|About the Book|
Come back to a time when manners are everything and rules are made to never be broken. Come back to a time when men are in charge and women do what they are told...Yeah, that never happened.Welcome to Megan Bryces Regencyland, where ladies withMoreCome back to a time when manners are everything and rules are made to never be broken. Come back to a time when men are in charge and women do what they are told...Yeah, that never happened.Welcome to Megan Bryces Regencyland, where ladies with backbone get what they want. Where a woman can thumb her nose at rules and care little for convention, and yet somehow, unexpectedly and most reluctantly, find love.To Tempt The SaintMany years ago, George St. Clair loved and lost-- his heart, his faith, his future. Now, he is content to watch not-so-silently as life happens to his friends, secure in the knowledge that no woman could tempt him again. Absolutely certain that no woman is worth the risk. Confident that he is protected from the pain.He is wrong.~The Reluctant Bride Collection~ (books can be read in any order)To Catch A SpinsterTo Tame A DragonTo Wed The WidowTo Tempt The SaintEXCERPTGeorge St. Clair sat smoking his cigar quietly and gazing into the fire. He worried the crumpled letter in his hand back and forth, back and forth.He’d thought about tossing it into the fire but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Not for anybody.He couldn’t unread it. Couldn’t undo the actions of his friend.George could only pray and since he hadn’t done any kind of praying in years, he wasn’t about to start on a scab like his friend George Sinclair.St. Clair choked, not certain whether it was the smoke tickling or the tears threatening or the laughter bubbling.Only George Sinclair would run off to India with the widow.Only George Sinclair could do it expecting to arrive at the very end a happily married man with no consequences to pay.St. Clair thought again about praying. Just a quick, quiet entreaty to keep his friend safe. And whole. And, God, happy.Someone, somewhere, should be happy.But God had never answered any prayer of his, so St. Clair stared into the red and yellow flames licking at his boots and went through the letter again.George,Hold tight to your breeches because your worst fear has come true. I am going home to India, Elinor by my side.Perhaps it wasn’t St. Clair’s worst fear. Being forced to watch a pack of rabid dogs tear the skin from his friend’s flesh sounded just as bad.I’d apologize for leaving without telling you but there was little time, and I know you. You would have locked me up to stop me from doing something so foolish.He would have.She’s worth any price. Love is.Love wasn’t.May you find a love worth losing.Or if you can’t manage that, come visit us in India and we’ll find one for you.Your never dutiful friend,GeorgeAnd if the thought of Sinclair and the widow picking out St. Clair’s bride for him didn’t make him shudder, nothing ever would.St. Clair tossed the letter into the fire, and then his cigar because the letter hadn’t been enough.He’d found love already.He’d found a woman who promised to be steady and true. A woman to give him children and a happy home.A woman with a demure smile and shy eyes. A woman proper and good.And then she’d been given to someone else.St. Clairs only comfort was that she and her husband stayed in the country and he didn’t have to see them.His only comfort was that he’d been young and foolish when he’d given his heart away and could, almost, forgive himself.His only comfort was that he refused to be comforted.St. Clair stood, straightening his coat. He watched as the paper curled and turned to ash, watched as the cigar smoked and burned.When he turned away, he did it with no prayer on his lips, but a curse.For the widow.For a woman with a demure smile and shy eyes.For every woman who could bring misery to man.A pox on them all.