Enterprising Ladies Regency Boxed Set by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency romance, historical romance box set, regency box set, regency romance box set, funny regency, regency farce, regency comedy
Publisher: Kasey Michaels

— Charles Lutwidge Dodgson

These widows, Sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world.

— Joseph Addison

Chapter Eleven

For the length of two entire days and nights, Callie seriously considered going home. What was she doing in London in the first place? She had come here for one reason, and one reason only, that of shooting Noel Kinsey, Earl of Filton.

A simple enough thing, if one thought like Caledonia Johnston, that is.

But, no. She had to crawl into the wrong coach. She had to come smack up against Simon Roxbury, Viscount Brockton. He, in his turn, had to be the most insufferable, annoying, infuriating, interfering creature ever to walk upright on God’s green earth. Not only had he wheedled her mission out of her, but he had stuck his sleek aristocratic nose into her business and then—which was probably the most humiliating of all—taken charge of her, her plans, everything!

How had she let this happen? She wasn’t a follower, she was a leader. Anyone who thought differently could just apply to Lester Plum, who could probably be found sitting in the Viscountess Brockton’s boudoir right then, discussing the finer points of French pastry, the delights of cream sauces, and this evening’s menu, all while munching on the illustrious Scarlet Upwode’s chocolate tarts.

Noel Kinsey, the object of Callie’s thoughts of revenge, was nowhere to be found. The curst fellow had been out of the city for more than a fortnight. That was a long time. Long enough for Callie to be gifted with a new wardrobe, cursed with enough lessons in deportment to stun an ox into submission, saddled with the viscountess’s hopes for her son’s matrimonial future, and smitten to the marrow by that same odious, insufferable Simon Roxbury, who was no better than he should be—and probably worse.

How had her anger turned to interest, and her interest to what she most firmly believed to be a transitory infatuation generously mixed with exasperation? She’d somehow succumbed to a temporary muddle of her heart and brain that had left her—her!—hiding in her bedchamber like some dieaway miss. Why, she had even confided in the viscountess, in a most blatant lie, that her monthly flux had come upon her with a vengeance and she simply couldn’t leave her rooms.

She wasn’t a coward! She wasn’t anything of the sort! So why was she still hiding here, locked away from the comparative freedom of the remainder of the Portland Place mansion? Why was she cooling her heels by lying in her bed reading foolish magazines or standing at the window like some lost soul, staring out over the street below, wishing herself outside in the watery sun that had broken over London since she had first taken to her bed?

She ought to murder Simon. No, murder was too good for him! She ought to take a page out of their plans for Noel Kinsey, that’s what she should do. She ought to marry him, actually marry Simon Insufferable Roxbury, that’s what she ought to do. Marry

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