One-Click Buy: July 2009 Harlequin Blaze by Julie Kenner & Karen Anders & Jill Monroe & Samantha Hunter & Betina Krahn & Cara Summers

Author:Julie Kenner & Karen Anders & Jill Monroe & Samantha Hunter & Betina Krahn & Cara Summers [Kenner, Julie & Anders, Karen & Monroe, Jill & Hunter, Samantha & Krahn, Betina & Summers, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, General
ISBN: 9781426836404
Google: ZnDJ9cRU7DgC
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Sprat looked quite horrified. “Good God.”

Bertie gave him a smack on the arm. “You’re in a church, you horse’s arse. And with me.” When Sprat looked mystified, he snarled. “The next head of the Church of England?”

“Deepest pardon, Highness.” Sprat shriveled. Bertie picked the oddest times to insist on ecclesiastical niceties.

“They look happy,” Dandy persisted. “You think perhaps they’ve fallen in love?”

Bertie looked at the pair of them as if unable to believe his ears.

“You’re going dotty in your advancing years, the both of you.” He pushed past them to exit and then paused outside to make certain Jack’s party was still in the rectory. Beckoning for his coach, he muttered, “Love. Humph. You should have heard her talking about him earlier…about how she’d mold him and make him over into…”

An ugly thought struck him as his footman jumped down to open the door and unfold the carriage steps for him.

“She is a clever slip of muslin. It’s possible she purposefully…”

“She what, Highness?” Dandy asked, leaning closer.

“Couldn’t be.” Bertie grabbed the door and hoisted his bulk into the carriage. “No woman in her right mind would turn down the chance to make her fortune in a prince’s bed.”

Sprat and Dandy looked at each other and chorused, “Absolutely not.”

Bertie was clearly out of sorts as he chewed on what to do all the way back to St. James Palace. He sometimes spent nights there so that his manly “recreations” wouldn’t disturb his wife at Marlborough House.

By the time they reached St. James, he had what he fancied to be a clever plan. A pity he couldn’t test its soundness against the wits of one of the few men he could count on to tell him the truth: Jack St. Lawrence.

“Cranmer,” he called Jack A. Dandy to attention as they disembarked within the walls of St. James. “Find me a cartload of roses, some champagne and a diamond brooch the size of a walnut. Wake people up if you have to—we don’t hand out those damned royal warrants for nothing. Have them all delivered to her at Claridge’s, first thing tomorrow morning.” He turned to Sprat. “You, Avery…find me Edgar Marchant. Sober. I don’t care if you have to turn out every card room in club land.”