Kate Bateman is kicking off a brand new Regency romance series next week—about three women who secretly own and run London’s most exclusive investigative agency—and I have a little sneak peek from you from the first book in the series. It follows Tess Townsend, a young woman who suddenly finds herself a widow on her wedding night—following the unexpected death of her much older new husband—and still a virgin. Cherishing her newly found independence but longing for romantic pleasure, Tess attends a masked party where she shares a kiss with a stranger, only for him to turn out to be the new heir to her late husband’s dukedom. And he’s proposing a marriage of convenience that would suit them both…
Excerpt
Tess noticed him the moment she entered the cardroom. He sat at a table, half in profile, a pile of mother-of-pearl gaming chips heaped on the green baize in front of him, a glass of amber liquid by his wrist.
It was his stillness that drew her, the intensity of his concentration. He was an oasis of calm amid the crush of guests who eddied and flowed around him like the rushing waters of a stream.
His opponent shuffled his cards and drummed his fingertips impatiently on the table, but his movements were sure as he laid down one card and requested another from the dealer with a flick of his hand.
Intrigued, Tess started forward, using the crowd as cover. The candles overhead highlighted his dark hair, a straight nose, and the shadow of an evening beard on his unfashionably tanned cheek.
He was the only one in the room not wearing a mask.
The implied arrogance of that gesture, as if he disdained to play by the same rules as the rest of humanity, fascinated her. She’d always wished for the courage to dismiss society’s expectations so brazenly.
Who was this man?
She edged closer, drawn by the aura of effortless command that surrounded him.
She’d never seen him before in the ton. Was he a soldier, newly returned from the war? He certainly had the physique. His shoulders were muscled beneath his dark jacket, his body lean and athletic.
He had money, too, judging by the exquisite cut of his coat. A foreigner, perhaps? A professional gamester? Definitely not some impoverished country squire. Still, in a gathering like this, he could just as well be a good-looking footman who’d stolen his master’s clothes for the night.
Tess hovered near his elbow, desperate to see his whole face.
She almost hoped he’d open his mouth and say something imbecilic, or bray like a donkey when he laughed, and the allure would be shattered.
He did neither of those things. When his opponent made a comment, the deep sound of his laughter vibrated through her and produced a quivery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Tess took an amazed breath, shocked by her body’s reaction.
After the next hand, his opponent gave a disgusted snort and tossed his cards faceup on the table.
“Damn it, Thorn, you’ve bested me again!”
The good-natured complaint was accompanied by a groan as the loser pushed his tokens forward and his chair back.
“Should’ve known better than to try my hand against you. You’ve the devil’s own luck.”
As if sensing Tess’s presence at his side, the stranger raised his head.
A shock of something elemental, almost like recognition, flashed through her as their eyes met. If someone had asked her to describe a “dangerous man,” it would be him. Flint-gray eyes, high cheekbones. Lips that looked like they could command—or kiss—with consummate ease.
They’d never met in person, she was sure, but she knew him: he was every wicked fantasy she’d ever dreamed, come to life.
Handsome seemed too weak a word. Shrewd intelligence blazed in his eyes, and Tess had the strangest sensation that he was looking right through her, through dress and skin, to the very heart of her. She felt exposed, all her secrets laid bare.
She gave herself a mental shake. She was being fanciful. He wasn’t reading her soul. He was probably just imagining her naked.
As she was doing to him.
His gaze traveled the length of her body in a searing head-to-toe appraisal that took in her crimson gown and bloodred mask in one calculating sweep. His dark brows rose.
In interest? Disdain?
She couldn’t tell.
Tess returned the bold appraisal with one of her own, even as heat flushed her body at her daring. A thrill shivered along her spine. So this was the lust the poets raved about. This dizzy, drunken feeling of excitement.
At last.
She felt breathless, and also extremely relieved. In recent months she’d started to worry that there was something wrong with her, that she was somehow numb. The lukewarm interest she’d felt on a few previous occasions paled into insignificance when compared to the scorching reaction she was having to this man.
Surely this was a sign from the universe?
The stranger’s lips curved up at her prolonged inspection of him, as if he appreciated her boldness. He stood in a fluid movement and Tess took an involuntary step back; he was taller than she’d expected. More intimidating.
He must have thought she was about to leave, because he reached out and captured her wrist, encircling it gently with his fingers.
“Don’t go, sweet. You’ve brought me luck.”
Tess’s belly twisted in glorious confusion. His voice was as delicious as his face; deep, with a hint of cynical amusement.
She managed a scornful laugh. “Pfft. Your friend just said you’re always lucky. My presence had nothing to do with it.”
He smiled at her refusal to accept the easy compliment and adjusted his grip to raise her hand to his lips. He kissed the back of her glove, like a gallant, and the heat of his lips burned through the satin.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“I don’t believe we have. I’m—” Tess quickly tried to decide which alias to use.
“Masked,” he finished smoothly, noting her hesitation. “And therefore disinclined to reveal your name. Or your face.” He bowed over their joined hands, and the gleam in his eye was an invitation to spar with him. “Forget I asked. I’d rather have no name than a lie. I’ll call you Scarlet.”
Tess smiled, amused by his perspicacity, and matched his playful tone.
“Scarlet will do nicely. And yes, I like the anonymity of a masquerade. Unlike you, it seems. Do you think yourself so handsome that you don’t want to deny the ladies the pleasure of looking at your face?”
Copyright © 2023 by Kate Bateman. Reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Find it on Goodreads:
Connect with the Author:
by