All's Fair in Love and ScandalCaroline Linden
Scandalous Series Bk# 2.5
Releases 4.21.2015
Avon Impulse
Author:
Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer.
She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software
before turning to writing fiction. Ten years, twelve books, three Red Sox
championships, and one dog later, she has never been happier with her decision.
Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier
Award, and RWA’s RITA Award. Since she never won any prizes in math, she takes
this as a sign that her decision was also a smart one. Visit her online at
www.carolinelinden.com
Buy Links:
·
Barnes &
Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/alls-fair-in-love-and-scandal-caroline-linden/1121234715?ean=9780062419071
Caroline Linden brings readers back into Regency London and a scandalous author is writing riveting tales of romance that are spreading across the streets and into the homes, of well, just about any lady.
Who writes these tantalizing tales? What sort of person could fills these pages with stories of intrigue and vice? You are about to find out!
From Love and Other Scandals and It Take a Scandal readers have been dying to know who writes the novels 50 Ways to Sin throughout this series. Guiding all sorts of women and young ladies into visions of improprieties and sleepless nights, someone is weaving the tales that are so desired though the homes of London and this story will tell all. With wit and humor Caroline Linden brings us this story:
Nothing wagered…
Douglas Bennet can’t resist a good wager, especially not one that involves a beautiful woman. When a friend proposes an audacious plan to expose the most notorious woman in England, Douglas agrees at once. After all, it would be quite a coup to discover the true identity of Lady Constance, author of the infamous erotic serial scandalizing the ton, 50 Ways to Sin.
Nothing won…
Madeline Wilde is used to being pursued. For years she’s cultivated a reputation for being unattainable and mysterious, and for good reason: her livelihood depends on discretion. When Douglas turns his legendary charm on her, she dismisses him as just another rake. But he surprises her—instead of merely trying to seduce her, he becomes her friend…her confidant…and her lover. But can it really lead to happily-ever-after…or are they about to become the biggest scandal London has ever seen?
Lady Constance is a writer that everyone wants to discover, but as her secret is revealed will she be able to stand up to society and its restrictions? Who will unravel her mystery?
This time we find two opposing and imposing characters Douglas Bennet and Madeline Wilde who will be tousling more than their clothing together, also their wits. When Douglas takes a wager to discover who the author behind a scandalous serial, he get more than he wagered in the strong willed heroine Madeline. As both forces struggle from their attraction and their secrets what comes of their adventure could ruin either.
All's Fair in Love and Scandal is a fabulous addition to the Scandalous Series. Written along as with the first two books in the series, Madeline's character's viewpoint is a delightful read. Filling the pages with her fears and feats, Madeline is riddled with the past of her previously passes husband and the limited bounds of widowhood, and yet yearns to unleash herself. Will Douglas Bennet get past her fierce exterior to find the woman underneath who craves even more than 50 Ways to Sin?
So keep open an afternoon, and here is a snippet to lure you into Scandal:
Excerpt:
“Quite
a crush, isn’t it?” He gave Mrs. Wilde his winning smile, the easy, friendly
one that soothed anxious nerves and made women of every age and rank like him.
She turned at his voice behind her. Something
like mirth glimmered in her eyes. “Indeed.”
“I hardly know a soul here tonight.” He
lowered his voice but without leaning toward her. Leaning put women on guard. A
low voice made them lean toward him,
which he much preferred. “It’s rather intimidating, to tell the truth.”
“You?” She arched one golden brow. “You don’t
seem the sort to be easily intimidated.”
Douglas grinned. He knew he was a big fellow.
Women tended to like it once they got to know him. “Rubbish. I’m petrified just
looking at the elegance of this assembly.”
Her lovely lips curved. Her head tipped
toward him, just a little. Her dark eyes gleamed. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true,” he protested. “My heart is
racing, my knees are unsteady. Look—see how my hand trembles.” He caught her
hand in his, tensing his muscle to produce the tiniest tremor in his hand, and
then relaxing it. “Ah. Your touch has healing power, I see.”
She left her hand in his, but that slight
smile tugging at her mouth grew a bit wider. “It’s not flattering to a woman,
to say her touch calms a man’s heart and body. Usually she wishes it were the
other way around.”
His heart did skip a beat at that. She was a
flirt; excellent. He adored flirts. Douglas stroked his thumb over the back of
her hand. “It only stilled the terror, my dear. I suspect you could elicit an
entirely different sort of tremor.” He lifted her hand and brushed the faintest
kiss over her knuckles. “We must be introduced.”
“I fear there’s no one here in this quiet
corner who will do it.” Her eyes seemed to grow darker as he drew one finger
across her palm.
“Then I will risk being appallingly rude and
present myself.” He bowed over her hand, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Douglas Bennet, at your service.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You do?” He smiled in delight. “Then we
should become acquainted…”
“Mr. Douglas Bennet,” she repeated, her voice
changing just enough to freeze him in place. “Son and heir of Sir George
Bennet, baronet. A very handsome title, an even handsomer fortune. An
unrepentant rake, gambler, brawler, and sometime rogue. Your mother wants you
to marry; you couldn’t be less interested. Your taste runs to tavern maids and
opera dancers, preferably French. Your sister wed your bosom friend Lord Burke,
much to your disgust, although no one quite knows if you pity your sister or
your one-time friend more.” She tilted her head and smiled as he stared at her,
blank-faced with shock that was rapidly turning to indignation. “What have I
forgotten? Oh, yes—you love a good wager. What was the one that sent you over
here: a wager to get me into your bed?” She slipped her fingers from his
slackened grip. “If it was…you’ve already lost. I hope you didn’t stake a large
amount.”
“It was merely for the pleasure of a dance,”
he said, hiding his temper behind a flat tone.
She laughed. By God, she had a beautiful
laugh, throaty and soft, the sort that made a man want to amuse her so he could
hear it again. “I doubt it. But then, you’re also accustomed to losing, aren’t
you?” She sank into a graceful curtsey, giving him one last view of her
matchless bosom. “Good evening, sir.” She turned and walked away, unhurried,
unaffected.
He was still standing there, pulsing with
unexpected desire and insulted pride, when Spence slung an arm around his neck.
“Rough luck,” he said, his voice brimming with amusement. “She’s a cold one.”
He grinned and slapped Douglas’s shoulder. “Five quid, gone in a blink.”
Douglas turned a black look on the man. “You
didn’t say when.”
Spence raised his eyebrows, still grinning
like a cardsharp. Come to think of it, he usually looked like that, right
before he took someone’s money. Douglas had won and lost to Spence with
equanimity—for the most part—but tonight he wanted to punch his friend. Spence
had deliberately dared him to an impossible task, sending him over to be
humiliated and rejected. And now he wanted five pounds. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t say when.” Douglas bit off each word. “She rejected me tonight, but
there’s always tomorrow night, and the next, and the next after that.”
A scowl darkened Spence’s face for a split
second before he threw up his hand. “You’re right! I didn’t. Let’s say…within a
fortnight. That ought to be enough time to work up some charm and get between
the fair widow’s legs.”
“You wagered for a dance, not a tupping.”
“Well.” Spence’s eyes glittered. “I thought I
wagered for tonight. Allowances must be made.” When Douglas said nothing,
Spence leaned closer. “You’re not afraid, are you? Not going soft in the head
like Burke? The woman gutted you and denied you in front of all society, man.
Look around.” He swept one arm toward the rest of the room. “Don’t you think
half the people here guessed why you sought her out? And now they see her
leaving alone, and you looking like she took your ballocks with her.”
Against his will, Douglas’s eyes caught on
Madeline Wilde as she made her way toward the doors. Damn, she was beautiful.
He had wanted to dance with her, and
probably get her into bed as well, even though she was not, as she had so
baldly pointed out, his usual type of woman. She was…something more.
As if she could hear his thoughts, she paused
at the top of the short flight of stairs leading out of the ballroom. She
glanced back over her shoulder, and her eyes met his. For a moment he felt
again a bolt of lust—unwanted this time—and her lips curved, as if she knew.
She lowered her chin and smiled in a coy, entrancing way, as if they shared
secrets—or as if she dared him to uncover hers. With breathtaking nerve, she
pursed up her lips as if in a kiss, and touched one finger to them.
He took a harsh breath as she turned and
continued on her way, her emerald skirts swaying bewitchingly. “Why her?”
“Why not her?”
Douglas set his jaw. “You had her marked from
the moment we stepped into this room. I saw you watching her, Spence. A former
lover? Was I supposed to exact some revenge or retribution by asking the lady
to dance?”
“The courtesan’s daughter?” The other man’s
lip curled. “Hardly a former lover of mine. I have higher standards than that.”
Not really, in Douglas’s opinion. Spence
liked married women who couldn’t impose on his freedom, and who often wished to
keep their liaisons secret. That was hardly what one could call a refined
requirement. Still, Douglas hadn’t known she was a courtesan’s daughter. He
made a mental note to find out more about that.
“She appeared respectable enough to me,” he
said.
“To you,”
repeated Spence with an edge of condescension. “Compared to a tavern wench with
rounded heels, she might be. To the rest of us…” He snapped his fingers at a
passing footman and took a glass of wine from the man’s tray. “You really ought
to improve your taste, Bennet.”
Douglas let that go. He did like tavern
wenches. They were friendly and earthy, nothing delicate or prim about them.
They were more willing to be adventurous in bed, and they demanded so much less
of him—financially and emotionally—than any other woman would.
“But why her?” he asked again, circling back
to his main question. “Just for the sport of it? Or did you simply want the
pleasure of seeing me turned down flat?”
Spence didn’t reply for a moment. His eyes were
sharp and calculating. “How plump are your pockets at the moment?” he finally
asked.
“Reasonably,” said Douglas. He’d been gone
from town for a month overseeing repairs at one of his father’s estates, to the
great benefit of his purse. Still, it was a few weeks to quarter day, when his
father paid out his allowance. He could always find a use for more money.
Spence lowered his voice. “I suspect our
lovely Mrs. Wilde of being more than she appears. And if I’m right, there’s two
thousand quid to be had.”
Douglas’s eyebrows shot up. “What is she, a
spy?”
“Of some sort,” muttered Spence. “You aren’t
acquainted with a little piece of rubbish called 50 Ways to Sin, are you?”
“No.”
“Get a copy. It’s a pamphlet of a
most…intriguing nature.” A cunning smile split his face. “I suspect you’ll
enjoy it.”
That smile put him on guard. Douglas might
not be the most discerning fellow, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew Spence too
well. “If you insist—not that it answers my question about why you wanted me to
charm my way into Mrs. Wilde’s good graces.”
“The authoress is unknown. I daresay even
you’ll guess why when you read it. But she’s piqued more than one man’s pride
with her scandalous pen, and there’s a bounty out for her name. Mrs. Wilde
seems a very likely candidate.” He shrugged. “If you can unmask her, I’ll split
the bounty with you.”
Douglas folded his arms and looked at Spence
through narrowed eyes. “I should seduce the woman, gain her confidence,
presumably enough to be admitted to her boudoir, where I would have to search
for some proof that she writes this pamphlet. And for that, you’ll take half
the money? Not so, Spence, not so.”
His friend’s hooded eyes flashed. “Very well.
Forget I said anything.”
Douglas shrugged. “Hard to do that. Who
staked the bounty?”
Spence hesitated.
“If the bloke’s serious about finding the
author, he can’t be too secretive about it.”
“Lord Chesterton,” said Spence with obvious
reluctance. “He felt she identified him too clearly in one story and he’s
livid.”
“Identified? She didn’t use his name?”
Spence looked impatient. “No, she uses
obviously false names.”
“Then how did he recognize himself?”
His friend smirked again. “Find a copy and
see if you can deduce that yourself.”
Douglas wondered what on earth this story
was, that would drive Lord Chesterton to such an action. The man was as correct
and polite as anyone could be, distantly connected to the King and as stiff as
a piece of kindling. Now he’d placed a public bounty on a woman’s head? What
could Mrs. Wilde—if she was in fact the author—have written about him? Two
thousand pounds was a small fortune, and certain to attract a fair amount of
attention.
Of course, that also made it a much more
interesting contest.
“Three to one,” he said after a moment’s
thought.
“Eh?”
“Three to one split, if we take the bounty.”
He glanced at Spence. “You’re the one, obviously.”
“Two to three,” countered the other man.
“Do it yourself, then.”
Spence muttered a few curses under his
breath, but stuck out his hand. “Done.”
Douglas shook on it, already anticipating his
next meeting with the wily widow. “Done.”
