I hope you enjoyed the two interviews with the lead characters of How To Marry A Rogue. Journey with Jack and Georgiana as they venture abroad to France's beautiful wine country and find out that what they've always run from is what they truly want. Along the way, you'll meet a colorful cast of locals, including a saucy maid and her lover, two fuddy-duddy matrons who want nothing more than to sip a quiet cup of tea in the countryside while dreaming of more exciting adventures, and several more people who will surprise, delight, and - gasp! - astound you.
Here's a never-before released excerpt of Jack and Georgiana once they are in France and she has started causing all sorts of trouble for him. Enjoy!
“Have you been shut up in here all day with
the ghosts of old composers?” Jack announced from the drawing room door. He
crossed the room to where she sat, and leafed through the music on top of the
case. She snatched the papers from him.
“Some of us are not carousing all day
and night.” She played blindly, not caring what tune emerged from her fingers.
“Some of us are not doing that, either.”
He picked up a stray sheet and held it to her. “What is this? Doesn’t look like
Mozart to me.”
She glanced carelessly at the paper and
gasped in dismay. At the bottom, she’d drawn their entwined initials, complete
with tiny hearts and an attempt at a rosebud. She snatched the paper from him
and crumpled it up.
“I was bored.”
“Hmm.” He went to the cabinet against
the wall and removed a violin case. “I’ll wager you don’t know this about me.”
“Which of the myriad fascinating things
about you do I not know?”
She bit her lip in feigned
concentration, picking out the tune almost effortlessly. Normally, her
excellent playing was a source of pride, but since coming to France, she took
no pleasure in it. All she’d done since his absence was daydream and draw silly
pictures. She was grateful she’d burned the last one before he came home–a
little sketch of his lips she’d spent an hour drawing.
He unlatched the case and carefully
removed a violin and bow. He held it up to her, almost reverently. “This.”
“Was it left behind by one of your
grandfather’s guests? The one with the smelly gowns, perhaps?”
He frowned comically, but she sensed a
touch of bashfulness. “It was my father’s, if you must know. I did learn other
accomplishments besides drinking and chasing skirts while at university.”
As she watched in semi-amused silence,
he placed the violin under his chin, took a breath, and closed his eyes as he
drew the bow across the strings. The familiar strains of Boccherini’s Violin
Sonata poured forth from the instrument, as effortless as her own playing had
been.
She snapped out of her dazed confusion
and accompanied him on the pianoforte. As he played, he walked slowly toward
her, his gaze locked with hers. Their playing was harmonious. Neither of them
missed a note, and he increased his speed, but she kept up.
With a flicker of his gaze, he indicated
she should move over on the bench, and she did, without losing her place on the
keyboard. He sat on the edge, his back against her shoulder as they continued
to play. His hair brushed her face a few times, and she inhaled deeply, her breath
catching as her pulse sped up. Sensual memories of the night before threatened
to disrupt her concentration, and she had to will her hands to hit the right
keys. When the piece ended, he rested the violin and bow on top of the
pianoforte and faced her.
“I had no idea you could play! Why did
you not say something before? We could have played duets when you and Jonathan
were home at Christmas.”
He grinned. “That is precisely why I did
not say anything. Besides–I would much rather sit in the audience and listen to
you. You always played for me, Georgie.”
She turned toward the keyboard again,
fiddling with a loose d sharp key. “How you will flatter yourself.” Her heart pounded
so hard she feared he could hear it. Perspiration broke out under her arms and
she shifted on the bench, wishing he would get up and move away from her so he
wouldn’t detect the effect he had on her.
He chuckled. “I am speaking the truth.
The last time I was home with Lockewood, you were–what, fifteen? You found out
my favorite piece and learned it for a week. At the Christmas party, you played
it, and stared at me the entire time. I still remember you wore a white dress
with a pink bow tied in the back.”
She sniffed. “I was probably watching
you in the corner, drinking wine punch and fawning over Lady Ellenton’s
daughter.”
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten all about Clementine
Ellenton, until you mentioned her. I wonder whatever happened to her?”
His hand rested on the keys. She dropped
the lid, banging his fingers. He drew them back with a sharp yelp, and looked
into her eyes. She tried to return his grin but failed. Surely, he could see
the helpless jealousy and naked emotion on her face. It was useless to pretend
anymore. The feelings she’d had as a lovesick girl–unsated by even Edward’s
flattering attention–were unabated where Jack was concerned.
She started to rise from the bench, but
he caught her wrist, turning her body as he placed her hand around his neck.
Her fingers curled into his hair of their own accord. The desire she’d
experienced the night before–the yearning ache as she’d clasped him in her
arms–rushed back in a torrent. She pushed at his shoulders but it was more for
show.
“If you want to find out about Miss
Ellenton, perhaps you should write her. I’m sure she would love to hear from
you. You should visit her and let her nibble on your neck with her little
rabbit teeth.”
He shook his head. “I have no wish
to see her. It’s your teeth I want nibbling on me.” He pulled her into his
arms.
“You ignored me the last time you saw
me. You refused to dance with me, leaving me to…to Edward’s devious plans.” The
accusations tumbled from her and she thumped his chest, but he caught her hand
in a strong grip. “You always used to spend time with me, but that Christmas
you avoided me as if I were leprous.”
The teasing grin faded rapidly. His gaze
burned into hers and she forgot to struggle. After an interminable moment when
she’d nearly given up on him saying anything, he spoke.
“I didn’t want to see you all grown up.
You were so…uncomplicated then.”
She gulped to moisten her dry throat.
“Am I so complicated now?”
