Erica Ridley - Too Wicked To Kiss (Zebra Debut)

This story would never have made it out of my imagination and into bookstores without the help, guidance, and encouragement of many individuals. Heartfelt thanks go to my critique partners Darcy Burke and Lacey Kaye, my early readers Kelly Remick, Amanda Freebourn, Jackie Barbosa, and June Bowen, my agent Lauren Abramo, who is chock-full of awesome sauce, and to my editor John Scognamiglio and everyone on the Kensington team who helped make this book a reality. Super big hugs go to my friends Diana Peterfreund and Karen Rose, who are always willing to talk shop or talk me down from a ledge, depending on the circumstance. (Theyre not just good peopletheyre great writers, too. Go buy their books!)

I would never have made the transition from aspiring author to published author without the amazing resource of RWA, the support of my local writing chapter TARA, my plotting pals PCubed, and the advice and encouragement from Julie Leto, C. L. Wilson, and Virginia Henley. A special thank you goes out to Carrie Ryan, Phyllis Towzey, Carrie Friedauer, and Janice Goodfellow, for believing in me even when I was convinced my calling was writing madcap romantic comedies about a would-be tooth fairy.

The biggest thank you of all goes to my grandma and one-time librarian, Bettie Igney, who has always thought being an author was a fine career and never once suggested I give up my dreams in order to pursue a real job. Youll never know how many times your unswerving faith helped me through the rough patches. I cannot thank you enough.

October 13, 1813

Evangeline Pembertons head slammed against the carriage window, jarring her from another nightmare. For a moment, she thought she was still stuffed in a tiny, airless mail coach. No. She was almost free. She even had elbow room and a clean dress, thanks to the two scowling women seated across from her.

Lady Stanton, a narrow, angular woman with approximately the same shape and warmth as an icicle, stared down her nose at Evangeline with the same glacial expression shed worn when Evangeline had appeared on her doorstep last evening. Then as now, Lady Stantons thin, bloodless lips pressed tightly together, stretching the single black mole hovering below her left nostril. A pale lavender gown the color of snow in shadow swathed her sharp, bony limbs. Blond hair so limp and lifeless as to appear almost white coiled beneath her bonnet like the sloughed dry skin of a snake.

Evangeline clutched her too-small pelisse around her shoulders and averted her gaze to Lady Stantons daughter. A pair of spectacles and a mint green hair ribbon softened the harsh pale beauty Miss Stantonor Susan, as Evangeline had been bade to call hershared with her mother, but the easy smiles shed bestowed upon Evangeline earlier today had long fled from her face.

Susans hands fell by her sides in loose fists to rest atop the crimson seat cushion. She wore mitts, long and tight as most gloves were, but without closed tips to cover the ends of her fingers. Perhaps she was immune to the harsh autumn chill.

Evangeline straightened the blanket across her lap and tried to ignore the carriage windows mocking reflection. Her borrowed dress was now wrinkled beyond all hope. Her stubborn hair refused to stay clasped to her head, choosing instead to cling to her neck and cheeks in damp curls. Grooves from the window frame left uncomfortable lines down her face.

Thank you again for the invitation, she said, hoping to coax into the chilly confines of the carriage at least the pretense of a pleasant atmosphere. This is my first time to London.

Lady Stanton turned her nose to the other carriage window, apparently preferring the lengthening shadows to idle conversation. Her thin fingers worked a delicately painted fan near her perfumed neck, filling the carriage with the cloying stench of unwatered roses left to wilt in a forgotten room.

Wait. Shadows. How long was I asleep?

Susan nudged her spectacles with the back of a gloved hand. Hours.

Hours? Evangeline repeated, staring out the window in confusion. It had taken hours and hours to flee from her home in the Chiltern Hills all the way to London, but how could it possibly take hours to go from Stanton House to a local soiree? Where are we?

Susan glanced at her mother, who was still pointedly focused on the setting sun disappearing behind the skeletal gray arms of leafless trees stretching their knobby limbs toward the heavy sky. Perhaps Lady Stanton was worried the impending storm would delay their travel. But their travel where ?

Braintree, Susan whispered at last, as though wary of speaking the word aloud. Were almost there.

The view from the dusty window dimmed with the setting of the sun, tinting the thick forest surrounding them from pink to purple to gray, until the only light came from the exterior carriage lamps.

Evangelines flesh began to prickle. I thought the house party was in Town.

I believe I said outside London, Lady Stanton corrected without removing her gaze from the window.

From ten in the morning to twilight meant more than a little outside London but having thrown herself on the Stantons mercy, Evangeline doubted she could complain and still expect shelter. A single days drive was far preferable to the living hell awaiting her at home. If her stepfather let her live. At this precise moment, he was either whipping his servants for allowing her to escape from the pantry or well on his way to finding her and bringing her back.

Your fianc lives inBraintree? she asked Susan, seeking to replace memories of small dark rooms with a more pleasant topic.

Actually, Lady Stanton answered, hes not her fianc.

Actually, Susan echoed without making eye contact, hes never met me.

An uneasy tremor rippled through Evangelines stomach. That was not precisely the same story theyd told her back at Stanton House when theyd loaded up the carriage and set off for a local party.

I must have misunderstood, Evangeline said slowly, although she was certain her ears were as sharp as ever. I thought you said you were going to marry him.

Susan adjusted her spectacles. I am.

Thats where you come in. Lady Stanton closed her fan with a snap. Small hard eyes much paler than the blue of her veins glittered like a matching pair of hard, colorless diamonds. To help her win his hand and his pocketbook, by fair means or foul. After all, recluses cannot spend their wealth alone. A simple compromise should do the trick. Merely get them alone, then accidentally stumble upon them, screaming for all the world to hear. Ill take care of the rest.

What? Evangeline stared openmouthed at the Stanton women, momentarily abandoning her intention to appear calm and biddable. Im to entrap an innocent bachelor into marriage with a complete stranger?