Wicked Widows' League Book 29
- Earl of Sunderland
- A Wicked Earl’s Widow
- Rhapsody and Rebellion
- Once Upon a Widow Collection 1-3
- Earl of Darby
- Earl of Brecken
- Earl of Griffith
- Once Upon a Widow Collection 4-6
- Beware A Wallflower’s Wrath
- A Wallflower’s Wassail Punch
- The Scoundrel’s Christmas Challenge
- The Duplicate Duke
- Merry Mazes and Mistletoe Magic
- Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
A contest to win her fortune...
Lady Winfield, a long-time wealthy widow, is infamous for her outrageous house parties. While hosting her annual Christmastide gathering, Christiana proposes a new game: a daily challenge of her choice. She will accept the proposal of the man who can best her at three or more competitions by Twelfth Night. Though all agree to the diversion, no one expects the games to include marksmanship, archery, and fencing.
A contest to win her heart...
When Lucius, Viscount Bolingbroke presents Lady Winfield with a secret challenge, she can’t resist. Will their midnight rendezvous and private contests end in certain victory for one or a dual attraction for both?
Lucius pulled his hat low as he made his way to the inn. His fury was at a pitch when he slammed the door open. An older man, an apron tied around his thick body, looked up with wide eyes, then smiled. “Good morn to ye, sir. I’ll be right with ye,” he said, nodding to the bowl and tankard in his hand.
Lucius scanned the public room. There were a half dozen scarred wood tables with chairs, charred ceiling beams, and a fine polished bar two locals were leaning against. Then he saw Lord Frederick, his greatcoat still covered with snow. Their gazes locked, then Lord Frederick scrambled from his chair, tripped on another, and landed face down on the worn wooden planks.
When Lucius grabbed the back of his collar and yanked the man up, he started to laugh. “Is that your nose bleeding? Did you break it yourself this time?”
Lord Frederick covered his face with his arms. “Don’t touch me. I-I’ll have you arrested. I’ll—”
READ MORE“You’ll have me arrested? You stole the horse,” yelled Lucius, his patience snapping. “You may be the son of a duke, but this fist belongs to the son of an earl.” And he slammed it into Lord Frederick’s face.
The duke’s son crumpled.
The earl’s son grinned.
The innkeeper moaned.
“Not to worry, he’ll be gone as soon as the weather clears. Could you order a coach to take him to London? The Duke of Scuttleton will be grateful to have his boy home.” Lucius tucked a boot under the unconscious man’s arm and tugged up. He’d be out for a while.
“Aye, my lord. A mail coach will come through later today. I’ll be sure he’s on it.”
The innkeeper helped Lucius pick up Lord Frederick and put him in a chair. Using the man’s own scarf, he tied his hands behind the chair. “Now if he wakes, he can’t cause any trouble until the coach arrives.”
COLLAPSE