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Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper #3
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How many times should a man propose before finally giving up?
He thought his adventures were over.
A rogue reluctantly turned rector, Alexander Hawksworth, prefers soirées to sermons and parties to prayers. Though impoverished, he seizes every opportunity to escape parish duties, preferring to hob nob with London’s finest–especially after the precocious and petite Brette Culpepper arrives in Town. When he unexpectedly inherits an earldom, he’s determined to make her his countess. Until he’s accused of murdering the previous earl.
Then she burst headlong into his life.
New to Society, Brette adores the whirlwind social scene, the stream of invitations, the slightly-sensual verbal sparring with the devilishly attractive, much too witty, and oh, so unsuitable Mr. Hawksworth. But her fairytale existence crashes to a halt when rumors circulate she’s a peer’s illegitimate granddaughter, and a newly appointed guardian emerges, intent on forcing her to wed an elderly degenerate.
Time is against them as Alex struggles to clear his name and deliver the woman he loves from an unthinkable fate.
Caution: This book contains a rector too sexy for his own good, a match-making, meddling miss who finds herself in one conundrum after another, an endearing portly Welsh Corgi, and a troupe of well-meaning, interfering cousins and sisters
Read the third installment of the Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper historical Regency romance series for a romping, emotional, and romantic adventure you won’t want to put down.
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Brette glanced upward, almost returning his infectious grin. Almost. She mightn’t be terribly miffed, but he wouldn’t be forgiven just like that either.
He boasted the most mesmerizing eyes, a spectacular green, like newly sprouted spring grass. Bright, cheery, and framed by honey-tipped lashes so lush, they appeared coffee-brown from a distance. He smelled wonderful too. Sandalwood, starch, and a woodsy, soapy smell. Clean and fresh. Quite irresistible. If she were the type to be taken with such, which, being a practical sort, she was not.
His gaze, oddly mesmerizing, held hers and for an instant, she quite forgot her purpose for being in the passage.
“Particularly flighty, title-hunting ninnies,” Alex said.
What? Oh, he meant Ophelia.
True, Ophelia was flighty, and she did seek a titled husband, but if she were enamored with the gentleman, surely that made all the difference.
Careful to keep her voice subdued, Brette murmured, “Shows what you know, Al—Mr. Hawksworth.” Blast me twice. Did he notice her blunder?
“I’ve asked you, repeatedly, to call me Alex or Hawk.”
Yes, he had.
Heat crept from her neck to her hairline, and she snapped her fan open, welcoming the faint breeze.
His smile widened, crinkling the corner of his eyes in a merry manner. He sniffed lightly. “I like your perfume. Is it new?”
He bent near her again and boldly smelled her hair.
Such an intimate, improper thing to dare.
Brette’s jaw hung slack momentarily before she collected herself. Hadn’t she just been thinking how pleasant he smelled? It rather disconcerted her to have his mind marching along the same path as hers.
He flashed another disarming smile, and her stomach’s renewed flopping had nothing to do with her matchmaking exploits. She fanned herself faster.
Did Alex’s smile expand the merest iota more? As if he knew caterpillars, and butterflies, and all sort of ill-mannered insects cavorted about in her middle?
“Gentleman do not sniff ladies’ heads, Mr. Hawksworth.” What she’d intended as a sternly whispered reprimand came out as an amused observation. Nevertheless, reminding him of his position should put him in his place nicely.
“They do when they smell as lovely as you, and since you’ve forgotten again, I’ll remind you that I’ve asked you to address me as Hawk or Alex.” His melodic whisper held not a jot of repentance.
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