In Which Margo Halifax Earns her Shocking Reputation (eBook)
160 Seiten
Atlantic Books (Verlag)
978-1-80546-590-4 (ISBN)
Alexandra Vasti loves coffee, beignets, and books, in no particular order. She is the author of Ne'er Duke Well and the Halifax Hellions series. In between writing swoony Regency romances with hijinks and heart, she teaches British and Caribbean literature in New Orleans.
"e;Hot, smart, funny, and charming as hell"e; - Alix E. Harrow on THE HALIFAX HELLIONS series. The first novella in Alexandra Vasti's Halifax Hellions series. From the day of their debut, when Matilda smoked a cheroot and Margo tied a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue, the Halifax twins have flouted convention at every turn. But when Matilda runs off with the dangerous Marquess of Ashford she may finally have gone too far. Determined to stop her sister's inexplicable elopement, Margo turns to her oldest friend for help: because if anyone can get her to Scotland in time, it's starchy solicitor Henry Mortimer. But beneath his buttoned-up exterior, Henry is ardently, wildly, miserably in love with Margo. And Matilda and Ashford's relationship too may not be quite what it seems...
Alexandra Vasti loves coffee, beignets, and books, in no particular order. She is the author of Ne'er Duke Well and the Halifax Hellions series. In between writing swoony Regency romances with hijinks and heart, she teaches British and Caribbean literature in New Orleans.
Chapter 3
“Damn it.” Henry paced in front of his fireplace. Cursing aloud had not made him feel better, but he decided to try again, for the purposes of experimentation. “Fucking. Bugger. Shite.”
It didn’t work.
Margo’s cloak lay in a wet heap on the floor, accusing him with its presence.
“No,” he said to the cloak, “don’t try to make me feel guilty. I didn’t make her run out into the rain without even your pitiful protection.”
Jesus. He was talking to a cloak. Margo had finally, fatally driven him to distraction.
He could not go with her to Scotland. It was a terrible plan. There was no chance they would encounter Matilda and Ashford along the way. The Great North Road was designed for travelers; there were hundreds of coaching inns and public houses in which Matilda and Ashford could take refuge. Did the pair mean to make directly for Scotland, or stop somewhere along the way? Were they riding by day and night, or traveling at their leisure?
Who knew? Margo certainly didn’t!
And beyond the plan’s utter lack of sense, there was Henry’s seven-years-long Margo problem to contend with.
It wasn’t that he did not trust himself in close confines with her. He’d been alone with her plenty. He wasn’t going to turn into a slavering beast and tear her dress from her body—do not think about Margo with her clothes off—but he would probably expire from frustrated lust. Moreover, Spencer Halifax had been his best friend since their school days. He didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize their friendship, and while Spencer was as aware as anyone of the twins’ checkered reputations, Henry was fairly certain Spencer would not want him to be party to further compromising either of them.
He also did have a job, as he’d mentioned to Margo.
It had been an excuse, though. He had very little of importance on his docket for at least a week, and what was there could easily be fobbed off onto junior solicitors in return for the promise of future favors.
He’d been scrambling to think of something to say, because what he’d been thinking had mostly involved a bouncing carriage and Margo’s tits in his face and a very strong instinct for self-preservation that was screaming absolutely not, you astounding moron.
He preferred to retain some dignity in the face of his hopeless affection, and he was fairly certain dignity would go quickly on a multi-day carriage ride with nothing between him and a declaration of his undying love but his tenuous self-control.
But Margo. Hell and damnation.
He knew her, knew her blind loyalty as well as he knew the freckles that bracketed the curve of her mouth and her terrible left-handed penmanship. She would never let Matilda plunge headfirst into ruin alone. If she thought Matilda was in danger—physical or emotional—she would move heaven and earth to be at Matilda’s side.
Margo was certainly not a chastening impulse on her twin—if anything, they encouraged each other like tinder and flame—but she was devoted to Matilda. Matilda had a little cool ironic reserve about her, but Margo had none of the same. She was all feeling, her emotions close to the surface, her heart a generous overflowing cup of affection and warmth.
It was one of the things he loved most about her.
Fucking hell.
She wasn’t going to go home and wait patiently at Number Twelve Mayfair until Matilda came back, defeated or victorious. She was going to chase Matilda down, on foot if necessary. She had plunged back out into the frigid October rain without even a cloak. She’d said she wanted to leave for Scotland that very night. She—
Henry found himself in his bedchamber, stuffing shirts into a traveling bag.
Devil take the woman. She made him insane. He liked things folded. He preferred to travel with an iron and a well-organized trunk containing reading material and a small sewing kit.
Henry dashed off a note to his legal associates with vaguely plausible excuses for his absence and instructions for the subsequent week of work, then slid it under his landlady’s door to be posted in the morning. He banked the fire and left a handful of coin for the charwoman who came in the mornings and the coal-cutter who would likely be baffled to discover that Henry had vanished without a word.
He did not generally do things without prior preparation.
He went back into the sitting room, and hefted Margo’s wool cloak in his hands. It hadn’t really dried, and it was heavy with damp. It smelled disturbingly like a sheep.
He spread it across an end table to dry, ducked back into his bedchamber, and tossed his greatcoat over his shoulder for her instead.
“Fine,” he said to the cloak as he passed. “You win. I’m taking her to Scotland.”
Margo left a note for Spencer. Her brother was due back from Wales in a week, and though he’d long since abandoned any attempt to leave her and Matilda in the care of a chaperone—they’d run off two maiden aunts and one well-paid lady’s companion—he certainly would expect them to be in residence when he returned.
But she’d left him a note, Margo reassured herself. He wouldn’t worry overmuch. Perhaps if she was unusually lucky, she would encounter Matilda in the next day or so along the road, and they could be back at Number Twelve before Spencer had even returned!
Margo was not, as a rule, unusually lucky, but there had to be a first time.
“My lady, I implore you to reconsider.” Fairhope, the family’s butler, appeared to be wringing his hands as he followed her into the mews.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I only mean to travel a very little distance, Fairhope.”
This was true, in a literal sort of way. She meant to travel a short distance, followed by several more short distances, which added together made up quite a long distance indeed.
So, not precisely true. But Margo did not have time for precision.
“Thomas and James”—her coachman and the most obliging of the footmen—“will see me safely to Alconbury. I’m certain Matilda meant to stop a while there. You’ll see.”
This part was an out-and-out lie. Once she arrived at Alconbury, she meant to abandon the Halifax family carriage, hitch a ride on the mail coach, and travel the rest of the way to Scotland alone. The idea didn’t exactly fill her with confidence, but she’d come round to it. She’d be perfectly safe on the mail coach, so long as she didn’t advertise the fact that she was traveling with hundreds of guineas.
She hoped she’d brought enough money. She’d need to purchase food—and a spot on the mail coach—and bribes for every resident of Gretna Green if it came to that …
Margo’s nerve threatened to fail her, but she set her teeth. She only had to focus on the next step, that was all. That was how she’d approached each trial thus far in her life. When their parents had died. When she and Matilda had been sent down from finishing school. When the scandal sheets had taken to calling them the Halifax Hellions, and her favorite bookshop had refused to admit her.
One foot in front of the other, and if she kept on walking, she’d make it through.
She tipped her chin up. “All will be well,” she said to Fairhope, and tried to believe it.
The trio of men must have been as worried about Matilda as she was, because somehow, she persuaded them all to listen. She was halfway through helping Thomas attach the traces to the horses’ collars when a leather-gloved hand closed over her own.
She squeaked in alarm, whirled, and crashed directly into a large male body.
The man grunted, and she practically bounced off his torso. She would have toppled backward into the black mare if the man hadn’t caught her in both arms.
She looked up into his rain-dampened face, and felt a trifle lightheaded. “Henry?”
That was Henry’s rigid abdomen she’d just encountered? For all she’d been weeping into his shirtfront not so very long ago, she hadn’t realized his torso was quite so … taut.
“God only knows how many men you’ve attempted to persuade to accompany you on this mad journey,” he said, “but yes, it’s me. What in blazes are you doing?”
“Only you.” He was still holding onto her arms, and Margo noticed the travel bag slung across one of his broad shoulders. “You—Henry, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. I thought you wanted to travel in a hurry.”
She couldn’t stop staring at the travel bag, pleasure ballooning in her chest in a fashion she found most uncomfortable. “I do. I thought to ride to Alconbury and take the mail coach in the morning.”
Fairhope gave an audible groan from the other side of the carriage.
“For Christ’s sake,” said Henry. “Alone, I take it?”
“I wasn’t going to try to stuff Thomas and James into my reticule, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Henry sighed. “Come on, then.” He waved a hand at the groom, who was frozen with indecision and—Margo could admit it—burgeoning relief. “Unhook your horses, Thomas. We’ll hire a post-chaise.”
Delight was spilling through her, but she tamped it down ruthlessly. “No.”
“If we switch out our cattle and postilion by night as well, the post-chaise will be considerably faster than the mail coach. I—”
She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the mews and around the corner, where they were out of sight of the house. Henry let himself be towed.
“No,” she said again when they were alone. “I...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 3.7.2025 |
|---|---|
| Reihe/Serie | The Halifax Hellions |
| Verlagsort | London |
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Historische Romane |
| Schlagworte | alexandra vasti • Alexis Hall • an earl like you • bestselling romance 2026 • books for fans of tessa dare • books like bridgerton • books like the governess fame • Bridgerton • Bringing Down the Duke • candice camp • Caroline Linden • christine britton • christine britton whats a duke got to do with it • devil in winter • earl crush • Elizabeth Hoyt • Eloisa James • Evie Dunmore • fans of bridgerton • fans of julia quinn • for fans of alexandra vasti • for fans of earl crush • Georgette Heyer • Grace Callaway • infamous lex croucher • Julia Quinn • Lady Whistledown • Lex Croucher • Lisa Kleypas • Loretta Chase • Martha Waters • monica mccarty • mortal follies • ne'er duke well • never say never to an earl • nico rosso • Regency • regency novellas • Regency Romance • regency romantic comedies • regency rom coms • Romance • romance novellas • Romancing Mister Bridgerton • romcom • sarah maclean • sexy regency romance • Spicy Regency Romance • Suzanne Allain • ten things i hate about the duke • Tessa Dare • the duchess deal |
| ISBN-10 | 1-80546-590-2 / 1805465902 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-80546-590-4 / 9781805465904 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
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