The Lady Risks All - Softcover

Laurens, Stephanie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0062068636 ISBN 13: 9780062068637

Verlag: Avon, 2012

Inhaltsangabe

“Laurens’s books are always synonymous with sensuality and strong-willed heroes and heroines.”
—Fresh Fiction

The #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae, romance fiction superstar Stephanie Laurens has done it again with this passionate tale of an oh-so-proper lady and the dangerous man for whom she throws caution to the wind. The Lady Risks All in this delightfully sexy and sensuous historical romance novel from the creator of the recklessly romantic Cynster family—Regency England’s most irrepressible clan of sexy rogues and ladies—as well as the acclaimed Bastion Club books. The notorious Neville Roscoe, who lives boldly outside the bounds of proper society, is one of Laurens’s most unforgettable heroes—and the story of his seduction of prim, straight-laced Miranda Clifford is filled with intrigue, danger, and passion that will thrill not only Stephanie Laurens fans, but devoted readers of Lisa Kleypas, Johanna Lindsey, and Mary Balogh as well.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens began writing as an escape from the dry world of professional science, a hobby that quickly became a career. Her novels set in Regency England have captivated readers around the globe, making her one of the romance world's most beloved and popular authors.

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See what happens when The Lady Risks All

The passionate new love story from # 1 New York Times bestselling author of The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae, Stephanie Laurens

Neville Roscoe, notorious and enigmatic, lives resolutely outside society, bound only by his own code of honor—until challenged by his desire for the one woman he cannot have.

Miranda Clifford is a lady imprisoned by rigid respectability—until tempted by a passion beyond her power to deny.

Flung together in peril, through danger and intrigue, they discover a love impossible to ignore . . . or keep.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Lady Risks All

By Stephanie Laurens

HarperCollins Publishers

Copyright © 2012 Stephanie Laurens
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-06-206863-7

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

October 1823, twelve years later

London

Miranda Clifford halted in the deep shadows cast by a standof trees and watched her younger brother, Roderick, strideacross a manicured lawn toward a massive mansion glowingpearly white in the moonlight.

About her, stretching away to either side, the thick bushesand mature trees of established gardens enfolded the housein a lush embrace. The breeze was a mere whisper, a soughingsigh stirring the tiny tendrils of hair that had come loosefrom her chignon to drift over her nape.

Silent and still, her gaze fixed on Roderick, she watchedas he reached a shallow terrace and without hesitation strodeup the three steps and went straight to a glass paned door.Opening the door, Roderick stepped inside, closing the doorbehind him.

"Damn and blast!" Miranda stared at the door. This wasfar worse than she'd thought.

She'd first realized Roderick was secretly slipping out ofthe house at night three weeks ago. She'd told herself thatunannounced and unmentioned nighttime excursions wereonly to be expected in a twenty-three year old gentleman,but she'd spent the last twenty-three years protecting Roderick;denying such long ingrained instincts was difficult. Sufficientlyso that she'd made a pact with herself - she wouldfollow him one night, just far enough to assure herself thatwherever he was going, whatever he was doing, he wasn'tputting himself at risk in any way.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him; her plan was purely toreassure herself. She would learn just enough to appease herinstinctive anxiety, then she'd go home and Roderick wouldnever know.

Ten minutes ago, she'd followed him down the darkenedstairs of the house they shared with their aunt in ClavertonStreet, Pimlico; the hands of the long case clock on thelanding had put the time at twenty minutes short of eleveno'clock. She'd trailed Roderick through the morning room,across the side lawn and out of the garden gate into thealley. Clutching her reticule and her new fashionable shortcape close, she'd hugged the shadows along the alley walls,and like a shadow herself had flitted in his wake, puzzledwhen he'd stuck to the alleyways, until, to her considerablesurprise, five minutes' brisk walking from their own gardengate, he'd stopped at another gate set in a high stone wall.He'd opened the gate and gone in. She'd hesitated for onlyan instant before following.

She hadn't known whose rear garden she was creepingthrough, not at first, but once she'd seen the house, onceshe'd been able to take in its size and magnificence, andmost especially that telltale color ... "What the devil is hedoing visiting Neville Roscoe's house?"

The question needed only to be asked to be answered.Neville Roscoe was the most celebrated - as in infamousand notorious - denizen of the neighborhood. He was London'sacknowledged gambling king, the owner of a vastarray of hells, dens and clubs catering to the wealthy, theaffluent, the aristocratic; gambling was one of society'sfavorite vices, and Roscoe was, by all accounts, a past masterat supplying exactly the right drug to sate society's craving.Roscoe was known to be immensely wealthy and also towield significant power, both in his own arena and in murkierspheres. He wasn't, however, considered a criminal. Instead,he inhabited a nebulous strata between society andthe underworld; he could rub shoulders with dukes one day,crime lords the next, and yet remain free of both worlds.Speaking generally, Roscoe was an enigma, and verymuch a law unto himself.

He'd already been living in the huge white mansion onChichester Street, overlooking the treed expanse of Dolphin Squareto the Thames beyond, when Roderick had bought the house inClaverton Street, just around the corner, a year ago. Miranda hadheard all about the neighborhood's most famous citizen within daysof taking up residence.

She hadn't, however, as yet set eyes on him, but she hadno ambition to do so.

"Wretched man." She wasn't sure if she was speaking ofRoderick or Roscoe; that Roderick might wish to chance hishand at gambling wasn't such a surprise, but ... her lipsthinned. "He can't afford to become involved with Roscoe."It wasn't that Roderick couldn't afford to gamble; evenat Roscoe's level, he most definitely could. But his wealthderived from trade, and as she and he had been taught alltheir lives, that meant that, far more than others born moreacceptably, they had to cling, rigidly and beyond question,to respectability.

Seeing Roderick walk into Roscoe's house had instantlyevoked the specter of their elder sister, Rosalind. The threeof them had been orphaned as children; with Miranda andRoderick, Rosalind had grown up in the care of their aunts.Rosalind had been subjected to the same lectures onrespectability, the same unbending strictures, but when she'dreached sixteen, Rosalind had rebelled. She'd run off withgypsies, only to return two years later, diseased and dying.Rosalind had died tragically, just like their mother, whohad eloped with their father, the son of a mill owner.Every time anyone in their family stepped off the pathof rigid respectability, disaster and death followed. Mirandadidn't want Roderick to die young, much less tragically;returning home and leaving him to his fate wasn't in any wayan acceptable option.

Keeping to the shadows, she circled the lawn, makingfor the house and that glass-paned door. Her mind threw upimages of what she might find inside - a private gamblingparty or ... an orgy? From all she'd heard, she might stumbleinto either. Women were invariably a part of Roscoe'sentertainments; his clubs were renowned for their largefemale staffs.

"With luck, I'll pass, at least for long enough." She wasold enough, looked experienced enough. Reaching the terrace,she glanced down at the lilac twill walking dress shewore under her cape. It was hardly evening wear but waselegant enough to establish her class. Regardless, she wasn'tabout to retreat. She didn't intend remaining for longer thanit took to find Roderick and catch his eye; that would beenough to shock him to his senses, after which he wouldwalk her home.

Crossing the terrace, she opened the door and steppedinside. A corridor wreathed in dark shadows stretched beforeher. Quietly shutting the door, she registered the oddity ofthe pervasive silence, of the dark, unlit rooms. Even fromthe other side of the lawn, where the entire back of the househad been visible, she hadn't noticed any lighted windows,any sign of a party, no matter how refined. Halting, she lether senses stretch.

The ground on which the house stood sloped sharply downto Chichester Street, leaving the rear garden elevated. Thefloor she'd entered on was in fact the first, not the groundfloor, which fronted the street. Presumably the party, thegathering, whatever it was, was being held in a receptionroom on the ground floor. She strained her ears for somesound to show her the way, but heard nothing.

Puzzled, she started along the corridor. Roderick musthave gone that way; other than the occasional room to eitherside, all silent, their doors shut with no light showing beneath,there was nowhere else to go. She followed the corridortoward the front of the house, step by step growingmore aware of an omnipresent sense of quality and solidity.The house wasn't old. Roscoe had it built for him,which presumably explained the workmanship she sensedmore than saw; there was an understated elegance in everyline, complemented by luxurious finishes...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Avon
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2012
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0062068636
• ISBN 13: 9780062068637
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 496
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: AVON BOOKS; https://www.avonbooks.co.uk/; ; Avenida Sur del Aeropuerto de Barajas, 38 Ed. 4, Bajo 3; Madrid; Madrid; 28042; Spanien