series from New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Boyle, a young woman’s
hopes of a match encounter a wickedly handsome complication…
spectacular Season. But one disastrous pile-up on the Almack’s dance floor
derails all her plans. Add to that, the very stunning revelations about her
mother’s scandalous past have become the ton’s latest on dits. Lavinia’s future
has gone from shining bright to blackest night in one misstep.
Lavinia’s disastrous debut. But it’s not guilt that compels him to restore her
reputation. Rather, he’s placed a wager that he can make Lavinia into of the
most sought-after ladies in London. Who better than an unrepentant rake to set
lovely Lavinia how to win any man she wants, he suddenly finds himself tangled
in the last place he ever imagined: in love.
you,” he said as he came wavering up to her. “You cannot stand here all
“I-I-I, oh dear. Mr. Rowland, I don’t believe—” she stammered out, even
as Mr. Rowland took her hand, his strong, sure fingers lacing around
simple reason that Kempton was a small village, and everyone knew
(thanks in no small part to Mrs. Bagley-Butterton) that dancing with
Lavinia was akin to asking to have your toes trimmed—or those of your
neighbors—or to have something valuable broken.
Rowland, completely unaware of the mortal danger into which he was
placing himself and a good portion of London society, just caught hold
of her hand and tugged her out onto the floor, utterly and completely
deaf to her protests.
that been mentioned as yet? That Mr. Alaster Rowland, the presumptive
heir to his uncle’s barony, is the worst sort of knave? It should be.
had ever met. Or had held her hand. Or smiled down at her with a wicked
light in his eyes.
sort of promise, the kind that sent a shiver of something so delicious,
so dangerous, down her spine that she made a note right there and then
to add a new rule to her list at her first opportunity:
truth, as Mr. Alaster Rowland slid his hand around her waist, took her
other hand in his, something altogether improper happened to Lavinia.
here was Mr. Rowland, laughing and leaning closer. “But of course you
can,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
was as if he had brushed his fingers there —right against the curve of
her neck. It was so intimate, so promising a gesture, that it left
Lavinia in a blinding daze.
study of all things proper, knew exactly how to behave when all was
proceeding at a proper pace, but right now she was being steered down a
path she’d never taken before and assailed by a river of improper
and something else happened. Her feet—which before had always seemed
two sizes too big—untangled. It was as if the warmth of Mr. Rowland’s
touch, his teasing glance, his confidence in her, awakened a very
graceful part of her.
and a long-forgotten admonishment from the dancing master Lady Hathaway
had hired years ago, tripped through her thoughts.
right there and then, Lavinia felt elegant. Not because her gown was
proper. Or that she was standing on the dance floor of Almack’s (though
that certainly helped) but because the man gazing down at her held her,
not at arm’s length and in obvious fear, but with all the proper care
and respect of a gentleman.
now lives it each and every day by writing adventurous and passionate stories
that readers from all around the world have described as “page-turners.” Since
her first book was published, she’s seen her romances become New York
Times and USA Today bestsellers and win the RWA RITA
Award and the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice awards. She resides in Seattle
with her family, her garden and always growing collection of yarn. Readers can
visit her on the Web at www.elizabethboyle.com.