By Mary Balogh
Unique booklet: 1999
One reckless guy . . . One passionate woman.
Enter the realm of Mary Balogh—the glittering ballrooms and huge state estates of Regency-era England, the place romance, with all its secret, magic, and surprises, comes vibrantly alive.
It was once an ideal morning in may perhaps . . .
Neville Wyatt, Earl of Kilbourne, awaited his bride on the altar—when a ragged beggar girl raced down the aisle in its place. The cream of the ton observed him stare, surprised, then claim that this used to be his wife! One evening of ardour was once all he remembered as he beheld Lily, the lady he'd wed, enjoyed, and misplaced at the battlefield in Portugal. Now he stated he'd honor his dedication to her—regardless of the gulf that lay among them.
Then Lily spoke her brain . . .
She acknowledged she sought after merely to begin a brand new life—wanted just a husband who actually enjoyed her. She needed to depart him to benefit tips on how to meet his international on her phrases. So Lily agreed to earn her preserve as his aunt's significant other and research the genteel arts. quickly she used to be the toast of the ton, each inch a countess healthy for the earl, who vowed to turn out to his extraordinary spouse that what he felt for her used to be way over wish, that what he sought after from her used to be even more than . . . One evening for Love.
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Extra resources for One Night for Love (Bedwyn Prequels, Book 1)
Blackthorn said, sitting forward once more. “But no, sorry. I had nothing to do with that. Wish I had, though, having once been at the wrong end of what you call your brother’s vile temper. ” Chelsea sat slumped on the couch, like a doll suddenly bereft of all its cotton stuffing. “Oh,” she said quietly, seeing her last and only hope fading into nothing. “I’d been so sure. So brilliantly Machiavellian, you understand. I have given you too much credit. Forgive me. ” She got to her feet and picked up her gloves, putting them on slowly, giving him time to sift through everything she’d told him.
Yes, I will admit that I am aware of a cleric’s presence in your household,” Mr. Blackthorn said, sitting forward once more. “But no, sorry. I had nothing to do with that. Wish I had, though, having once been at the wrong end of what you call your brother’s vile temper. ” Chelsea sat slumped on the couch, like a doll suddenly bereft of all its cotton stuffing. “Oh,” she said quietly, seeing her last and only hope fading into nothing. “I’d been so sure. So brilliantly Machiavellian, you understand.
And there’s nothing all that pleasurable about it for either of us, I assure you. Now, unless you are in the habit of entertaining your servants with aired laundry best discussed only in private, I suggest we adjourn to the drawing room. Not you,” she added, pointing one gloved finger at Puck, who had already half turned to reenter the drawing room. “Oh, yes, definitely. You heard the lady. It’s you she wants, brother mine, not me. ” Lady Chelsea stood her ground. “Wadsworth, a decanter of Mr. Blackthorn’s best wine and two glasses, now, and truth be told, at the moment I really don’t much care whether you please or not.