A Scandalous Novella
by Caroline Linden
now available from Avon
Impulse
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?
Excerpt from ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND SCANDAL:
“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.”
About the 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.
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