Home » Her Wicked Marquess: Excerpt

Her Wicked Marquess: Excerpt

December 29, 2020 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

Her Wicked Marquess (The Sinful Wallflowers Book 2)by Stacey Reid is out and we are delighted to feature an excerpt!

About the book:

Miss Maryann Fitzwilliam is too witty and bookish for her own good. No gentleman of the ton will marry her, so her parents arrange for her to wed a man old enough to be her father. But Maryann is ready to use those wits to turn herself into a sinful wallflower.

When the scandal sheet reports a sighting of Nicolas St. Ives, the Marquess of Rothbury, climbing out the chamber windows of a house party, Maryann does the unthinkable. She anonymously claims that the bedchamber belonged to none other than Miss Fitzwilliam, tarnishing her own reputation—and chances of the dastardly union her family secured for her. Now she just needs to convince the marquess to keep his silence.

Turns out Nicolas allows for the scandal to perpetuate for his own reasons… But when Maryann’s parents hold fast to their arranged marriage plan, it’ll take a scandal of epic proportions for these two to get out of this together.

Each book in the Sinful Wallflowers series is STANDALONE:
* My Darling Duke
* Her Wicked Marquess

EXCERPT

Maryann couldn’t credit that Nicolas St. Ives would be this outrageous! Her mama had not invited him to tonight’s ball, yet here he was, descending the wide staircase from the upper bowers, confidently striding, casting sardonic glances at debutantes, and with a sensual smirk about his mouth, declaring him every inch the rake society bemoaned.

He was considered improper, disreputable, and was even whispered by some to be cunning. He was also appallingly handsome, and many ladies who should have known better flirted with him shamelessly. He clearly did not give a fig what society thought about him, a thing Maryann had come to believe, since the scandal sheets reported on his exploits weekly.

“Is it really him?” a young debutante asked. “Oh my, he is terribly handsome.”

Her friends dissolved into giggles and drew her away, as if they were saving their fair gazelle from the lion drawing closer. The man seemed sublimely unaware of his masculine beauty and the stir he caused whenever he entered a room. His expression was insouciant; she could not conclude what kind of man he was.

A few gentlemen of the ton were vain about their appearance to the point of being rather excessive. And it seemed Nicolas St. Ives was one of them, dressed in black trousers and jacket, with a bright golden waistcoat and a matching cravat. A cravat pin studded with a large diamond winked at his throat, and his hair seemed carelessly styled, yet curled at his nape and on his forehead perfectly.

The rakehell! How dare he crash her mother’s ball?

The twitter of excitement that went through the throng echoed in Maryann’s veins, and she scowled. Mama would curse his name tomorrow, but the scandal sheets would celebrate his wicked daring, the debutantes would excitedly trade stories about how close their gowns had brushed against the lord the scandal sheets referred to as “the daring and the wicked.” And perhaps a few married ladies and widows would share among themselves some delightful and naughty things they suggested having done with him.

Maryann silently snorted, thinking it all ridiculous. Yet she couldn’t help staring at him, couldn’t help the manner in how her heart ached, yet she didn’t know what she longed for. Certainly anything in regard to a notorious rake could only lead to inevitable disgrace.

Lady Porter, a young widow with a racy reputation, sashayed over to him, and he did nothing to mask the admiration in his gaze as he perused her. A few ladies gasped, and several fans unfurled. The marquess’s smile drew Maryann’s eyes to his mouth and made her think of matters a respectable lady should not wonder about, like kisses from his beautiful lips and whether he would use his tongue.

Fanning herself vigorously, she looked away from him and strolled through the opened French doors leading to the gardens to cool her suddenly heated face. Then she made her way to a small private alcove that was empty and dark enough to hide her should anyone follow.

With a gusty sigh, she kicked off her dancing shoes and wriggled her toes in her silken stockings, then lifted her face to the sky. The soft footfalls crunching on leaves alerted her that someone approached, so she stiffened, clutching her fan.

“Nicolas,” a soft voice called. “Where are you going?”

Maryann stood, her heart jerking. The marquess had come outside…and someone had followed him? A spurt of intrigued amusement shook her.

“Lady Trentman,” his voice said chidingly. “I wasn’t aware you followed me.”

A sweet, affected giggle lifted in the air. “I am astonished you came to Lady Musgrove’s ball. No one expected you.”

“That, my sweet, was the idea,” he replied teasingly.

“I’ve heard whispers that you are a man devoted to sensual pleasures. I have been wanting you in my bed for some time now.”

Maryann was shocked—and keen to hear his reply.

The marquess made a soft purring noise that set Maryann’s heart to racing. It felt like a stroke against her skin. How odd that the sound of St. Ives’s voice could produce such feelings.

“And you wish to affirm the rumors for yourself, Lady Trentman?”

Maryann stifled a gasp. The countess was a married lady!

“Perhaps,” she murmured in a husky, intimate tone.

“Ah, if you are not sure, then I urge you to return inside.”

The lady’s laugh sounded breathless. “I am certain. I sent you three letters of invitations, which you’ve ignored. It is my fortune you showed up here tonight.”

“Half the pleasure lies in the anticipation,” he said charmingly.

“I do not want to wait anymore!”

“As a gentleman, I can only oblige.” His voice was warm, heavy with teasing and sensuality.

The scoundrel! Was this all he did?

“It astonishes me that you would dare to compare yourself to a gentleman,” the countess said flirtatiously.

“And are those hard because you are cold…or are you aroused?”

Shocked, Maryann glided soundlessly toward their voices, peering around the fountain. The marquess’s back was to her, and he still stood some distance away from the woman, but the countess— Good heavens! The front of her dress was lowered, and the pale globes of her breasts were on wanton display, her voluptuous figure arched toward him in scandalous invitation.

“I am not cold,” she replied in an intimate murmur.

Clutching her fan, Maryann took a few steps back, blotting out the provocative sight of the countess offering her breasts to the marquess.

“I heard your prowess between the sheets…or in other places is neither gentlemanly nor genteel.”

Maryann felt a shameful pulse of primal curiosity. What kind of behavior did the countess imply, exactly?

“Ah, mon coeur, you have listened to such gossip and offer yourself up for ravishment?”

The countess giggled, and Maryann rolled her eyes.

“Is it true?” she demanded breathlessly.

“What?”

“Am I really your heart?” Lady Trentham sweetly purred.

His rich chuckle held a careless charm. “So that’s what it means,” he said a bit drily. “My French is terri- ble. I had no idea.”

Maryann slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh, but something slipped out, for there was a sharp rustling.

“Oh, Nicolas! Someone is out here,” the countess squeaked, sounding genuinely alarmed. “I cannot be found with you.”

“But you knew the risk…”

Another rustling sound and them a soft oomph!

“I do not think throwing yourself into my arms would help the matter.” Now he sounded tolerably amused and very unconcerned by the idea of discovery.

“Off you go and return inside.”

“But Nicolas, we haven’t—”

“Go,” he said firmly, all traces of the careless liber- tine vanishing from his tone.

And the sound of delicate footsteps hurried away. Maryann slowly shrank back on the bench, knowing she was perfectly hidden in the dark. The scent of a cheroot perfumed the air, and his presence grew closer. It was more of an awareness than a sound. It was as if she felt him.

She gripped the edges of the stone bench, her heart quickening.

“Do you not plan to come out?” he drawled with lazy amusement.

—

Excerpted from Her Wicked Marquess, by Stacy Reid. Entangled Publishing, 2020. Reprinted with permission.

Stacy Reid is a USA Today bestselling author who writes sensual Historical and Paranormal Romances and is the published author of over twenty books. Her debut novella The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding was a 2015 HOLT Award of Merit recipient in the Romance Novella category, and her bestselling Wedded by Scandal series is recommended as Top picks at Night Owl Reviews, Fresh Fiction Reviews, and The Romance Reviews.