Waltzing with the Wallflower(21)

“Would you also agree that you’re one of the most sought after bachelors in the ton?”

Wilde cursed. “I’ll answer that for you. Just this morning in the park a girl cried when he picked up her fallen hat.”

“Perfect.” Ambrose smiled. “Do you believe you could make any woman fall in love with you then, Anthony? Or have you lost your touch?”

“Not that it matters, but yes I do believe that.” Anthony smoothed out his jacket.

“Any girl?”

“To be certain.” Anthony still wasn’t paying much attention, but the rest of the group had caught on, including Wilde who appeared to be mumbling a prayer heavenward.

“And you’re willing to wager you could accomplish this in say… four weeks?”

“Yes.” Anthony nodded his attention back on the girl. Ah, his twin’s issue with agreeing without listening made this almost too easy.

“Shake my hand, Anthony,” Ambrose ordered.

Anthony reached out and shook his hand. Then froze. “Blast.”

Ambrose grinned. “What was that?”

“Did I just agree to a bet?”

“Yes, and guess who I’m choosing.”

Anthony closed his eyes. “I don’t want to guess. I want to go back in time and slap myself before I accepted the terms.”

“Not possible. Do you see that girl over there? The one you’ve been salivating over for the past ten minutes while you handed over your life to me on a silver platter?”

Anthony cursed in response.

“You haven’t called me that in ages!” Ambrose slapped his back. “Her. You must make her fall in love with you in four weeks’ time. Good luck!”

“Why do I feel like this is going to go terribly wrong?” Wilde muttered.

“Or,” Cordelia kissed Ambrose on the cheek. “It could go terribly right.”

“Yes… yes, it could.” Ambrose leaned down and kissed his wife full on the mouth. “After all, it’s just a bet.”

Cordelia slapped him with her reticule and giggled. “Who knows where it will lead?”

“Probably somewhere near the potted plants.” He pointed as the girl in question tried to hide behind the large plant, failing miserably.

“Saving wallflowers everywhere?” Cordelia quirked her brow.

“One plant at a time, my love.”





About Rachel Van Dyken:



Rachel Van Dyken loves to read almost as much as she loves to write. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and her dog Sir Winston Churchhill. Although she loves to write contemporary romance, her heart will always be with historical and regency romances. Glittering balls and dangerous rakes hold her captivated like chocolate and Starbucks. You can follow Rachel’s adventures on her blog, Twitter, or Facebook.





About Leah Sanders:





Leah Sanders is the middle child in a family of seven children. As a true middle child she went from high school in Alaska to college in Florida, where she earned a Bachelor’s degree in secondary education from Southeastern University. She also holds a Master’s degree in educational technology from Boise State University.





She makes her home in Idaho with her husband and three children. She has no pets but will sometimes allow her children to keep rocks and name them, so they don’t feel like they are missing out on anything as long as they keep them outside. She finds joy in making the world a better place by helping middle school students locate their English assignments on a daily basis, and even sweet romance novels make her blush.





Also by Rachel Van Dyken:





Prologue





“It’s a girl, my lady! A fine girl!” the midwife exclaimed, holding out the small bundle in her hands. It seemed nearly impossible she had given birth to such a small and perfect little gift. Obviously, the midwife wanted her to take possession of the child she had laboriously brought into the world.

Without thought, she pulled the bundle to her chest and wept. The salty tears slipped down her cheeks as she mourned all the love that would be lost on her new baby and all the reasons she couldn’t keep her.

“Take her away from me!” Her shriek seemed to bounce off the bare walls of the room.

Hiding her face in her hands, she continued to weep, knowing the situation was completely hopeless. Her aristocratic parents wouldn’t allow the scandal. She knew the only answer lay in giving the child away to distant relatives. If the ton were to discover why she had been sent into hiding, she would be ruined.

The father of the child wanted nothing to do with the baby, even if she did. Hopefully she could convince him to marry her when she went back into London; the season would be starting soon. She closed her heavy eyes and prayed the feeling of loss would leave her.

But it didn’t. There was no way to escape the choices she had made, except to move on with life, and hope the Duke would still find her attractive after a twenty-four hour childbirth. He hadn’t even contacted her—had he even cared for her health at all?

Although young, she wasn’t stupid. He was probably out getting foxed with his friends, while she went through the worst pain imaginable.