"Rings with humor and the delightful echoes of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice ." Publishers Weekly "With its impeccable plotting and memorable characters, Balogh's book raises the bar for Regency romances." Publishers Weekly , starred review "The sexual tension fairly crackles between this pair of beautifully matched protagonists...this delightful and exceptionally well-done title nicely demonstrates [Balogh's] matchless style." Library Journal Informationen zum Autor Mary Balogh Klappentext All of London is abuzz over the imminent arrival of Wulfric Bedwyn, the reclusive, cold-as-ice Duke of Bewcastle, at the most glittering social event of the season. Some whisper of a tragic love affair. Others say he is so aloof and passionless that not even the greatest beauty could capture his attention. But on this dazzling afternoon, one woman did catch the duke's eyeand she was the only female in the room who wasn't even trying. Christine Derrick is intrigued by the handsome duke...all the more so when he invites her to become his mistress. What red-blooded woman wouldn't enjoy a tumble in the bedsheets with a consummate loverwith no strings and no questions asked. An infuriating lady with very definite views on men, morals, and marriage, Christine confounds Wulfric at every turn. Yet even as the lone wolf of the Bedwyn clan vows to seduce her any way he can, something strange and wonderful is happening. Now for a man who thought he'd never lose his heart, nothing less than love will do. With her trademark wit, riveting storytelling, and sizzling sexual sparks, Mary Balogh once again brings together two polar opposites: an irresistible, high-and-mighty aristocrat and the impulsive, pleasure-loving woman who shows him what true passion is all about. A man and a woman so wrong for each other, it can result only in the perfect match. Leseprobe Chapter One "Your cheeks are looking alarmingly flushed, Christine," her mother remarked, setting her embroidery down in her lap the better to observe her daughter. "And your eyes are very bright. I hope you are not coming down with a fever." Christine laughed. "I have been at the vicarage, playing with the children," she explained. "Alexander wanted to play cricket, but after a few minutes it became clear that Marianne could not catch a ball and Robin could not hit one. We played hide-and-seek instead, though Alexander thought it was somewhat beneath his dignity now that he is nine years old until I asked him how his poor aunt must feel, then, at the age of twenty-nine. I was it all the time, of course. We had great fun until Charles poked his head out of the study window and asked usrhetorically, I supposehow he was ever to get his sermon finished with all the noise we were making. So Hazel gave us all a glass of lemonade and shooed the children off to the parlor to read quietly, poor things, and I came home." "I suppose," her eldest sister, Eleanor, said, looking up from her book and observing Christine over the tops of her spectacles, "you did not wear your bonnet while you frolicked with our niece and nephews. That is not just a flush. It is a sunburn." "How can one poke one's head into small hiding places if it is swollen to twice its size with a bonnet?" Christine asked reasonably. She began to arrange the flowers she had cut from the garden on her way inside, in a vase of water she had brought with her from the kitchen. "And your hair looks like a bird's nest," Eleanor added. "That is soon corrected." Christine rumpled her short curls with both hands and laughed. "There. Is that better?" Eleanor shook her head before returning her attention to her bookbut not before smiling. There was a comfortable hush in the room again while they all concentrated upon their chosen activities. But the silencetempered by the chir...

quot;Rings with humor and the delightful echoes of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice*."*—Publishers Weekly

"With its impeccable plotting and memorable characters, Balogh's book raises the bar for Regency romances."—Publishers Weekly, starred review

"The sexual tension fairly crackles between this pair of beautifully matched protagonists...this delightful and exceptionally well-done title nicely demonstrates [Balogh's] matchless style." —Library Journal

Autorentext

Mary Balogh

Klappentext

All of London is abuzz over the imminent arrival of Wulfric Bedwyn, the reclusive, cold-as-ice Duke of Bewcastle, at the most glittering social event of the season. Some whisper of a tragic love affair. Others say he is so aloof and passionless that not even the greatest beauty could capture his attention. But on this dazzling afternoon, one woman did catch the duke's eye—and she was the only female in the room who wasn't even trying. Christine Derrick is intrigued by the handsome duke...all the more so when he invites her to become his mistress.

What red-blooded woman wouldn't enjoy a tumble in the bedsheets with a consummate lover—with no strings and no questions asked. An infuriating lady with very definite views on men, morals, and marriage, Christine confounds Wulfric at every turn. Yet even as the lone wolf of the Bedwyn clan vows to seduce her any way he can, something strange and wonderful is happening. Now for a man who thought he'd never lose his heart, nothing less than love will do.

With her trademark wit, riveting storytelling, and sizzling sexual sparks, Mary Balogh once again brings together two polar opposites: an irresistible, high-and-mighty aristocrat and the impulsive, pleasure-loving woman who shows him what true passion is all about. A man and a woman so wrong for each other, it can result only in the perfect match.

Leseprobe
*Chapter One
*

"Your cheeks are looking alarmingly flushed, Christine," her mother remarked, setting her embroidery down in her lap the better to observe her daughter. "And your eyes are very bright. I hope you are not coming down with a fever."

Christine laughed. "I have been at the vicarage, playing with the children," she explained. "Alexander wanted to play cricket, but after a few minutes it became clear that Marianne could not catch a ball and Robin could not hit one. We played hide-and-seek instead, though Alexander thought it was somewhat beneath his dignity now that he is nine years old until I asked him how his poor aunt must feel, then, at the age of twenty-nine. I was it all the time, of course. We had great fun until Charles poked his head out of the study window and asked us—rhetorically, I suppose—how he was ever to get his sermon finished with all the noise we were making. So Hazel gave us all a glass of lemonade and shooed the children off to the parlor to read quietly, poor things, and I came home."

"I suppose," her eldest sister, Eleanor, said, looking up from her book and observing Christine over the tops of her spectacles, "you did not wear your bonnet while you frolicked with our niece and nephews. That is not just a flush. It is a sunburn."

"How can one poke one's head into small hiding places if it is swollen to twice its size with a bonnet?" Christine asked reasonably. She began to arrange the flowers she had cut from the garden on her way inside, in a vase of water she had brought with her from the kitchen.

"And your hair looks like a bird's nest," Eleanor added.

"That is soon corrected." Christine rumpled her short curls with both hands and laughed. "There. Is that better?"

Eleanor shook her head before returning her attention to her book—but not before smiling.

There was a comfortable hush in the room again while they all concentrated upon their chosen activities. But the silence—tempered by the chirping of birds and the whirring of insects from beyond the open window—was broken after a few minutes by the sound of horses' hooves clopping along t…