Lady Sibella Winborne of the Brandreth clan in TAMING A GENTLEMAN SPY - THE SPIES OF MAYFAIR SERIES, BOOK TWO, released September 2013.
Here's an unedited taste:
The
dancers spun around them to the strains of a Handel waltz. Strathairn smiled
down at his partner, enjoying her slim waist beneath his hand as they danced.
Lady Sibella Winborne looked like a delicate flower in a gauzy pale gown
covered in amber blossom. White ostrich feather plumes adorned her luxuriant
dark locks. He enjoyed looking at her. Her calm oval face lifted and she smiled
at him, her mouth wide and full. A very kissable mouth. She had inherited her
mother’s famous green eyes. She was a beauty,
but oh, so much more: practical, composed and intelligent. Yet still unmarried,
which surprised him.
“You
arrived late tonight. I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said.
“I
was tied up with business.”
“Not
parliament?”
“No.”
She
tilted her head. “Your horses, then?”
He
grinned at her blatant curiosity. “No.”
“You
won’t tell me.”
“No.”
Sibella
laughed with good humor. “Very well. Might I find you riding in Hyde Park
tomorrow?”
“I
hope to.”
A
delicate brow rose. “If business doesn’t keep you.”
He
laughed. “Precisely.”
The
music faded away. Strathairn escorted her back to her chair where her mother,
the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, sat fanning herself among the other
dowagers. He bowed, planning to slip into the rooms set aside for gambling. As
much as he might wish to dance with Sibella again, it would place them under
scrutiny, and faro was an effective release from the tension he always carried
with him.
“Don’t rush off, Strathairn,” her sharp-eyed
mother said. “We have seen little of you of late. You rarely frequent these
affairs.” She waved her fan in an arc to encompass the ballroom. “Where have
you been hiding?”
“Not
hiding, my lady, merely visiting my estates.”
Lady
Brandreth adjusted the cashmere shawl over her shoulders. “Did you include that
pile of yours in Yorkshire? I enjoyed
the hunt ball, but it’s cold as charity in winter up in those parts.”
“Not
this time, but I miss it. There’s a wild beauty to the dales in winter, quite
unlike southern England.”
“I
daresay.” Her purple turban wobbled as she nodded. “You are a fine figure of a
man, Strathairn. What are you now? Five and thirty? You should marry. You’re in
need of an heir.” She gestured towards her daughter sitting beside her.
“Sibella will bear you healthy children. The Brandreths come of good stock, and
the Wederells even better.”
“Mama,
please!” He caught Sibella’s apologetic gaze and suppressed a wry smile. Her
plea would have little effect; the marchioness was known to be one of the most
colorful and outspoken members of the ton.
The
dowager batted her daughter’s protest away with her fan. “I am merely speaking
the truth, Sibella.”
“Your
daughter is a credit to you, my lady,” he said with a smile. “She has inherited
both your beauty and intelligence.”
“Now
you are toad-eating.” A roguish smile lit Lady Brandreth’s face. “You always
were a charmer. Sibella is
intelligent. Walk with her on the terrace to discover it for yourself.”
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