Wickedly Ever After by Michelle Marcos

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After discovering her fiancé in the arms of a courtesan, Lady Athena McAlister comes to a frightful realization: Most men prefer the company of their mistresses to their wives. How can she, and other brides-to-be, become both wife and mistress to a man? In her quest for knowledge, she begs her grandfather to let her start a finishing school for marriageable ladies. There she and her friends discreetly invite London’s most notorious rakes to educate them on the art of seducing a man.

Marshall Hawkesworth’s sister has become far too knowledgeable about the ways of sex, and he suspects that her new finishing school is to blame. Marshall poses as a lecturer on several topics, including sensual kissing, and he soon finds Lady Athena to be a most apt pupil. But before he has her school shut down for good, he’s determined to give her a few private lessons she won’t soon forget…

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Twice upon a time, Athena McAllister thought she had found the man of her dreams.

The first time it happened she was fifteen years old. He was sixteen, blond- haired, and beautiful, the second son of a viscount who was on holiday from boarding school abroad. He spoke to her politely, as a proper young gentleman should, but stared over her ginger-colored head at a lovelier young woman at the ball.

At nineteen she met another man, a viscount in his own right. He was twenty, blond- haired, and beautiful, and he expressed nothing but admiration for her fiery coloring. He spoke of his travels to Italy and America, and when the music started, stepped around her generous form to dance with a lovelier young woman at the ball.

It was, therefore, with some trepidation that she regarded the blond- haired and beautiful Calvin Bretherton, whose manner and clothes bespoke generations of wealth that she now lacked. At twenty-eight, Athena was well past marrying years, and everyone expected her to live out her life in aristocratic penury. But the earl was looking for a wife, and

Athena gave in to that frustrating yet lingering hope that he might be her final chance to marry well— let alone marry at all.

Hester looked over at her friend as she handed her a glass of wine. "You’ve got the look of a cat that’s spotted an unsuspecting bird. Who are you staring at?"

Athena took a sip, and the sweet wine burst flavor into her dry mouth. "No one."

Hester pursed her lips as her eyes scanned the cluster of men across the ballroom. "There’s General Thomason, Lord Ryebrook, the bishop . . . can’t be the bishop."

Athena smiled and rolledher eyes. "Behind him."

Hester squinted her dark eyes. "Hmm. Lord Stock-dale. Very handsome indeed. I know his family well. He gets his looks from his mother, you know."

Athena smirked. "I bet he gets looks from lots of women."

Hester chuckled. "I’ve always been partial to men with blue eyes. Let’s sit down. Perhaps he’ll come over and introduce himself."

Athena took her place beside Hester in the knot of chairs near the fireplace— the potpourri corner, she called it— where the dowagers, spinsters, and other dried- out women congregated. She smiled wanly at the conversation between the Baroness Basinghall, a great turtle of a woman, and her unmarried last daughter, an equally grating bore, on which teas are the best cures for headaches and how to make poultices for bunions.

But her own eyes kept drifting to the object of her growing aspiration. Calvin threw his head back and laughed at something the general said. She smiled. His cheeks curled over a row of perfect white teeth, and just for a moment, Athena pictured them smiling at her. The burgundy coat hugged his form, revealing long, muscular arms that would feel heavenly wrapped around her. And those sky- blue eyes, so charismatic and beautiful, gazing at her in smoky desire... Athena exhaled, reveling in the imagined plea sure.

Suddenly, Calvin glanced in her direction, and her heart missed a beat. Dream materialized into reality as he broke away from the group of men and walked toward her. Time seemed to slow as she watched him stride over, her pulse racing. Her breath came out in nervous gasps.

His smile widened as he neared, and Athena blinked shyly. He was utterly delicious . . . like a thick slice of marchpane cake. All her confidence dissolved under that assertively handsome gaze. Her customary proud boast that she needed no man, flung to clucking matrons, evaporated in the flame of anticipation as Calvin’s perfect body approached her.

And in a blink of her bashful green eyes, Calvin’s perfect body passed her completely. He stopped in front of two willowy French ladies on the opposite end of the ballroom and bowed before them.

Athena’s heart sank. As an adolescent, being overlooked like that might have punctured her fragile confidence for months. But she was a woman now. Her confidence was no longer rooted in beauty. She was, after all, a well- read and intelligent woman. If Calvin Bretherton would just speak to her, maybe she could persuade him that she was worthy of his attention.

"Please excuse me, ladies." Athena set down her glass and stood up.

"Where are you going?" whispered Hester.

"He’s not coming over to me, so I shall just have to go over to him."

Hester moved in front of her, blocking her escape. "Are you mad? You can’t walk up to a man and introduce yourself! You mustn’t be so forward."

"I can’t very well hope to snag a husband if I remain shoved up against a wall like an old rag mop."

"Athena, it’s been too long since you’ve been at a ball in London. There are certain rules of conduct you must observe. You must behave with the decorum befitting your years and reduced circumstances."

"You make me sound like an old carthorse. There’s life in me yet, Hester."

Hester’s delicate black eyebrows drew together as her anxious eyes looked around. "I just ask that you consider what people might say. For someone like you, it’s only a whisper from spinster to prostitute."

Athena sighed. Hester was right— reputation was monumentally important. At least as a spinster, she’d still be asked to parties like this one. If she lost her claim to respectability, life would be even lonelier than it was at present. Good manners demanded that she sit quietly in the company of other widowed, single, and unescorted ladies until a gentleman approached her. It so seldom happened, and never by the gentlemen she truly wanted to meet. And that had become her lot in life... condemned by propriety to inexperience.

She watched the two brunette sisters, charming Calvin with their singsong zh- zh’d words. As they batted their thick black eyelashes at him and giggled coquettishly behind their mother- of- pearl fans, she sat back down among the black- clad, bunioned gaggle of women.

Prostitute indeed.

If only.

Excerpted from Wickedly Ever After by Michelle Marcos.Copyright © 2009 by Michelle Marcos.Published in July 2009 by St. Martin’s Press.
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