Can take a chance on love and claim his debutante...
THE DEBUTANTE IS MINE
Season's Original #1
Vivienne Lorret
Released April 12th, 2016
Avon Impulse
USA Today bestselling author Vivienne
Lorret launches a new historical romance series featuring the Season’s
Original—a coveted title awarded by the ton’s elite to one lucky debutante...
From the Season Standard: ”A true Season’s
Original embodies the class, grace, and style of the ton . Such an honor
ensures the recipient their pick of eligible suitors…“
Lilah’s Appleton’s prospects are looking dim. With one last chance to find a titled husband before she’s forced to wed her wretched cousin, she must make this Season count. Plain, forgettable Lilah must become the Season’s Original. Desperate, she seeks help from the devilishly charming, untitled, and thoroughly unsuitable Jack Marlowe. All she must do now is resist thetempting
rogue…
Bastard son and self-made man, Jack Marloweloathes the aristocracy. When he
meets Lilah, he expects her to be like all the other greedy husband-hunters.
But she’s far more dangerous. Her alluring smiles and sharp tongue intrigue
him. Before he knows it, he agrees to help her find a husband, revealing tricks
to ensnare any man. The only problem is, his plan works too well—on him.
When Lilah becomes the belle of the ball, Jack realizes he may lose her forever-unless he can take a chance on love and claim his debutante...
Lilah’s Appleton’s prospects are looking dim. With one last chance to find a titled husband before she’s forced to wed her wretched cousin, she must make this Season count. Plain, forgettable Lilah must become the Season’s Original. Desperate, she seeks help from the devilishly charming, untitled, and thoroughly unsuitable Jack Marlowe. All she must do now is resist the
Bastard son and self-made man, Jack Marlowe
When Lilah becomes the belle of the ball, Jack realizes he may lose her forever-unless he can take a chance on love and claim his debutante...
Feeling
restless, she slipped out to the garden. She didn’t even have a
chance to draw in a soothing breath before she heard a strange noise
coming from the back portion, just past the arbor. Strange but
somewhat familiar. The sound was sharp and broken, like a shovel
striking earth and gravel. This was odd because her aunt’s gardener
came once a week in the spring, and this was not his day.
“Monsieur
Bouton?” she called but received no answer.
Curious,
she walked the path toward the arbor, passing the bench, and suddenly
she stopped.
Those
broad shoulders, dressed only in shirtsleeves and a green waistcoat,
were not Monsieur Bouton’s. The lean hips, firm backside, and
thickly muscled thighs weren’t his either. After all, the gardener
was nearly sixty years old, short, and rather thin. And he typically
wore trousers, not well-tailored buckskin breeches and fine leather
boots.
Jack.
His name spilled through her mind in the same unbidden tremor that
rushed beneath her skin. She did not like it, she told herself. And
she refused to admit to having had a secret desire to see him again.
The compulsion was as strange to her as her actions had been late
last night, when she’d pressed a few primroses between sheets of
velum .
“Mr.
Marlowe, I hate to repeat myself each time we meet, but what
are you doing here?” She’d intended to sound forceful and
displeased, but the airy quality of her voice lacked much force.
Those were rather flattering breeches, after all.
He
turned slowly to face her, smirking, as if he was not the least bit
surprised by their encounter. Surely, he couldn’t have expected her
to come outside to the garden.
“This
was the place for our rendezvous, was it not?”
Bother.
Only now she remembered the challenge he’d issued last evening.
“I
am not at home
to you. You did not leave your card. Therefore, I had no way of
knowing that you would be here,” she said, needing a clear
understanding between them. “Aside from that, why are you using a
shovel in my aunt’s garden?”
It
was only then that she looked down and noted a shrub in the ground
near his boots. In fact, there were two of them, one on either side
of the path.
“You
said you did not like the quick death of cut flowers, so I brought
you these,” he explained with a wave of his free hand. “Azaleas
to bloom all spring.”
She’d
never blushed so much in her life as she had these past three days.
Her hands came up to cool her cheeks. Had he listened to everything
she’d said, every scold, every admission? This was unexpected and
unfamiliar. She was used to being forgotten. How could she
concentrate on her endeavors to transform if Jack Marlowe continued
to keep her flabbergasted?
“Do
not thank me, Lilah. I forbid you,” he said, his voice commanding
even as amusement lit his eyes.
What
an absurd thing to forbid. Lilah was torn between gritting her teeth
and grinning. With effort, she managed the former. “Thank you, Mr.
Marlowe. They will remind me of you, especially when our gardener
piles horse manure around them.”
ONLY . 99 CENTS
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USA Today bestselling
author, VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop,
her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order … but there are
days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is an Avon Impulse
author of works including: Tempting Mr. Weatherstone, The Wallflower Wedding
Series, The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series, The Duke’s Christmas Wish, and the
Season’s Original Series.
Don't miss any of the Season's Original Titles
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