For the Love of Lynette Read online

  FOR THE

  LOVE OF

  Lynette

  { Swan Sisters, Book One }

  JILLIAN EATON

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2015 by Jillian Eaton

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  SELECTED PRAISE FOR JILLIAN EATON

  “Romance lovers, [The Duke of St. Giles] is a book you’ll definitely want to read.” – Imagine A World

  “Fall in love, embrace the ride, and enjoy the thrill.” – Book Freak

  “[The Runaway Duchess] is fast paced and filled with chemistry. A must read for any historical romance readers who love a good romp through England.” – My Book Addiction and More

  “Enjoyable, sexy novella.” – Rogues Under the Covers

  “Jillian Eaton finds the perfect balance between intense emotions, sizzling chemistry, and light-hearted humor.” – Swept Away by Romance

  “Once I got started I couldn’t put it down.” – Bitten By Romance

  “[The Runaway Duchess] will sweep readers off their feet and into a whirlwind of romance and intrigue.” – Night Owl Review Top Pick

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  SWAN SISTERS

  ANNABEL’S CHRISTMAS RAKE

  CHAPTER ONE

  TAMING TEMPERANCE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  London, England

  October 13th, 1827

  Lynette’s first ball was not going at all as she had imagined it would.

  For one thing, hardly anyone had asked her to dance. With the exception of a randy young buck with roaming hands and a baron so old she’d feared he might drop dead before the end of their waltz, her dance card remained embarrassingly empty. She couldn’t understand why and had even made two trips to the drawing room in order to peer at her reflection in the looking glass and ensure she didn’t have anything stuck between her teeth.

  Both times she’d seen nothing that might indicate why men were taking one glance at her and turning the other way. Lynette was not so vain as to believe herself the most fetching young lady in the room, but she also knew she wasn’t abhorrent to look at. Her body may have been a bit on the slender side, but her face was devoid of any noticeable blemishes and her dark hair gleamed beneath the half dozen chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

  Perhaps it is my dress, she thought with an absent frown as she glanced down at her ball gown. Constructed of the palest blue muslin with white lace trim and delicate bell sleeves, it was a bit outdated but not horribly so. The same could be said of her jewelry. While the plain pearl stud earrings and pearl choker she wore suited her modest personality, perhaps they were a bit boring when compared to the flashing sapphires and glittering diamonds the other women wore.

  Oh well.

  As her father was fond of saying when one of his great ideas failed – as they almost always did – better luck next time. There would be other balls and social gatherings at which she might meet her future husband and love of her life. Her expectations had merely been a bit high out of the gate. Best to lower them down to a more suitable level.

  Expelling a soft, wistful sigh as she watched a statuesque blonde swirl by in the arms of a tall, dashing lord, Lynette retreated to a long line of chairs set up on the far side of the ballroom for the wallflowers and their accompanying chaperones. Her own chaperone was nowhere to be seen, but then that was no great surprise.

  Unlike her daughter, Agatha Swan was a veritable social butterfly. As the only daughter of a wealthy viscount, she’d grown up in a world where elegant balls and formal dinner parties and trips to the theater were not only commonplace, they were expected. When she married beneath her station, however, invitations to such events had rapidly dwindled and while she’d never said as much out loud, Lynette always knew her mother secretly yearned to return to her old life.

  Now, surrounded by old friends and suitors she hadn’t seen in years, she was in her element whereas Lynette had never felt more alone.

  She missed her sisters, neither of which were old enough yet to make their debut, and began to count down the hours until the ball would end and she could return home where she was not ignored or overlooked or seen as stodgy and dull which was, she suspected, the real reason her dance card remained so pitifully devoid of signatures.

  Try as she might, Lynette had been unable to mimic the actions of her fellow debutantes. While they’d giggled and fanned themselves and made sensuous promises with their eyes she’d remained silent and stiff; a plain weed amidst a sea of bright, beautiful tulips.

  Indulging in a bit of self-pity, she glanced down at her lap where her hands were twisted together in a tangled knot of disappointment. Had she really thought she would meet a handsome knight in shining armor who would sweep her off her feet at her very first ball? At the rate things were currently going it would be a miracle if she didn’t end up a lonely spinster with too many cats and an addiction to bread pudding.

  “Not having any luck either, are you? I wouldn’t feel too bad. At least you didn’t spill wine down the front of your dress.”

  Straightening at the friendly chirp of a stranger’s voice, Lynette turned to her left and found herself the recipient of a sympathetic smile belonging to a woman with sparkling blue eyes, a round, friendly face, and dark red hair teased into a rather impressively high coiffure complete with tiny rubies and white feathers.

  “Are you speaking to me?” she asked hesitantly.

  The woman grinned, revealing a matching set of dimples. “Of course I am.” Picking up her skirts, she slid down the row of chairs until only one separated them and held out her gloved hand. “My name is Regina. Regina Saxton. And you are…?”

  Other people might have been put off by Regina’s forwardness, but Lynette was more than accustomed to it courtesy of her sister Temperance. Possessing a bold nature and a quick tongue, Temperance was forever saying the first thing that popped into her head and had never met anyone she was too shy to strike up a conversation with.

  “Lynette,” she said with a smile. “Lynette Swan.”

  “Quite nice to meet you.” Regina delivered a firm, no-nonsense handshake. “If I am not mistaken, this is your first ball, is it not?”

  Surprise widened Lynette’s eyes. “Yes, but how did you know that?”

  She shrugged. “I know all the other wallflowers, but I did not recognize you. Lovely dress, by the by. The color compliments your complexion beautifully.”

  “Thank you, that is very kind of you to say.” For the first time since the ball had begun, Lynette felt the knot of tension between her shoulder blades begin to unravel. “I admit, I was beginning to think I had somehow become invisible.”

  “Not to fear, we’ve all felt that way.
” Regina nodded to the side, indicating the long line of other wallflowers who were sitting against the wall in various stages of wilt. A few were talking quietly amidst themselves but for the most part they sat in silence, their expressions forlorn.

  Do I look like that? Lynette wondered with a vague feeling of alarm. She certainly hoped not, but if she did it was little wonder why she’d been ignored. Who would want to dance with someone who looked as though they’d been sucking on a lemon all night?

  “I do not know what I am doing wrong,” she confessed. “I have only had two men ask me to dance, neither of which were…well, that is to say…”

  “Interesting in any way, shape, or form? Not to worry,” Regina said when Lynette bit back a smile and slowly nodded her head, “I find most men are not worthy of my time, which is why I spend so much of it talking to women. But there’s hope for you, my dear. You are young, beautiful, and quite charming. A bit shy, but that can be changed. We need only to bring you out of your shell a little bit. If you want men to pay attention to you, you must first learn how to pay attention to them. Their egos are quite fragile, you see, and they require a rather delicate touch. Compliments work best, but you must be careful not to talk too much. They want a woman who can carry a conversation, but not one who wants to control it. First impressions are everything, so you must remember to smile. Batting your eyelashes never hurts, although you must be careful not to do it in an excessive manner or they’ll think you have a twitch and no man wants to dance with a woman who has a twitch.”

  “How do you know so much?” Lynette asked, feeling rather awestruck for she’d just learned more about the art of courting in five seconds than she had in the past five years.

  “This isn’t my first ball,” Regina said with an airy flick of her wrist. “I know I do not look like it now with sherry staining my bodice, but I was considered quite the catch during my debut season.”

  “And now?” Lynette ventured hesitantly, wondering why Regina would speak in past terms when she was still very attractive and clearly knew what she was doing.

  Regina released a mirthless laugh. “And now I am married and more miserable than all of the wallflowers here combined. But I did not come over here to talk about me. I came over to talk about you.”

  “I fear there is not very much to talk about.”

  “Nonsense.” Clucking her tongue, the redhead wagged a finger in front of Lynette’s face. “Although with an attitude like that, it is no surprise you’ve gone overlooked. Do you see that man there? The heavyset one with the horrible wig?”

  Following Regina’s stare, Lynette nodded ever-so-slightly. “Yes.”

  “Well, to the right of him is the one you are going to go talk to. Go on,” she said with a firm push when Lynette automatically balked. “You are far too pretty to sit here and wither away. Practice makes perfect, my dear. Oh, do go on,” she urged impatiently. “Just remember to smile and most importantly enjoy yourself.”

  After three dances and two glasses of champagne, Lynette feared she was enjoying herself a bit too much.

  Following Regina’s suggestion, she’d struck up a conversation with the man her new friend had pointed out, a rather handsome viscount by the name of Lord Newberry. At first she’d been too self-conscious to do more than awkwardly wring her hands together, but after she forced herself to laugh at something he said the most miraculous thing happened. Lord Newberry’s eyes had brightened, his mouth had curved in a grin, and without a moment’s hesitation he’d asked to be placed on her card.

  Since then Lynette had danced with not one, not two, not three, but four gentleman.

  Her feet ached. Her head was spinning. Her throat was parched.

  And yet she’d never felt more exhilarated in all her life.

  It was positively thrilling to dance in the arms of a stranger. To gaze up into their eyes and catch them smiling down at you. To feel their hand hovering over the small of your back. To match your every step with theirs. Lynette may not have been an experienced dancer, but her natural grace made up for the practice she lacked. The only thing she had to do was remember to smile, occasionally bat her lashes, pay an errant compliment or two, and the men swarmed to her like bees to honey.

  Breathless and feeling wonderfully overwhelmed, Lynette at last took a short respite after her fifth dance in a row. Unaccustomed to such vigorous exercise her calves were burning and her arms hurt from holding them up for so long, but a little pain and discomfort was a fine price to pay for finally being noticed.

  Not just noticed, Lynette thought with a tiny thrill of satisfaction as she worked her way through the crowd in an attempt to reach the refreshment table, but envied.

  She’d caught more than a few women watching her out of the corner of her eye as she was dipped and swirled across the ballroom floor, their faces dark with jealousy. The same jealousy she herself had felt until Regina’s sage advice had bolstered her confidence and set her on a new path. A wonderful, magical path that did not end with her being surrounded by wallflowers.

  Giddy with excitement and champagne, Lynette slipped between two conversing ladies with a politely murmured ‘pardon me’. They gave her an assessing glance as they stepped to the side, the rich fabric of their gowns and the size of their jewelry revealing them to be a good rung or two above Lynette on the ever-growing social ladder.

  Two hours ago she would have hunched her shoulders against their cool stares, but now she merely smiled as she passed them by and came abreast of the refreshments.

  The majority of the food and drink had been well picked over, but there were still a few grapes to be had and a glass of champagne to be drank.

  Forgoing the bubbly gold champagne – she rather feared she’d already had quite enough – Lynette scooped up a handful of grapes and tiptoed behind an oversized potted fern to discreetly eat them right out of the palm of her hand. It may not have been fashionable for a lady to be seen eating, but she couldn’t help herself. After dancing the lively cotillion twice in a row she was positively starving.

  “I prefer plums myself,” a male voice drawled from directly behind Lynette, causing her to gasp and whirl around. The last six grapes she’d been hoarding to herself as though she were a squirrel with a particularly tasty batch of acorns went tumbling to the marble floor, although she didn’t mourn their loss. Not when she was busy staring into the most piercing green eyes she had ever seen.

  When she was a child, Lynette’s bedroom window had faced a tall, twisted oak with thick limbs and a countless number of leaves. In the spring when they first budded, the leaves were bright and shiny and new. It wasn’t until autumn came and winter blew its first cold breath that their color deepened and ripened into something more. Something darker. Something deeper.

  The stranger’s eyes reminded her of that oak from so long ago, and she was so captivated it took her a moment to realize there was more to him than just his eyes. With a blink, she took in the rest of him from his thick wheat colored hair curling rakishly over one brow to the solid ruggedness of his tall, rangy frame. He filled out his black tailcoat and breeches quite impressively.

  A bit too impressively, Lynette noted with the tiniest of blushes as her gaze lingered on the muscular swell of his thighs before darting back up to his face. As their eyes met her blush intensified until it spread down her neck to her delicate collarbones.

  “Er…hello,” she whispered as everything Regina had told her to do and say vanished in a tiny puff of proverbial smoke.

  “Hello.” His mouth curved in a grin, revealing a dimple in the middle of his right cheek. It gave him an air of devilish intent and were Lynette’s mother chaperoning her daughter as she should have been doing instead of socializing with her friends, she would have immediately recognized the man for the rake that he was, taken her daughter by the arm, and steered her firmly in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for Lynette, her mother wasn’t standing beside her and she didn’t know enough about the opposite sex to recognize
the predatory gleam in the stranger’s eyes as he took her gloved hand, kissed the top of it, and dipped into a deep, showy bow. “What a pleasure to meet someone of your exquisite beauty. Pray tell, might I learn your name?”

  Lynette had never truly entertained the thought of falling in love before, but when the man took her hand and pressed his lips against the white satin of her glove, she felt her heart tumble all the way out of her chest to land unceremoniously at her feet.

  This is him, she realized a bit dazedly. The one I am meant to marry.

  It was a foolish thought, but then at only seventeen years of age Lynette was still a bit foolish. Foolish and naïve and helplessly enchanted by the very sort of man mothers went to great lengths to keep their daughters away from.

  “Lynette,” she said softly as she gazed into his eyes. “Lynette Swan.”

  “Miss Lynette,” he replied in an equally subdued tone. “What a pretty name for a pretty girl. Has anyone ever told you that you have the face of an angel? No?” he said with a feigned expression of disbelief when she shook her head and bit her lip to hide a shy smile. “I do not know if I believe you.”

  “I swear I am telling you the truth,” she said earnestly. The stranger’s head canted to side and a lock of hair tumbled across his brow. Caught by surprise at the strong urge she felt to smooth the errant curl, Lynette folded her arms behind her back and twisted her hands together. “This is my very first ball,” she confessed in a whisper.

  “Mine as well,” he said, the bright gleam in his gaze revealing his words for the obvious fib that they were. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance, Miss Lynette? I fear the night shall not be complete without it. Unless you are done dancing,” he added with a lifted brow.

  “No,” she said hastily. “Not at all. I – I would love to dance with you.” Without quite meaning to she emphasized the word ‘love’ and was rewarded for her unprecedented boldness when the handsome stranger smiled and offered his hand.