Wallflower Gone Wild by Maya Rodale

Author:Maya Rodale [Rodale, Maya]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, General, Regency
ISBN: 9780062231239
Google: wngpAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: 006223126X
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2014-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

Lord Rogan’s Residence

“I’m sorry,” Rogan said, possibly for the thousandth time.

Phinn ignored him. If the Difference Engine hadn’t fallen so far behind schedule because of the distractions and delays of his courtship, it would be finished by now. Then he could use it to add up Rogan’s every apology. The decent thing to do would be accept at least one of them.

But the Difference Engine hadn’t yet been built. It seemed he would be marrying Olivia under the worst circumstances. He’d had a word with her father about that. They had no choice in the matter now, after her shocking behavior at the ball, their disastrous picnic, and the subsequent scandal.

He’d come to London with two intentions: take a wife, build the engine. He hadn’t quite failed, but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have stayed in Yorkshire.

“I am deeply, deeply sorry,” Rogan carried on.

Phinn glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The man did seem to genuinely regret the damage he’d done by inviting a dozen gossips to witness yet another romantic failure. Then he had to go and mention poisoning. Rogan not only terrified Olivia after he had managed to assuage her fears, but he got tongues wagging. The Mad Baron offs another bride.

Poisoning was such a miss-ish way to kill people, too, Phinn thought meanly. Insult to injury. Not that he injured anyone, ever. That was the most ridiculous thing of all—he had a temper, but he’d never raised a hand to anyone.

“I had only the best intentions.”

Rogan was, inexplicably, still talking. Phinn was just trying to cool his boiling blood and calm his pounding heart. He’d lost his temper earlier and hadn’t quite gotten it back.

Miss-ish or not, if he had some poison right now . . .

Instead he focused on breathing in and out. And staying seated in this chair. He glanced down at his hands—the knuckles had gone white, he was gripping the arms so tightly. It was either that or pummel his friend within an inch of his life.

Not exactly what his reputation needed right now.

Not for the first time did Phinn curse the Radcliffe temper.

“It was Ralph’s idea to pop ’round and see how you two were doing,” Rogan explained. Phinn had no idea who Ralph was, and thought it was probably for the best that he never knew. Because of his temper.

He had lost it the night Nadia died. She had been harping on him, nagging incessantly. He’d been distracted, for his work wasn’t going well. Making matters worse, he’d been slightly drunk and in need of a good meal. And she kept on and on at him about leaving her alone at supper, embarrassing her in front of the servants, boring her . . .

He’d just snapped. It was the Radcliffe temper. He hadn’t laid a finger on her. But he had roared. Sent her running.

The thing was, Nadia had a temper, too. And she went running to his workshop, intent on revenge. Or attention.

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