My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(68)

“Our own?!” You shake your wrist free of his grasp.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want me…” Undeterred by your anger, he begins to unbutton his shirt, as a sort of slow, unasked-for but not entirely unwanted striptease. Although you do not hate the show, you are of two minds about what you really want from the even more arrogant member of the Granville-ish bloodline.





Do you give him a piece of your mind?! Turn to this page.

Do you give him a piece of your body?! Turn to this page.





You slap Ollie across the face. You remember the long month you spent weeping in your bed when news came of his death.

“You let me think you were dead!” you cry. “I mourned for you! Why—” You reach out to slap him again, but he grabs your wrist.

“Listen! I have earned your anger, I know that,” Ollie says. “I wish it were otherwise, but I had to do what I had to do, including throwing away my old life and all that I cared about.”

“I cried for you for years!”

“And I wish that I could have left you with a pure memory of the boy I was. But I had to come forward, for your sake. You need to know that you have taken a job with someone very dangerous.” His tone and words are the metaphorical bucket of water you needed.

“What?” you say. Ollie releases your wrist and takes your face in both hands.

“I’ve been trailing him for quite some time. When you turned up in London, I couldn’t believe it. But I couldn’t let you stumble into this lion’s den without warning you.”

“I—I don’t understand!” Tears stream down your face. His roughened thumb wipes them away.

“My entire cell was killed,” Ollie whispers, his dark eyes like those of a cornered animal. “All of them. Picked off like stray dogs—each time, the French were there waiting for us. I was the only one who made it out alive, for I got so drunk mourning the woman I loved that I missed the appointed time of my mission!”

You stare at him in horror.

“Someone must have sold British secrets for them to have known exactly where we were,” Ollie says. “And after much investigation I realized who the mole must be.”

“No…,” you whisper.

“Yes. It could be only one man—Captain Angus MacTaggart.”





Uh-oh. Turn to this page.





“I—I think that my time in Manberley is done,” you admit gingerly. “And my time with the Dowager Lady Craven. But Lady Evangeline! Whatever shall I do next?!”

“Ah, my dear. Well, my offer to take you to Egypt still stands.” A strange smile plays across her lovely mouth, too full for fashion and all the more intoxicating for it.

“Thank you, my lady,” you say. “You are very kind. And now that I have calmed down enough to think on it, I know that I have had two other offers of employment. One caring for the orphans of the war with brave Captain MacTaggart. And one as a governess for your other cousin—Lord Craven!”

It is now Lady Evangeline’s turn to widen her eyes. “Oh, my dear, are you sure? Those are harder paths than a life of excitement in Egypt with a good friend.”





Do you choose a life of excitement in Egypt with a good friend? Because, well, it would be easier. If so, go to this page.

Do you choose to do good works with the orphans in the West End and get to know a certain rugged Scotsman better? If so, go to this page.

Do you choose to make your bed with the most mysterious Lord Craven and his manor upon the Yorkshire moors? If so, go to this page.





“Are you sure, my dear?” Lady Evangeline asks. “I wouldn’t want to hinder your fun on your first time abroad.”

“It is no trouble at all, my lady!” you cry, a little too enthusiastically. Feeling embarrassed, you glance at your dusty feet, if only to hide your face, which you are quite sure must be glowing scarlet.

If she notices, Lady Evangeline doesn’t let on. Instead, she catches your chin with her cool, pale hand and lifts it so your eyes meet. You find you can barely breathe as a smile spreads slowly across her face.

“In that case, my dear, I would be very glad for the company.”

“You may have my study to work in,” volunteers Kamal. “It is just down the corridor.”

Lady Evangeline releases your chin so swiftly you feel you must have imagined it.

“Splendid,” she says, and she links her arm with yours and starts down narrow the corridor. As you feel her velvet-soft skin touching yours, a thrill travels down your body.

“I’ve always found the study of artifacts fascinating,” Lady Evangeline says, “even as a young girl. Which, as you can imagine, made me as much a rarity among girls as it makes me a rarity among my scholarly colleagues now. But I don’t believe we of the fairer sex should be restricted from such pursuits. If nothing else, it’s a waste of half the intellectual brilliance and human insight in the world, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Before you reach the study, a large, shadowy figure swathed in loose black garments almost blocks your path. You gaze up in alarm at the impassive frame and see a face almost completely concealed save a striking pair of Nile-green eyes. Lady Evangeline is undaunted.