My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(72)

Lady Evangeline throws back her head, laughing. “I’m very glad to hear it, my dear.” The cerulean depths of her eyes darken further. “Still, Delphine must pay for what she has done. I have let this go on for too long, accepting what she does, whom she hurts, due to a lingering misspent…affection. But when she involves those I love within her schemes? Well, then I must take action.”

“Action?” You stare into those bright sapphire orbs, which now burn with righteous fury.

“Yes, my dear,” says Lady Evangeline, casually rubbing your cheek with her thumb. “It will be an extremely dangerous journey, and one that may end in death. I have resigned myself to it…but I do not expect you to join me in this. I ask that you leave.”

“But—”

“Listen to me,” Lady Evangeline interrupts. “You are still young. Your life is stretched out before you, full of possibilities. I do not expect you to sacrifice yourself for my own mess.”

You have no idea what to say and can only stare mutely back at her. She turns her head ruefully.

“Well, my darling?”





Do you insist on venturing onward to stop the dastardly Delphine once and for all? Turn to this page.

Or do you leave the adventuring to the adventurers? You know your limits, and rushing headfirst into likely death with no weapons training goes very far beyond them. Turn to this page.





“I know very well what I saw, Manvers, and it was no angel.” You positively seethe at the vile manservant. “It could be an intruder of ghostly or earthly variety, or a shared figment of imagination between the boy and me, due to our heightened emotional states. The fact remains that something upsetting did happen, perhaps because many upsetting things have already happened, and I would like to find the root of the upset. I would also like to have my raw edges smoothed by a tender mind, such as the one belonging to Mrs. Butts. There is no shame in seeking comfort after a trying event. I am very sorry there is no one in your purview who can provide this service to you. Your attitude would be much improved by spending a moment in the company of a living person who could stand the sight of you!”

You know you are being defiant to the point of extremity, but extremity be damned! Manvers is a miserable sod and you won’t stand for him sassing you about hither and thither.

Apparently, Manvers won’t stand for you not standing for his antics. “Suit yourself, you guttersnipe,” he sneers before stalking away.





Do you stick around and have tea with Mrs. Butts? You are, to be perfectly honest, still feeling mighty frazzled from all these strange encounters. If so, turn to this page.

Or do you clear your mind of these odd detours from the job you came here to do? If you know that, above all, it is your sworn duty to be the best damned governess young Master Alexander has ever had, turn to this page.





The hand releases you, and you turn slowly, in a daze. You already know the person you will see, but you can scarcely believe it. Are you going mad?

No, there he is. Standing before you, whole, handsome, and very much alive, is your long-lost love, Ollie Ruston!

“Ollie! But how? I thought you were lost at sea!” You stare at his face, at once completely recognizable and utterly strange, and try to find the sweet boy you knew in the man you now see. He stares back, his once-innocent brown eyes now darkened with anger and cynicism.

“I allowed everyone to believe that. It had to be done. Napoleon was a monster. I would have done anything to stop England from being invaded and conquered by such a man.”

“Oh, Ollie…” you say with a sigh, feeling overwhelmed. He cups your face gently with one rough hand, but his expression is etched deep with long-felt fury.

“You see, I had no choice. Not if I wanted to do right by my country and those who I loved.” He strokes your cheek with a hardened thumb. “I had to fake my own death so they wouldn’t know to look for me when I embarked on my new life as a spy.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded, as your heart races and long-forgotten memories rush back. Your first kiss. Your first…few other things. The long nights you spent weeping when he went to sea to avoid the brutal abuse his stepfather dealt. And the month you spent in bed after learning of his death. Which, apparently, he faked.

You slap Ollie across the face.

“You let me think you were dead! I mourned for you! You utter, utter bast—”

Ollie grabs your wrist.

“Listen to me! I have earned your anger, I know that. I wish it were otherwise, but I had a duty to my country, which included throwing away my old life and all that I cared about.”

“What do you mean?” you cry, still furious.

“I am a spy. I’ve been tracking one target for quite some time. But when I saw that you, of all people, had found work with him, I had to warn you. You have taken a job with someone very dangerous.”

“I don’t believe it,” you say. “And I can handle myself.”

“Listen! The French killed my entire cell, all except for me. Someone must have sold British secrets for them to have known exactly where we were. It had to be a person in his battalion’s chain of command. They were the only ones who knew all the information that was passed over.”

“No!” you cry. “That doesn’t mean it was Mac!”