Against the Odds Lisa Kleypas Read Online
LISA
KLEYPAS
JULIA
QUINN
KINLEY
MACGREGOR
Where's My Hero
Contents
Lisa Kleypas
Against the Odds
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter two
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Epilogue
Kinley MacGregor
Midsummer's Knight
Prologue
Chapter ane
Affiliate 2
Chapter 3
Chapter iv
Chapter 5
Chapter vi
Epilogue
Julia Quinn
A Tale of Ii Sisters
Chapter 1
Affiliate two
Chapter 3
Chapter iv
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Virtually the Authors
Lisa Kleypas
Kinley MacGregor
Julia Quinn
Don't Miss These Other Books
Copyright
About the Publisher
Lisa Kleypas
Confronting the Odds
Prologue
If any human being knew how to hold his liquor, it was Jake Linley. God knew he'd had a lot of practice at it—and it was a good matter, too, otherwise he'd exist staggering boozer at the moment. Unfortunately, no matter how much he drank this evening, it was not going to numb the bitter sensation of what he could never have.
Jake was tired, and hot, his caustic resentment seeming to rise with each moment he spent in the luxurious, crowded cavern of a ballroom. Separating himself from a group of friends, he wandered to a gallery that bordered the room, glancing at the sky that loomed dark and cool beyond a row of glittering windows. At the cease of the gallery, Robert, Lord Wray, was surrounded past a smiling throng of friends and well-wishers, all of them congratulating him on the betrothal that had been announced an hour ago.
Jake had always liked Wray, a pleasant plenty beau whose combination of intelligence and unoffensive wit made him welcome in whatsoever visitor. However, at this particular moment, a feeling of contempt coiled inside Jake'south stomach equally he glanced at the man. He envied Wray, who didn't begin to realize the extent of his good fortune in having won the manus of Miss Lydia Craven. It was already beingness said that the match was more than to Miss Chicken's advantage than to Wray'south, that her social position would exist greatly advanced when her fortune was joined to a well-respected championship. Jake knew better. Lydia was the true prize, regardless of her family's common origins.
She wasn't a conventional beauty—she had her male parent's black hair and his wide oral fissure, and a mentum that was a scrap likewise decisive for a woman. Her effigy was slim and small-breasted, falling brusque of the voluptuous standards that were considered and then desirable. But in that location was something irresistible most her—maybe information technology was the charming absentmindedness that made a man want to take care of her, or the intriguing bear upon of playfulness that lurked beneath her pensive facade. And of class at that place were her eyes… exotic green eyes that seemed out of place in such a sugariness, scholarly confront.
Sighing grimly, Jake left the overheated gallery, stepping out into the cool spring night. The air was humid and fecund, weighted with the fragrance of damask roses that burgeoned from the terraced gardens below. The wide, stone-flagged path stretched along a series of narrow box-edged beds filled with geraniums and a heavy misting of white feverfew. Jake wandered frantically forth the path, almost to the end, where information technology curled gently into a prepare of stone steps descending to the lower gardens.
He stopped suddenly as he saw a woman seated on a demote. Her profile was averted every bit she hunched over something she held in her lap. Existence a veteran of London soirees and assurance, Jake'due south start assumption was that the adult female was probably waiting to run into a lover for a few stolen moments. However, he experienced an instant shock of recognition every bit he saw the dark silk of her hair and the decisive lines of her profile.
Lydia, he idea, staring at her hungrily. What in God's name was she doing out hither alone, and then soon after her betrothal had been announced?
Although he had made no sound, Lydia's head lifted, and she beheld him with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Dr. Linley."
Drawing closer, Jake saw that the object in her lap was a little wad of notes, which she had been scribbling with a broken pencil stub. Mathematical equations, he guessed. Lydia Craven's obsession with such masculine pursuits equally math and science had been gossiped about for years. Although well-meaning friends had brash the Cravens to discourage such unorthodox interests, they had done the opposite, taking pride in their daughter'due south adroit intelligence.
Shoving the objects hastily into her reticule, Lydia sent him a frowning glance.
"Shouldn't yous be within with your fiancé?" Jake asked in a gently mocking tone.
"I wanted a few minutes of privacy." She sat upwards straighter, the shadows playing softly on the sleek lines of her torso and the molded white silk of her bodice. The indentation between her winged black brows and the moody gear up of her mouth were so antithetical to the paradigm of a starry-eyed bride-to-be that Jake couldn't restrain a sudden grin.
"Wray doesn't know that you're out here, does he?"
"No one does, and I'll thank you to go along it that manner. If you will kindly leave—"
"Not before I offering my congratulations." He approached her lazily, his heartbeat accelerating to a swift, strong rhythm. As always, her nearness angry him, quickening his blood and sending frantic letters to his nerves. "Well washed, Miss Chicken—yous've caught an earl, and a rich one at that. I suppose in that location is no greater achievement than that for a young adult female in your position."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Only you could brand congratulations sound offensive, Linley."
"I assure y'all, my good wishes are sincere." Jake glanced at the infinite on the bench beside her. "May I?" he asked and sat before she could refuse him.
They studied each other attentively, their gazes locked in challenge. "You've been drinking," Lydia said, communicable the aroma of brandy on his breath.
"Yes." His voice had thickened slightly. "I've been toasting you lot and your fiancé. Repeatedly."
"I capeesh your enthusiasm for my betrothal," Lydia said sweetly, pausing with expert timing earlier adding, "or is it enthusiasm for my father'due south brandy?"
He laughed gruffly. "Your betrothal to Wray, of grade. It warms my contemptuous heart to witness the ardent devotion you brandish for each other."
His mockery brought a flush of annoyance to her face up. Lydia and the earl were hardly the well-nigh demonstrative of couples. There were no intimate glances, no seemingly adventitious brushes of their fingers, zip to betoken even a modicum of physical awareness between them. "Lord Wray and I both like and respect each other," Lydia said defensively. "That is an excellent foundation for a marriage."
"What near passion?"
She shrugged and tried to audio sophisticated. "Every bit they say, that is only fleeting."
Jake'southward mouth twisted impatiently. "How would you know? You've never felt a moment of real passion in your life."
"Why do you say that?"
"Considering if you lot had, you wouldn't be entering into a matrimony that contains all the warmth of last night'south table scraps."
"Your label of my relationship with Lord Wray is completely wrong. He and I want each other a great deal, if yous must know."
"You don't know what you lot're talking well-nigh."
"Oh, yes I do! Just I refuse to divulge details of my individual life merely to bear witness you wrong."
Equally Jake stared at Lydia, his body
was flooded with longing. It seemed impossible that she would exist wasted on a human as civilized and bloodless every bit Wray. He allow his gaze autumn to her mouth, the soft, expressive lips that had tempted and tormented him for years. And he reached out to close her upper arms in his hands, her flesh warm and supple beneath the layer of silk. He couldn't assistance himself—he had to touch her. His fingers moved in a slow upward glide, savoring the feel of her. "You've let him kiss yous, I suppose. What else?"
Lydia inhaled sharply, the framework of her shoulders light and tense in his hands. "Every bit if I would answer such a question," she said unsteadily.
"Information technology probably hasn't gone much farther than kisses. There's a sure look about a woman who's been awakened to passion. And you don't have information technology."
In the four years of their acquaintance, Jake had rarely touched her. Only on occasions of obligatory courtesy, such every bit helping her across a rough patch of basis, or when they had exchanged partners during a country dance. Fifty-fifty during those perfunctory moments, his response to her had been incommunicable to ignore.
Staring into her shadowed green eyes, Jake told himself that she belonged to some other man. And he cursed himself for wanting her, even as his body hardened with want and all rational thought began to deliquesce in a swirl of rut. He faced a lifetime of nights without her, of kisses they would never share, of words that could never be spoken. In the scheme of things, the next few moments would non matter to anyone only him. He deserved to have at least this much of her—he had paid for it with years of longing.
His voice was depression and unsteady as he spoke. "Maybe I should do you lot a favor, Lydia. If you lot're going to ally a cold fish similar Wray, you lot should at least know what desire feels similar."
"What?" she asked faintly, her gaze bewildered.
Jake knew it was a mistake, only he didn't give a damn. He bent his caput and touched her lips with his, softly skimming, his big trunk trembling with the effort to be gentle. Her mouth was tender and sugariness, her pare gossamer-smooth equally he spread his fingertips along the edge of her jaw. Catching a low-cal, elusive taste of her, he searched for more, the pressure level of his mouth intensifying. Lydia's hands fluttered against his chest…he sensed her indecision, her surprise at the reverence of his comprehend. Grasping her wrists carefully, Jake pulled them effectually his cervix. His tongue searched the hot silken depths of her rima oris, the slight penetration bringing him infinite pleasance. He wanted to fill her in every possible fashion, to sink within her until he found the relief he had craved for so long.
Lydia'due south helpless response destroyed the remainder of his self-possession. She leaned difficult against his chest, one of her slim hands sliding beneath his coat to discover the body oestrus that was trapped between the layers of his garments. Her touch excited Jake beyond bearing, across sanity, and he realized incredulously that it wouldn't accept much more than this for him to explode in climax. His trunk was clenched and difficult all over, his veins throbbing with unspent want. The attempt of making himself let go of Lydia drew a groan from behind his tightly clenched teeth. He tore his mouth away from hers, breathing harshly as he fought for self-control. Sardonically he reflected that with all his experience, he had never been so unraveled past a mere kiss…one from a virgin, at that.
Struggling to her feet, Lydia tugged at her gown and straightened her skirts, while the night air made her shiver. After a long fourth dimension, she spoke with her confront averted. "That was quite instructive, Linley," she managed to say breathlessly. "But from now on, I shan't require whatever more lessons from yous." And she left him with impetuous strides, as if she could barely keep from breaking into a run.
Affiliate 1
There were two ways to pick a husband—with your head or your heart. Being a sensible young woman, Lydia Chicken had naturally done the old. Which was not to say that she didn't care for her future hubby. As a matter of fact, she was very fond of Robert, Lord Wray, who was kind and affable, with a placidity charm that never grated on the fretfulness. He was handsome in an approachable way, his refined features providing the perfect framework for a pair of intelligent bluish optics and a smile that was employed somewhat judiciously.
There was no doubt in Lydia'due south listen that Wray would never object to her work. In fact, he shared her interest in mathematics and science. And he mingled easily with her family unit—her unconventional, shut-knit family, which had been blest with enormous wealth but possessed a singularly undistinguished pedigree. Information technology was a high marker in Wray's favor, that he could and so easily overlook Lydia's ignoble ancestry…but so, as she had reflected wryly, a prospective dowry of a hundred thou pounds would be a savory condiment to fifty-fifty the well-nigh plebeian of dishes. Since Lydia'southward come-out at the historic period of 18 two years earlier, she had been ardently pursued past a legion of fortune hunters. However, every bit a peer who had come up into his own size-able inheritance, Wray had no need of Lydia's money—some other mark on his side.
Everyone canonical of the match, fifty-fifty Lydia'due south overprotective father. The only mild objection had come from her mother, Sara, who had seemed vaguely perturbed past her determination to marry Wray. "The earl seems to be a fine, honorable man," Sara had said while she and Lydia had wandered through the gardens of the Craven estate in Herefordshire. "And if he is the 1 that you lot've fix your heart on, I would say that y'all've made a good choice…."
"Merely?" Lydia had prompted.
Sara had stared thoughtfully at the rich planting of golden kingcups and xanthous irises that lined the neat, brick-paved walkway. It had been a warm spring 24-hour interval, the pale blue sky embossed with fleecy clouds.
"Lord Wray'due south virtues are indisputable," Sara had said. "However, he is not the kind of man that I imagined y'all would marry."
"But Lord Wray and I are and so much alike," Lydia had protested. "For one thing, he is the just man of my acquaintance who has really bothered to read my article on multidimensional geometry."
"And well he should exist admired for that," Sara had said, her blue eyes sparkling with sudden wry amusement. Although Sara was an intelligent woman in her ain right, she had freely admitted that her girl'southward avant-garde mathematical reasoning was far beyond her own agreement. "However, I had hoped that y'all would anytime find a human who might remainder your nature with a little more warmth and blasphemy than Lord Wray seems to possess. You lot are such a serious daughter, my beloved Lydia."
"I'grand not that serious," she had protested.
Sara had smiled. "When yous were a little girl, I tried in vain to coax you lot to paint pictures of trees and flowers, and instead y'all insisted on making lines to demonstrate the difference between obtuse angles and orthogonal ones. When we played with blocks and I began to build houses and towns with them, yous showed me how to construct a dihedral pyramid—"
"All correct, all right," Lydia had grumbled with a reluctant grinning. "But that but serves to demonstrate why Lord Wray is perfect for me. He loves machines and physics and mathematics. In fact, we're considering writing a paper together near the possibility of vehicles beingness powered by atmospheric propulsion. No horses necessary!"
"Fascinating," Sara had remarked vaguely, leading Lydia away from the paved path and wandering to a wildflower meadow that stretched beyond a grove of fruit trees.
As Sara had lifted her skirts ankle-loftier and waded amongst the thick carpet of violets and white narcissi, the dominicus shining on her chestnut hair, she had looked far too young to be a matron of forty-five. She had paused to scoop upward a clump of violets and inhale their heavy perfume. Her speculative blue eyes had regarded Lydia over the brilliant knot of flowers. "In between all these conversations of machines and mathematics, has Lord Wray ever kissed you?"
Lydia had laughed at the question. "You're non supposed to ask your daughter things like that."
"Well, has he?"
As a matter of fact, Wray had kissed Lydia on many occasions, and Lydia had found it enjoyable. Of class, she had led an extremely sheltered life, and she'd had no basis for comparing, except…
Southward
uddenly the image of Jake Linley had appeared in her mind, his night gilt head bending over hers…the sweet, dark fire of his kiss, the pleasance of his hands on her body…and Lydia had shoved the idea away immediately, every bit she had a thousand times before. That night had been an anomaly that she would do well to forget. Linley had only been toying with her—the kiss had been nothing more than a prank fueled by one drinking glass of brandy as well many. She had not seen Linley at all in the three months since then, and when they adjacent met, she would pretend to take forgotten all well-nigh the episode.
"Yes," she'd admitted to her mother, "the earl has kissed me, and it was very pleasant."
"I'thou glad to hear it." Sara had allow the violets spill from her fingers in a vibrant shower of fluttering petals. She'd rubbed her perfumed fingertips behind her ears and darted a slightly mischievous glance at Lydia. "I would not wish for your spousal relationship to be mostly cerebral in nature. There are many joys to exist establish in a husband's artillery, if he is the right man."
Lydia had hardly known how to reply. Suddenly she'd felt heat gathering at the crests of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Although Sara was discreet about such matters, information technology had always been obvious that Lydia'southward parents were a passionate couple. There were times that her begetter would make an oblique remark at the breakfast table that would cause Sara to splutter in her tea…times when their bedroom door was inexplicably locked during the middle of the twenty-four hour period…and then at that place were the private glances her father would sometimes send her mother, somehow wicked and tender at the aforementioned fourth dimension. Lydia had to admit that Wray had never looked at her that fashion. However, few people always experienced the kind of love that her parents shared.
"Mama, I know what you are wishing for," Lydia had said with a rueful sigh. "You desire all of your children to notice true dear, as y'all and Papa have. But the odds of that happening to me are approximately one in four hundred thousand."
Long accustomed to her daughter's habit of translating everything into numbers, Sara had smiled. "How did you decide that?"
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