A scandal ruined her future...
Nicolette Twistleton delights in thumbing her nose at Society. After all, becoming the Spiteful Spinster was what helped her through being jilted by her betrothed. Putting her faith in another man? Impossible. But there's something about the entirely too handsome and charming Mathias Pembroke that makes her wish she was the kind of woman who could learn to trust again.
A secret can destroy his...
Mathias, Duke of Westfall, wants nothing to do with his inherited title and all the public scrutiny it brings. He has dark secrets to protect, and can't afford to be distracted by the trappings of Society. What he apparently can be distracted by, however, is the lovely Nicolette. He understands her pain and knows he could help her heal...if only she were willing to open her heart to him.
Can love save them both?
When ghosts from the past emerge and threaten the fragile bonds they've begun to build, Nicolette and Mathias find themselves caught between their feelings for each other and devastating scandal. Will love be enough to protect them—or was their happily ever after doomed from the very start?
Hyde Park, London
Morning, 15 May 1810
Nicolette Twistleton puffed out a soft, poignant sigh as she strolled the sun-dappled footpath along the southern bank of the Serpentine in Hyde Park.
Bella, her pug puppy, frolicked about, yanking on her leash in an energetic attempt to investigate every single thing she happened upon: leaves, sticks, insects, rocks, worms, people— and their shoes. She had a particular penchant for the latter, which she thoroughly enjoyed ruining with her needle-like teeth.
Thus far, a trio of Nicolette’s slippers and a pair of half-boots had met a gruesome end.
A pair of brownish-gray mourning doves swooped across the pathway, landing beneath a flowering cherry tree’s heavily laden branches. Cooing softly, they touched bills, in what almost appeared to be an avian kiss.
Several feet behind Nicolette—enough to permit a bit of privacy but not so much as to cause raised eyebrows—her maid, Jane, carried Nicolette’s parasol and hummed softly to herself.
A distracted half-smile curving her mouth, Jane twirled the plump pink peony she’d plucked from the front flower bed when they left the house an hour ago.
Jane was madly in love.
She and Jack, one of the Twistleton grooms, were to wed next month. Her dreamy expression and wistful sighs were beginning to wear on Nicolette’s tattered nerves, however. As happy as she was for the loyal servant, she couldn’t prevent the reoccurring twinge in the region of her heart.
Oh, the pang most assuredly was not envy.
No indeed—God forbid such a wholly ludicrous idea.
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Pascale Vaillancourt Lépine
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