by Stacy Reid
Madeline, the widowed Lady Upcott, rolled her eyes at her friend and fellow member of the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society, Mr. Clayton Irving. “Of course I am coveting them, Clay. Look at the size and the luster of the Florentine leather. I must say, the Italians know what’s what when it comes to quality and creativity.”
“True. Michelangelo, da Vinci, both beyond compare. While I am happy for the sake of the world that they bestowed their gift of artistry on us all, I do wish they’d spent at least a few days turning their genius minds to pleasure toys. Imagine what we might have had.”
“I know,” she replied with a sigh, taking another sip of their hostess and Society chairwoman Lady Portia Butler’s excellent wine.
Clay frowned, but not even that could mar his golden good looks. “What on earth is wrong? That was the sound of an unhappy lady, and I don’t think it is entirely related to the swarm of obnoxious relatives descending on you tomorrow.”
Madeline sighed again and glanced over at tall, dark-haired Beatrice Irving, Clay’s second cousin, who was deep in conversation with her blonde and voluptuous lover, Amelia Tilton. The two Society members were so sweet and warm-hearted, one couldn’t help but adore that a lady’s maid-companion and her former countess had found true love together. Yet, on the other hand…it was difficult. Very, very difficult, seeing other people’s joy when her own life felt increasingly empty.
As soon as her official year of mourning had ended, she had reveled in a widow’s freedoms and indulged in delightful sexual romps with several handsome bachelors. But now she was eight and twenty and found herself wanting so much more. The hot, wild fucking and the sweet tenderness. A man of the right age who would enjoy her mind as much as her body. To have a few children, not for the cold duty of heir requirements, but because they simply wanted to. These ungovernable cravings were gaining strength by the day. And knowing her wretched family—and her ghastly late husband’s for that matter—were arriving tomorrow to try and coerce her into a second loveless, passionless marriage to some cretin with more wealth and a loftier title, only increased her misery. Especially because the money and title weren’t for her benefit. No, it had been decided years ago by her family, the Smyths, that gainful employment was for fools who didn’t have a daughter to sell to the highest bidder, and then wheedle funds from each quarter.
Madeline shot Clayton a rueful smile. “I’m envious of what Bea and Amelia have. Terrible, I know. But I want love and lust this time, not another empty marriage with a rancid old goat who believes I must endure because that is the way of the world.”
To Bedevil a Duke
A Duke of many rules. A Lady of independence.
Since her cheating husband created a scandal by dying beneath his whore, Darcy de Wolfe is determined to enjoy widowhood, and refuses to mourn a man she grew to loathe. Setting the ton ablaze, Darcy holds a ball to re-launch herself into Society on the anniversary of his death.
Cameron, the Duke of Athelby plays by the rules. Always. He’s lived through the terrible consequences of what revelry, carelessness, and lack of respect for one’s social position can have on a family. So, when he sees Darcy de Wolfe skirting the boundaries of respectability, it is only right that he should remind her of the proper etiquette that she should adhere to.
Darcy refuses to allow another man to tell her what to do. When the Duke of Athelby chastises her at every turn, reminding her of her social failures, well, there is only one thing to be done about it…seduce the duke and show him there is more to life than the proper conventions set by the ton.
A battle of wills ensues where all bets are off, numerous rules are broken and love becomes the ultimate reward.
Excerpt
To Bedevil a Duke
London 1805
Lady Darcy de Wolfe was foxed. A most scandalous and terrible way in which to be at her own ball, but the ratafia was quite delicious this evening, and well, one tended to imbue themselves more than they aught when celebrating the one year anniversary of her husband’s death and her relaunch into London Society.
Darcy looked down at her golden silk gown with small puffed sleeves. The empire cut accentuated her small waist and ample bosom enough so to garner many admiring glances from the opposite sex. Her dark locks were pulled up into an intricate motif atop her head, small loose curls fell about her face softening the look. With the golden gown and her dark hair, the pairing complimented her, and for the first time in years, Darcy felt attractive.
Her departed husband, the Earl of Terrance had never made her feel so, he was not missed and it had taken all of Darcy’s good breeding to wait out the twelve months required for mourning. Especially when she would never mourn such a man. On his death, he’d left her nothing, which she had expected, not that it impacted her very much. Her grandfather having loved her most out of all his female grandchildren had left her the London townhouse along with a very tidy sum should she ever require it. The same grandfather that Darcy was her namesake and also chose to be known by from the day she’d placed her husband into the cold earth. Her father, the Earl de Wolfe, had supported her in her choice, having been witness to her husband’s indiscretions, his vile temper and cutting tongue was happy she reverted to the name she was born with, not the one given to her upon marriage.
It wasn’t to be borne for a de Wolfe to be treated so shabbily, and as such, Darcy had clasped her freedom upon his death and would not look back. Life was to be lived, and she would never exist again under the atrocious ways she’d endured under Terrance.
“You look positively decadent in that golden gown Darcy, and you know it. Your husband would have a seizure if he knew you were holding one of London’s biggest balls in honor of the anniversary of his death, and your debut back into Society,” said Lady Fran, the Viscountess Oliver and Darcy’s dearest friend.
Darcy smiled in welcome. Fran was a lithe, tall woman with the most beautiful auburn hair, a trait from her Scottish roots. It amused Darcy at the thought of her husband, a man she should never have married in the first place being insulted by her actions. Oh, how she’d love to see his ruddy, fat cheeks blossom in annoyance and anger at her defiance of him. “How wonderful that sounds, but you know, as a woman renowned for scandal, I could not allow such an opportunity to pass. One must keep up the standard to which they intend to live. If I did not, that would be a scandal in itself.”
Acknowledgments
I thank God every day for my family, friends, and my writing. A special thank you to my husband. I love you so hard! Without your encouragement and steadfast support, The Viscount and I would still be sitting on my laptop in my work in progress folder. You encourage me to dream and are always steadfast in your wonderful support. You read all my drafts, offer such amazing insight and encouragement. Thank you for designing my fabulous cover! Thank you for reminding me I am a warrior when I wanted to give up on so many things.
Thank you, Giselle Marks for being so wonderful and supportive always. You are a great critique partner and friend. Readers, thank you for giving me a chance and reading my book! I hope you enjoyed and would consider leaving a review. Thank you!
About the Author
I am an avid reader of novels, with a deep passion for writing. I especially love romance and adore writing about people falling in love. I live a lot in the worlds I create, and I actively speak to my characters (out loud). I have a warrior way: “Never give up on my dream.” When I am not writing, I spend a copious amount of time drooling over Rick Grimes from Walking Dead, watching Japanese anime, and playing video games with my love, Dusean. I have a horrible weakness for ice cream.
I am always happy to hear from readers and would love to connect with you via my Website, Facebook, and Twitter. To be the first to hear about my new releases, get cover reveals, and excerpts you won’t find anywhere else, sign up for my newsletter, or join me over at Historical Hellions, the street team for historical romance authors Tamara Gill, Nicola Davison, C.B. Halverson and me!
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