That Scandalous Summer
Read That Scandalous Summer Online
Authors: Meredith Duran
Enticing . . . Heartwarming . . . Witty . . . Sexy . . . Fabulous . . .
Praise for Meredith Duran’s novels of scandal and seduction in nineteenth-century London—“romance at its finest,” declares
New York Times
bestselling author Liz Carlyle!
AT YOUR PLEASURE
“The unusual setting and fascinating historical backdrop immediately set Duran’s latest novel apart; then she adds in-depth characterization, intrigue, and passion, drawing readers straight into her unforgettable romance. Rich in texture and color, detailed and absorbing, here is a novel to sink your teeth into.”
—
Romantic Times
(4
1
/
2
stars)
“Fast-paced . . . heart-pounding . . . a wonderful read!”
—Fresh Fiction
A LADY’S LESSON IN SCANDAL
A July 2011 Top Pick of
Romantic Times
magazine and one of
All About Romance
’s Desert Isle Keepers!
“Compelling, exciting, sensual, and unforgettable . . . a nonstop read everyone will savor.”
—
Romantic Times
(4
1
/
2
stars)
“The fascinating and compelling characters, the vivid imagery and dynamic prose, the wonderful romance—it was all I can ask of a romance [novel]. Meredith Duran just keeps getting better and better.”
—All About Romance
“Delightfully honest.”
—
Library Journal
“Well-developed lead characters and a perceptive portrayal of a poor woman’s reaction to the lush lifestyle of the nobility highlight a top-notch romance.”
—
Publishers Weekly
WICKED BECOMES YOU
A May 2010 Top Pick of
Romantic Times
magazine
“So much fun . . . Charming and deliciously sensual from beginning to end.”
—
Romantic Times
magazine
“Witty, often hilarious, sensuous, and breathlessly paced . . . [an] engaging mystery-enhanced escapade [with] charmingly matched protagonists.”
—
Library Journal
“The book to beat for best historical romance of the year . . . Sexy, inventive, and riveting, it’s hard to put down and a joy to read.”
—All About Romance
“A fascinating, passionate tale . . . you won’t want to miss.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Rousing . . . delightful . . .
Wicked Becomes You
enthralls with particularly likable characters and a heartwarming romance with deeply affecting emotions.”
—Single Titles.com
WRITTEN ON YOUR SKIN
An August 2009
Romantic Times
Top Pick . . . Nominated for the
Romantic Times
award for Best Historical Romance Adventure
“Remarkable . . . Meredith Duran is one of the shooting stars of romance.”
—All About Romance
“Mesmerizing . . . a glorious, nonstop, action-packed battle-of-wills romance.”
—
Romantic Times
(4
1
/
2
stars)
“Wildly romantic.”
—Dear Author
(Grade: A+)
“Everything a great historical romance should be.”
—Romance Junkies
BOUND BY YOUR TOUCH
One of the Best Books of 2009 in
All About Romance
’s Reviewer’s Choice column
“Entertaining . . . Historical romance fans will enjoy the adventure.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“A story that packs a powerful punch.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Sophisticated, beautifully written, and utterly romantic.”
—The Book Smugglers
“A great love story . . . I found new layers and meaning each time I read it.”
—Dear Author
“Sizzling sexual tension.”
—All About Romance
THE DUKE OF SHADOWS
A 2008 Finalist for the
Romantic Times
Best Historical Debut award
“Evocative and enticing . . . a luscious delight.”
—Liz Carlyle
“Fascinating, emotionally intense.”
—
Romantic Times
(4
1
/
2
stars)
“Riveting . . . emotion-packed . . . A guaranteed page-turner.”
—The Romance Reader
(4 stars)
“Without a doubt the best historical romance I have read this year.”
—Romance Reviews Today
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For Aunt Jan,
a born storyteller
Maddie and Steph for genius suggestions on the beginning and ending, respectively; Birnholz for bringing me my glasses and sparing me the indignity of 86 point font; Janine, as always, for a myriad of kindnesses; Faren Bachelis for her skillful copyediting; Lauren McKenna for her enthusiasm and endless inspiration; Alex Lewis and the entire team at Pocket Books for turning a dog-eared manuscript into a beautiful book. My thanks and admiration, always.
London, March 1885
His brother’s town house felt like a tomb. Beyond the brightly lit foyer, the lamps were turned down, the windows shuttered. One would never have guessed that the sun was shining over London.
Michael handed off his hat and gloves. “How does he fare today?”
Jones, Alastair’s butler, had once been the epitome of discretion. But this question had become their daily ritual, and he no longer hesitated before answering. “Not well, your lordship.”
Michael nodded and scrubbed a hand over his face. Two early morning surgeries had left him exhausted, and he still reeked of disinfectant. “Any visitors?”
“Indeed.” Jones turned to fetch the silver salver from the sideboard. The mirror above it was still covered with black crepe. It should have been taken down already, for his brother’s wife had died more than seven months ago. But those months had unearthed a series of revelations. Infidelity, lies, addictions—each new discovery
had darkened Alastair’s grief for his duchess into something more ominous.
That the mirror remained shrouded seemed fitting. It was an accurate reflection, Michael thought, of Alastair’s state of mind.
He took the calling cards from Jones, flipping through them to note the names. His brother refused to receive company, but if the calls were not returned, the gossip would grow louder yet. Michael had taken to borrowing the ducal carriage and one of his brother’s footmen, waiting on the curb for a chance to leave his brother’s card without being seen. Had the situation not been so dire, he would have considered it an excellent farce.
He paused at a particular card. “Bertram called?”
“Yes, an hour ago. His grace did not receive him.”
First Alastair had cut himself off from friends, suspicious of their possible involvement in his late wife’s affairs. Now, it seemed, he was spurning his political cronies. That was a very bad sign.
Michael started for the stairs. “Is he eating, at least?”
“Yes,” called Jones. “But I am instructed not to admit you, my lord!”
That was new. And it made no sense after the note Alastair had sent last night, which he must have known would provoke a response. “Do you mean to throw me out?” he asked without stopping.
“I fear myself too infirm to manage it,” came the reply.
“Good man.” Michael kept climbing, taking the stairs by threes. Alastair would be in the study, scouring the afternoon newspapers, desperate to reassure himself that news of his wife’s proclivities had not been leaked to the press. Or perhaps desperate to
find
the
news—and to learn, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who else had betrayed him.
But he would not learn the names today. Michael had already checked the papers himself.
A wave of anger burned through him. He could not believe they’d been reduced to such measures—reduced
again,
after a childhood in which their parents’ marriage had exploded slowly and publicly, in three-inch headlines that had kept the nation titillated for years. It went against the grain to think ill of the dead, but in this instance, he would make an exception.
Damn you, Margaret.
He entered the study without knocking. His brother sat at the massive desk near the far wall, the lamp at his elbow a meager aid against the larger gloom. His blond head remained bent over his reading material as he said, “Leave.”
Michael yanked open a drapery as he passed. Sunlight flooded the Oriental carpet, illuminating motes of floating dust. “Let someone in here to clean up,” he said. The air smelled of old smoke and stale eggs.
“God damn it.” Alastair cast down the newspaper. A decanter of brandy stood uncorked by his elbow, a half-empty glass beside it. “I told Jones I was not at home!”