by Sally MacKenzie
Releasing
April 26th 2016
Zebra
Zebra
From The Book Junkie Reads . . . How to Manage a Marquess (Spinster House, #2) . . .
Entertaining and fun. There was something for everyone here. Anne works to make gossip so she can acquire the spot in Spinster House. Nate, Marquess of Haywood, does what he has to to keep those gossiping lips closed or at least occupied doing other things.
There was fun around the corner watching the attraction unfold in various ways. Minus the almost impalement on a rather hard rock. A tipsy tussle. There are even some how did that happen moments.
For those that read regency and enjoy them, you will find enjoyment in this one. I would be interested in finding out what happens and how it came about for the Duke of Hart and Catherine. Mayhap I will find out.
**This
ARC was provided via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.**
Spinster House series:
In the Spinster’s Bed – Spinster House, #0.5
What to do With a Duke – Spinster House, #1
How to Manage a Marquess – Second Chance, #2
Blurb
In USA Today bestselling author Sally MacKenzie’s charming Spinster House series, love is always a welcome guest…
In USA Today bestselling author Sally MacKenzie’s charming Spinster House series, love is always a welcome guest…
Two
possible futures loom before Miss Anne Davenport. The first option: sharing an
unhappy home with her father and soon-to-be stepmother. The second: a life of
independence at the Spinster House—if only her friend, Cat, would vacate the
premises and marry the Duke of Hart. A well-placed whisper about the pair’s
secret tryst might speed the course of true love. But the duke’s stubborn
cousin poses an obstacle. A ridiculously handsome, very persuasive obstacle…
Nate,
Marquess of Haywood, has spent his life looking out for the duke, hoping to
stave off a family curse. The only way to keep his cousin alive is to keep him
single. That means convincing the intriguing Miss Davenport that her lovely
lips could be put to far better use than gossiping. Kissing, for instance. In
fact, Nate is beginning to hope that Miss Davenport’s destiny lies not in the
Spinster House at all, but with him …
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Links:
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Loves
Bridge, May 1817
Nathaniel,
Marquess of Haywood, strode across the road from Cupid’s Inn, arguing with
himself.
Slow
down. You don’t want to attract attention. You can’t burst into the vicarage in
a panic. Think how angry Marcus would be.
Oh,
hell.
He
stopped and took a deep breath. This was Loves Bridge, not London, and Miss
Hutting, the woman he feared wished to trap his cousin into marriage, was a
vicar’s daughter, not a conniving Society chit.
And
Marcus had told him she wanted to be the next Spinster House
spinster, not the next Duchess of Hart.
But
she spent hours alone with Marcus the other day, including
some time in the Spinster House. Think what could have
happened there!
Nate
clenched his teeth and started walking again.
He
should have been more suspicious when Marcus accepted this dinner invitation. A
sane man wouldn’t voluntarily sit down to a meal with a vicar, his wife, and
their countless children. He’d let his guard down, that was it. Loves Bridge
was the curse’s birthplace, so he’d thought the villagers would realize the
Duke of Hart had to avoid marriage at all costs. Once the duke said his vows
and bedded his wife, the poor man started counting the months left him on this
earth. For two hundred years, no Duke of Hart had lived to see his heir born.
I
am not going to let that happen to Marcus. I have to
remain alert, especially now that Marcus is thirty.
Just
look what had happened when he’d let his attention wander in London a few days
ago: Marcus had ended up in the bushes with that Rathbone hussy, her dress
falling down for all to see.
Hell,
Lady Dunlee, London’s leading gossip, had seen.
Marcus
wouldn’t end up in the bushes at the vicarage, of course, but that didn’t mean—
“Good
evening, Lord Haywood.”
“Ah!”
Nate took several quick steps back. Oh, Lord, talk about not remaining
alert.
Two
old ladies with white hair and bright, prying eyes blinked up at him. They must
be the Boltwood sisters, the leading gossips of this little village. What
wretched luck.
He
forced his lips into a smile and bowed slightly. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Looking
for some company, my lord?” The shorter of the two batted her eyelashes at him.
Nate
repressed a shudder. “No. My thoughts are company enough, madam.”
The
other old woman clicked her tongue. “A handsome young lord like you alone with
your thoughts? That will never do.”
Her
sister nodded and then waggled her thin white eyebrows suggestively. “We
happened to see Miss Davenport loitering around the Spinster House.”
“She
was looking quite lonely.”
Miss
Davenport.
A
very inappropriate part of him stirred.
Miss
Davenport had arrived at the inn the other day just as he and his friend Alex,
the Earl of Evans, were coming to have a pint and wait for Marcus to finish
posting the Spinster House vacancy notices—accompanied by Miss Hutting. Later,
Marcus had told them Miss Davenport was also hoping to become the next Spinster
House spinster.
Unbelievable!
She should have men lining up to beg for her hand in marriage. That day at the
inn, the sun had touched her smooth honey-blond hair, making it glow. He’d
gazed down into her blue eyes as he’d opened the door for her and felt himself
being pulled deeper and deeper. . . .
He
frowned. He’d seen dark currents swirling below her polite expression and had a
sudden, bizarre urge to ask what was troubling her. Thank God Alex had spoken
then. She’d looked away, and the odd connection he’d felt with her had broken.
And
it would stay broken. He was not in the market for a
wife. Of course not. Not only did he have to guard Marcus for as long as he
could, he was only thirty, too—far too young to consider marriage.
His
father had been past forty when Nate had been born.
Oh,
blast. Now the Misses Boltwood were snickering and nudging each other.
He
sniffed in his haughtiest manner and looked down his nose at them. “I am quite
certain Miss Davenport would not welcome my intrusion into her solitude,
ladies.”
Though
the thought of Miss Davenport a spinster—
No.
The woman’s matrimonial plans—or lack thereof— were none of his concern.
“That
Spinster House!” The shorter of the Misses Boltwood curled her lip and snorted.
“I can’t imagine what Isabelle Dorring was thinking. Spinsterhood is an
unnatural state.”
The
other Miss Boltwood nodded. “A woman needs a man to protect her and give her
children.”
Her
sister elbowed her, waggling her eyebrows again. “And keep her warm at night.”
Since
both ladies looked to have reached their sixth or seventh decade without
nabbing a husband themselves, their enthusiasm for the activities of the
marriage bed was more than a little alarming.
“As
you must know,” Nate said, “Miss Dorring had good reason to distrust men. It’s
not surprising she would wish to offer other women a way to live comfortably
without a husband.”
The
taller Miss Boltwood shrugged and flicked her fingers at him. “Bah. From all
accounts, Isabelle knew what she was about. Her mistake was letting the duke
into her bed before she’d got him to the altar.”
“Though
you must admit, Gertrude, that if that duke
looked anything like this duke,
poor Isabelle can be forgiven for getting her priorities confused.” The shorter
Miss Boltwood’s lips curved in what could only be considered a lascivious
fashion. “Have you seen the man’s calves? His shoulders?”
These
elderly ladies can’t be lusting
after Marcus.
The
thought was too horrifying to contemplate.
“I’m
not blind, am I, Cordelia? And what about his—”
“I’m
afraid I must continue on my way, ladies.” It might be rude to interrupt them,
but it was necessary. Some things could never be unheard.
“Oh,
yes, of course.” Miss Gertrude winked. “Here we are, keeping you cooling your
heels when you must be anxious to meet Miss Davenport.”
“I
am not meeting Miss Davenport.”
Unfortunately.
No!
Where the hell had that thought come from? There was nothing unfortunate about
it. He had no time for nor interest in a marriageable woman.
“You aren’t the duke, my lord,” Miss Cordelia
said. “You don’t have to worry about the silly curse.”
Miss
Gertrude nodded. “And Miss Davenport is a comely armful in need of a husband.”
Very
comely . . .
He
must get these wayward thoughts under control. Miss Davenport might be the most
beautiful woman in the world, but she was not for him.
“I
doubt if Miss Davenport would agree she’s in need of a husband.” He bowed
again. “If you will excuse me?”
He
didn’t wait for their permission. He wanted to get out of earshot as quickly as
possible.
He
wasn’t quick enough.
“The
marquess has an impressive set of shoulders, too, Gertrude.”
“Yes,
indeed. Miss Davenport is a very lucky woman.”
He
resisted the urge to turn and shout back at them that he had no interest in
Miss Davenport.
Which
would be a lie.
But
he could have no interest in the woman. What he had—must have—was an immediate
interest in Marcus’s safety.
He
strode—
No.
Slow down. Don’t be obvious. Marcus hates it when he knows I’m spying on him.
And
he wasn’t spying, precisely. He was merely keeping a watchful eye out.
He
strolled toward the vicarage, which just happened to be directly across from
the Spinster House. Was Miss Davenport still there? He didn’t wish to encourage
any gossip, but surely it wouldn’t be remarkable to engage the woman in
conversation if he encountered her. Actually, it would be an excellent thing to
do. That way, he could watch for Marcus without being obvious about it.
Splendid.
Miss Davenport was still
there, dressed in a blue gown that he’d wager was the same shade as her eyes. A
matching blue bonnet covered her lovely blond hair. She was slender, though not
too slender, and just the right height. If he held her in his arms, her head
would come up to his—
Bloody
hell! I’m not holding the girl in my arms.
He
jerked his eyes away from her—an action that was far harder than it should have
been—to look toward the vicarage. What luck! Marcus was just leaving. Miss
Hutting was with him, but in a moment the girl would—
Good
God!
He
stopped and blinked to clear his vision. No, his eyes had not deceived him.
Miss Hutting had just pulled Marcus into a concealing clump of bushes.
Hadn’t
Marcus learned anything from
the disaster with Miss Rathbone?
It
was the blasted curse. Marcus wouldn’t do anything so cabbage-headed if he was
in his right mind.
But
what can I do to save him? I can’t “accidently” barge into those bushes.
He
glanced back at Miss Davenport. Oh hell, she was staring, too. If she told
anyone what she saw—
His
blood ran cold. If those gossipy Boltwood sisters got wind of this, Marcus
would be hard-pressed to avoid parson’s mousetrap, particularly as Miss
Hutting’s father was the parson.
Well,
this was something he could attend
to. He’d have a word with Miss Davenport. Surely he could persuade her to keep
mum.
Buy Links:
Amazon | B & N | Google Play | iTunes | Kobo
Author Info
A
native of Washington, DC, Sally MacKenzie still lives in
suburban Maryland with her transplanted upstate New Yorker husband. She’s
written federal regulations, school newsletters, auction programs, class plays,
and swim league guidance, but it wasn’t until the first of her four sons headed
off to college that she tried her hand at romance. She can be reached by e-mail
at sally@sallymackenzie.net. Please visit her home in cyberspace at
sallymackenzie.net.
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