My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(55)

Do you take the chance to explore Cairo with the sweetly bookish Kamal? Lady Evangeline may be fascinating, but translating ancient languages you don’t speak sounds dull, dull, dull. Turn to this page.

Or do you ignore the beauty of Egypt’s historic capital to spend every moment you can with Lady Evangeline? Turn to this page.





You and Craven make extremely passionate, extremely angry love. You even manage to knock one of those damn portraits of Blanche off the wall with your acrobatics. Your lovemaking is fast and furious—but not too fast or too furious.

Sharing a moment’s tenderness after many moments’ roughness, you stroke the red marks you have left on his massive shoulders and trace the imprint of your teeth on his skin with your tender tongue. His body trembles.

“Even spent, I shiver with desire for you,” he rasps.

“We want each other as much as we love each other,” you say, simple as breath. “It makes all pleasure sweeter.” You nestle into the crook of his arm, hoping for another moment’s rest before starting again, but his body stiffens, and not in a pleasurable way.

“Love each other?” he asks. “You think this is love?”

Your body stiffens, and not in a pleasurable way.

“I do not think it,” you laugh joylessly. “I know it.”

“You know nothing!” He flings you from him, his body visibly rioting in your presence, even though your presence now wants to slap him upside the head.

“You are behaving monstrously!” you cry. Crying aloud is so thrilling and dramatic. You wonder why people don’t do it more often.

“You do not know the half of it! You do not know the half of me!” he roars, throwing back his head. Even the man’s throat is sensual. Damn. Then he sizes you up with insatiable lust. “This can never happen again!”

He stalks out, presumably to roam the moors.





All right. You know what? All his games are not working for you. Do you finally admit defeat, call the nineteenth-century equivalent of Child Services, and get the hell out of there? If so, turn to this page.

Oh no. All his games are totally working for you, especially considering what he can do with his tongue. Plus, you love Master Alexander. Of course you stay, because you are fully invested now and must know the truth! Turn to this page.





“If I say yes, do you promise to stop being so…vexingly attractive?” you ask. Benedict’s face breaks into a wide, hopeless grin.

“Absolutely not.”

“All right then,” you say, smiling. “Yes, anyway.”

“SHE SAID YES, ANYWAY!” he cries, elated. The portion of the ton who aren’t whispering in scandalized tones cheer mightily.

The Dragon spits fire. “I shall contest it! No paper will print the banns. I know people, you chit! I will block this union, I swear it, I—”

“You will do nothing of the sort, you nasty old bat,” Benedict says. He laughs and dips you into a kiss so brazen that it makes your sex drip sunlight and causes poor Nigel Frickley to mutter a stream of frantic “Oh my”s.

“Come, my love,” Benedict whispers into your ear. “We are eloping to Gretna Green!”

And so you do. You live a long and happy life together and never invite the Dragon for Christmas.

You do, however, always make sure to send her a ham every year, complete with a card which you faithfully sign:

With warmest regards from your favorite chit.

The End





“Lady Evangeline, you are too kind. But there is intrigue afoot, and I must get to the bottom of it,” you say. “After all, I do worry for Sir Granville—Benedict, that is.”

Lady Evangeline raises an elegant brow again.

“Not that I like the man, of course!” you say, a little too heatedly. “I just feel sorry for him.”

She smiles warmly.

“Of course, my dear. And I must admit, I myself am curious what is going on. I suggest that we make a journey to London tomorrow to interview one of the late Mrs. Caddington’s associates. I further suggest we make it an early night, in order to start on our journey tomorrow as soon as possible.”

And with that, the two of you laugh, link arms, and make a quick exit. On your way, you see that the dowager is dozing upon a settee, her head tilted back, snoring full blast.

The next day, you rise with the dawn. Lady Evangeline plans to leave a note for the dowager claiming that she is borrowing you for an urgent haberdashery mission, but you are a little concerned that you might not have a job to return to at the end of all this. Yet, if your investigations yield good news for the Dragon’s darling Benny, perhaps she can be swayed. In any case, you are willing to risk her wrath.

Urgently thrusting your scant belongings into your threadbare valise, you wonder what exactly does one wear to a location not suitable for respectable young ladies? Everything you own seems depressingly, well, respectable.

Creeping out of the room, your heart simultaneously leaps and falls when you realize you have run into him again.

“Sir Benedict,” you say, as politely as you can muster. You expect to see the customary curt nod you have grown used to…and perhaps somewhat fond of. Instead, Benedict’s formerly haughty eyes are shadowed and haunted. He shakes his head ruefully.