The Wanton Governess
A Novella
Cover art copyright 2011 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
|
In exchange for a few days’ shelter, dismissed governess Pompeia Grant pretends to be the wife of a man who spurned her years earlier. James Carling, the man in question, is in America, so he’ll never know.
And it’s only for a couple of days... And she’s helping a friend, so she’s doing a good deed… The next day, James comes home. Buy Now! Amazon Barnes and Noble Books-a-Million Harlequin The sequel to this novella is The Unrepentant Rake. 
|
Here's an excerpt from The Wanton Governess
Cover art copyright 2011 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Setup:
Clarabelle is James’s mother. Sally is his sister, who asked Pompeia to pretend to be James’s wife for a couple of days. The Wanton Within is the voice of Pompeia’s sensual nature, which she has tried very hard to suppress for years…
Excerpt:
Sussex, 1801
"What in hell's name were you thinking?"
At this furious bellow all the ladies froze, then gaped. "Who was that?" Clarabelle faltered.
Pompeia rose in horror. She would know that enraged shout anywhere. She had heard it only once before, and she would never forget it.
But this time it was surely directed at her.
Footsteps hammered on the staircase, and her heart abandoned itself to terror. She had to run. She had to flee.
No! She had to do something.
"James, wait!" That was Sally's voice from the corridor. "Please, just let me --"
"James wasn't supposed to be home yet," Clarabelle moaned, and meanwhile the footsteps pounded down the passage.
Think, think! There must be some way to avert disaster. Not to Pompeia herself -- that was impossible -- but to Sally, to whom the vouchers for Almack's meant so much. But there wasn't time, because it would mean convincing Sir James to talk to her privately before exposing the deception. It would mean making him want to. Inexorably, the footsteps approached the drawing-room doorway.
I know how to make a man want to, said the Wanton Within.
Not that! Pompeia's rational mind screamed. Not now! But after a second's furious pause, she realized that for once the Wanton might be right. She got her feet moving and went straight for the door.
Too late.
He came into the room like a thunderstorm. It was James indeed, older, broader, and even more beautiful than four years ago, from his dark, wavy hair and grey eyes to his well-worn leathers. The Wanton Within applauded, but mostly, Pompeia cringed. She closed her eyes, desperate to compose herself. A babble of voices roiled around her, but she was poised only for his, for the fatal words exposing her as a fraud, commanding her to leave.
Open your eyes, said the Wanton. Look at him.
She did. He stared back, the anger slowly draining from his features, surprise taking its place.
That's a good start, the Wanton said. Now, let your eyes do the talking. But Pompeia had done that once before to Sir James -- accompanied by words that permitted no misunderstanding -- and received a stinging refusal.
That was then; this is now, the Wanton insisted. Smile, for pity's sake!
Pompeia felt her lips tremble into a travesty of a welcome.
Sir James's mouth quirked the tiniest bit in response. "Pompeia," he said.
She forced her tongue into motion. "J-James."
"Unbelievable." Slowly, he shook his head. "Oh, Pompeia." His eyes rested on her, warmly approving. No, wickedly so.
This was astonishingly different from the last time they'd met, when the chill in those eyes had made even the Wanton cower. No, particularly the Wanton, who had gone into hiding for quite a while after that.
What had happened to change things?
Ah. James did know of Pompeia's disgrace, just as she'd assumed. And, in the way of all men, he anticipated that she would willingly be just as disgraceful with him.
Yes! Do let's! Just this once! the Wanton said.
Buy Now!
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Books-a-Million
Harlequin
Clarabelle is James’s mother. Sally is his sister, who asked Pompeia to pretend to be James’s wife for a couple of days. The Wanton Within is the voice of Pompeia’s sensual nature, which she has tried very hard to suppress for years…
Excerpt:
Sussex, 1801
"What in hell's name were you thinking?"
At this furious bellow all the ladies froze, then gaped. "Who was that?" Clarabelle faltered.
Pompeia rose in horror. She would know that enraged shout anywhere. She had heard it only once before, and she would never forget it.
But this time it was surely directed at her.
Footsteps hammered on the staircase, and her heart abandoned itself to terror. She had to run. She had to flee.
No! She had to do something.
"James, wait!" That was Sally's voice from the corridor. "Please, just let me --"
"James wasn't supposed to be home yet," Clarabelle moaned, and meanwhile the footsteps pounded down the passage.
Think, think! There must be some way to avert disaster. Not to Pompeia herself -- that was impossible -- but to Sally, to whom the vouchers for Almack's meant so much. But there wasn't time, because it would mean convincing Sir James to talk to her privately before exposing the deception. It would mean making him want to. Inexorably, the footsteps approached the drawing-room doorway.
I know how to make a man want to, said the Wanton Within.
Not that! Pompeia's rational mind screamed. Not now! But after a second's furious pause, she realized that for once the Wanton might be right. She got her feet moving and went straight for the door.
Too late.
He came into the room like a thunderstorm. It was James indeed, older, broader, and even more beautiful than four years ago, from his dark, wavy hair and grey eyes to his well-worn leathers. The Wanton Within applauded, but mostly, Pompeia cringed. She closed her eyes, desperate to compose herself. A babble of voices roiled around her, but she was poised only for his, for the fatal words exposing her as a fraud, commanding her to leave.
Open your eyes, said the Wanton. Look at him.
She did. He stared back, the anger slowly draining from his features, surprise taking its place.
That's a good start, the Wanton said. Now, let your eyes do the talking. But Pompeia had done that once before to Sir James -- accompanied by words that permitted no misunderstanding -- and received a stinging refusal.
That was then; this is now, the Wanton insisted. Smile, for pity's sake!
Pompeia felt her lips tremble into a travesty of a welcome.
Sir James's mouth quirked the tiniest bit in response. "Pompeia," he said.
She forced her tongue into motion. "J-James."
"Unbelievable." Slowly, he shook his head. "Oh, Pompeia." His eyes rested on her, warmly approving. No, wickedly so.
This was astonishingly different from the last time they'd met, when the chill in those eyes had made even the Wanton cower. No, particularly the Wanton, who had gone into hiding for quite a while after that.
What had happened to change things?
Ah. James did know of Pompeia's disgrace, just as she'd assumed. And, in the way of all men, he anticipated that she would willingly be just as disgraceful with him.
Yes! Do let's! Just this once! the Wanton said.
Buy Now!
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Books-a-Million
Harlequin
Text copyright 2010-2012 by Barbara Monajem. Cover art Copyright 2010-2012 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited. Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books, S.A. Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved.
