Excerpt Goodness!
A wee excerpt from Rake to Riches (The London Lords book 2, coming April 2016)
London, December 1814
“Darling. If you don’t leave, my husband is going to call you out. It will be dawn soon.”
Inwardly grimacing at the reminder as much as Francesca Kenwood’s gratingly purred tone, George Edwards turned from the library window to his hungry-eyed, copper-haired hostess. Though he was sorely tempted, it wasn’t the moment to mention said husband couldn’t hit Westminster at ten paces. Or that he’d rather sleep with a rabid badger.
Men in his position rarely had the luxury of truth. Besides, redheads were nothing but trouble. That was fact.
“Callously turning me out into the cold, dark night, Chessie?” he said, forcing a grin instead. “My heart is so severely crushed there’ll be no recovering.”
“Why don’t you want to go home?”
George stilled, only years of practice halting a shudder at the question. There was no sly knowledge in Francesca’s eyes, no scorn or pity. Like most everyone in London, she was blissfully unaware of what went on behind the creaky door and faded drapes of Chateau Hell.
“My dear. Because you are here, of course. Why would anyone want to leave?”
She blushed scarlet, her bejewelled fingers fluttering in dismay. “I’m sorry, George, truly I am. But Kenwood won’t allow any guests to stay after a ball, not even Prinny himself. And Tuesday is dues day. When I must...you know...”
A twinge of sympathy threatened. “No need to explain, pet. We do what we have to.”
Francesca sashayed closer and licked her thin lips.
“Oh, I knew you’d understand, suffering the same predicament as so many women nowadays. Poor darling, desperately attractive, not a feather to fly with, and utterly reliant on the goodwill of family and friends. Well, as soon as Kenwood has his heir, I’ll be free to live my own life. You would find me a generous lover. Very, very generous--”
“I'll keep that in mind,” he said swiftly, lifting her hand and briefly kissing her knuckles. “Now get to bed, vixen, not even your delicious self looks good with puffy eyes.”
“Goodnight...Glorious George!”
Bowing, he strode from the room to conceal his anger and self-loathing. Fuck, he hated that scandal sheet-inflicted nickname.
London, December 1814
“Darling. If you don’t leave, my husband is going to call you out. It will be dawn soon.”
Inwardly grimacing at the reminder as much as Francesca Kenwood’s gratingly purred tone, George Edwards turned from the library window to his hungry-eyed, copper-haired hostess. Though he was sorely tempted, it wasn’t the moment to mention said husband couldn’t hit Westminster at ten paces. Or that he’d rather sleep with a rabid badger.
Men in his position rarely had the luxury of truth. Besides, redheads were nothing but trouble. That was fact.
“Callously turning me out into the cold, dark night, Chessie?” he said, forcing a grin instead. “My heart is so severely crushed there’ll be no recovering.”
“Why don’t you want to go home?”
George stilled, only years of practice halting a shudder at the question. There was no sly knowledge in Francesca’s eyes, no scorn or pity. Like most everyone in London, she was blissfully unaware of what went on behind the creaky door and faded drapes of Chateau Hell.
“My dear. Because you are here, of course. Why would anyone want to leave?”
She blushed scarlet, her bejewelled fingers fluttering in dismay. “I’m sorry, George, truly I am. But Kenwood won’t allow any guests to stay after a ball, not even Prinny himself. And Tuesday is dues day. When I must...you know...”
A twinge of sympathy threatened. “No need to explain, pet. We do what we have to.”
Francesca sashayed closer and licked her thin lips.
“Oh, I knew you’d understand, suffering the same predicament as so many women nowadays. Poor darling, desperately attractive, not a feather to fly with, and utterly reliant on the goodwill of family and friends. Well, as soon as Kenwood has his heir, I’ll be free to live my own life. You would find me a generous lover. Very, very generous--”
“I'll keep that in mind,” he said swiftly, lifting her hand and briefly kissing her knuckles. “Now get to bed, vixen, not even your delicious self looks good with puffy eyes.”
“Goodnight...Glorious George!”
Bowing, he strode from the room to conceal his anger and self-loathing. Fuck, he hated that scandal sheet-inflicted nickname.
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