upon, is it not?” Both ladies turned to the silent Dowager Duchess of Royston for confirmation.
“Yes. Yes,” Edith St. Just acknowledged briskly. “Although I agree with Cicely, in that it would be more of a triumph if Chambourne had decided upon the lady you had chosen for him.”
Lady Jocelyn looked suitably deflated. “Perhaps one of you will be more success in that regard than I.”
“I am not at all sure of any degree of success in regard to Thorne,” Lady Cicely admitted heavily. “Since his first wife died four years ago, he has shown a decided aversion to the very idea of remarrying.”
“And yet he must, for he is in need of an heir, the same as our own two grandsons,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly.
Lady Jocelyn looked at her curiously. “How go your own efforts in regard to Royston?”
“Nicely, thank you.” Edith St. Just nodded regally.
“You believe he will marry the woman of your choice?” Lady Cicely looked suitably impressed.
“I am sure of it, yes.”
“How confident are you of that?” Lady Jocelyn challenged daringly, still feeling slightly stung in regard to her friends’ reaction to her news of Chambourne’s forthcoming marriage to Lady Sylviana Moorland, the Countess of Ampthill.
“So confident,” the dowager duchess assured haughtily, “that I am willing to write that lady’s name on a piece of paper this very minute and leave it in the safekeeping of your butler, only to be returned and read by all of us when Royston announces his intention of marrying.”
“Is that not rather presumptuous of you, Edith?” Lady Cicely raised skeptical brows.
“Not in the least,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly. “In fact, call for Edwards and we shall do it now. This very minute.”
Ellie, sitting in her usual place in the window beside Miss Thompson and Mrs. Spencer, could only watch with a sinking heart as Edith St. Just did exactly as she had said she would.
Could only wonder as to the name of the lady—and secretly envy her—written on that innocuous piece of paper, which was taken away by Lady Jocelyn’s butler some minutes later...
As she knew beyond a doubt that it would not be her own name.
Despite the fact she had fallen in love with the arrogantly disdainful Justin St. Just several months ago...
* * * * *
Bronwyn Scott
London, 1839
Former cavalry officer Captain Grahame Westmore is restless for change, but escorting a diplomat’s spoiled daughter to Vienna isn’t what he had in mind—though for once he hasn’t been hired for his skills in pleasuring women! Independent, fiery and strong willed, Elowyn Bagshaw is not the simpering lady he expected. Used to getting her own way and giving the orders, Elowyn will not be controlled so easily. Grahame soon realizes that he’s got a fight on his hands—and it’s one they’re both going to enjoy!
Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous
Only London’s best lovers need apply!
Meet our next gentleman escort, Captain Grahame Westmore—or perhaps you remember him from before? Grahame made an appearance in Nick’s story, Secrets of A Gentleman Escort, at the house party. Now he’s back in a story of his own.
He’s off to Vienna to take up a position at the Spanish Riding School, but on the way he has to escort a diplomat’s daughter to her father’s latest posting. He thinks he knows all there is to know about diplomats’ daughters, but nothing has prepared him for Elowyn. She’s strong, determined and passionate. She’s a woman who takes what she wants, and she wants him! Grahame has met his match when he least expected it.
The story is a sexy road-trip romp but, underneath it all, a reminder that love can find you when you least expect it, and sometimes making the choice to love is the toughest decision of all.
Enjoy!
I’ll see you on my blog at bronwynswriting.blogspot.com.
For my friends Leslie and Jim. Just because.
London, Fall 1839
Some men thrived in peacetime. Captain Grahame Westmore definitely wasn’t one of them. His army, the Queen’s army, didn’t need him anymore and four years of London life had left him restless for a change. That restlessness caused him to eye the file on Channing Deveril’s desk with a mixture of suspicion and anticipation as he paced the league’s office. Would the next assignment be the adventure he was looking for? He doubted it. His work for the league was starting to pale, not that he’d ever tell Channing. He probably didn’t have to. Channing likely already knew.
“Go ahead, open it.” Channing grinned and sat back in his chair, hands steepled in supreme confidence. Someone who didn’t know Channing well would take that grin as a sign of complete unawareness to the restlessness plaguing him. But Grahame knew better. Channing was not given to obliviousness. It would be a mistake to assume otherwise. As the founder of the League of Discreet Gentlemen, an underground organization dedicated to the pursuit of women’s pleasure, Channing prided himself on perfectly matching his men to their missions. As a result, Grahame’s senses were on high alert. What was he about to be matched with? Or more appropriate, to whom?
Grahame picked up the folder with healthy skepticism. Something was definitely afoot. Channing was far too smug this morning. He opened the folder and scanned the brief for pertinent information. Details could come later. He saw all he needed to make his decision. He slid the folder back across the desk and gave Channing his one-word answer. “No.”
“No?” Channing arched a blond eyebrow. “Care to have a seat and tell me why? You’ll wear me out with all that pacing.”
Grahame took the chair. He could humor Channing in that respect, at least. He was not taking this assignment. “I’m a cavalry officer not a nursemaid.”
“Ex-cavalry officer,” Channing corrected. “And I think your skills in that regard make you the ideal candidate. I admit it’s not our usual. We’re escorts, not bodyguards, but when this opportunity came up in conversation I immediately thought of you.”
Grahame sat up a little straighter, instantly wary. Now they were getting somewhere. “You didn’t already commit me without my approval?” It was one of the rules of the league that no one be forced into an assignment. In their line of work, where assignments ranged anywhere from providing an innocuous escort to an opera or ball to more physically intimate engagements, consent was essential.
Channing gave an easy shrug. “I simply told the people in question I might have a man for them.”
“Then you can tell them you were mistaken. I am qualified to lead men in battle, not play governess to a diplomat’s spoiled daughter,” Grahame replied firmly. Squiring a diplomat’s daughter to her father’s new post was not his idea of anything remotely positive. He knew the sort. He’d seen how diplomats traveled during his time in the military. He wouldn’t just be moving a daughter. He’d be shepherding