Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Lady Patricia Price-Adams has spent the last four years secretly longing for Thomas Jameson, her sister-in-law’s dashing brother. Thirteen years her senior, Thomas, the newly minted Earl of Ashford, is handsome, intelligent, and being pressured by society to take a wife and carry out his duty of producing an heir.
At the unofficial commencement of the season—a grand ball at the Ashford Estate—Tricia sees her chance amidst the glittering chandeliers and swirling gowns. While Thomas is captivated by Tricia’s beauty and spirit, he won’t be coerced into taking a wife before he’s ready. Still, he can’t resist her, and when she finds herself in peril, he’s only too happy to come to her rescue. But he has other issues to attend to, not the least of which is uncovering the truth about his father’s untimely death.
Danger seems to lurk in the most unexpected corners of the Ashford Estate, and Tricia and Thomas are inadvertently drawn into a whirlwind of intrigue and danger. As secrets unravel and their feelings intensify, every moment is a step closer to uncovering a truth that could change everything—and possibly cost them their lives.
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Episode One
In which Portia’s Aunt and Uncle Tell Her it’s Time to Marry
The sun began to set, casting a warm golden light upon the sprawling estate of the Duke and Duchess of Devonford. The scent of roses and honeysuckle filled the air as Lady Portia Longford-Baines strolled through the lush gardens, scanning the landscape with an unquenchable curiosity. A slight breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, causing her delicate lace parasol to flutter in her gloved hand.
“Ah, there you are, dear niece.” Portia’s aunt, Beatrice, the Duchess of Devonford, approached her from behind. “I was beginning to worry that you’d gotten lost amongst the flowers again.” Aunt Bea wore a tight-lipped smile, her disapproving eyes hidden behind her wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Hardly, Auntie,” Portia replied, her cheeks warming at the memory of her latest secret tryst beneath the garden’s green canopy. “I’ve simply been admiring the beauty of the estate.”
“Indeed,” her uncle, Reginald, the Duke of Devonford said.
Portia gasped. “Dear Uncle. Where did you come from?”
“I followed your aunt,” he said. “It’s high time we had a talk.”
Portia sighed. Yes, the talk. She knew it was coming. Yesterday, she’d turned five-and-twenty. The past six seasons she’d failed to find a match on purpose. But what her aunt and uncle didn’t know was that she was far from innocent.
“Portia, my dear,” Aunt Bea said, “your uncle and I have decided that it’s high time you found yourself a suitable husband. It simply won’t do for a young lady of your standing to remain unwed any longer.”
The very thought of marriage stifled Portia’s sense of freedom.
“Is that truly necessary, Aunt?” she protested. “I am quite content with my life as it is.”
“Contentment has never been the goal, child,” Uncle Reggie said, his voice firm yet gentle. “We must think of your future and the continuation of our family line.”
Guilt swept through Portia at her uncle’s words. The Devonfords had been so good to her since the death of her dear parents when she was but a child, and she hated to disappoint them, but the idea of surrendering herself to a man who would never understand her true nature felt unbearable.
“Very well,” she said. “I trust you will find me a suitable match.”
Her aunt and uncle both nodded as they continued on their walk.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate, Portia could not help but feel her world closing in upon her. She glanced back toward the garden, where only hours before she had experienced such delicious freedom, and felt a growing sense of despair.
As she walked away, Portia glanced back one last time, her heart heavy with longing and uncertainty. What would become of her secret desires? Would she ever again experience the sweet taste of forbidden passion?
“Certainly,” she murmured to no one in particular, her tone defiant.
Marriage or not, she’d continue in her naughty adventures.
Episode Two
In which Portia Meets a Prospective Suitor
Under the magnificent chandelier, the ballroom of the Devonford Estate buzzed with conversation and laughter. Elegant ladies twirled, their silk gowns blooming in the candlelight while gallant gentlemen watched from the sidelines, their eyes shining with admiration and desire.
“Portia, dear,” Aunt Bea whispered, nudging her gently in the side, “do you see that gentleman there? He’s a potential suitor.”
Portia followed her aunt’s discreet gesture to a tall man elegantly dressed in evening wear. He was handsome in a traditional way—dark hair styled perfectly and a smile that could melt even the coldest heart.
“He is rather nice-looking,” Portia replied, her voice cool and neutral. She had learned long ago how to mask her feelings and hide her secrets.
“His name is Lord Nigel Jeffries, heir to the Earl of Cantley,” Uncle Reggie said. “Quite a good catch.”
The man turned his gaze towards Portia, meeting her curious eyes with a warm, inviting smile. He made his way through the crowd toward her, his confident stride attracting the admiring glances of several young ladies. But his gaze remained on Portia.
“I think he’s coming this way,” Aunt Bea whispered in Portia’s ear, a flush of delight spreading across her round cheeks.
True to Aunt Bea’s prediction, Lord Nigel reached their group, his gaze still fixed on Portia. He extended a well-groomed hand toward her and asked in a deep, smooth voice, “May I have this dance, Lady Portia?”
Portia turned to her aunt and uncle for approval. With a nod from them, she placed her gloved hand in Lord Nigel’s and let him guide her onto the dance floor.
As they moved with the rhythm of the waltz, Portia studied her suitor. He held her with grace and an unspoken strength that promised security yet provided enough distance to ensure respect. His gaze was intense but not discomforting.
“Your beauty is the talk of the ball, Lady Portia,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvety chocolate. “Your aunt and uncle have told me much about you.”