My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(85)

“Not as wet as we all got in this blasted rain. Now you are more protected.” You toss the shirt back at him. He covers his face with it, lit with newfound respect for your practical foresight, and races into the burning building.

He is gone for five minutes, though you feel as if an age passes. Finally, Mac staggers out, with Timmy in his arms and Dodger at his heels. He collapses, choking. You give man and boy water and see to it that both revive. As they do, you notice that Dodger has a parchment in his mouth—he must have saved it from the house. The paper is covered with strange markings that you do not understand.

“Do you recognize this document, Mac?” you ask. “It seems important. There are symbols, and…only one word I recognize, a name: Constantina,” you read aloud.

Mac’s face pales. He grips your shoulders with surprising strength for someone who has just cheated death. “Listen, lass. I appreciate all that ye have done here, I truly do. But there is nae job and nae home for ye here anymore. Have ye anywhere else you can go?”





If you are now fully committed to Mac and his drenched abs of intrigue—er, his orphans—and there is no way you are leaving them, turn to this page.

On the other hand, you do have a standing job offer with a certain Lord Craven. Sure, he sounds fairly terrifying, but you have only a single kid to teach in a structure that has not burned down. If you’d like to bid Mac adieu, turn to this page.





“I’m sorry, Benedict,” you whisper to him and then gently unweave your fingers from his. “But the ton is not the place for me. There is good work to be done, and I must strive to do it.”

You give him a gentle pat-on-the-shoulder goodbye before sidestepping his heartbroken form to approach Mac.

“Mac,” you say, your heart in full flutter, “I am ready to do good. May I do good with you?”

“Aye, lass!” The mountainous Scotsman beams at you with delight as a beautiful, flame-haired woman walks up and kisses him on the mouth. “My new and lovely wife Anjelica and I do most of the good work together, o’course, but the orphans never say nae to a kindly lass reading them a bedtime story here and there!”

Anjelica walks up to you and grasps your hands with genuine warmth.

“We are always so short-staffed, and the children are such brave little soldiers…” Her eyes swim with tears of gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

Mac beams at his beautiful, perfect wife. “Isn’t she the best and most wonderful creature ye’ve ever beheld?”

She really is, damn it. You want to be happy for them, but you feel your heart sink. You turn and see Benedict glare and roll his eyes.

So…you’ve exhausted your last good options. What are you going to do now?





Throw yourself on the mercy of Nigel. He hasn’t much money, given that he just started a job as a country parson, but he is sweet and devoted. Turn to this page.

Throw yourself on the mercy of Sir Charles Burley-Fanshaw. Yes, he is super gross and odious, but he is also loaded and probably too old to bother you…much. Turn to this page.





“Of course my husband is joking,” you laugh. You reach for Mac’s incredibly taut bicep, pulling him close. He gasps audibly, causing the innkeeper to raise a bemused eyebrow. “He thinks I snore like a ‘bloody dragon, lass!’?” you add in your best attempt at a brogue. The innkeeper laughs, and Mac stares daggers at you. “But I promise to be quiet, sir,” you tell the innkeeper conspiratorially. “He will be the only man I keep up all night.” You and the innkeeper share a round of wicked laughter, and you lead a dazed Mac into the cramped quarters where you will be spending the evening—together.

“What the devil are ye up to, lass? Goin’ and pretendin’ we’re married folk?” Mac asks once the innkeeper is well out of earshot.

You extend the privacy screen so you may undress, and as soon as you have hidden yourself from him, you begin to strip off your clothes. “After such a journey, there is no way you should take your rest in the stable. As husband and wife, you can get as good a night’s rest as I. We can split up the bedding so one of us is on the floor, if you wish. In any case, I trust you.”

“Aye, but what if I dinnae trust ye?” he says. “Ye are being reckless with your honor, as much as ye are being reckless with my—” He cuts himself off. “Fine. I will change here, but as soon as ye are asleep, I will head out to the stable and be proper about it.”

“Suit yourself, husband,” you say, smiling despite yourself at his bullheadedness and his slip of the tongue. You imagine several more ways you could enjoy his slipping tongue while you strip down to your underthings. As you do, the strange bit of paper that Dodger brought out from the fire falls from its hiding place in your bodice. You bend to pick it up and read the name again. Constantina. You remember Mac’s strange expression when you said the name before.

Who could she be, you wonder. A lover? A sister? A friend? An enemy? Clearly, she means a lot to Mac. You wonder if you could ever mean a lot to him, or if he sees you merely as an impulsive, reckless woman with a caring streak.

You are so distracted by these confusing thoughts that you lean against the screen to contemplate, forgetting that it is a flimsy bit of screen and not a solid wall built for contemplative leaning.