SHERRY THOMAS BURST ONTO the scene with Private Arrangements, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2008. Her sophomore book, Delicious, is a Library Journal Best Romance of 2008. Her next two books, Not Quite a Husband and His at Night, are back-to-back winners of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA? Award for Best Historical Romance in 2010 and 2011. Lisa Kleypas calls her “the most powerfully original historical romance author working today.”
And by the way, English is Sherry’s second language.
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Tempting the Bride: Excerpt
January, 1896
A LOVER’S EMBRACE MADE ONE look favorably upon the entirety of the universe. As Helena Fitzhugh returned to her empty, unlit bedroom, she sighed in contentment.
Or rather, as much contentment as possible, given that her particular lover’s embrace had happened through her chemise and his nightshirt—Andrew was adamant that they not risk a pregnancy. But still, how new and thrilling it was to kiss and touch in the comfort and privacy of a bed, almost enough to pretend that the past five years never happened and that the only thing that separated them were two layers of thin, soft merino wool.
“Hullo, Miss Fitzhugh,” came a man’s voice out of the darkness.
Her heart stopped. Hastings was her brother Fitz’s best friend—but not exactly a friend to her.
“Mistook my room for one of your paramours’?” She was proud of herself. Her voice sounded even, almost blasé.
“Then I would have greeted you by one of their names, wouldn’t I?” His voice was just as nonchalant as hers.
A match flared, illuminating a pair of stern eyes. It always surprised her that he could look somber—intimidating—at times, when he was so frivolous a person.
He lit a hand candle. The light cast his features into sharp relief; the ends of his hair gleamed bronze. “Where were you, Miss Fitzhugh?”
“I was hungry. I went to the butler’s pantry and found myself a slice of pear cake.”
He blew out the match and tossed it in the grate. “And came back directly?”
“Not that it is any of your concern, but yes.”
“So if I were to kiss you now, you would taste of pear cake?”
Trust Hastings to always drag any discussion into the gutter. “Absolutely. But as your lips will never touch mine, that is a moot point, my lord Hastings.”
He looked at her askance. “You are aware, are you not, that I am one of your brothers’ most trusted friends?”
A friendship she’d never quite understood. “And?”
“And as such, when I become aware of gross misconduct on your part, it behooves me to inform your brother without delay.”
She lifted her chin. “Gross misconduct? Is that what one calls a little foray to the butler’s pantry these days?”
“A little foray to the butler’s pantry, is that how one refers to the territory inside Mr. Martin’s underlinens these days?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Should I use the scientific names?”
And wouldn’t he enjoy doing that. But as it was her policy to never let him enjoy himself at her expense, she declared, “Mr. Martin and I are friends of long standing and nothing more.”
“You and I are friends of long standing and—”
“You and I are acquaintances of long standing, Hastings.”
“Fine. Your sister and I are friends of long standing and yet she has never come to spend hours in my room. Alone. After midnight.”
“I went for a slice of cake.”
He cocked his head. “I saw you go into Mr. Martin’s room at forty minutes past midnight, Miss Fitzhugh. You were still there when I left twenty minutes ago. By the way, I also witnessed the same thing happening for the past two nights. You can accuse me of many things—and you do—but you cannot charge me with drawing conclusions on insufficient evidence. Not in this case, at least.”
She stiffened. She’d underestimated him, it would seem. He’d been his usual flighty, superficial self; she wouldn’t have guessed he had the faintest inkling of her nighttime forays.
“What do you want, Hastings?”
“I want you to mend your ways, my dear Miss Fitzhugh. I understand very well that Mr. Martin should have been yours in an ideal world. I also understand that his wife has been praying for him to take a lover so she could do the same. But none of it will matter should you be found out. So you see, it is my moral obligation to leave at first light and inform your siblings, my dear, dear friends, that their beloved sister is throwing away her life.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Hastings?”
He sighed dramatically. “It wounds me, Miss Fitzhugh. Why do you always suspect me of ulterior motives?”