although I often mention language in my author’s notes, I feel it is worth mentioning again here that all the sexual acts in this book and the language—including curses—were actively in use in 1885 and well before that. That’s right, even the word fuck. And all the other fun stuff, too. Now, do read on for those excerpts I promised!
Lady Reckless
Notorious Ladies of London Book Three
By
Scarlett Scott
Lady Helena Davenport is desperate to avoid the odious betrothal her father is forcing upon her. The only way out is to orchestrate her own ruination. Everything is unfolding according to plan, her escape finally within her grasp. But there is just one problem when the moment of scandal arrives: the rake she selected for an assignation is nowhere to be found. In his place? The man she secretly loves.
Gabriel, the notoriously proper Earl of Huntingdon, is outraged when he discovers his best friend’s innocent sister, Lady Helena, has decided to give herself to a scoundrel. His impeccable sense of honor will not allow such a travesty to occur. When Gabe confronts her, the last thing he expects is to find himself tempted to commit wickedness.
Fortunately, Gabe is strong enough to resist. After all, he already has a betrothed of his own. However, he is now tasked with the unhappy duty of following about Lady Helena to keep her from committing further folly. And the more time he spends with the infuriating minx, the more impossible it is to resist her.
Helena is running out of time to save herself from an unhappy marriage. With the Earl of Huntingdon haunting her every move to keep her from ruining herself, her hope is dwindling. Until she settles upon the one certain means of securing her freedom, even if it means she risks making Huntingdon hate her forever…
Chapter One
1885
She was not going to go through with it.
Huntingdon checked his pocket watch for at least the tenth time since his arrival, relief sliding through him. One quarter hour late for the appointed assignation. Lady Helena must have seen the error of her reckless decision.
Thank merciful heavens.
His heart, which had been pounding with pained expectation ever since his arrival at the nondescript rooms where she had arranged to meet—and lose her virtue—to Lord Algernon Forsyte, eased to a normal rhythm at last. The notion of the innocent sister of his best friend so sullying herself had been appalling. Horrifying, in fact. He had scarcely been able to believe it when Lord Algernon had revealed the plan to him the night before.
Over a game of cards.
The swine had been laughing.
And then he had dared to include Lady Helena’s maidenhead in his wager. As if she were a trollop so accustomed to being ill-used that anyone’s prick would do. Huntingdon had been disgusted and outraged. He had also made certain he had won the game and that Lord Algernon would never again bandy about Lady Helena’s name without fear of losing his teeth.
Huntingdon’s sense of honor had prevented him from going directly to Lady Helena’s father. The Marquess of Northampton was an unforgiving, draconian clod, and the repercussions for Lady Helena would have been drastic, he had no doubt. It had been his cursed compassion, along with his decade-long friendship with Lady Helena’s brother, which had brought him here this morning to save her from ruin himself.
Huntingdon paced the stained carpets, trying to tamp down his impatience. He would wait for a full half hour just to make certain she had not been somehow waylaid. As distasteful as he found it to be cloistered in Lord Algernon’s appallingly unkempt rooms, he had only—he checked his timepiece once more—ten minutes remaining until he could flee and forget all about this dreadful imposition upon his day.
A sudden noise drew him to a halt.
Surely it was not a knock?
He listened, and there it was again. A hesitant report. Once, twice, thrice.
His heart began to pound once more and the heavy weight of dread sank in his gut.
She had come after all.
He stalked to the door and hauled it open. There, on the threshold, stood a lady, her face obscured by a veil. There could be no doubt as to her identity. Huntingdon grasped her forearm and pulled her into the room before anyone happened upon them. The fewer witnesses to her folly, the better.
She gasped at the suddenness of his actions, stumbling forward and tripping over the hem of her skirts. There was nowhere for her to go but into his arms. Huntingdon was