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in a hundred-year-old house in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two teenaged children, and a bearded collie named Sam. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it’s never too soon to panic.
And she loves getting mail that doesn’t require a return payment. Write to her at: P.O. Box 31544, Omaha, NE 68131.
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