To Love a Reckless Lord

Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Collection Books 1-3


Entertaining, mesmerizing laugh-out-loud Regency Romance romps.

The first three full-length installments of the Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Series featuring devilish rogues and the capricious women who capture their hearts.

Brooke: Wagers Gone Awry
Brooke Culpepper resigned herself to spinsterhood when she turned down the only marriage proposal she’d likely ever receive to care for her family and farm. Heath, Earl of Ravensdale is none-too-pleased to discover five young women call the estate he won and intends to sell, their home. Desperate, pauper poor, and with nowhere to go, Brooke proposes a wager. His stakes? The farm. Hers? Her virtue.

Blythe: Schemes Gone Amiss
Intrepid and outspoken, Blythe Culpepper is dragged against her will to London for a Season. To her dismay, her guardian enlists the devilishly attractive Lord Leventhorpe, the one man she detests, to assist with her Come Out. Haunted by childhood trauma, Tristan, the austere Marquis of Leventhorpe, usually avoids social gatherings. So why, against his better judgment, does he agree to aid his closest friend in presenting the Culpeppers to the ton?

Brette: Intentions Gone Astray
A rogue turned rector, Alexander Hawksworth, prefers soirées to sermons and parties to prayers. After unexpectedly inheriting an earldom, he determined to make the precocious and petite, Brette Culpepper, his countess—Until he’s accused of murdering the previous earl. Brette adores London Society, but her world is titled on its axis when rumors circulate she’s a peer’s illegitimate granddaughter. Worse, a newly appointed guardian intends to force her into wedding an elderly lecher.


Excerpt from Blythe: Schemes Gone Amiss

The waltz began, and Blythe dipped into a curtsy as his lordship bowed, his unusual lion’s head stickpin in the folds of his cravat catching her eye. Its ruby eyes and diamond mouth twinkled in the incandescent light. A family heirloom?

Stepping into his embrace wasn’t what Blythe had anticipated either. Though not as light on his feet as Mr. Burlington, Lord Leventhorpe proved a superb dancer, especially for such a towering man. She frequently stood taller than men and quite liked having to look upward to meet his eyes.

Mr. Burlington had been on eye level with her.


Like the muscular statues in the entry, his lordship’s shoulder was thick and rounded, the sinewy flesh flexing beneath her fingertips. What other parts of his anatomy might be as generous? Heat stole up her cheeks, and her breathing sputtered for a moment.

Oh, for the love of God, Blythe. Stop.

Of a slimmer build, Mr. Burlington had been solid, but didn’t boast the marquis’s bulging physique.

Nothing wrong with that. He wasn’t scrawny or twitchy like Mr. Phillips, repulsive man.

She and Lord Leventhorpe danced well together, their forms nicely proportioned. As they rose and fell to the orchestra’s strains, his lordship’s subtle scent wafted to her. Swaying in his arms, she took a deep breath. In addition to his usual sandalwood, Blythe detected cloves and fresh linen. And perhaps a hint of brandy?

Mr. Burlington’s cologne had been musky.

Both smelled pleasant, yet distinctly different, like the men themselves.

Stop comparing them, for pity’s sake.

Lord Leventhorpe fell silent once their dance began, and the delight of being held in his strong embrace was unexpected and disconcerting. A month ago, she’d have believed herself dicked in the nob for entertaining such an absurd notion as enjoying a waltz with him.

Did his thoughts run parallel to hers, confusion meshed with pleasure? She entertained no misconceptions about his prior sentiments toward her.

Blythe slanted her head, and her gaze collided with his half-open sapphire eyes, the tips of his lashes feathered auburn. She stumbled, mashing his toes.

Had he observed her while they circled the floor?

The gentle upward sweep of his mouth sent a frisson to the tips of her toes, and she missed another step. So much for confidence in her dance skills.

He drew her infinitesimally closer, though surely only because of her momentary clumsiness.

She ought to object, but her tongue seemed content to stay silent.



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