Bronwyn Scott is one of the best voices today in Regency Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest USA, and writes for Harlequin in the US, which are published in the UK as Mills & Boon. Her writing style is brisk, forthright, vivid and extremely engaging.
You will love her books! I do ~
From the Back of the Book
"When it comes to fencing, be it with words or weapons, Dulci Wycroft considers herself more than the equal of any man. Only once has she ever met her match....
Jack, Viscount Wainsbridge, is all charm and quick wit in the ballroom, but his impenetrable green eyes hint at darkness underneath. His dangerous work leaves no space for love--yet Dulci's voluptuous figure is impossibly tempting.
He's sure it won't take him long to discover if her sharp tongue can have other, more pleasurable, uses!"
BEGIN EXCERPT
"London--spring 1835
Jack Hanley, the first Viscount Wainsbridge, firmly believed that ballrooms were for business. Chandeliers, potted palms, sparkling champagne--all the standard trappings of festivity aside, ballrooms were a gentleman's office. They were the places a gentleman conducted the most important business transactions of his life: ensuring a place in society and arranging his marriage. Jack had already done the former and had no intentions of doing the latter. Tonight was no exception.
Jack stopped inside the arched entrance of the Fotheringay ballroom, halting a moment to adjust the sleeve of his evening jacket and surreptitiously scan the room. He took mental roll of the attendees. For all intents and purposes, it was an assembly of the usual suspects. That suited him well. This evening, his business was with the newly arrived Venezuelan delegation. He had very specific orders to meet them, and determine if there was any substance to the quietly circulating rumours that Venezuela was spoiling for a fight over undeclared borders with British Guiana.
'Wainsbridge!' An excited female voice broke over the dull din of constant conversation. His hostess bore down upon him with a gaggle of females in tow. Jack swallowed a groan. The horde was descending slightly earlier than anticipated. That was the price of being a newly titled, attractive bachelor with a certain reputation with the ladies. It didn't help that he was still something of a novelty since his work for the Crown seldom brought him to London on a regular basis.
'Lady Fotheringay, how charming you look tonight.' Jack pasted on a benign smile that hid his cynicism. Women in ballrooms had their business too.
'I want you to meet my nieces, Wainsbridge.' The purple ostrich plumes in Lady Fotheringay's hair bobbed dangerously. There were five of them, all named after flowers--nieces, that was, not ostrich plumes, although he wouldn't put it past the silly woman to name them too.
By the time introductions were completed, Jack's court had grown substantially, filled with females clamouring for their hostess to introduce them to the handsome, newly minted viscount with the mysterious antecedents. For the moment he was hemmed in on all sides and not another man in sight. He could only guess where his fellow males had taken themselves off to--cards and the good brandy, no doubt.
Jack was listening with feigned interest to Miss Violet Fotheringay's rather unenlightened dissertation on the year's fashions and contemplating how he might extract himself from his group in order to find the Venezuelan delegation when he heard it: the unmistakable whisky-and-smoke sound of Lady Dulcinea Wycroft's laughter.
Even in a crush such as this, the sound was distinctive in a pleasant, provocative way, something akin to Odysseus's sirens; a sound that would make a smart man fear for his bachelor status. Of course, that assumed the woman in question wanted to marry at all. Dulcinea had shown no inclination in the eight years she'd been out to want to give up her reign as London's supreme Incomparable, although there had been many chances to do so--six proposals Jack knew about and probably a string of others he'd missed in his long and varied absences from town.
Such a resistance to matrimony made her all the more delightful in Jack's opinion. If there was one temptation Jack could not quite resist, it was a witty, cleverly spoken woman who was apparently as staunchly committed to remaining unmarried as he was.
Such a similarity made her a complex creature who was both potential companion and challenge. He loved nothing more than a good challenge and over the years, Dulcinea Wycroft had certainly proven to be that to the good men of the ton, none of whom yet had succeeded in walking her down the aisle, although it wasn't for lack of trying.
With careful eyes, so as not to neglect Miss Fotheringay, Jack followed the laughter to its source. Ah, that explained where the men were. His was not the only court. Two pillars down the ballroom, Miss Wycroft reigned at her court of wit and beauty, surrounded by the cream of London's bachelors. This evening, gowned in striking pomegranate silk, the sheen of her impossibly blue-black hair catching the light of chandeliers, she was a veritable Helen of Troy.
Jack was not immune.
Neither was most of male London."
END EXCERPT
A must read!! ~
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