To Charm a Naughty Countess (Matchmaker, Band 2) - Softcover

Romain, Theresa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1402284020 ISBN 13: 9781402284021

Verlag: SOURCEBOOKS INC, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Fans of Bridgerton will adore this charming second-chance Regency Romance that includes:

• An anxiety-ridden duke who must marry
• An untouchable countess determined never to love again
• A bargain that leaves them both in danger of losing their hearts

With a painful history between them Michael, the Duke of Wyverne, has no idea why Caroline, Countess of Stratton, would agree to help him find a bride. As the most sought-after woman in London society, Caroline has motivations of her own.

Brilliant but rumored mad, Michael Layward, the impoverished Duke of Wyverne, has no success courting heiresses until widowed Lady Stratton takes up his cause—after first refusing his suit.

Caroline Graves, the popular Countess of Statton, sits alone at the pinnacle of London society and has vowed never to remarry. When Michael—her counterpart in an old scandal—returns to town after a long absence, she finds herself as enthralled with him as ever.

As she guides the anxiety-ridden duke through the trials of London society, Caroline realizes that she's lost her heart. But if she gives herself to the only man she's ever loved, she'll lose the hard won independence she prizes above all.

Praise for Theresa Romain and To Charm A Naughty Countess:
"…perfectly imperfect protagonists and emotionally compelling plot. With this superbly written novel it is easy to see why Romain is one of the rising stars of Regency historical romance."—Booklist
"Brilliant, passionate historical romance that will capture your heart."—My Book Addiction Reviews, 4 stars
"Utterly adorable...both passionate and just plain fun."—Courtney Milan, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
"Theresa Romain writes with a delightfully romantic flair that will set your heart on fire."—Julianne MacLean, USA Today bestselling author

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Historical romance author Theresa Romain pursued an impractical education that allowed her to read everything she could get her hands on. She then worked for universities and libraries, where she got to read even more. Eventually she started writing, too. She lives with her family in the Midwest.

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One

June 14, 1816

Lancashire seat of the Duke of Wyverne

"The money is gone, Your Grace."

Finally. After eleven years in Michael's service, his steward had abandoned the vague diplomacy favored by the previous Duke of Wyverne. Michael's father had been offended by bitter truths, preferring them sweetened into a palatable pap.

Michael was never offended by the truth, especially not a truth so obvious.

He wiped his pen and placed it next to the inkwell, almost hidden between ledgers and stacks of correspondence. "Of course the money's gone, Sanders. I have more titles to my name than guineas this year. I must simply borrow more."

He sanded his just-completed letter to the engineer Richard Trevithick. Only a few years before, the man had overcome financial ruin to introduce steam-powered threshing in Cornwall. A brilliant innovator. Michael requested his opinion on whether steam power could be made useful in irrigation.

This year, of all years, his dukedom needed as many brilliant and innovative opinions as Michael could lay hands on.

Sanders cleared his throat, then hesitated. The familiar headache began to prod at Michael's temples.

"Yes?" His voice came out more sharply than he intended. Tidying a stack of papers on the battered leather surface of his desk, Michael ignored the steward's gaze. Sanders's sympathetic manner was a bit too personal, as though the older man knew about the headaches or the slipping control that brought them on.

Another cough from Sanders. "The usual sources of credit have dried up, Your Grace."

Michael's head jerked up. "Impossible. Has every bank in England run out of money?"

As pallid as sand itself, Sanders's only color came from gold bridgework he wore in place of three teeth lost during a youthful altercation. Now his face drained paler than usual, and he looked as pained as if he'd had another tooth knocked out.

"England remains solvent, Your Grace, but... I regret that your financial overextension is now common knowledge. I have been unable to secure further credit on your behalf. In fact, it is likely that demands may be made for a repayment of your existing loans―ah, rather soon."

The headache clamped tight on his temples. Michael sat up straighter. "Dun me for payment, as if I'm a common cit? With whom do they think they are dealing?"

Sanders drew a deep breath. "With a man who has no hope of paying his debts, Your Grace. I believe they have lost trust in your judgment, if you'll forgive the frank speech."

Michael stared. "Yes, do continue."

"As long as the prosperity of the dukedom appeared inevitable, securing credit for your estate improvements was not a problem. But with the unusual climatic circumstances... that is to say, the weather has changed so much that... ah..." Sanders trailed off in a defensive flurry of careful language, his old habit of roundaboutation returning.

"My improvement plans remain unchanged, despite the persistence of winter," Michael said.

The damned winter. Until this year, Michael trusted two things in the world: his own judgment and his land. But this year, spring had never come, and it seemed summer would also fail to make an appearance. For months, the world had lain under a chilly frost. And now Michael couldn't trust the land, and no one else trusted his judgment.

"Exactly, Your Grace. This is what they find worrisome. During an unusual year, there is less tolerance for..." Sanders shifted his feet on the threadbare carpet of Michael's study. "Unusual behavior."

"This is an utterly unreasonable response," Michael muttered. "When infinite credit is extended to fribbles with silk waistcoats and clocked stockings."

"Waistcoats and stockings require a smaller outlay on the part of a creditor than do speculative mechanical constructions, Your Grace."

Michael's mouth twitched. "My speculative mechanical constructions, as you call them, will be the making of Lancashire." Or should have been―would have been.

He had planned so carefully, overseeing every detail himself to make sure it was perfect: plowing moorland into canals; researching steam power. And finally, finally, he had a chance of reclaiming land no one had ever thought would be useful.

If his creditors were reasonable. Or if the world hadn't frozen solid. Now there was nothing to irrigate; all the crops were dead. There was nothing with which to water them; the canals were troughs of icy mud.

His signet ring weighed heavy on his finger; he rubbed at the worn gold band. "Well. Even if I am short of funds, Sanders, I will find a way to fix the situation."

"I can think of one possible way, Your Grace." The steward hesitated.

Michael's eyes flicked to Sanders. "Judging from your overlong pause, I'm not going to like it. Do tell me at once."

"You could marry an heiress." Sanders shaped the words as delicately as if he held glass beads between his precious gold teeth. "An alliance with a wealthy family would restore your creditors' confidence, as well as providing the necessary infusion of cash to restart work on the canals." He paused. "Or even build those steam-powered pumps you are interested in, Your Grace."

"Bribery, Sanders?"

The steward's mouth turned up at the corners. "Good sense, Your Grace."

Michael leaned back in his chair and allowed his eyes to fall closed. Mentally, he pressed the headache into a ball and threw it to the side of his awareness. What was left?

The facts. The money was gone, and if Sanders were right, no more would be coming. Crops were scarce this year. There was barely anything to feed the tenants, much less their livestock or his own sprawling herds of sheep. The duchy was dying.

Sanders made a fair point; credit depended on appearances. Social power depended on appearances. If a man could maintain the appearance of wealth and power, it didn't matter if he had two sous to rub together.

Michael had little use for false appearances, but the polite world had little use for this eccentricity―so they had avoided one another for the past eleven years.

But if Michael's goal was to save the dukedom, he must get more money. And one day, he must get an heir. The steward's suggestion was perfectly logical: a wife would be simply the latest of Wyverne's improvements.

"Very well. I shall marry." Michael opened his eyes, and the headache roared back into his consciousness. Over its pounding, he said, "Shall we convene a house party, then?"

Now Sanders looked as if the glass beads had been shoved up his posterior. "I regret that that is impossible, Your Grace. I have, as you know, kept in contact with your London household over the years, and I hesitate to inform you that they have come into the possession of certain articles of interest regarding―"

Michael held up a hand. "Speak plainly, if you please."

The steward's gaze darted away. "The ton thinks you're mad, Your Grace. It's a frequent source of amusement in the scandal rags."

"Is it? After all the time I've been away, they still talk about me. How fascinating I am."

A good reply. Such words sounded carefree, belying the headache that now clanged with brutal force, or the queasy pitch of his stomach. Michael could ignore these distractions, could do and say what was needed. But that word, mad―he had heard it so often that he had come to hate it.

He had never known he was mad as a boy―never, until he was sent off to school. If there had been nothing to do but study, he would have excelled, but the close quarters, the games, the initiations others handled so easily had turned Michael ill and shaking. Always scrambling for solitude, he was eventually sent home. A sin for which his father had never forgiven him; a type of son his father had never...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: SOURCEBOOKS INC
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2014
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1402284020
• ISBN 13: 9781402284021
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 373
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar