How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,129
the artful folds during their rather amorous embrace.
“One would hope they were suitably contrite.”
Olivia arched a brow. “I think we reached an understanding.”
“Excellent.” Hamish tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her toward the stairs rather than the drawing room, where she’d been intending to go.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He grinned. “Upstairs. To our bedroom.”
“But Charlie, Arabella, and Sophie will be here soon. They’re going to help me plan the menu for tomorrow night’s dinner party. And it needs to be perfect. Aside from the fact Nate, Gabriel, and Max will be here, Lady Chelmsford and Lord Westhampton are going to attend too.”
“How soon is soon?”
“Half an hour.”
“That’s plenty of time for what I have in mind,” Hamish murmured, dropping a whisper-soft kiss beside her ear. “I swear to you, you won’t regret it.”
Olivia laughed as a heady mix of joy and desire brimmed inside her. “My darling husband, if you are making such a heartfelt promise, I’m absolutely certain that I won’t.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
An enormous thank-you must go to my brilliant editor, Kristine Swartz. I’m deeply grateful for your clear insight and patience, and for your ongoing faith in my stories. As always, I’d like to thank the dedicated staff at Berkley Romance, including my fabulous copy editor, the publicity and marketing teams, and also the design and cover art teams—my goodness, I fairly swooned when I first saw the cover for this book. Thanks to all of you from the bottom of my heart.
Of course, I also want to thank my amazing agent, Jessica Alvarez. I’m so glad I threw my hat into the #PitMad ring, and I’ll be forever grateful that you took a chance on me and this series.
And finally, I must thank my wonderful family once again for listening to my endless book talk, for your understanding and unfailing support, and, of course, for all the cups of coffee, both fresh and reheated. You know I could never have accomplished any of this without you.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT
THE FIRST BOOK IN AMY ROSE BENNETT’S
DISREPUTABLE DEBUTANTES SERIES . . .
HOW TO CATCH A WICKED VISCOUNT
NOW AVAILABLE FROM JOVE!
Disreputable Debutantes in the making!
A shocking scandal of epic proportions at a certain London school for “Young Ladies of Good Character” shakes the ton.
Does your genteel daughter attend such a den of iniquity? Read on to discover ten things one should consider when choosing a reputable academy . . .
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page
Mrs. Rathbone’s Academy for Young Ladies of Good Character, Knightsbridge, London
Midnight, February 3, 1815
Heavens. Take care, Charlie.” Sophie Brightwell winced as her friend entered her bedroom and carelessly pushed the door shut with her slippered foot. The resultant bang was decidedly too loud in the relative silence of the dormitory wing of the Hans Place town house. “You’ll wake Mrs. Rathbone for sure. If she finds out what we’re up to . . .” Sophie couldn’t suppress a shiver.
Lady Charlotte Hastings—or Charlie to her friends—threw her a disarming smile as she deposited a large bandbox of contraband and a battered leather satchel on the end of the single bed. “Don’t worry so, darling Sophie,” she said as she untied the black satin ribbon securing the box’s lid with a flourish. “I just passed her bedchamber and she was snoring like a hold full of drunken sailors.”
Arabella Jardine, who was perched on the edge of a bedside armchair, pushed her honey-gold curls behind her ears and then smoothed her robe over her night rail. “Aye, ’tis true, Sophie,” she agreed in her soft Scots burr. “I suspect she’s been into the sherry again.”
Sophie pressed her lips together to suppress a small sigh. Even though she loved Charlie like a sister, the earl’s daughter didn’t have as much to lose as she did, or indeed their other two partners in crime this night—Olivia de Vere and Arabella—if they were caught flouting the young ladies’ academy’s strict rules. So while it was quite true that Mrs. Agatha Rathbone, the apparently upstanding, middle-aged headmistress of her eponymous boarding school, was fond of a tipple—or ten—on Friday evenings, and nothing short of an earthquake or a herd of rampaging elephants was likely to rouse her, Sophie was still anxious about the whole idea of a midnight gathering—especially because it was occurring in the room she shared with Olivia.
Sophie’s pulse leapt once more as the door opened again, this time admitting her roommate, bearing a tray of mismatched china teacups.