As he moved closer, he heard the sounds of revelry and smiled again. Then he put his hand on the wrought-iron door handle and pushed.
The noise was even louder inside, and it was nearly as dim as it had been outside. There were recessed lights in the wooden beams across the ceiling and sconces set at intervals around the space, all set to a mellow, cozy mood.
Hayden recognized most of the twenty or so people here. A few tables had been pushed together, and a handful of guys were playing some obnoxiously terrible card game while others were gathered at the bar. Kyle, one of his three brothers—the chef with the surfer good looks—stood behind it pouring drinks.
Hayden made his way to the bar, amused that no one had noticed him enter. “Beer me.”
Kyle grabbed a pint glass. “Sure. What were you drinking?” He looked up and blinked. “Shit. Hayden. Am I drunk?” He glanced around before settling back on Hayden.
“Probably. Longbow if you’ve got it.”
Kyle came sprinting around the bar and clasped him in a tight hug. He pulled back, grinning. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he bellowed.
The noise faded then stopped completely. Liam, his eldest brother, or at least the first of the sextuplets born, stood up from the table, his blue-gray gaze intense. “Hayden, what the hell?” Like Kyle, his expression was one of confusion followed by joy.
“Hayden?” Evan, his remaining brother—the quiet one—leaned back on his stool at the other end of the bar. Like the others, he registered surprise, though in a far more subdued way.
“Hayden!” This exclamation came from the table near Liam and was from Hayden’s best friend, Cameron Westcott. He was also the groom’s half-brother.
The groom himself stood up from where he sat next to Evan. “What an awesome surprise.” Dylan grinned as he hugged Hayden, and for the next several minutes he was overwhelmed with hugs and claps on the back and so much smiling that his cheeks ached.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Liam asked, once things had settled down.
Kyle had gone back behind the bar and was now pulling Hayden’s beer from the tap. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”
Hayden looked at Liam. “Because I wanted to surprise everyone.” Then he looked at Kyle. “And no, Mom and Dad don’t know.” Hayden took his glass from Kyle and immediately sipped the beer, closing his eyes as the distinct wheat flavor his father had crafted brought him fully and completely home.
Kyle leaned on the bar. “Mom is going to be beside herself.” He slapped the bar top. “Now this is a party!”
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An Excerpt from
THE DEBUTANTE IS MINE
A Season’s Original Novel
By Vivienne Lorret
USA Today bestselling author Vivienne Lorret launches a new historical romance series featuring the Season’s Original—a coveted title awarded by the ton’s elite to one lucky debutante . . .
The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence.
Lilah read no farther than the heading of the newspaper in her hand before she lost her nerve.
“I cannot look,” she said, thrusting the Standard to her cousin. “After last night’s ball, I shouldn’t be surprised if the first headline read, ‘Miss Lilah Appleton: Most Unmarriageable Maiden in England.’ And beneath it, ‘Last Bachelor in Known World Weds Septuagenarian Spinster as Better Alternative.’”
Lilah’s exhale crystallized in the cold air, forming a cloud of disappointment. It drifted off the park path, dissipating much like the hopes and dreams she’d had for her first two Seasons.
Walking beside her, Juliet, Lady Granworth, laughed, her blue eyes shining with amusement. Even on this dull, gray morning, she emitted a certain brightness and luster from within. Beneath a lavender bonnet, her features and complexion were flawless, her hair a mass of golden silk. And if she weren’t so incredibly kind, Lilah might be forced to hate her as a matter of principle, on behalf of plain women throughout London.
“You possess a rather peculiar talent for worry, Cousin,” Juliet said, skimming the five-column page.
The notion pleased Lilah. “Do you think so?”
After twenty-three years of instruction, Mother often told her that she wasn’t a very good worrier. Or perhaps it was more that her anxieties were misdirected. This, Lilah supposed, was where her talent emerged. She was able to imagine the most absurd disasters, the more unlikely the better. There was something of a relief in the ludicrous. After all, if she could imagine a truly terrible event, then she could deal with anything less dramatic. Or so she hoped.
Yet all the worrying in the world would not alter one irrefutable fact—Lilah needed to find a husband this Season or else her life would be over.
“Indeed, I do,” Juliet said with a nod, folding the page before tucking it away. “However, there was nothing here worth your worry or even noteworthy at all.”
Unfortunately, Lilah knew what that meant.
“Not a single mention?” At the shake of her cousin’s head, Lilah felt a sense of déjà vu and disappointment wash over her. This third and final Season was beginning on the same foot as the first two had. She would almost prefer to have been named most unmarriageable. At least she would have known that someone had noticed her.
Abruptly, Juliet’s expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand on Lilah’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry. Zinnia and I will come up with the perfect plan.”
As of yet, none of their plans had yielded a result.
Over Christmas, they had attended a party at the Duke of Vale’s castle. Most of those in attendance had been unmarried young women, which had given nearly everyone the hope of marrying the duke. Even Lilah had hoped as much—at first. Yet when the duke had been unable to remember her name, she’d abruptly abandoned that foolishness. And a good thing too, because he’d married her dearest friend, Ivy, instead.
The duke had developed a Marriage Formula—a mathematical equation that would pair one person with another according to the resulting answer. Then, using his own formula, the duke had found his match—Ivy. As luck would have it, both Ivy and Vale had fallen deeply in love as well. Now, if only Lilah could find her own match.
“I have been considering Vale’s Marriage Formula. All I would need to do is fill out a card.” At least, that was how Lilah thought it worked. “Yet with Vale and Ivy still on their honeymoon, I do not know if they will return in time.”
Then again, there was always the possibility that the equation would produce no match for her either.
Juliet’s steps slowed. “Even though I couldn’t be more pleased for Ivy, I’m not certain that I want to put your future happiness in the hands of an equation.”
Lilah didn’t need happiness. In fact, her requirements for marriage and a husband had greatly diminished in the past two years. She’d gone from wanting a handsome husband in the prime of his life, to settling for a gentleman of any age who wasn’t terribly disfigured. She would like him to be kind to her as well, but she would accept any man who didn’t bellow and rant about perfection, as her father had done.
“A pleasant conversation with someone who shares my interests would be nice, not necessarily happiness, or even love, for that matter,” Lilah said, thinking of the alternative. “All I truly need is not to be forced into marriage with Cousin Winthrop.”
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An Excerpt from
ONE DANGEROUS DESIRE
An Accidental Heirs Novel
By Christy Carlyle
Rex Leighton dominates the boardroom by day and prowls the ballroom at night. Searching for the perfect bride to usher him into the aristocracy, he abandoned the idea of love the last time he saw the delicious May Sedgwick. But when he’s roped into a marriage bet, Rex is willing to go all in. There’s just one pr
oblem—he’s competing against the only woman he’s ever loved.
The duke strode into the sitting room first, stopping and gesturing toward the American.
“My dear, you must help me convince Mr. Leighton to join us next week. And see here, sir, we can even supply a fellow countrywoman to encourage you. Miss Sedgwick, may I present Mr. Rex Leighton.”
The duke was speaking, making introductions. The minuscule part of May’s mind still capable of processing words and considering polite etiquette told her to curtsy or extend her hand, but she couldn’t manage any of it.
A man she’d relegated to her dreams had crashed in and collided with her Thursday afternoon. Impossibly, he stood before her. The man she kept confined in her heart and mind. The same man, and yet so changed. He looked nothing like the poor shop clerk she’d pined for, impossibly yearned for year after year until she’d almost forgotten how to yearn for anything else. The eyes were the same mercurial brew of gold and azure, and all the angles of his face still aligned with irritating perfection, set off by a divot in the center of his chin. That gleaming dark hair she’d once sifted through her fingers shone like rich mahogany in the afternoon light.
But his gaze was remote, impassive, as if a pane of murky glass separated them. She was the one stuck on a curio cabinet shelf, and he was coolly examining her from the other side. His clothes were those of a prosperous gentleman, not the outdated and oft-mended single suit owned by Reginald Cross. Worst was the arrogant tilt of his chin. The Reg of her memories had only ever looked at her with admiration and pleasure, what she imagined in her silly youthful way was love. No one had ever made her feel as important with a single glance.
He wasn’t the same man. Couldn’t be. The duke called him Leighton, not Cross. A striking resemblance. Nothing more.
May reminded herself to breathe and stepped forward to be introduced to the polished gentleman who could not be the shop boy who’d broken her heart in New York City.
Mr. Leighton took two steps forward, and her momentary grasp on composure faltered. Reg. His scent, the firm line of his mouth, the large, elegant hand extended toward her—they belonged to Reginald Cross. Smarter, wealthier, older, and with an abundance of confidence his younger self lacked, but still a man she’d once known. The only man she’d ever loved.
Emily touched her arm, urging May to accept his offered hand. She obeyed and moved toward him, sliding her fingers against his until their palms met. Warm. How could a memory be so warm? But he wasn’t a memory. He was real. Alive. He was in London, had been for goodness knew how long, and she was meeting him in her dearest friend’s sitting room. By complete and utter chance.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sedgwick.”
Same deep-toned voice. Same ability to raise shivers across her skin. Even when there was something silvery and practiced in his timbre, even while he still wore that placid mask.
“How do you . . .” The rest wouldn’t come. May knew the words she was expected to say. Felt the gazes of Emily and her father. Sensed their discomfort at her odd behavior.
His hand tightened around hers and the glass between them shattered. He blinked, a quick fan of sable lashes, and then those unique eyes of his saw her. Not as a stranger to whom he was being introduced, but as the woman he’d held and kissed. The woman to whom he’d broken every promise he’d ever made. She detected his recognition in the tremor of his lush lower lip, felt it through the heat of his skin, read it in his blue-gold gaze that flitted from her mouth to her eyes and over each aspect of her face.
“May.” He breathed the word quietly, intimately, just for her to hear, as if a duke and his daughter weren’t standing nearby.
Grief, too long repressed, welled up like floodwaters, fierce and fast and just as unstoppable.
May wrenched her hand from his with a burning friction of skin against skin. When she spun around, Emily’s face whirled past, a blur of confusion and concern. Moving, walking away from him, felt good. Like victory. Like strength. Like she would finally get to choose the conclusion to their tale. She needed it to end and had never gotten the satisfaction of a proper parting. She would explain her rudeness to Emily later, but for now she needed to find the mettle to keep going, to leave him as he’d left her.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Montana Hearts: Sweet Talkin’ Cowboy copyright © 2015 by Darlene Panzera.
Excerpt from You’re Still the One copyright © 2016 by Darcy Burke.
Excerpt from The Debutante Is Mine copyright © 2016 by Vivienne Lorret.
Excerpt from One Dangerous Desire copyright © 2016 by Christy Carlyle.
MONTANA HEARTS: TRUE COUNTRY HERO. Copyright © 2016 by Darlene Panzera. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
EPub Edition MAY 2016 ISBN: 9780062394729
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062394736
Avon, Avon Impulse, and the Avon Impulse logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers.
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