The Wastrel. Margaret MooreЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You expect me to behave better than you, Miss Wells?” About the Author Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Author Note Copyright
“You expect me to behave better than you, Miss Wells?”
Paris asked softly, a wry smile playing about his lips.
“Yes, I do,” Clara answered, trying to sound determined, all her effort threatening to be undone by the pleasure his touch sent thrilling through her.
“You present me with an interesting dilemma. Most people believe me to be the epitome of wasted profligacy, yet you seem to think me to be an honorable nobleman. I wonder why, and which you would truly prefer?”
“I expect you to be honorable all the time,” she said, her pulse throbbing in her ears, her breathing rushed and shallow. She felt like a moth trapped in the flame of his eyes. Suddenly, he blew out her candle, trapping her in the darkness.
“That would be your mistake,” he murmured, and she felt his arms go around her and draw her to him....
Dear Reader,
The Wastrel, by Margaret Moore, introduces a new series of Victorian romance novels from this award-winning author, featuring a trio of “most unsuitable” heroes that she has aptly named MOST UNSUITABLE.... The Wastrel is the magical story of a disowned heiress and a devil-may-care bachelor who learn about love with the help of her colorful relatives. Don’t miss it.
Longtime Harlequin Historicals author DeLoras Scott is back this month with The Devil’s Kiss, a Western romantic comedy about two misfits who discover love, despite Indians, outlaws and themselves. And with her is talented newcomer Tori Phillips, whose new medieval novel Silent Knight, is the tale of a would-be monk and a French noblewoman who fall in love on a delightful journey across medieval England.
A Western from Rae Muir, another 1996 March Madness author, The Trail to Temptation, about a star-crossed couple who fight their attraction on a trail drive from Texas to Montana, rounds out this month’s selection.
Whatever your taste in reading, we hope Harlequin Historicals will keep you coming back for more. Please keep a lookout for all four titles, available wherever books are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Wastrel
Margaret Moore
MARGARET MOORE
confesses that her first “crush” was Errol Flynn. The second was “Mr. Spock.” She thinks that it explains why her heroes tend to be either charming rogues or lean, inscrutable tough guys.
Margaret lives in Scarborough, Ontario, with her husband, two children and two cats. She used to sew and read for reasons other than research.
To my brother, David,
who teased me. You’re forgiven.
Chapter One
England, 1862
“We should be there, should we not?” Aurora Wells demanded anxiously as she leaned toward the window on her niece’s side of the hansom cab and peered out onto the foggy streets of London.
“We haven’t been gone quite long enough, Aunt,” Clara Wells replied patiently. She surreptitiously tried to extricate the skirt of her gown from beneath her aunt’s ample hip before the expensive silk was hopelessly crushed.
Aunt Aurora’s turban of cloth of gold perched on her henna-dyed hair tilted over one pale blue eye and threatened to tumble into Clara’s lap. “It cannot be this far to Lord Pimblett’s, surely,” she insisted, this time addressing her husband, “not even in such fog. I do believe the cabbie intends to cheat us!”
“‘Had we but world enough, and time,”’ Uncle Byron quoted absently from his place on the opposite seat, his gaze fastened on the water-stained ceiling of the cab.
Despite his distracted manner, he was, Clara noted approvingly, dressed in very proper evening clothes, unlike Aunt Aurora. With his beatific expression and shoulder-length white hair, Uncle Byron looked kind, and even quite wise. Kind he certainly was, and wise he might have been, had his mother not made the fatal error of naming him Byron, for her son had come to believe that with such a name he must be a poet.
Her aunt, on the other hand, wore what might have been fashionable among the artistic set fifty years ago. Her gown was a Regency style, with the waistline beneath