My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(38)

“A fool in like company, then,” you say, irritated, and arrange your body so that he can press the length of his to yours more comfortably. You both silently grind against each other for a forbidden moment. You kiss softly, with the slow, secret urgency of lovers on the edge of reason. You know you have already gone too far, but to go much further would truly mean ruin for you both. “Why did you not tell me?” you say as his mouth travels the topography of your ears, your neck, your chest.

“Tell you what?” He kisses you more urgently, anxiously, as he speaks. “That the woman my father found more irresistible than his marriage vows couldn’t wait to haul her first husband off to the asylum once he no longer proved of use to her? That Rafe holds me hostage by using the fate of my half sister as bait?”

You arch your body to meet Benedict’s. He shudders from the contact, and you burn with the knowledge that you can create such an undignified response in such a composed man. “Henrietta may not want what fate has destined for her,” you whisper.

Almost as soon as you utter the words, you feel Benedict stiffen—and not in a good way. “Henrietta is too young to know what she wants.”

“She knows her heart,” you hear yourself saying with more ferocity than even you thought yourself capable of.

“Our hearts all want things they shouldn’t. Things that would ruin them, if given in to entirely.” Benedict shifts away and sits across from you again. You cannot believe him.

“You allow your arrogance more control over your actions than your heart, I see,” you say.

“You are quite observant,” he retorts, his voice pure acid. “I suppose that is an excellent quality to possess, as a lady’s companion.”

You shake your head in disbelief. He clearly wants you, longs for you, respects you—but apparently he also thinks you are dirt.

“I may be low of station,” you say, “but you are low now. Very low.” You are unable to keep your sudden anger—and a quiver of heartbreak—from your voice.

Sharp tears shine in his cruel, slate-colored eyes.

“Tell that to my aunt the next time you monogram her handkerchiefs.”

You suffer the rest of the ride to Derbyshire in an icy silence. When you arrive at his estate, Benedict flings himself from the carriage, and for the moment you are alone.

The nerve of the man! You have a good mind to abandon your sleuthing in favor of those who would appreciate it! And yet…there is something about the insufferable fool that you just cannot quite let go of.





Do you dig in your heels and keep on your track to right wrongs, uncover truths, and save this handsome fool from ruin even if it kills you? (It might, quite frankly.) If so, turn to this page.

Or do you decide that enough is enough? If this handsome fool wants to be ruined, let him. You will find adventure, and perhaps love, somewhere else. On to this page.





“No, Evangeline!” you scream across the desert sands.

The two most beautiful women you have ever seen—not to mention, the only two women you’ve seen who maybe truly love each other although one threatens to kill the other, who has set an elaborate trap for the first amid intrigue and adventure in Egypt—snap their heads in your direction.

“Delphine has done all of this to see you again,” you say, working yourself up with the romance of the situation. “All of this—this madness to speak to you. She deserves more than to be put out to pasture like an old dog—”

“Well—” Delphine tries to interrupt.

“Or an old cow—”

“I—”

“Or a very old camel with a broken leg that cannot bear to walk unassisted!”

“Ferme ta bouche, nom de Dieu!” Delphine’s pale features turn scarlet. You smile to yourself. Not only are you helping what could possibly be true love to bloom, you have also managed to annoy Delphine.

“I suppose she isn’t entirely wrong. About you deserving your say,” says Lady Evangeline, returning her gaze to Delphine.

“Then I suppose you should lower your pistol,” Delphine says, arching a perfect eyebrow at Lady Evangeline.

“I will lower my pistol but not my guard. I will speak with you, Delphine, but you know why I haven’t until now. You sold secrets I told you, secrets spoken in the confidence of our bed—”

As she speaks these words, you die, but you live, but you die.

“You took English secrets and sold them to the French,” Evangeline continues. “To Napoleon’s people. You made me forsake my husband, forsake my country and king, and now you look at me with your moon-cat eyes and expect what from me? Impunity? Trust? Love?” Evangeline spits in the sand. You think you might hear Fabien swoon the tiniest bit. You can’t be sure over the sound of your own swooning. You definitely can’t hear him over Delphine’s capital-S swoon, though hers is edged in hot, long-held anger.

“I did sell secrets, yes. And I have no shame for doing so. You told me things your late husband told you, and in turn I told them to certain friends with deep pockets.” Delphine seems so cool, so careless, but you know and she knows and even Fabien knows everything is riding on this one moment.

“Friends with deep pockets who were also friends with Napoleon.” Evangeline says, her voice pure icy fire. A chill spreads across this little patch of desert.