The Wedding Runaway (The Dueling Pistols Series Book 3)
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Boston heiress Lydia Hamilton is devastated when she overhears her fiancé’s scheme to wrest control of the family business by wedding her. Refusing to be any man’s pawn, she runs away to England. A lone woman would stand out, but masquerading as a young man named Leonard, she can have the adventure of her life and support herself with gambling.
Victor Bartlett, the Earl of Wedmont, has sworn off marriage, but he didn’t think he’s sworn off women. When he rescues a brash American gambler, who has won too much and too often, Victor finds his feelings for the youth unsettling. To scare the runaway back to America, he challenges Leonard to a duel with notoriously inaccurate and cursed pistols.
But the pistols have a unique way of mending rifts with marriage. Victor didn’t mean to shoot the boy at all, but Leonard is wounded. When Leonard is unmasked as a girl what can Victor do but take her home to heal? But who will heal whom...
stuff ah...er...a male appendage, but you'll have to help me design it." Lydia opened her trunk to retrieve her sewing supplies. "We've got a few hours, until the mail coach leaves this evening." "I'm not going." Jenny gasped and fell on her backside. "You never said anything about pretending to be a young man when you said we were going to London." Lydia sighed. She supposed she should have anticipated this outburst from Jenny. Rummaging in the open trunk exposed Lydia's youngest older
as comfort and an apology for her reaction of horror turned into much more. Yet, his palpable tension made her unsure. Had she erred in treating him to such gross familiarity? Did he find her attention distasteful? Was her kiss an imposition? She reached to be sure the nightshirt was still covering her, while ducking her head down. "Do you have many scars?" "With such treatment, would that I could claim more." That brought her head up, and his face was so close to hers, his breath brushed
slowly shifted it up to her lowest rib. "You are injured." Her next rib. "You sensibilities are impaired by the laudanum you have been given this day." He reached just under her breast and paused. "You are under my protection and I have given my word that I will not assault your virtue." His hand closed around her breast and liquid pleasure poured through her. She could feel his member throb against her as he circled her breast with his fingertips. She leaned her head back as he kissed her neck,
dearest, we need to talk." Helena slid back into her seat. She repositioned her napkin in her lap, although her appetite deserted her. Her father had always left talking to her mother, filtering his requests and commands through her. He reached out a hand toward Helena, and she noticed how knotty and gnarled his knuckles were, the joints thick and his spotted fingers crooked. When had he gotten so old? "I am worried about your mother." Helena took her father's hand in hers. She was more
and he looked mad as a tortured bull in an arena. "Or we could air all our laundry in front of the servants,"— Victor glared at his staff—"who cannot be trusted to keep gossip to themselves." Several of the maids must have recalled their duties as they backed away from the door, and the footmen released George and filed out of the room. He hoped none of them noticed the dress on the bed, or their speculation about his pet boy would really run rampant. George stepped forward and shoved him