SALE! Wagers Gone Awry 99¢

August 3rd-11th only

Here’s your chance to snatch The Night Owl Reviews Top Pick & InD’tale Magazine’s Crown of Excellence Recipient

SEE WHAT REVIEWERS ARE SAYING! 

“Readers will find themselves enraptured …A truly masterfully-plotted story unfolds into adelightful romance.” ~InD’Tale Magazine-Crown of Excellence 
 

“If you are a fan of… Regency romances this is definitely a must-read.” ~Night Owl Reviews Top Pick

“A snort and cry-worthy romance of hilariousness.” ~Flame Resistant Undies Romance Reviews

“Read it! Read it! Read it! If you enjoy romances at all, this is a must read novel.” ~Pure Jonel
 
 “Witty, passionate and a treasure to read.” ~My Book Addiction Reviews 

 

 

Brooke Culpepper resigned herself to spinsterhood when she turned down the only marriage proposal she’d likely ever receive to care for her family. After her father dies, a distant cousin inherits the estate and becomes their guardian but permits Brooke to act in his stead.

Heath, Earl of Ravensdale is none-too-pleased to discover five young women call the dairy farm 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. The land holds no interest for Heath, but Brooke does and he accepts her challenge.

Brooke loses, and her devastation is compounded when the cousin arrives, intending to haul the Culpepper misses off to London. Heath astounds himself and proposes in order to apply for guardianship of the other girls. Does Brooke dare marry the handsome stranger who’d been bent on compromising her? Will Heath regret his impulsive gesture, or will unexpected love flourish?  

 

After sinking gracefully onto the sofa, and nudging aside a sleeping cat in order to make room for two of the young women to sit beside her, Miss Culpepper poured his tea. “Milk or sugar?”

The girl in yellow sat in the other chair while the twin attired in green plopped onto a low stool and, chin resting on her hand, stared at him.

Never had Heath experienced such self-consciousness before. Five pairs of eyes observed his every move. What was their story? His task would’ve been much easier if they were lazy, contentious spendthrifts sporting warty noses and whiskery chins.

“My lord?” Tongs in hand, Miss Culpepper peered at him, one fair brow arched, almost as if she’d read his thoughts. “Milk or sugar?”

He flashed her his most charming smile—the one that never failed to earn a blush or seductive tilt of lips, depending on the lady’s level of sexual experience.

Her eyebrow practically kissing her hair, Miss Culpepper regarded him blandly. The twins salvaged his bruised pride by turning pink and gawking as expected. The older two exchanged guarded glances, and he swore Miss Brette hid a smirk behind her hand.

Heat slithered up his face.

Poorly done, old man.

These weren’t primping misses accustomed to dallying or playing the coquette. He doubted they knew how to flirt. Direct and unpretentious, all but the youngest pair had detected his ploy to charm them. Rather mortifying to be set down without a word of reproach by three inexperienced misses.

Miss Culpepper waved the tongs and flashed her sister a sideways glance, clearly indicating she thought him a cod-pated buffoon.

“Just sugar please. Two lumps.” He ran his fingers inside his neckcloth. The cloying material itched miserably.

Heath relaxed against the chair, squashing a cat that had crawled in behind him. With a furious hiss, the portly beast wriggled free and tumbled to the floor. Whiskers twitching and citrine eyes glaring, the miffed feline arched her spine, and then, with a dismissive flick of her tail, marched regally to lie before the hearth.

“I’m afraid you’ve annoyed Pudding.” Chuckling, a delicious musical tinkle, Miss Culpepper lifted the lid from the sugar bowl and dropped two lumps into his tea. Four remained on the bottom of the china. “She holds a grudge, so watch your calves. She’ll take a swipe at you when you aren’t looking.”

She passed him the steaming cup then scooted the small chipped plate of biscuits in his direction. Her roughened hands that suggested she performed manual labor. The other cat, its plump cheeks the size of dinner rolls, raised its head and blinked at him sleepily. The animals, at least, didn’t go hungry around here. Miss Culpepper’s keen gaze remained on him as she settled further into the couch,

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