My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(12)

The spies say their goodbyes, and when they have gone, there is no one but you and Mac. The mighty Scot looks at you with nothing but love (and, admittedly, a fair deal of lust) in his eyes.

“Lass,” he says. “Ye’ll stay wi’ me?”

You have a choice.





Do you stay with Mac for a tough but meaningful life helping the orphans while enjoying rigorous lovemaking for the rest of your days? If so, turn to this page.

Or do you long for yet another adventure? If so, turn to this page.





You flee to the comforting confines of the less-eldritch garden. It grows vegetables, rather than flowers planted out of jealous rage, and is the perfect place to collect your thoughts and perhaps a sprig of wild clover.

“I-I do hope I’m not intruding…”

You spin from your wild-clover-picking stance to face none other than the strange, handsome vicar standing in a patch of rhubarb. His eyes wear a haunted look.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t be here. But I knew…I knew I would never forgive myself for not saying something—” he chokes out.

“What is it, Reverend Loveday?” you implore him.

“It—it’s just that…you wouldn’t be the first beautiful young woman to disappear in Craven’s care, my dear,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. “If you should ever need me, my aid or my ear, I hope you know you can always come to the vicarage.”

You nod and step toward him, unsure exactly why. Your movement releases something in him, and his face floods with relief. “Forgive me my boldness,” he half orgasms, half whispers, before pulling you into an inappropriate embrace. “Forgive me, forgive me,” he murmurs into your hair before pulling himself free and disappearing into a patch of flax.

You shake your head and watch him go. At least you have an ally in this handsome man of faith.





This was a fun, if odd, encounter, but you didn’t really gather your thoughts. Better head to the straight-up eldritch garden now. Turn to this page.





You and Mac birth the everloving daylights out of that horse. The two of you perform the procedure with such precision, grace, and showmanship that you could have entirely revolutionized veterinary techniques of the early nineteenth century, if only someone had been there taking notes. Mac’s corded arms move gently as he pats the mare, whispering tender reassurances into her ear.

After hours of exertion, the gangly, newborn foal whimpers its first nicker unto the world, and its mother nuzzles it kindly. The great beast looks at you both with gratitude, then you turn to look at each other with eyes full of pride, trust, and desperate longing. The moment is intense. You then stare at the foal, and your heart swells with the joy of birth and creation—even though you are covered in baby-horse goop.

“A miracle of life,” Mac says hoarsely.

“It is,” you say, also—appropriately—hoarsely.

“Nae, lass. You are.”

You look up from the foal and into Mac’s searching eyes. You never knew you could be so aroused after spending several hours with your arm inside a horse’s body cavity, but here you are.

You feel thrillingly bold. “How long until it is ready to ride?” you ask.





Mac laughs. “This wee slip of a thing will have to find its legs first. It will be quite some time.”

“I don’t mean the horse.”

Mac’s eyes widen. Still sticky—mostly in the unpleasant way—you strip down and dump a bucket of water over your body. As you do, Mac’s own faithful steed strains at the flap of his kilt, ready to take you on as far a journey as you wish.

“Lass,” Mac says breathily, “are ye sure?”





What do you think?

If animal husbandry truly gets you going, turn to this page.

If, on second thought, you feel a little less than alluring thanks to the afterbirth, and making violent love in front of two horses seems a wee bit weird, go to this page.





Oh, how you wish you were less sensible. That you could throw caution and your underclothes to the wind and mount this magnificent, frustrating man, right here on the settee. But your lives are soon to be rent asunder. Why make it more painful for you both?

Instead you repeat yourself, sadly this time.

“Absolutely the worst idea we have ever had…in fact, we should stop.”

Benedict nods tenderly and removes those magic fingers. You curse yourself inwardly for your good sense.

Still, you know it is for the best. As intense as your feelings are for each other, you both are now penniless and unable to support a life together. Trained for one particular life, Benedict must marry an heiress, and you know you are far from that.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, as tears well in your eyes.

“No,” you sigh, kissing him one last time. “I want this more than anything. But you and I both know…that this is impossible. That we can never be.”

You stand and then run from the room, restraining your tears until well out of earshot. You need time alone to clear your head, but instead you run, blurry eyed, smack into Evangeline.

As you wipe away your tears, you see that she is comforting Henrietta, who is also crying.