Holt CAD'S WISH

1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-1-63732-813-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 204 Seiten

New York Times bestselling author, Cheryl Holt, delivers her new and dazzling 'CADS' trilogy, three lush novels filled with drama, heartache, and love forevermore... Hunter Stone is London's most notorious cad. He's lived a life of debauchery and vice, and he's the most dedicated bachelor in the kingdom. He's renowned for his wicked ways, and he always has a beautiful woman on his arm to keep him company. But when his father suddenly inherits the family's earldom-an elevation that was completely unexpected-Hunter is next in line to be earl. He has to marry quickly to secure the title and inheritance. What's a cad supposed to do? Hannah Graves is a modern, independent young woman. She thinks men are fools and idiots, and she's decided to avoid the path to matrimony that most females are forced to walk. When her father died and left her a small inheritance, she fled her rural life in the country and used the money to open a bookshop in London. She's proud of herself, and delighted with the strong choices she'd made, but it's not easy to be a female proprietor in a man's world, and she constantly dances on the edge of fiscal ruin. When Hannah meets Hunter, sparks fly and passion ignites. But Hunter's corrupt reputation precedes him, and he represents everything she detests in a male. But he's a handsome, wealthy scoundrel who always gets exactly what he wants. When he sets his eye on Hannah, how can she

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO

Hannah Graves glanced around the packed parlor that encompassed an interesting mix of London’s premier citizens, as well as a wide selection of important merchants and tradesmen. In light of the huge crowd, their hostess, Sybil Jones, appeared to be acquainted with most everyone in the city.

Miss Jones managed the notorious Ralston’s gambling club for her prior ward, Caleb Ralston. He’d recently married in the country, so it was a wedding reception for him and his new bride.

Normally, a female wouldn’t have been allowed to run a large commercial venture like Ralston’s. A typical male owner wouldn’t have deemed her smart enough or shrewd enough to handle so much responsibility, but Mr. Ralston trusted her implicitly.

The club members had to accept Miss Jones’s role or they had to wager somewhere else.

Hannah had been curious about Mr. Ralston, the peculiar fellow who treated Miss Jones like the capable, intelligent person she was—it was why she’d attended the party—but there were so many people milling that she couldn’t push her way over to him to say hello.

She’d met Miss Jones when the older woman had stopped by as a customer at Hannah’s shop, The First Page. It was a bookshop and lending library she’d started with money inherited from her father when he’d died.

It was very unusual for a young lady to own a business, so whenever anyone rudely complained about it, she claimed a man was actually the proprietor, rather than herself, and that she was closely supervised. The lie kept nosy snoops at bay.

And she wasn’t exactly on her own. Her father’s lawyer, Mr. Thumberton, was trustee of her bequest, and he had to be consulted about major issues and expenditures, but for the most part, he left her alone to make her own mistakes.

She and Miss Jones had formed an immediate friendship, and Miss Jones had become a mentor of sorts. She’d chartered a private association for women who were engaged in commerce. They carried on against all odds and in a world dominated by men. None of them could even open a bank account without a man authorizing it, but they plugged away, with varying levels of success.

Hannah knew better than to fraternize with the manager of a gambling club, but Miss Jones was wealthy, powerful, and brilliant, so Hannah was delighted they’d crossed paths.

She was no stranger to affluence and fine living herself. Her father, Sir Edmund Graves, had been a famous sailor and navigator, and through his travels, he’d grown quite rich too. If her life had been plodding down a more ordinary route, she’d never have been introduced to a female as disreputable as Miss Jones, but Hannah’s life had never been ordinary. She was honored to have won Miss Jones’s regard.

It was hot and stuffy inside the mansion, but there was a verandah and a garden behind it, with lawns that sloped down to the river. She decided to step outside for a few minutes, and she began winding through the bursting mob until, finally, she was pitched out into a deserted hall.

She walked down it, and eventually, she passed a dark parlor with French doors that led out to the verandah. She entered the room and went toward them when, to her great horror, she stumbled on a man and woman who were snuggled in the corner and locked together in a rousing kiss.

She gasped with dismay, and they heard her. They halted and peered over, frowning and obviously irked to have been interrupted.

A candle burned on a table, so she could clearly observe them, and they were two of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen. The woman was buxom and statuesque, her glorious red hair piled high on her head, styled dramatically with flowers and feathers.

Her gown was cut very low in the front, her corset laced very tight, so she was almost falling out of the bodice. She exuded a sultry arrogance that Hannah couldn’t have displayed in a thousand years.

The man was even more gorgeous—if that was possible. He was tall and fit, his chest broad, his waist narrow, his legs long. His hair was a striking blond color, the shade of golden wheat at harvest, and it was worn longer than was proper so it curled over his shoulders. She couldn’t discern the color of his eyes, but she predicted they would be very blue.

His fingers were covered with ornate rings that sparkled as if they contained real diamonds. He was dressed formally, in a perfectly-tailored black suit, so he looked elegant and dynamic. Masculine vigor wafted over to where she was standing.

He grinned at her and winked, as if they shared a secret, then he said, “May we help you?”

She was astounded to have him speak to her, and she stammered, “I thought this parlor was empty, and I most humbly beg your pardon.”

She lurched over to the French doors and practically somersaulted out onto the patio, and as she straightened and shut the door behind her, the amorous pair snickered, then the woman muttered, “What an annoying little tart…”

Hannah had been sufficiently humiliated for one evening, so she didn’t dawdle to eavesdrop. She found some stairs and hurried down into the garden. There were lanterns hanging everywhere, and she strolled down to the river, enjoying the sight of the boats out on the water as they bobbed in the current.

After a bit, she located a bench in a secluded arbor, and she sat down. It had a lovely view of the mansion. The windows were open and aglow from the chandeliers, so she might have been staring at a fairy palace.

Music and laughter drifted out, and in one salon, dancing had started. Couples promenaded and twirled in circles.

She smiled, charmed by the exquisiteness of London’s wealthy elite, and she was glad to have been included in such a lofty group. It made her feel as if she hadn’t totally abandoned the society into which she’d been born. Perhaps there was still hope for her to stagger back and retrieve a spot in it.

She smelled smoke from a cheroot, and when she glanced around, there was a man nearby in the grass. He was gazing at the mansion too and hadn’t noticed her. As she studied him, she realized he was the handsome rogue who’d been nestled with the voluptuous goddess in that dark parlor.

She wasn’t keen to have him see her. What could she say that wouldn’t sound idiotic? She yearned for him to finish his cigar and return to the house, but she’d never been lucky.

He spun and, suddenly, he was looking right at her. For a moment, they both froze, and there was the eeriest sense in the air that the universe was noting the encounter. The hair on her neck prickled, and she was overcome by the most potent perception that her life was about to change.

It was a terrifying thought that she shoved away.

The past few years, she’d endured plenty of changes, and she hadn’t liked any of them. She’d rearranged her world, so there would be no more shocking developments. There was nothing about meeting a handsome man that could alter her quiet existence, so she was being ridiculous. As usual.

He flicked his cheroot away and crushed the flame under the heel of his shoe, then he asked, “Were you spying on me when we were inside?”

The rude question aggravated her, and she answered too petulantly. “Gad, no. I was trying to find an unlocked door. You were just…there. I apologize again for intruding.”

“Women watch me constantly,” he conceitedly claimed. “Especially now. If you were spying, you can admit it. I won’t be upset.”

“You are incredibly vain to imagine women watch you, and I categorically state that I stumbled on you purely by accident.”

“You don’t know who I am? Really?”

“No, I don’t know who you are.”

He scoffed, then sauntered over and plopped down next to her.

“I didn’t invite you to join me,” she said.

“I don’t care. I never listen to women, and I never do what they want. I’m contrary that way.”

“That news does not surprise me.”

“What brings you to Sybil’s party?” He’d used Miss Jones’s Christian name, indicating a heightened familiarity.

“I’m a business associate of hers.”

“You? A business associate?”

He gaped, as if the prospect of her being engaged in commerce was too bizarre to be believed, and she said, “It’s more correct to say she’s a customer of mine. I own a bookshop and lending library. She visits regularly.”

“You’re a proprietor? How absolutely fascinating. What is your shop called?”

“The First Page?”

“Never heard of it.”

His tone was snippy and condescending, but she could be snippy and condescending too when the situation required pomposity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for being much of a reader, so I’m sure you wouldn’t have.”

He shifted toward her, his focus intimate, probing, and even a tad naughty. “Why books?”

“Why not?”

“There can’t be much of a...