The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor by Scott, Regina (best 7 inch ereader txt) 📕

“And such a lovely village,” she said, glancing at theelegant columns of the spa as they passed it on the right. “I am so glad myschedule allowed me to take part in your musical week. What would you suggest Isee while I am here?”

Drummond droned on about the various attractions of thearea. She kept her hand on Quill’s arm and nodded along, asking a questionhere, smiling at a quip there. In fact, she gazed at the lamplighter as if hewere the most fascinating fellow she’d ever met. She must have them all eatingout of the palm of her hand.

Not him.

“And here we are,” she sang out as they reached the inn, atwo-story rambling structure not far from the spa. “I will not detain youfurther. Thank you again for seeing me safely back.”

“My pleasure,” Drummond assured her, beaming. He made nomove to leave them.

Mademoiselle Fortier sagged against Quill. “Alas, I findmyself overcome by the walk. Perhaps you could see me up to my room, Captain.”

She smelled of roses, rich and heady. Her curves brushed hisarm. Easy enough to give in, to follow her inside and see if what she offeredwas as sweet as it seemed.

“I know the owners, the Truants,” he said. “I’m sure theycan assist you better than I can.”

She glanced up at him, and, for one moment, he thought shewould call him something vile. Then she seized his lapels, reared up, andpressed her lips against his.

Like silk against his skin, honey on his lips. His handswere coming around her waist before he thought better of it. He was vaguelyaware of Drummond leaving them with a chuckle.

In the shadow that dropped as the lantern moved away, she shovedQuill back. “What is wrong with you? I’ve been trying to get your attention forthe last hour. I have a message for you, from Napoleon.”

~~~

He stared at her, this legend. The prideof His Majesty’s Navy, dressed all in black tonight. How the breeze mustcaress that thick, dark hair as his hooded eyes gazed out at the sea. He hadordered sailors into battle, handed her countrymen one of their most decisivedefeats, thwarted Napoleon’s plans again and again.

Why was he so dense?

Or was it merely his arrogance that had kept him from takingher lead? She’d certainly faced that before. No one had ever claimed Louis’brother, the Comte d’Artois, was a humble man. Neither were his followers, likeher father and his friends. They had all been idealists with no idea of thetrue cost of things, in time, money, or lives. Why had she thought Quillan St.Claire would be any different?

His hands were still on the waist of her performance gown,fingers tangled in the gold braid. All at once, he pivoted, pulling her aroundand pinning her against the white-washed wall of the inn. It happened so fast,she lost her breath, she, who had been trained to control it.

“Who are you to speak for Napoleon?” he demanded.

Moonlight sparkled on eyes gone dangerous. Now, that was thelegend she had been told to expect.

“One, like you, who wishes to pry out his secrets,” shepromised him. “I am no pawn of the court. I left Paris with my family duringthe atrocities. Now I do favors on occasion for the War Office. I was asked totell you that they have received information about you. The emperor is sendingsomeone to kill you.”

He released her and stepped back. “Why should I believeyou?”

Marie shrugged, finding breath easier with him a few feetaway. “Why not?”

“Because one side of the War Office doesn’t speak to theother,” he said with disgust. “I have someone I trust there. I don’t know you.”

“But I know him,” she explained. “Markus Dorland, alsoformerly of His Majesty’s Navy.”

He stilled. “Prove that you know Captain Dorland.”

She put her hand up next to his ear. “About this tall, sandyhair, vivid blue eyes that can hold you in place with one look.”

“Anyone might have noticed that on short acquaintance,” hepointed out.

She leaned closer, until she thought for one moment she smelled the sea. “He also was injured at theBattle of the Nile, a blow that took out a chunk of his right calf. He wearspadding under his sock to hide the mark.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, forcing her tostraighten or collide with him anew. “I don’t suppose he gave you a letter ofintroduction.”

She tsked. “Certainly not.”

He nodded slowly. “Very well. You have delivered yourmessage. You may tell the War Office I will take my usual care.”

Which meant none at all. Oh, men!

“That is insufficient,” Marie told him. “The information youhave been bringing the War Office from France is too important to lose you tochance. I will protect you.”

He dropped his arms and laughed.

Laughed.

Anger, humiliation, oh, those were old foes. But this time,she did not try to master them. This time, she used them. With one movement,she yanked out a long hairpin and brought it under his chin. “I know how toprotect myself, Captain. I can keep you safe too.”

With one movement, he thrust her hand across her body, awayfrom him, and brought himself within inches, holding her in place.

“I can protect myself,” he said.

Marie smiled up at him. “You’re bleeding. If that pin hadbeen poisoned, you’d be dead shortly.”

He released her to step back and touch his neck. As his handcame away, a few drops of blood, black in the moonlight, dotted his glove fromthe scratch he’d given himself blocking her.

“I’ve seen enough men die at the tyrant’s hand,” Marie toldhim, returning the pin to the coil of her hair. “I won’t see another fallbecause I stood by and did nothing. So, I will cling to you like a tailoredcoat until we find this Frenchman. Do not try me, Captain. Like you, I do nottaste defeat willingly.”

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About the Author

Regina Scottstarted writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we knowit, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing.Since her first book was published, her stories have traveled the globe, withtranslations in many languages, including Dutch, German, Italian,