My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(65)
If you are sick of having your helping hands used against you by someone you thought you could love, or at least take to bed, and now want to see just what London and the Rose & the Smoke are all about, turn to this page.
There are few things so deeply, so strangely satisfying as perfectly recalling an intricate dream after the mist of morning has cleared. Or being able to make love as tender as it is violent while balancing on one leg and using a bust of John Donne for support.
You hope you will be able to recall the details of this particular session of physical and metaphysical congress for the rest of your earthly days. You also hope you will be able to walk straight again.
Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but as you watch Lord Craven’s furrowed brow smooth out in the first phase of deep, post-ecstasy sleep, you know you must scope out the “ghosts” haunting him, once and for all.
Where to first?
Do you go to speak with the servants? Turn to this page.
Or do you seek out that unspeakably handsome vicar? Turn to this page.
“Cousin Benedict, may I introduce my young protégée?” trills Lady Evangeline. “My dear, this is my cousin, Sir Benedict Granville.” You dip your head and curtsey politely. The dark-haired figure returns a curt bow.
It is a dance of politeness you have been accustomed to engaging in since childhood, and one you have performed a thousand times before. You really should not stumble, but when you look up and find yourself staring into the most intense silver-gray eyes you have ever seen, framed by heavy, dark brows, a strong nose, and a face made entirely of dramatic angles, you find yourself doing just that. Sir Benedict raises one aristocratic brow. His black evening coat molds to his body like a second skin and does little to conceal the powerful form underneath. You detest him immediately.
Lady Evangeline has spoken to you before of her fine cousin, by way of warning. He is apparently frosty to the idea of marriage and the prospect of settling down in general, though she hasn’t explained why. No doubt he views women as out for his gold and their own glory. Indeed, Lady Evangeline has recounted wearily the brusque manner the man takes in rejecting the many fine ladies who pursue him for his fortune, title, wit, and good looks.
Still, as painful as it is to admit, you can hardly blame either Sir Benedict or his admirers for their stance. A man who can look as good—and superior—as he does swirling a champagne glass in a dimly lit corner of a ballroom deserves as much attention and defense as he can muster.
“Are you schooling her in the arts of heathen women, Vange?” Sir Benedict Granville punctures your observational reverie with a weary glare toward his cousin and you. He flicks his gaze over your form with cool, practiced disinterest. You notice, however, that his eyes linger a moment too long on your own, before he settles himself into a posture even more devil-may-care than his first. Lady Evangeline claps her hands.
“Correct, dear cousin!” she says. “Now why don’t you be a dear and take this lovely young lady for the next quadrille?”
Neither you nor Sir Benedict can refuse the request without seeming rude. You turn to your new dance partner. He sighs and takes your hand.
“You are my aunt’s companion, are you not?” he asks as he leads you to the dance floor.
“I am, sir,” you admit. The dance begins.
“Aunt Craven has been telling me how her companion has been setting her sights shamelessly on one Sir Charles Burley-Fanshaw,” he says as the dance steps take him back to you. “Rather old for you, isn’t he? Or do you care not so long as his purse is full?”
Every suspicion you held about Sir Benedict has been confirmed. Insufferable man! Lady Evangeline said the only thing sharper than the lines on his suit is his tongue. Still, it didn’t prepare you for the sting. Or the sweetness of a returned volley.
“Sir Benedict, you are too kind to pay such interest in the life of a simple girl such as myself,” you retort, a fixed smile upon your face. “But I assure you that the only thing I am looking for, should I marry, is a man who displays wit, good sense, and kindness.” The dance causes you to separate and you must wait a few seconds to deliver your final verbal blow. “Alas, there has been not one man fitting that description whom I have met this entire evening.” You feel dismayed at the shiver that passes through you as he again takes your hand. Still, you keep your tones dulcet. “You wouldn’t know of any, would you?”
This time it is your turn to arch a brow. You let your gaze match Sir Granville’s for a moment just shy of total, delicious impudence. Though his facial features remain arranged in a most pleasing play at composure, his silvery eyes dance like the sea, full to the brim with chop.
The dance has finished. You smile winningly, turn on your heel, and head back to Lady Evangeline.
If you have still to meet Mac, turn to this page.
If you have already met Mac, proceed to this page.
A few weeks have passed, and the day of the Highland Games has finally arrived! Repairs to the castle are well under way thanks to the reward money Ollie donated, and now you, the orphans, and the entire village are gathered to watch the ancient sport of strong men doing hot things with their bodies for prizes.
Mac, unsurprisingly, wins the caber toss, winking at you as he gives his final heave. Thanks to Mrs. F’s tutelage, the orphans perform admirably at sword dancing…sort of. Still, they managed to make some friends with the local wee bairns (once they got over the locals calling them Sassenachs), so a mediocre show of sword dancing is not a total loss.