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228 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1988
"I'm very stubborn and ill-behaved."Since I've had people ask me, Chase's other four traditional Regencies are:
"Yes. No wonder I love you so."
There was only one possible conclusion to this sort of intellectual exchange. Lord Rand tightened his clasp and kissed his darling thoroughly and repeatedly until they were both in a highly agitated state, not at all conducive to abstract reasoning.
Catherine Pelliston had never beheld a naked man before. She had never, in fact, observed a man in any state of undress, unless one counted the draped figures in Great Aunt Eustacia’s collection of classical statuary. Those, however, had been carved stone, not at all like the large, all-too-animate male who was breathing alcoholic fumes into the stuffy room.
‘They were perfectly suited. They would speak of books the livelong day and night and bore everyone else but themselves to distraction.’
‘...—Lord Rand was still forever beyond her reach—he at least would have a second chance. Perhaps this time he would find a woman who truly loved him. That could not be difficult. Only fools like herself were blind to his perfections. All she could pray for was an opportunity to apologise for more than a month of ungrateful, childish behaviour. For more than that she could not hope. She was beyond the pale.’
"You're not deaf, Cat, so don't pretend to be. We're going to be married, as we should have done at the start."
The viscount looked hastily away from her face and began pacing around the room.
"I don't know who had the training of you," he continued determinedly, "but your morals are shocking. You spend a night in my bed, remember, after a night in a bawdy house. You go about collecting street urchins and letting inebriated vagabonds kiss you, and then you get into brawls in pawnshops. You are probably past all redemption, but I'm going to reform you anyhow. If you behave yourself, perhaps I'll let you reform me on occasion, but I make no promises."
"Oh, Max."
He did not seem to hear the pitiful sound because he went on heatedly. "There's no point telling me everything that's wrong with me, because I know all that by heart. I'm a bully and a ruffian and a drunkard and a gambler and I act before I think, always. I'm also short-tempered—and yes, mad, bad, and dangerous. Just as you are—which is why we suit so admirably."
"Oh, Max," she said once more, as a tear trickled down her nose.
He stopped pacing to glance at her. "There's no use crying," he said, his voice less assured now. "You can't manipulate me with tears. I've made up my mind..." His voice trailed off. "Drat," he muttered.
He stood uncertain for a moment, clenching his fists. Then he sighed, moved closer, and knelt before her. "Come, sweetheart, is it so bad? Don't you like me even a little?"
"Oh, Max," she cried. "I love you madly."
[...]
Fortunately, Lady Andover put her head in the door at this perilous moment. "That will be sufficient for the nonce, Max," she said composedly. "You are wrinkling Catherine's dress and Molly will be in fits. Now come out and talk to Edgar like a gentleman."