Here's the scoop:
Geoffrey
Winters, Viscount Redbrooke was not always the hard, unrelenting lord driven by
propriety. After a tragic mistake, he resolved to honor his responsibility to
the Redbrooke line and live a life, free of scandal. Knowing his duty is to wed
a proper, respectable English miss, he selects Lady Beatrice Dennington,
daughter of the Duke of Somerset, the perfect woman for him. Until he meets
Miss Abigail Stone...
To
distance herself from a personal scandal, Abigail Stone flees America to visit
her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. Determined to never trust a man again, she is
helplessly intrigued by the hard, too-proper Geoffrey. With his strict
appreciation for decorum and order, he is nothing like the man' she's always
dreamed of.
Abigail
is everything Geoffrey does not need. She upends his carefully ordered world at
every encounter. As they begin to care for one another, Abigail carefully
guards the secret that resulted in her journey to England.
Only,
if Geoffrey learns the truth about Abigail, he must decide which he holds
most dear: his place in Society or Abigail's place in his heart.
By: Christi Caldwell
In desperate need of a drink, Geoffrey took a step
toward a liveried servant bearing a tray full of champagne when his black
Hessian boot suddenly snagged the hem of a young lady’s skirt.
The tear of fabric ripping blended with the din of
conversation around them.
The lady gasped, and pitched forward. Even as the
glass of ratafia in her hand fell to the floor, her hip collided with the
passing servant who teetered on his feet. The young man’s serving tray tilted
precariously, and for an infinitesimal moment Geoffrey believed the servant had
steadied his burden.
But the servant’s tray slipped from his fingers.
Champagne flutes careened to the floor, and sprayed the bubbling liquid onto
the gown of several matrons standing nearby, who cried out in shock and scurried
off.
“Pardon me,” Geoffrey murmured to the servant, and
then returned his attention to the woman he’d inadvertently sent reeling. A
mere five or so inches smaller than his six foot frame, she stood taller than
most of the ladies present. “Forgive me. Are you all…?”
She smiled up at him.
His question died upon his lips as he gazed down at
the woman who’d unwittingly beckoned from across the ballroom mere moments ago.
His eyes traveled the high planes of her cheekbones, the gray irises of her
eyes, her full, red lips.
…and then her slipper met the moisture upon the marble
floor. Like one of the skaters at the Frost Fair on the River Thames, she slid
forward, into a nearby pillar. “Ouch.”
Geoffrey’s arm shot out and he sought to steady her.
“Thank you,” she said. She shook out her sea foam
green skirts and unlike the horror that wreathed the faces of the surrounding
ladies, wry amusement fairly glittered in her gray-blue eyes. “I am uninjured,”
she assured him.
His eyes widened and with alacrity, he released her.
She cocked her head to the side. “Are you injured?”
Her flat accent did not possess the clipped proper
tones of a proper English lady. He blinked. “Injured?”
“You appear
unwell, sir.”
By God…
“You are an American,” he blurted.
A mischievous smile played about her lips. “I am.” She
looked around and then back to him. “Never tell me you’re scandalized by me
being an American?”
He was scandalized by the wicked direction his mind
had wandered that involved an
American woman. If his mother was outraged at the prospect of a Scott assuming
the Redbrooke title, what would she say to an American lady having garnered
Geoffrey’s attention?
“Ahh, you do smile,” the young woman said.
Geoffrey frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Alas, it is gone,” she said with a long, exaggerated
sigh.
Geoffrey became aware of the appalled stares of Polite
Society’s most respectable peers, trained upon him. From across the room, his
mother, who stood alongside Lady Tisdale, glared with blatant disapproval. It was
the much needed reminder of past failings and inner weaknesses that had wrought
much agony upon his family. By standing here engaging this…this…stranger, in
the midst of Lord and Lady Hughes’s ballroom, he opened himself up to public
censure. His intentions were marriage to Lady Beatrice, and any hint of
untoward interest in another would not be countenanced by the Duke of Somerset
or his daughter.
Geoffrey folded his arms across his chest. This
American upstart might have a face and body to rival Helen of Troy, but
possessed the uncouth manners one would expect of an American. “Miss,” he said
from the corner of his mouth. “We’ve not been properly introduced, therefore,
any discourse between us is highly improper.”
Her lips twitched, with, he suspected, mirth. “I would
say toppling over the host’s servant and spraying his guests with champagne and
glass is also improper, but you’ve done that, sir.”
Geoffrey felt heat climb up his neck, and resisted the
urge to tug at his suddenly tight cravat, shamed by the accuracy of her charge.
He did not create scandals. Not anymore. He was proper. And poised. And…
She arched a brow.
Well, in this instance he’d created a small scandal.
Still, he needn’t raise further eyebrows by talking to the vexing miss.
Even if he wanted to.
He needed to go. Immediately. Anywhere but within mere
inches of the lady who smelled like lilacs and lavender and now champagne.
“Again, forgive me for causing you distress.” He bowed deeply and beat a hasty
retreat.
Geoffrey had made a fool of himself once over a young
lady. He’d not be so foolish again.
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Author Biography:
Christi Caldwell is the best-selling author of historical
romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught's
"Whitney, My Love," for luring her into the world of historical
romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of
Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing
romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections
and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever
after!
When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and
heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her
feisty five-year-old son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!
Lauren,
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for having me today!