The one
thing neither of them counted on is love . . .
LADY CLAIRE IS ALL THAT
Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #3
Maya Rodale
Releasing Dec 27th, 2016
Avon Books
Her
Brains
Claire
Cavendish is in search of a duke, but not for the usual reasons. The man she
seeks is a mathematician; the man she unwittingly finds is Lord Fox: dynamic,
athletic, and as bored by the equations Claire adores as she is by the social
whirl upon which he thrives. As attractive as Fox is, he’s of no use to Claire
. . . or is he?
Fox’s male
pride has been bruised ever since his fiancée jilted him. One way to recover:
win a bet that he can transform Lady Claire, Society’s roughest diamond, into
its most prized jewel. But Claire has other ideas—shockingly steamy ones. . .
Equals
A Study In Seduction
By Claire’s
calculations, Fox is the perfect man to satisfy her sensual curiosity. In Fox’s
estimation, Claire is the perfect woman to prove his mastery of the ton. But
the one thing neither of them counted on is love . . .
Make sure to "Keep Up" with the Cavendishes!
London, 1824
Lord and Lady Chesham’s ballroom
It was a
truth universally acknowledged that Maximilian Frederick DeVere, Lord Fox, was
God’s gift to the ladies of London. He was taller and brawnier than his peers
and in possession of the sort of chiseled good looks—above and below the neck—that
were more often found in works of classical art. By all accounts he was
charming and universally liked by men and women alike, though for different
reasons, of course. He won at two things, always: women and sport.
Fox strolled
through the ballroom as if he owned the place. He nodded at friends and
acquaintances—Carlyle, with whom he occasionally fenced, Fitzwalter, who he had
soundly thrashed at boxing last week, and Willoughby, who was always game for a
curricle race.
Fox flashed
his famous grin as he heard the ladies’ usual comments when he strolled past.
“I think he
just smiled at me.”
“I think I’m
going to swoon.”
“God,
Arabella Vaughn is one lucky woman.”
“Was,”
someone corrected. “Didn’t you see the report in The London Weekly this
morning?”
Fox’s grin
faltered.
That was when
Mr. Rupert Wright and Lord Mowbray found him. Their friendship stretched all
the way back to their early days at Eton.
“We heard the
news, Fox,” Rupert said grimly, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“I daresay
everyone has heard the news,” Fox replied dryly.
It didn’t
escape his notice that the guests nearby had fallen silent. It was the first
time he’d appeared in public since the news broke in the paper this morning,
though Arabella had so kindly left him a note the day prior. Everyone was
watching him to see how he would react, what he would say, if he would cry.
“Who would
have thought we’d see this day?” Mowbray mused. “Miss Arabella Vaughn, darling
of the haute ton, running off with an actor.”
“That alone
would be scandalous,” Rupert said, adding, “Never mind that she has ditched
Fox. Who is, apparently, considered a catch. What with his lofty title, wealth,
and not hideous face.”
Fox’s Male
Pride bristled. It’d been bristling and seething and enraged ever since the news
broke that his beautiful, popular betrothed had left him to elope with some
plebian actor.
Not just any
actor, either, but Lucien Kemble. Yes, he was the current sensation among the
haute ton, lighting up the stage each night in his role as Romeo in Romeo and
Juliet. Covent Garden theater was sold out for the rest of the season. The
gossip columns loved him, given his flair for dramatics both onstage and
off—everything from tantrums to torrid love affairs to fits over his artistry.
Women adored him; they may have sighed and swooned over Lucien Kemble as much
as Fox.
To lose a
woman to any other man was insupportable—and, until recently, not something
that ever happened to him—but to lose her to someone who made his living
prancing around onstage in tights? It was intolerable.
“Just
who does she think she is?” Fox wondered aloud.
“She’s
Arabella Vaughn. Beautiful. Popular. Enviable. Every young lady here aspires to
be her. Every man here would like a shot with her,” Mowbray answered.
“She’s you,
but in petticoats,” Rupert said, laughing.
It was true.
He and Arabella were perfect together.
Maya
Rodale began reading romance novels in college at her
mother’s insistence and it wasn’t long before she was writing her own. Maya is
now the author of multiple Regency historical romances. She lives in New York
City with her darling dog and a rogue of her own.
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