My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(71)

Madam Crosby stares. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot until she finally breaks the silence.

“Yorkshire is a long way to go for a new start. Still, my man can take you as far as York. You’ll have to take Ravenscar’s mail carriage from there. Best of luck to you, girl. And remember, you are always welcome here. For friendship, work, or—”

“Thank you, Madam Crosby, but…” your voice trails off. No, a fresh hand of cards has been dealt. It is on you to play them. It is on you to win. “I need to get far away.”

Lady Evangeline stands. “Then come with me instead, dearest. Come be my lady’s companion on my trip to Egypt.”





Do you head off to the heat of Egypt for adventures with Lady Evangeline? If so, turn to this page.

Or do you want no reminder of Benedict, including his lovely cousin? A trip to Yorkshire to do some governessing would fit the bill nicely. If so, turn to this page.





“Step aside, all of you!” says a low, commanding voice. “She needs air.”

“You heard her, you miserable sān bā!” spits out another voice, this one higher in pitch but raspier. “Move aside before I make you!”

Your eyes open slowly, and you wince as bright points of light pierce your foggy vision. Trying to determine exactly where you are, and what you are doing there, you force yourself to rise and are greeted by a heavy throb between your temples.

Some cool, sweet liquid is brought to your lips. “Drink,” says the low, commanding voice. You gulp it down gratefully, and to your amazement the throbbing begins to subside. You turn to the source of the voice and see a graceful, dark-skinned woman, her hair braided in delicate strands tightly to her head. She smiles at you, radiating calm.

“Better?” she asks.

“Much better,” you admit. She nods.

“Welcome to the Wahhat Ranya,” she says, “a simple tavern, run by our great proprietress, Ranya Abd al-Sayyid.” She points to an older woman standing behind the bar; she has a shock of gray hair and wears an eye patch. The older woman nods at you. You nod back weakly and turn back to your healer.

“My name is Damilola Adebisi,” she says. “And I am leading this band of vagabonds through the desert to our next, shall we say, job?” An audible snicker rises among the women, which Damilola silences with a look.

“I—I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Your voice sounds as if it is traveling down a distant tunnel to your ears.

“Oh, Jaysis, she’s an Englishwoman! And a posh one at that!” says another voice. You turn and see a mass of red curls framing a youthful face with a turned-up nose and a dusting of freckles. The face is currently scowling at you.

Damilola sighs. “This is Gráinne. She is an expert shot, and not too shabby with a cutlass either.”

Gráinne spits and says nothing.

Damilola continues her introductions, pointing to a wiry young woman, whose slim brown arms ripple with lean muscle. Her dark hair is pulled back in a long, neat braid and her large brown eyes sparkle with amusement.

“This is Noor, our master sailor. There is not a vessel around that she cannot work.”

Noor raises a dark eyebrow. “Among other things.”

The rest of the women roar with laughter. You blush as Damilola then points to a pair of heavyset women who had previously been arm-wrestling in the corner. “This is María José and Amirah. They can best any man in a fight—or any woman, for that matter.” You glance at their hulking forms. You don’t doubt it.

“Lastly, this is my second-in-command, Ming.” Damilola points to the woman who had earlier ordered everyone to give you room. Ming is tiny and yet gives you the impression of a tightly coiled spring, ready and waiting to launch into action at a moment’s notice. “She is the deadliest woman alive when she has a knife. But I have seen her kill men with her bare hands, too.” Ming looks at Damilola with eyes filled with pride and love. You gulp.

“We are all of us travelers here, and we have many women from all walks of life,” Damilola continues. “But I think that you are new to this world. Tell me, how did you come here?”

Before you can answer, a lush, womanly figure bursts through the door. She is clad scandalously in breeches and a shirt like a man, but there is nothing masculine about the way the clothing clings to her supple curves.

“Ladies!” cries a thrillingly familiar voice. “I’ve come looking for reinforcements!”

You can scarcely believe it.

“Lady Evangeline?!” you say. The vision at the door turns and spots you, freezing for a second in sheer disbelief. Suddenly, her lovely face cracks open into a smile of pure joy and relief, and she comes running toward you full tilt. You are halfway to her when you realize that you are running, too.

“Oh, my dear!” she cries and throws her arms around you, momentarily lifting you off your feet in a warm embrace. “I thought I had lost you forever!” You bury your face in her shoulder and take in her scent, delicately feminine and intoxicating.

Lady Evangeline takes your face in her long, elegant hands, concern shining from the depths of those ocean-blue eyes. For a moment the world melts away.

“They didn’t hurt you?” she asks.

“Not as much as I hurt them!” you say.