GENRE: Historical (Regency)
Marry in haste…
Lady Gwendolyn Pettigrew longs to be a mother, but refuses to marry the lecherous old fool her father has found for her. When her best friend convinces her to consider her husband’s younger brother as a suitable candidate, Gwen agrees to a marriage of convenience, hoping against hope that her dream of becoming a mother will have a chance.
The Hon. John Montague, a penniless younger son, is handsome, witty, and thrilled that a woman with a dowry has agreed to wed him. Best of all she’s a fiercely independent bluestocking, a woman who won’t want to bother with a family. Because John has a shocking secret. He’s vowed never to bring a child into the world, a child who, like his own mother, might carry the strain of madness.
As secrets unfold, tension grows, threatening the fragile bonds they’ve forged. Worse, someone wants them to abandon their home and leave Yorkshire, and they’ll stop at nothing to make it happen.
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“May I come in?”
A frisson of excitement made every nerve ending tingle in anticipation. Did he want to consummate their marriage tonight? She looked down at her serviceable white cotton nightgown with its high neck and long sleeves. She’d put it on because it was heavy and warm. If she’d known John would be joining her in her bed, she would have left her hair loose and worn the pretty gown Miranda had given her as a wedding gift.
Oh Lord, oh Lord.
She let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she called out, “Come in.”
He poked his head through the door. His coat and waistcoat were off, and his cravat was in his hand. He looked mussed and adorable.
“I want to apologize for my behavior. I shouldn’t have run off like I did. I was feeling . . . ill-tempered . . . and didn’t want to subject you to my mood. I promise not to do it again.”
She peeked over the top of her covers. “You are forgiven. But I must say I was worried about you. Where did you go?”
“I rode toward the village, turned around, and came back. I gave my horse a good gallop and then a rub down in the stable.”
“I see.” She paused, not knowing what else to say.
He smiled. “We’ll play whist tomorrow night. I know you enjoy the game.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
“Good night, Gwen.” He closed the door firmly, and his footsteps echoed down the hall.
Why were her eyes filling with tears?
Author of eight books on California history and twelve romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last three years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of her gran-cats, gran-dog, and gran-fish. Sadly, the gran-lizard went to his final reward. If you want to learn more about her activities go to https://www.pamelagibsonwrites.com and sign up for her blog and quarterly newsletter. Or follow her in these places:
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