Improper Ladies

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“Flawlessly crafted historical romance.”

—
Chicago Tribune

 

“An enthralling spell of tender romance with a hint of danger, set against the glittering backdrop of Regency London.”

—Diane Farr

 

“[A] terrific book that kept me engrossed the entire time! A real winner.”

—Huntress Book Reviews

 

“Amanda McCabe has been delighting readers since her debut, and this sweetly engaging tale doesn’t disappoint. She has a talent for bringing ordinary characters into soft focus and making us want the best for them.”

—
Romantic Times

 

“McCabe is a welcome addition to the ranks of Regency authors. She creates well-developed characters, both primary and secondary. She re-creates the world of Regency society with a sure hand. She provides a sweet and moving romance.”

—
The Romance Reader

 

“Charming [and] deftly humorous.”

—Romance Reviews Today (A Perfect 10)

Other Regency Romances
by Amanda McCabe
Available from Signet Eclipse

 

 

 

 

SIGNET ECLIPSE
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Published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The Golden Feather
and
The Rules of Love
were previously published in Signet editions.

First Signet Eclipse Printing (Double Edition), September 2010

The Golden Feather
copyright © Ammanda McCabe, 2002
The Rules of Love
copyright © Ammanda McCabe, 2004
Excerpt from
The Spanish Bride
copyright © Ammanda McCabe, 2001

All rights reserved

eISBN : 978-1-101-44298-2

SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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“Am I dead, then?” Justin Seward leaned back against the cushions of the jolting carriage and reached an unsteady hand up to touch the aching hole in his shoulder. His fingers came away a sticky red.

“Don’t be ridiculous, man!” his friend the Honorable Freddie Reed said heartily. “It’s barely a scratch. Old Holmes could never shoot worth a farthing. We’ll have you home in a trice.”

James Burne-Jones, who sat across from them, snickered. “You may not be dead, Justin,” he said, “but you’ll surely wish you were once your father hears of this. Remember how he shouted the last time!”

Justin groaned again and closed his eyes tightly. Oh, yes. His father, the grand Earl of Lyndon, was sure to ring a mighty peal over him for this, Justin’s third duel in a year. After the second one, the earl had threatened any number of dire consequences if he ever heard of his son causing any more such scandals. The very walls had shaken with his wrath.

Justin almost asked his friends to turn back around so that he could ask Holmes to finish what he started. Death was preferable to whatever awaited him at Seward House.

He tried to stay out of trouble, truly he did. For months he had avoided all his usual haunts: the gaming hells, the clubs, the racetrack. How was he to know that Pamela Holmes, who had been sending him provocative, violet-scented letters, had a jealous husband who would be waiting when Justin showed up for their rendezvous—and who would call him out?

Truly, trouble just seemed to seek him out, and had ever since he left Cambridge two years ago.

Unlike his perfect older brother, Edward, Viscount Keir, who never took a step wrong.

The carriage lurched to a halt outside Seward House. It looked quiet, as though all were asleep in the pale early-morning light, but Justin knew better. He knew that divine retribution awaited him in those dignified walls. He had slid neatly out of trouble a dozen times before. This time was different. This time he had used up his last, and probably best, chance.

A deep shame washed over him, burying even the pain in his shoulder and the hot rush of temper he had felt at Holmes’s challenge. Shame was a rare emotion for Justin; it was so easy to shrug off his parents’ anger, to hurry on to the next adventure. Now he was drowning in it, in the weight of his parents’ destroyed expectations, of his own disappointment in himself.

He had gone too far this time, and he knew it. He also knew that not even another horse race, another fight, another woman could ever take away the bitter taste of the ashes of dreams. His parents had expected so much of him, and he had let them down over and over again.

“Here we are now, old man!” said Freddie. “Home again.”

Richards, the butler, emerged from the house and hurried down the steps to open the carriage door. “Mr. Seward!” he cried, his eyes widening at the sight of blood. “Oh, Mr. Seward, are you badly injured, then? I shall send for the doctor at once!”

Freddie and James seized Justin between them and lowered him to the ground. His legs buckled, and he would have fallen to the pavement if they had not hauled him upright.

“No need for a doctor, Richards,” he managed to gasp. “It is nothing at all....”

His voice trailed away as he looked up the steps to the open door. His mother stood there, leaning heavily against the door frame.

Amelia, the Countess of Lyndon, had not been well for some time. Her face was pale and faded above the neck frill of her dark blue dress, and she looked as if a strong wind could carry her away at any moment. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth.

Standing behind her, his eyes shining with excitement, was Justin’s younger brother Harry. His older brother Edward was, as usual, off on some responsible, respectable task.

“Justin,” his mother said softly, brokenly, “you are alive! I was so afraid for you.”

The shame that had overtaken him in the carriage was now well nigh crippling. He was glad of his friends’ strong arms supporting him. If they did not hold him up, he feared he would fall down at his mother’s feet, weeping and begging forgiveness.

And Harry—Harry should not be here to see this. He was far too impressionable already.

Freddie and James helped him up the steps, trailed by the fluttering, fussing Richards. They went past Amelia and Harry and deposited Justin on one of the satin-upholstered chairs that lined the cavernous marble foyer. Then they beat a hasty retreat.

The cowards.

“Of course I am not dead, Mother,” he said, as she bent over him to wipe at his shoulder with the handkerchief. “Holmes is a terrible shot. And you should be in bed, asleep.”

“How can I stay abed, when I do not know if my son is alive or dead? I had to know.”

“Was it a good fight, Justin?” Harry broke in excitedly. “How I wish I could have been there!”

Amelia turned a horrified gaze onto her youngest son.

“It was very dull and stupid, Harry,” Justin muttered. “You were well away from it.”

“No!” Harry protested. “Next time, I will be there with you, as your second....”

“You will do no such thing, Harold,” a voice boomed across the foyer. “Do you want to be as big a dolt as your brother? I will send you away to university in Scotland first!”

Everyone’s gaze turned to the shadows at the foot of the grand staircase. A man, tall, erect, silver haired, emerged from them into the murky light from the small windows.

Harry’s face turned scarlet. “Sir! I only meant—”