I’m beyond thrilled to have Chrisit Caldwell with me today. One of my critique partners, I’m amazed at how quickly she produces such wonderful books.
About Always Proper Suddenly Scandalous
Geoffrey Winters, Viscount Redbrooke was not always the hard, unrelenting lord driven by propriety. After a tragic mistake, he resolved to honor his responsibility to the Redbrooke line and live a life, free of scandal. Knowing his duty is to wed a proper, respectable English miss, he selects Lady Beatrice Dennington, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, the perfect woman for him. Until he meets Miss Abigail Stone…
To distance herself from a personal scandal, Abigail Stone flees America to visit her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. Determined to never trust a man again, she is helplessly intrigued by the hard, too-proper Geoffrey. With his strict appreciation for decorum and order, he is nothing like the man’ she’s always dreamed of.
Abigail is everything Geoffrey does not need. She upends his carefully ordered world at every encounter. As they begin to care for one another, Abigail carefully guards the secret that resulted in her journey to England.
Only, if Geoffrey learns the truth about Abigail, he must decide which he holds most dear: his place in Society or Abigail’s place in his heart.
EXCERPT
The Marquess of Westfield greeted Geoffrey with a bow. “Redbrooke, a pleasure as usual.” The dry edge of humor in Westfield’s tone suggested the marquess’ words were not wholly sincere. Westfield inclined his head. “Ahh, forgive my lack of manners. Allow me to introduce you to my cousin.” He shifted, revealing a young lady clad in a sapphire blue satin creation fully engaged in conversation with the Earl of Sinclair.
There was something so very familiar about the elegant lines of her back, the graceful flare of her hips…
A loud humming filled Geoffrey’s ears and he knew with a certainty he’d be willing to wager the Redbrooke line on, the identity of Lady Beatrice’s cousin before the lady even fully revealed herself. “Lord Redbrooke may I present Miss Abigail Stone.”
At that precise moment, Abigail said something to Lord Sinclair, who tossed his head back and laughed. She turned around.
And froze like the deer who’d caught sound of Geoffrey’s hunting dogs.
Geoffrey sucked in a breath. His eyes traveled the high planes of her cheekbones, the charcoal gray irises of her eyes, the full lower lip, the…
Her eyes widened.
“You,” she breathed.
Geoffrey’s mind spun. This warrioress who’d battled Lord Carmichael, his American Helen of Troy, was in fact Lady Beatrice’s cousin. He silently reviewed all the research his solicitor had done on Lady Beatrice. The information he’d uncovered about the young lady had indicated there were American relatives there. It had not, however, indicated she had a cousin with a fulsome laugh and silken tresses as black as sin.
Lady Beatrice’s brow wrinkled, and she alternated her gaze between Abigail and Geoffrey. “You know Lord Redbrooke?”
Abigail and Geoffrey looked at one another and silence stretched out into an awkward pause.
The Marquess of Westfield settled a hard, narrow-eyed stare upon Geoffrey. “You two have met?” he asked, repeating his sister’s earlier question.
Abigail and Geoffrey spoke in unison.
“Yes.”
“No.”
Christ.
Abigail discreetly coughed. “Uh, that is to say, no, we have not.”
Westfield’s brows lowered, and rogue that he was, surely recognized Abigail Stone wasn’t being altogether truthful.
About Christi
When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her feisty five-year-old son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!
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