My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(33)

“Yes!” he squeals with delight.

“First, you must learn the basics,” you say. “And the most basic elements of fencing are knowing when to keep your distance, and when to find your move—and make it!”

With some fancy footwork, you have backed the boy against the fireplace in no time. His eyes are wild with fear but he smiles, as if he somehow knows that while in your company he need not worry.





Midway through teaching the boy how to parry effectively, in storms Lord Craven in a white-hot rage.

“GET OUT!” he roars. Alexander yelps, almost in good humor, but scampers out of the room to practice his lunging elsewhere.

“How dare you enter these rooms,” Craven says menacingly. He regards you with revulsion. “These rooms are forbidden, and all in the house know this to be so. How could you bring my child to this…this place of evil.”

“We took the stairs,” you say simply.

“You know nothing of this house!” he yells. “Nothing of this room, nothing of me, and nothing of my son!”

You punctuate your next phrase by flicking the tip of your blade across the impudent man’s vital points. “I am doing nothing more than caring for your son and giving him something to soothe his young mind. It is more than can be said for you!”

Craven grips the épée blade with his monstrous hands, tears it from your grasp, and throws it into the unlit fireplace.

“What say you now?” he spits. “Now that you are weaponless?”

“I am never weaponless,” you retort, before you slide your hands through the length of his hair, then wrap it tightly around your fist and pull.

He lets out a cry of pleasure and pain. As his poet’s mouth breaks, you descend to kiss it, then mercifully allow the tormented soul to come up for air.





Well. That took a familiar turn.

Do you give in to your basest of base urges? Turn to this page.

Do you fight your baser urges (vincit qui se vincit and whatnot) and get the hell out of this house of horrors? Turn to this page.





You will not let this silver-spooned yet newly paupered brute throw his weight around with you.

“Perfectly,” you respond confidently. Benedict looks uncertain but releases you from his grasp and half stalks, half staggers back into the game room. Perhaps your little encounter has had more of an effect than he thought it would. You scowl at his retreating back. You will save this fool from ruin whether he likes it or not!

Lady Evangeline, who has been watching much of the exchange from the opposite side of the room, arches an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. You walk to her with the steady calm of a soldier.

“My lady,” you whisper to her urgently, “do you trust me?”

Laughter dances in the blue depths of Lady Evangeline’s eyes. “Even if I didn’t, you have me entirely intrigued!”

“Good,” you say, “because I believe if I am to get to the bottom of this little escapade, I will need to go to London, and I will need you to go with me.”

“For companionship?” The laughter has crept out of Lady Evangeline’s eyes and into her voice.

“That,” you say with a smile, “and the use of your carriage.”





Go to this page.





“What the devil is the girl doing?” A shaky voice grates out behind you. “Flinging costume jewelry about and disgracing my name after I show her nothing but kindness!” The voice belongs to none other than Lady Craven, and from the insalubrious quality of its tone, it is clear she has had quite more than her fill of Madeira.

“Oh, my dear. You must take my wretched aunt home before she further disgraces herself,” Lady Evangeline says. She tuts at the Dragon. Dejected at what could be your last turn around the ton ending so soon, you slump your shoulders and set your jaw. Your glum appearance prompts Lady Evangeline to gales of laughter. “Oh, heavens!” she cries. “You act as if you have been banished from society! If only one could be so lucky, oh. Oh!”

You adore the sound of your friend’s laughter, but not so much when it is squarely at your expense.

“Have I missed something, my dear friend?” you ask as Lady Evangeline recovers from her riot.

“Of course you have, you chit!” she says with a laugh. “I have secured you an invitation to Benny’s—Sir Benedict’s—country-house party coming up. They’re always great fun, and this way you can, ahem, entertain yourself with the very notion of eligible bachelors, such as my cousin.”

You laugh sharply in response. This prompts Lady Evangeline to a fiercely stifled fit of giggles.

A handsome, noble ginger arrives to interrupt the laughter.

“Mac!” you cry.

“My lady,” he nods a quick greeting to both you and Lady Evangeline, but his manner is all business. Yet his soulful eyes burn into yours as he speaks. “If you were sincere about helpin’, lass, I may have a job for you teaching the kiddies at the Home for Orphans of the War. It is in London, so if you are ever there and wish to inquire, so will I receive ye.”

With another quick nod, he is off, probably to go do good in the night.

Lady Evangeline raises a gorgeous, quizzical eyebrow.