Love and the Single Heiress by Jacquie D'Alessandro

From the Publisher

An anonymous author has turned English society upside down, and only one man can protect her identity from being revealed, and her life from being destroyed, in this sexy new romance from reader favourite Jacquie D’Alessandro.

The scandalous book, A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Marital Fulfilment has taken English society by storm. The slim but erotically explicit volume was penned by an unknown author, and now all of London is trying to discover the mysterious writer’s true identity. But the search doesn’t scare Catherine Ashfield, Viscountess Bickley, the proper woman who transcribed the book for her dear friend, a very elderly and experienced widow. Disgusted by the shallow values and morals of the town, Catherine was excited to help her friend and set the uppity nobility on its ear. And maybe by giving women a little more knowledge they could finally have happier marriages, instead of loveless unions as she had her with her own late husband.

But Catherine didn’t anticipate the violent backlash against the book. With threats being made against the unknown author, Catherine fears for her safety and that of her son. When she is the victim of a near fatal accident, she wonders how hidden her identity truly is.

Knowing she needs protection, she turns to her brother’s best friend, an accomplished pugilist and fencer. She invites him to stay at her country estate under the guise of a simple visit, not realizing that she has invited a fugitive with a dangerous past into her home—a man she soon finds herself powerfully attracted to...

Publishers Weekly

What's a man to do when he discovers the woman he's loved from afar for six years is more...headstrong than he supposed? Andrew Stanton has patiently waited for widowed Lady Catherine to emerge from mourning before pressing his suit, only to discover that in the meantime she's filled her head with the nonsense found in A Ladies' Guide to Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore, a man whose identity Andrew has been hired to expose by some of society's outraged husbands. But the path of true love is never smooth, and the large bumps in this couple's road include Lady Catherine's secret identity as the cowriter of the ladies' guide and a madman who lurks nearby. When Catherine is wounded by a gunshot and retires to the country with Andrew as her protection, Andrew seizes his opportunity to woo the reluctant heiress, whose heart was scorched by a bad first marriage, and to uncover unexpected information that may hold the key to his and Catherine's future happiness. Stuffed to the brim with D'Alessandro's (Who Will Take This Man?, etc.) trademark laugh-out-loud humor, this crowd-pleasing Regency-era romance gallops along in winning style, keeping readers in suspense until the exhilarating finish. Agent, Damaris Rowland. (Sept.) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

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Read a Sample Chapter

Chapter One

Today's Modern Woman should strive for personal enlightenment, independence, and forthrightness. The perfect place to begin this quest for assertiveness is in the bedchamber ...

A Ladies' Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore

"Scandalous, that's what it is," came an outraged male whisper. "My wife has somehow secured a copy of that deuced Ladies' Guide."

"How do you know?" came another gruff male whisper.

"Damned obvious, what with the way she's been acting. Been spewing out nonsense about 'today's modern woman' and 'independence' like a steaming teakettle. Just yesterday she marched into my private study and proceeded to question me regarding my gambling markers and the amount of time I spend at White's!"

Sharp intakes of breath followed. "Outrageous," muttered the gruff whisperer.

"Precisely what I told her."

"What did you do?"

"Why, I marched her right out of my study, called for a carriage, and sent her to Asprey's to pick out a new bauble to occupy her mind."

"Excellent. I assume your strategy worked?"

"Unfortunately not as well as I'd hoped. Last night I found her awaiting me in my bedchamber. Gave me quite a turn, I tell you. Especially as I'd just left my mistress and was thoroughly worn-out. Bloody hell, a wife's not supposed to make such demands, or have such expectations."

"My wife did the same thing just last week," came a third aggrieved whisper. "Entered my bedchamber, bold as you please, pushed me onto the mattress, then ... well, I can only describe it as to say she jumped upon me. Completely deflated my lungs and damn near crushed me. As I lie there, immobile with shock, fighting for my very breath, she says in a most impatient tone, 'Bump your arse a bit.' Can you imagine such undignified goings-on? Then, just when I thought I couldn't be more astonished, she demanded to know why I'd never... "

The voice lowered further and Lady Catherine Ashfield, Viscountess Bickley, leaned closer to the Oriental screen that secreted her presence from the gentlemen on the other side.

" ... This Charles Brightmore must be stopped," whispered one of the gentlemen.

"I agree. A disaster of gargantuan proportions, that's what he's brought upon us. Why, if my daughter reads that cursed Guide, I'll never marry off the foolish chit. Independence, indeed. Completely insupportable. This Guide could well prove even worse than the uproar incited by that Wollstonecraft woman's writings. Nothing but ridiculous reformists' balderdash."

Murmurs of agreement followed that pronouncement. Then the whisperer continued, "And as for the bedchamber, women are demanding enough creatures as it is, always wanting a new gown or earbobs or carriage or the like. 'Tis outrageous that their expectations should extend to that. Especially a woman of my wife's age, who is the mother of two grown children. Unseemly, that's what it is."

"Couldn't agree more. Should I ever find myself in the company of this Brightmore bastard, I'll personally wring his bloody neck. Tarring and feathering is too good for him. Everyone I've spoken to feels certain that 'Charles Brightmore' is a pseudonym, and coward that he is, he's refused to step forward and identify himself. The betting book at White's is a frenzy of wagers on the subject of his identity. Damn it all, what sort of man would think, let alone write, such unseemly ideas?"

"Well, I stopped at White's just before coming here, and the latest theory proposes the possibility that Charles Brightmore is in fact a woman. Indeed, I heard ... "

The gentleman's low-pitched words were drowned out by a trill of nearby feminine laughter. Catherine inched closer, all but pressing her ear to the screen.

" ... and if it's true, it would be the scandal of the century ... " She heard some more unintelligible mumbling, then, " ... hired an investigator two days ago to get to the bottom of this. He comes highly recommended ... ruthless, and will ferret out the truth. In fact -- oh, bloody hell, my wife's caught sight of me. Hang it, look at her, fluttering her eyelashes at me. Shocking, that's what it is. Appalling. And altogether frightening."

Catherine peeked around the edge of the screen. Lady Markingworth stood at the edge of the dance floor, her rotund proportions ensconced in an unfortunate shade of yellowish green satin that cast her complexion with a distinctly jaundiced hue, her brown hair arranged in a complicated coiffure involving sausage curls, ribbons, and peacock feathers. With her attention fixed on the opposite side of the screen, Lady Markingworth was batting her eyes as one might if caught in a dust-ridden windstorm. Then, with an air of determination, she marched toward the screen.

"Egad," came a horrified, panic-filled whisper that Catherine assumed belonged to Lord Markingworth. "She's got that damnable gleam in her eye."

"And it's too late to escape, old man."

"Bloody hell. A plague on that bastard Charles Brightmore's house. I'm going to find out who this person is, then kill him -- or her. Slowly."

"There you are, Ephraim," said Lady Markingworth, her greeting followed by a girlish giggle. "I've been searching for you everywhere. The waltz is about to start. And how fortunate that Lords Whitly and Carweather are with you. Your wives anxiously await you near the dance floor, my lords."

Throat clearing and several harrumphs followed this announcement, then the scuffle of shoes upon the parquet floor as the group moved away.

Catherine leaned against the oak-paneled wall and drew a shaky breath, pressing her hands to her midsection. Slipping behind the screen in search of a moment of sanctuary from the hordes of party guests had taken a very unexpected turn. All she'd wanted was to avoid the approaching Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth, both of whom had dogged her footsteps since the moment she'd arrived at her father's birthday party and separately attempted to maneuver her into a tête-à-tête ...