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~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Order it from Amazon Order it from Barnes & Noble Order the ebook Order from Indie Bound Order from Books a Million Order from iBooks ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ISBN 978-0-06-178345-6 Nominated for RT's 2011 Reviewers' Choice Award for Best Historical KISS Hero (Knight in Shining Silver) |
Every Scandalous Secret
Book 3 of the "Scandalous Lady" trilogy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Who is the lady setting London astir? Notorious rake Leo Wade is not one
for house parties--he'd much rather pass the time in London's gaming
halls...and ladies' boudoirs. But when his gambling instinct leads him
to believe the enchanting and utterly impossible Miss Susanna Leland is
the anonymous model of a shockingly immodest painting...he braves
country tedium for a chance to prove the lady's secret.
With one foot already firmly planted on the shelf, Susanna cares not a fig for propriety. But even she never imagined she'd become caught up in a ridiculous game of cat and mouse, and certainly not with the most wicked man of her acquaintance! Susanna has absolutely no intention of letting Leo confirm his suspicions, no matter how persuasive he can be. Until sweet temptation becomes too much to bear, and they both learn that the price of trust may just be worth every scandalous secret. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reviews and Awards: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Excerpt
(The following is the property of the author and Avon Books, and cannot be copied or reprinted without permission.) (Story Setup: Leo Wade discovered Susanna Leland and her two female cousins posing as
boys to steal a nude painting from the wall of a gentlemen’s club. To protect
each other, all three women vowed to be the model. He and his two friends made
a wager to discover the truth. Leo followed spinster Susanna to a country house party.) Susanna could still hear the wind and rain
lashing at the windows at the front door of the mansion. And she wasn’t tired.
Instead of ascending one side of the curved double staircase, she went
straight through the long central corridor of the house, to the two-story
conservatory that framed the back of the house in iron and glass. Globe lamps
hung along several of the paths, illuminating trees that touched the very top
of the glass ceiling and disappeared as if into the darkness of night. Walking
forward, feeling the wetness of fern leaves brushing her arms, she could see
the rain running in rivulets down the glass, but nothing beyond, with the world
in darkness. “Do you like storms?” She whirled about, almost dropping her
candle. Mr. Wade blocked her path. His dark clothing seemed to fade into the
background, leaving his face and hair lit with the golden glow of light. His
eyes, ever amused, studied her. “It is impolite to sneak up on a woman,”
she scolded, trying to hide the way he’d set her heart pounding. “I was not sneaking. I could even hear
the shells crunch under my feet along the path.” “Well I could only hear the storm. And
what if someone saw you following me?” “They didn’t.” “I am alone—you should not be here.” But
oh the excitement of it surprised her, called to her. “Other girls have female relatives at
these house parties, to make sure they’re tucked in safe each night. But not
you.” “That is how I’m different—I’m not a young
girl. I’m far too mature—” “And on the shelf?” “—to be held to such strict standards,”
she finished, trying not to smile. “There are enough married and widowed ladies
about to see to any chaperoning necessary.” “But none of them are here right now,”
he murmured, taking another step toward her. The candlelight gleamed in his hair, shadowed his cheekbones. He looked teasing and dangerous all at once—it
played with her nerves, setting off a tremble deep in her stomach as if he
fingered the strings of a violin. She’d never experienced the like of it
before. “We didn’t finish our conversation,” Mr.
Wade said. “There is nothing left to talk about,”
she answered calmly. “I posed for a painting, but you cannot prove it to your
friends.” “Not yet,” he agreed pleasantly. “But I
will. Until then, we can talk.” She knew he would attempt to use her
words against her, but she doubted he could. Let him try to confuse her with
the pretty phrases he used on gullible, green girls fresh from the schoolroom.
She had asked about him before leaving London—he was not a gifted scholar,
lacked even the will to be interested in his finances. But he always had plenty
of coin. Did his brother give him an allowance? In a low voice, he said, “When I first
saw the painting, I came to a complete stop, unable to move.” She took a deep breath and let it out
slowly. His words and the gravelly timbre of his voice had an unsettling effect
on her in the shadowy dampness of the conservatory. “There were many men as stunned as I, of
course, for the painting was a new attraction. But there you were, reclining
above us all, your skin golden with candlelight against a black background.” She swallowed, surprised to notice the
tightness in her chest, the way she felt too warm, even though the storm beyond
chilled the conservatory, letting in drafts that seemed to swirl beneath her
skirts. “With your head arched back as if in
ecstasy, I could not see your features. And there was that scarf, twisting
about you.” The warmth seemed to pool deep into her
stomach, even between her thighs. His voice wove a spell that made her
feel…sinful. He was closer now, his smile gone, those
dimples hidden, his green eyes as watchful as the deep forest. He didn’t know anything about her—he
didn’t know the truth. She smiled. “Was that speech supposed to
sway me? ‘Oh yes, Mr. Wade, I’ll tell you everything.’ Then you wasted your
time and your performance.” “I wasn’t performing.” She laughed softly. “But you thought
your pretty words would convince me to fall at your feet and offer proof for
you to win that wager.” He grinned, and reached to briefly cup
her cheek. “No, this is merely the beginning battle in our little war, sweet
Susanna.” She let herself briefly experience the
warmth of his hand before stepping back playfully. “Then you should retreat,
general. Better yet—surrender.” He laughed, hands on his hips, watching
her as if she’d pleased him tonight, instead of refusing to succumb to his
obvious ploys. “I won’t be the one surrendering,” he
assured her. “I’ll seduce the truth from you. And you’ll give me the proof I
need to win.” She almost laughed again, for no man had
ever attempted to seduce her. But there was something about his confident
certainty that intrigued her. “This is your plan? And you didn’t even try to
keep it a secret, to at least surprise or fool me?” Once she might have thought
his plan proved he lacked intelligence, but now she didn’t know. He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s no need. As you’ve already said, you’re a woman, Susanna, not a debutante. And according to you, you were daring enough to pose for that painting. I’ll look forward to finding out what else you’ve done—and what you’ll do with me.” Second Excerpt:(Story set-up: Susanna teaches sketching to the young ladies at the houseparty, and her students daringly sketch Leo by moonlight one evening.) Susanna helped the women gather up their
pencils and sketchbooks, and all took their leave of Mr. Wade as a group. It
wasn’t until she reached the corridor of their bedrooms that she realized she
hadn’t picked up her own sketchbook. She returned to the gallery alone,
peered in— And found him sprawled on the sofa, her
open sketchbook in his hand. He waved at her as if he’d been waiting patiently. She walked across the gallery and held
out her hand. “My book, please, Mr. Wade.” He studied the rendition of himself.
“You’re talented, Susanna.” “Thank you,” she said. “My book,
please.” “It must have been easier for Roger
Eastfield to paint you,” he said quietly. “He had oils at his command.” She looked over her shoulder, feeling a
surge of uneasiness. “Everything begins with a sketch. Please hand me my book.” “But his black background looked so
nuanced.” “Because the paint was a mixture of
different colors, not just black.” She stepped closer until she stood above
him. “Mr. Wade, my book please. Do not make me take it from you.” His eyes widened with feigned innocence,
the green gleaming catlike in the shadows. “Can you? I would be most
impressed.” He slid it beneath his thigh, then
shrugged out of his black evening coat. His shirt was light gray in the
shadows, his waistcoat striped black and red. To her surprise, he turned and
lay back on the sofa, crossing his legs at the ankle atop the far armrest. He smoothed his hands along the fabric
of the sofa. “When you supposedly posed for that painting, did you lie
on something as exquisite as this, Susanna? What did it feel like against your
bare skin?” She pushed away the images his words
evoked, knowing that they were too dangerous so late at night, with no one
about. “Show me how you posed,” he said, not
smiling, though the usual spark of amusement still touched his eyes. “I believe
I should lift my arms—” “I am surprised you dare tease me,” she
interrupted. “You know nothing about me or what I’ve done—” “But I want to hear every detail.” It was one thing to play a game with
him, another to take too many risks that would damage her reputation. She
gripped his arm and tried to draw him upright. Suddenly he grasped her by the
upper arms, pulling her off her feet until she sprawled across his chest, her
knees brushing the carpeted floor. She gaped at him, their faces so close
she could feel his warmth—or was that the warmth of his torso, pressed against
hers clear down to her waist? She could actually sense the quickened thump of
his heart against her ribs, and knew her pulse pounded an answering rhythm. She felt all hot and tingling and aware;
she was so very aware of an ache in her breasts, a trembling in her limbs, and
how her mouth seemed parched because her lips were parted with her frantic
breathing. Without thinking, she licked them, and saw an answering flare of
interest in his narrowed eyes. “Ah, you know just what to do to a man,
Susanna,” he murmured. He pulled her closer while she tried to
lean away. “Mr. Wade, I only know that you need to release me. This is—” He lifted his head to kiss her. She had
only a brief impression of soft, warm lips, a moment to think A man is
kissing me! before common sense had her turning her head away. “Mr. Wade!” “Leo,” he murmured. She gasped as he nuzzled behind her ear,
then began a trail of kisses down her neck. His lips were softer than she’d
imagined, moist, tempting. “How is this seduction if I’m
resisting?” she demanded, hearing the tremble in her voice. He dropped his head back against the
pillows and looked up at her. “Truly? You’re resisting?” “Yes, although you may be unused to the
reaction.” When he released her arms, she rose to
her feet and pulled her sketchbook out from under him. With his usual smooth grace, he sat up
and swung his legs to the floor, then patted his thighs. “Perhaps if you sit
down in my lap, we can discuss our differences.” Shaking her head at his daring, she made
for the door at a brisk pace. “Coward,” he called after her. His laughter lingered in her mind until
she reached her bedroom. Though she was still trembling at the unaccustomed
sensations—and resolved to be more wary of her own reactions toward him—she
felt a sense of triumph. He had thought such crude methods would work on
her—and now he knew he was mistaken. Perhaps he would give up and return to
London. But she didn’t want him to. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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