The Tattler - April 1802 It wouldn't surprise you, gentle readers, to learn that Dermott Ramsay, the earl of Bathurst and favorite of all ladies, married or otherwise, has a new paramour. What may surprise you is her name. For she is none other than Isabella Leslie! The same beauty of the sizable inheritance who prefers not the ton but books, maps, and the family shipping business. You may wonder how a picture of innocence ended up in the arms of a libertine. Truth to tell, Isabella had to flee from her scheming relatives in the rain-soaked night and seek refuge in London's most infamous brothel. There, with the help of the madam, she devised an unorthodox plan to escape a dreaded marriage bed. She would simply have to become unmarriageable--even if it meant public ruin. And who better to utterly ruin her in a mere week than a handsome rake famous for seductive skills? But gossip has it that Dermott may be developing a tendre for his temporary mistress. It makes for the most delicious speculation, does it not? For if it indeed is the case, what will happen when their week of pleasure is over? We urge you, dear readers, to do as we do--follow the affair closely, and with every hope that it will turn into this Season's most delicious scandal.
From the Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: Temporary Mistress|
|Release Date: 12-16-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Bantam||Store Sales Rank: 1526|
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|Parent title||Temporary Mistress|
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THE STEADY DRIZZLE had turned to a downpour ten minutes earlier and the lady clinging to Dermott Ramsay on the high-lurching seat of his racing phaeton was not only thoroughly drenched but furious. Which meant he'd have to set her down at the next inn, practically ensuring Hilton a win in their race to London. Damn Olivia anyway. He'd not wanted to bring her along, but she'd coaxed with such enticing fervor as they lay naked in her absent husband's bed that morning, he'd found his better judgment overruled by lust.
He squinted into the driving rain, the road barely visible through the deluge, but his Thoroughbreds were running strongly despite the rough going, and if his racing phaeton didn't snap an axle, by the grace of God and some damned fine driving he would have won the race.
"Ram!" the countess screamed, her nails biting through the fine wool of his coat as the carriage hit a pothole and tilted crazily. "Put me down this instant!"
For a fleeting moment he was tempted to do just that, but he was a gentleman for all his faults and couldn't indulge his wishes and leave her in the middle of the muddy road. He raised his voice enough to be heard against the storm. "I'll set you down at The Swan in Chaldon."
"It's too far!"
While he agreed, it wasn't as though he had another option. Forcing himself to a politesse he was far from feeling with his chance of winning virtually destroyed, he shouted, "Just ten minutes more and you'll be dry!"
"I should never have let you talk me into coming along! Look at my bonnet and gown!" she cried. "And the state of my . . ." ...