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Rhymes with Love Series Books 1-4
THE KNAVE OF HEARTS
Rhymes With Love #5
Elizabeth Boyle
Releasing on January 26, 2016
Avon
In the fifth novel of the captivating Rhymes with Love
series from New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Boyle, a young woman’s
hopes of a match encounter a wickedly handsome complication…
Lavinia Tempest has been eagerly anticipating a
spectacular Season. But one disastrous pile-up on the Almack’s dance floor
derails all her plans. Add to that, the very stunning revelations about her
mother’s scandalous past have become the ton’s latest on dits. Lavinia’s future
has gone from shining bright to blackest night in one misstep.
Alaster “Tuck” Rowland admits he’s partly to blame for
Lavinia’s disastrous debut. But it’s not guilt that compels him to restore her
reputation. Rather, he’s placed a wager that he can make Lavinia into of the
most sought-after ladies in London. Who better than an unrepentant rake to set
Society astir?
Tuck’s motives are hardly noble. But in teaching the
lovely Lavinia how to win any man she wants, he suddenly finds himself tangled
in the last place he ever imagined: in love.
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Excerpt
“Come
now, Miss Tempest, my uncle expects me to dance with one of you,”
he said as he came wavering up to her. “You cannot stand here all
night.”
She
looked around for her sister, Lady Aveley. Anyone. “I-I-I, oh dear.
Mr. Rowland, I don’t believe—” she stammered out, even as Mr.
Rowland took her hand, his strong, sure fingers lacing around hers.
No
man had ever just come up and claimed her before for the simple
reason that Kempton was a small village, and everyone knew (thanks in
no small part to Mrs. Bagley-Butterton) that dancing with Lavinia was
akin to asking to have your toes trimmed—or those of your
neighbors—or to have something valuable broken.
Or
a section of your house scorched.
Mr.
Rowland, completely unaware of the mortal danger into which he was
placing himself and a good portion of London society, just caught
hold of her hand and tugged her out onto the floor, utterly and
completely deaf to her protests.
“No,
please, sir, I don’t think this is wise,” she told him. And she
meant it. This was a very bad notion.
But
unfortunately, her protests had no effect on Mr. Rowland, horrible
scoundrel that he was …
Has
that been mentioned as yet? That Mr. Alaster Rowland, the presumptive
heir to his uncle’s barony, is the worst sort of knave? It should
be. And often.
He
was also the most handsome devil Lavinia Tempest had ever met. Or had
held her hand. Or smiled down at her with a wicked light in his eyes.
Lavinia
had never seen brown eyes hold that sort of promise, the kind that
sent a shiver of something so delicious, so dangerous, down her spine
that she made a note right there and then to add a new rule to her
list at her first opportunity:
No.
83. A proper gentleman should not make one’s insides get so very
warm.
In
truth, as Mr. Alaster Rowland slid his hand around her waist, took
her other hand in his, something altogether improper happened to
Lavinia.
It
had to be improper, for it certainly wasn’t
proper.
“Mr.
Rowland, I cannot,” she protested one last time, when to her
horror, the band struck up a cotillion.
A
cotillion? The last time she’d tried to dance a cotillion, Lady
Essex’s house, Foxgrove, had caught fire.
Yet
here was Mr. Rowland, laughing and leaning closer. “But of course
you can,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her
skin.
It
was as if he had brushed his fingers there —right against the curve
of her neck. It was so intimate, so promising a gesture, that it left
Lavinia in a blinding daze.
Yet
Lavinia, the girl who had made a study of all things proper, knew
exactly how to behave when all was proceeding at a proper pace, but
right now she was being steered down a path she’d never taken
before and assailed by a river of improper desires.
At
least she assumed they were desires, for it was a dangerous, heady
sort of warmth spreading through her limbs.
That,
and something else happened. Her feet—which before had always
seemed two sizes too big—untangled. It was as if the warmth of Mr.
Rowland’s touch, his teasing glance, his confidence in her,
awakened a very graceful part of her.
Lavinia
straightened, head held just so, and a long-forgotten admonishment
from the dancing master Lady Hathaway had hired years ago, tripped
through her thoughts.
Dancing
is all about elegance.
And
right there and then, Lavinia felt elegant. Not because her gown was
proper. Or that she was standing on the dance floor of Almack’s
(though that certainly helped) but because the man gazing down at her
held her, not at arm’s length and in obvious fear, but with all the
proper care and respect of a gentleman.
Moments
later, Lavinia Tempest found herself dancing.
Perfectly.
Like a lady. Mr. Rowland moved, as did everyone else, and Lavinia
moved as well.
And
in the right direction.
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ELIZABETH BOYLE has always loved romance and
now lives it each and every day by writing adventurous and passionate stories
that readers from all around the world have described as “page-turners.” Since
her first book was published, she’s seen her romances become New York
Times and USA Today bestsellers and win the RWA RITA
Award and the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice awards. She resides in Seattle
with her family, her garden and always growing collection of yarn. Readers can
visit her on the Web at www.elizabethboyle.com.
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