By Elizabeth Moss
Lord Trajan Randall is a rake and a whipster who holds ladies in contempt. The weaker intercourse should be all rather well within the bed room or the nursery, yet past that Trajan has no need nor recognize for them. that is why girl Caroline makes a decision to educate him a lesson. A lesson the dashingly good-looking Lord Randall won't ever forget.The Viscount doesn't think within the "Petticoat Club", a mythical gang of ladies who take their revenge on rakes and noblemen like him. yet all that's approximately to change.-- road theft, abduction and wanton behaviour abound during this brief attractive Regency novella from Elizabeth Moss. This novel is written in normal united kingdom English, no longer American English.This is a sequel to 'Poppeia and the Petticoat membership' by means of Elizabeth Moss.
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Extra resources for A Most Dangerous Lady
So this is goodnight, my lord. ’ Before he could muster a suitably caustic reply to that valediction, the lady highwayman had bent and kissed him full on the lips. No swift peck, but a long, lingering kiss. One of her tumbling blonde curls stroked his cheek, a soft tickling somehow redolent of strawberries, while her free hand lay warmly on his chest. Her tongue teased him until his mouth opened under that persuasion, when it darted inside, playing against his own. Certainly no innocent, this one!
The animals reared up in a panic. Not entirely unspooked himself by this apparition, but too busy dealing with the matter in hand to act the idiot, Trajan leant back and hauled on the reins, calling out to the pair in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘Wooa there, Pepper! ’ As soon as the pair of high-strung greys had jerked to an unsteady and reluctant halt, Trajan jumped down from the carriage to investigate what had frightened them. Sure enough, a heavily-built woman in a white gown lay prostrate on the road before him, her head wrapped in a thick veil.
His captor straightened, her mouth curving into a smile again as she reached for her cloak and pistol. ‘My horse has been saddled and I am bound for town. So this is goodnight, my lord. ’ Before he could muster a suitably caustic reply to that valediction, the lady highwayman had bent and kissed him full on the lips. No swift peck, but a long, lingering kiss. One of her tumbling blonde curls stroked his cheek, a soft tickling somehow redolent of strawberries, while her free hand lay warmly on his chest.
A Most Dangerous Lady by Elizabeth Moss