“I was young and foolish. I’m older and wiser now.”
“Yes,” Ben said, looking down at her with his sea-green eyes. “You’re a veritable hag. How old are you now, anyway? Thirty-three?”
“Thirty-two, my lord. Well past the age to be frightened of losing my own reputation. I’m not on the Marriage Mart, nor am I forced to seek employment as someone’s demure companion.”
“Demure!” Ben sputtered.
Evangeline shrugged. “Well, I was never that, was I? Our affaire proved that. The one regret of my life.”
“Only one? How can you look at yourself in the mirror after the tripe you print week after week?”
“Very easily. The List puts food on my table and pays for very fine mirrors indeed.” He didn’t need to know the true state of the Ramsey household. Every penny went to her father’s care and the repayment of his crushing debts. Evangeline was grateful she didn’t need to waste money on all the accoutrements that seemed so necessary to adorn the females of the London species. Gentlemen’s clothing was far more affordable. And comfortable. She doubted she’d ever go back to corsets and petticoats once—well, it hurt too much to think of what the future held. She’d have to spend the rest of her life as a withered spinster in some gray sack or other. Posing as a man would eventually prove too troublesome.
But for now, it suited her to the ground. Men like Benton Gray left her alone. Unless their tastes turned to almost-handsome boys—which had happened a time or two. Evangeline had very firmly appeared obtuse to their overtures and that had been that.
She was blessed with inordinate height, angularity, and the substantial Ramsey nose that saved her from true beauty. As a young woman she had been an abysmal failure with everyone. Except, damn his eyes, Baron Benton Gray.
Ben had been a beautiful youth, wild and impossible to resist. For several weeks, at any rate. Then her judgment returned—how could she shackle herself to a reckless compulsive gambler, no matter how lovingly he looked at her?
He was glaring at her now, his eyes stormy as the North Sea that surrounded his castle. Evangeline had seen him a great deal the past few months, although he’d never noticed the bewigged footman who’d passed him drinks—too many—or the youth at his elbow at a cockfight. He’d bumped right into her at the races the day he’d thrust his mistress on the back of his winning horse. Ben led an aimless life, one that should be exposed for all the ton to see. It was a criminal waste that a man of his wealth and instincts should be so dissolute and dissipated.
Dismissive. Disgusting. Disappointing. Evangeline could “dis” him forever, and had quite handily on her front page.
“I will cease and desist,” she said, her husky voice made even thicker by nerves. “You’ve begun to bore me anyway. Your exploits seem increasingly—I don’t know. Juvenile? Are you not getting long in the tooth to act like a fractious schoolboy?”
If she was not mistaken, he growled a little at her newly formed opinion. Evangeline thought she’d be assured of many more scandals to disseminate, but alas, self-preservation was key. If Ben dreamed of toppling her modest publishing empire, she’d better compromise. There would always be another foolish lord to write about—they were bred from the cradle to be useless idle creatures.
“Who owns this paper?”
“I do, my lord. That is to say, my family does.”
“Which means your father, I suppose. R. Ramsey. Let me guess. He won it in a game of cards, just like he won your Portman Square house all those years ago. He always was a lucky devil.”
Evangeline bit her lip. It rather depended what one’s definition of lucky was. Her girlhood had been at the mercy of the next house party, the latest card craze, the deepest den of vice. Evangeline had dutifully followed her father, learning to make do or spend madly as the circumstances dictated. There had been no debut, but she’d managed to toss away her virginity to the handsomest boy she’d ever seen—the man who was looking at her right now as though he was undressing her all over again.
“That house is gone now. As you can see, we’ve come down in the world.”
“But still close enough to your victims.”
“The paper does a lot of good as well! Just last year we reunited Lord Pennington with his childhood sweetheart.”
“If I recall, the poor soul died on his wedding night.”
Evangeline showed a few teeth. “But he died happy.” The truth of it was Lord and Lady Pennington were married a full week.
“I’m sure Lady Pennington is happy as well living it up on her widow’s jointure. She was some sort of dairymaid, wasn’t she? If a sexagenarian can be called a maid.”
“She was a farmer’s widow. A lovely woman.” The kind of woman Evangeline wished had been her own mother. Warm, practical. They took tea together every other week at Pennington Place. Lady Pennington never batted an eye when Evangeline turned up in her high shirt points and carefully tied cravat. The woman fed her advice and lemon scones she made herself much to the consternation of her cook.
“I wish to speak to your father.”
Evangeline swallowed hard. She should have known she couldn’t get rid of Benton Gray so easily. “What for?”
“I can only assume he doesn’t know the lengths you’ve gone to get your ‘news.’ I’ll not reveal your methods, Mr. Ramsey, but I’ll buy the paper from him. For enough to set you both up comfortably—and purchase you some skirts.” He paused, his full lips twitching. “Although those breeches flatter you enormously.”
“Stop looking at me like that!” Evangeline cried, feeling a hot blush sweep from her damp forehead to her throat. Benton Gray always unsettled her. To have him looming in her little office was enough to make her sweat. Despite her perspiration, she snatched up her discarded jacket and put it on.
“How the devil have you passed for a man? Your acquaintances must be blind.”
“Most of my custom is done through the mails. And you cannot see my father. As I said, he is ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Ben reached for her pen and a piece of paper from her neatly arranged desk. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to read his scrawling script upside-down. He sanded his missive and folded it, leaving it in the middle of the desk. “Please give this to your father. It might make him feel better.”
“He doesn’t want to sell the paper,” Evangeline said, stubborn.
“He will. And you should hope he does, for I’ll not keep your secret, Evangeline. You must be stopped. At all costs. Fortunately for me, I have money to throw away. You’ve been watching me do it for two years now, haven’t you? That’s when I was ‘discovered’ by your roving reporter. You, I presume.”
“You were hard to resist, my lord. So very conspicuous,” Evangeline snapped.
“At least I’m not sashaying about London in skirts, Evangeline. You—you are unnatural.”
“How dare you criticize me? With your penchant for nude frolicking and—necrophilia for all I know.”
Ben raised a mocking golden eyebrow so high Evangeline fought her desire to bat it down. “Necrophilia? That’s a stretch. One moonlit dance in the churchyard on All Hallow’s Eve does not make me a grave robber. I assure you my partners are very much alive. And satisfied.”
“Hah!” Evangeline could not seem to manage a more suitable riposte. Even when Ben was a stripling, he’d been a satisfying sort of fellow. His large hands, his gentle mouth, the sweep of his tongue—
But he paid his partners now. All five of them she’d kept count of these past months. The fake Frenchwoman Veronique was just the latest in a long line of expensive courtesans he kept in his little house on Jane Street. She’d lasted longer than the others, though, so there must be some depth there beyond her fluctuating French accent.
No, not depth. He wouldn’t appreciate depth. Benton Gray was as shallow as he was genial. Although in truth he didn’t look especially genial at the moment.
Evangeline smoothed down the lump of sleeve beneath her padded
jacket. While her shoulders were broad for a woman, a little tailoring was necessary to complete her transformation as a young gentleman. In an hour she’d go home for lunch and change into something insipid and muslin and check on her father. She most certainly was not going to upset him with any sort of business transaction with Baron Benton Gray.
Let Ben think her father rejected his offer, whatever it was. No matter how generous. He was not going to waltz in here and destroy her livelihood.
“Well? Will you take it to him?”
Evangeline slipped the folded paper into the inside pocket of her coat. “You are wasting your time.”
“Ah, but I do that on a regular basis, don’t I? At least according to your featured articles. Let’s shake on you delivering that letter to your father. Man-to-man.” He extended a well-manicured hand to her, his signet ring flashing in the sunlight streaming in through her window.
With the utmost reluctance, she placed her smudged hand against his. A ripple of awareness coursed through her, stiffening her nipples and causing the hair at the back of her neck to tingle. Oh dear. What was it about this dreadful man that caused her body to go on alert? She was an experienced thirty-two-year-old independent woman, not some moony virgin. Grimly she gripped his hand and shook it hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“A gentleman’s handshake,” Ben said softly. “Don’t disappoint me, Evie. I’ll be back tomorrow to hear what your father says.”
“Suit yourself.” But it didn’t suit her. At all.
Maggie Robinson didn’t know she wanted to write until she woke up in the middle of the night once really annoyed with her husband. Instead of smothering him with a pillow, she decided to get up and write—to create the perfect man, at least on a computer screen—only to discover that fictional males can be just as resistant to direction as her husband. The upside is that she’s finally using her English degree and is still married to her original, imperfect hero. Since she’s imperfect, too, that makes them a perfect match. Until her midnight keyboarding, she had been a teacher, librarian, newspaper reporter, administrative assistant to two nonprofits, community volunteer, and mother of four in seven different states. Now Maggie can call herself a romance writer in Maine. There’s nothing she likes better than writing about people who make mistakes but don’t let the mistakes make them.
Please visit her on the web at www.maggierobinson.net.
From duchesses to chambermaids, everybody’s reading it. Each Tuesday, The London List appears, filled with gossip and scandal, offering job postings and matches for the lovelorn—and most enticing of all, telling the tales and selling the wares a more modest publication wouldn’t touch . . .
The creation of Evangeline Ramsey, The London List saved her and her ailing father from destitution. But the paper has given Evie more than financial relief. As its publisher, she lives as a man, dressed in masculine garb, free to pursue and report whatever she likes—especially the latest disgraces besmirching Lord Benton Gray. It’s only fair that she hang his dirty laundry, given that it was his youthful ardor that put her off marriage for good . .
Lord Gray—Ben—isn’t about to stand by while all of London laughs at his peccadilloes week after week. But once he discovers that the publisher is none other than pretty Evie Ramsey with her curls lopped short, his worries turn to desires—and not a one of them fit to print . . .
Tucked amid the pages of The London List, a newspaper that touts the city’s scandals, is a vaguely worded ad for an intriguing job—one that requires a most wickedly uncommon candidate . . .
Maris has always been grateful that her marriage to the aging Earl of Kelby saved her from spinsterhood. Though their union has been more peaceful than passionate, she and the earl have spent ten happy years together. But his health is quickly failing, and unless Maris produces an heir, Kelby’s conniving nephew will inherit his estate. So if the earl can’t get the job done himself, he’ll find another man who can . . .
Captain Reynold Durant is known for both his loyalty to the Crown and an infamous record of ribaldry. Yet despite a financial worry of his own, even he is reluctant to accept Kelby’s lascivious assignment—until he meets the beautiful, beguiling Maris. Incited by duty and desire, the captain may be just the man they are looking for. But while he skillfully takes Maris to the heights of ecstasy she has longed for, she teaches him something even more valuable and unexpected . . .
First comes seduction . . .
As children, Desmond Ryland, Marquess of Conover, and Laurette Vincent were inseparable. As young adults, their friendship blossomed into love. But then fate intervened, sending them down different paths. Years later, Con still can’t forget his beautiful Laurette. Now he’s determined to make her his forever. There’s just one problem: Laurette keeps refusing his marriage proposals. Throwing honor to the wind, Con decides that the only way Laurette will wed him is if he thoroughly seduces her . . .
Then comes marriage . . .
Laurette’s pulse still quickens every time she thinks of Con and the scorching passion they once shared. She aches to taste the pleasure Con offers her. But she knows she can’t—for so much has happened since they were last lovers. Yet how long can she resist the consuming desire that demands to be obeyed . . . ?
Too late for cold feet . . .
Baron Edward Christie prided himself on his reputation for even temperament and reserve. That was before he met Caroline Parker. Wedding a scandalous beauty by special license days after they met did not inspire respect for his sangfroid. Moving her to a notorious lovebirds’ nest as punishment for her flighty nature was perhaps also a blow. And of course talk has gotten out of his irresistible clandestine visits. Christie must put his wife aside—if only he can get her out of his blood first . . .
Too hot to refuse . . .
Caroline Parker was prepared to hear the worst: that her husband had determined to divorce her—and spare them both the torture of passion they can neither tame nor escape. But his plan is wickeder than any she’s ever heard. Life as his wife is suffocating. Yet she cannot resist becoming her own husband’s mistress . . .
Flying from sin . . .
Andrew Rossiter has used his gorgeous body and angelic face for all they’re worth—shocking the proper, seducing the willing, and pleasuring the wealthy. But with a tiny son depending on him for rescue, suddenly discretion is far more important than desire. He’ll have to bury his past and quench his desires—fast. And he’ll have to find somewhere his deliciously filthy reputation hasn’t yet reached . . .
. . . into seduction
Miss Gemma Peartree seems like a plain, virginal governess. True, she has a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, but handsome Mr. Ross wouldn’t notice Gemma herself. Or so she hopes. No matter how many sparks fly between them, she has too much to hide to catch his eye. But with the storms of a Scottish winter driving them together, it will be hard enough to keep her secrets. Keeping her hands to herself might prove entirely impossible . . .
“Beauty and the Brute” by Virginia Henley
It’s been three years since Lady Sarah Caversham set eyes on arrogant Charles Lennox, the husband her father chose for her—to settle a gambling debt. Now Charles has returned, unaware that the innocent ingénue he wed is determined to turn their marriage of convenience into a passionate affair . . .
“How to Seduce a Wife” by Kate Pearce
Louisa March’s new husband, Nicholas, is a perfect gentleman in bed—much to her disappointment. She longs for the kind of fevered passion found in romance novels. But when she dares him to seduce her properly, she discovers Nicholas is more than ready to meet her challenge . . .
“Not Quite a Courtesan” by Maggie Robinson
Sensible bluestocking Prudence Thorn has been too busy keeping her cousin Sophy out of trouble to experience any adventures of her own. But when Sophy begs Pru’s help in saving her marriage, Pru encounters handsome, worldly Darius Shaw. Under Darius’s skilled tutelage, Pru learns just how delightful
a little scandal can be . . .
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
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119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2013 Maggie Robinson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
BRAVA and the B logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-6910-2
First Electronic Edition: August 2013
ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8914-8
ISBN-10: 0-7582-8914-6
Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) Page 31
