My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(7)

“She never—no one ever said,” stammers Lady Evangeline, a woman unaccustomed to stammering.

“Perhaps he wasn’t buried at all,” you hear yourself say excitedly. “Perhaps the late Mrs. Caddington’s late first husband isn’t late after all. Perhaps he didn’t die on the Continent. Perhaps”—your eyes flash, and Lady Evangeline’s do, too—“perhaps he merely disappeared.”





You are cool and sharp and a wonder to behold.

Do you take a victory turn about the room and rub your grandness in a certain deserving someone’s face? Turn to this page.

Or do you get straight to getting to the bottom of things? Time’s of the essence! Turn to this page.





Stomping through the glen, you find yourself mired in brooding jealousy—of both the mysterious Constantina and the lovely Fiona. There is no earthly reason that a man so handsome and rugged and kind and good as Mac would have lived his life as a monk prior to your meeting. Besides, he is your employer, nothing more. One torrid night in a coaching inn changes nothing of the situation.

You stamp down a tuft of heather and, you hope, your ridiculous flights of fancy. You need to right your fevered emotions before you do something stupid. Blowing off steam with a brisk walk so that you may temper your passions before you again face Mac sounds like just the remedy.

You take the scenic route that brings you alongside a magnificent loch. Sighing, you feel your blood cool. This was a marvelous idea. You continue walking, a woman reborn, until you are confronted by your inflamed emotions and desires in the form of Mac, standing among the verdant grasses. His kilt is on, his shirt is off, and the good man is working on his caber toss.

As Mac’s thick, steady, clever fingers strain and stroke the larch-wood pole, you find yourself wondering how many women have ever counted themselves jealous of a tree trunk.

A haunting, alluring pennywhistle melody begins to play in the lush valley of your sex as you watch Mac’s toss through from the run-up to the moment of release, following the impossibly long, perfectly thick beam as it tumbles, end over end, in glorious flight. When the wood strikes the ground, it earns a perfect score by the judge of your heart…and your dewy lowlands.

Sensing a presence—or perhaps hearing his own inner pennywhistle score—Mac turns to face you. His look—one that speaks of your shared longing to have continued on that night in the coaching inn—more than crosses the chasm of your desire.

What would it have been like had you continued and felt that powerful form moving between your legs, bringing you to heretofore unexplored vistas of delight?

“What are you doing here, lass?” His voice breaks you from your reverie, your face flushed as you realize you have been spotted. You raise your chin, attempt to keep your voice even, and try not to be distracted by your wish to be lifted and balanced in much the same way as the caber before you.

“I am on my way back from the village. I bought some much-needed supplies for the children…from your old friend.”

Mac grins warmly, and you feel your heart clench. “Och, Fiona Buchanan? How is she and that great lunk she married?”

“They seem very well,” you say tightly, looking away from his rippling torso lest your resolve crumbles. “She had much to reminisce about you.”

“You seem almost jealous, lass,” says Mac. Though he is entirely correct—perhaps because he is—you are outraged at his impudence.

“I am nothing of the sort!” you say. “We had a very pleasant exchange, and that was that! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do while you are busy throwing tree trunks about.”

Cheeks blazing, you stomp back to the castle. You are too angry to notice the shadowy figure lurking near the entrance that almost stops you.





You’re not jealous. Not a whit. Turn to this page.





You hold your ground. “I will never go with you, never, do you hear me?” you gasp, as the wicked blade pierces your skin. A trickle of blood runs down your neck. You try not to quiver.

“You are being very stupid, ma chère,” hisses Delphine. “Some might say…too stupid to live!” She throws her lovely head back and laughs. It is a strange unearthly sound, with no humor in it.

Now is your chance. You duck away as she is distracted and grab a scimitar lying abandoned next to an unconscious ruffian. You spin around and point it at her.

“Drop the knife,” you command. Delphine stops cold.

“Well done!” says an admiring voice behind you. A thrill runs down your spine, for in your peripheral vision you see Lady Evangeline approaching with her small gold pistol pointed at her traitorous ex-lover. Delphine stares at her wildly.

“You—you have no loyalty!” cries the outraged woman. “I would have loved you—I still love you—for all time! But you prefer this boring petite anglaise to a woman who would do anything for you!”

Evangeline’s beautiful eyes are filled with tears, but her voice holds steady.

“It’s over, Delphine,” she says. “You made your choice when you betrayed me. I thought I might never love again. I was wrong.” She turns to you. “You showed me that, my dear. No matter what happens after this day, I must thank you.”

“Lady Evangeline!” you say with a sigh.