A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (44 page)

The decision to self-publish wasn’t an easy one—writers are prone to self-doubt—but I love Henry and Diana’s story, and I hope you did as well. I know that this book found its place; it belongs with you. I have always loved fairy tales, and while the iconic words “And they lived happily ever after.” satisfy my romantic side, there’s a traditional ending phrase I’m going to use instead: This is my story, I’ve told it, and in your hands I leave it.

P.S. I really love to hear from my readers, so tweet me, Facebook me, or email me ([email protected]). I know you have stories to tell, and I’m always in the mood to talk!

THANK YOU!

Thanks for reading
A Rogue for All Seasons
. I hope you enjoyed it!

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A Rogue for All Seasons
is the third novel about the Weston siblings. The other books are
Promise Me Tonight
(Isabella's story) and
Tempting the Marquess
(Olivia's story). If you’d like to read short excerpts from the previous Weston books, please turn the page or visit my website:
www.saralindsey.net
.

PROMISE ME TONIGHT

Isabella is determined to marry James…

Isabella Weston has loved James Sheffield for as long as she can remember. Her come-out ball seems the perfect chance to make him see her in a new light.

James is determined never to marry…

James is stunned to find the impish girl he once knew has blossomed into a sensual goddess. And if he remembers his lessons, goddesses always spell trouble for mortal men.

A compromise is clearly necessary.

When Izzie kisses James, her artless ardor turns to a masterful seduction that drives him mad with desire. But, no stranger to heartbreak, James is determined never to love, and thus never to lose. Can Isabella convince him that a life without love might be the biggest loss of all?

Praise for
Promise Me Tonight

“An exquisitely enchanting debut by a dynamic new author who will instantly secure a place in romance readers’ hearts. This novel is charming beyond belief, with vibrant characters, polished and fresh writing, and one of the most adorable heroines you’ll ever meet. Read P
ROMISE
M
E
T
ONIGHT
, and get ready to fall in love!”

—
NYT
Bestselling Author Lisa Kleypas

“A sensual yet endearingly tender love story—every romance lover owes herself this book!”

—
NYT
Bestselling Author Eloisa James

“This is one of the most charming debuts I’ve read in years. If you love Julia Quinn, you’ll love Sara Lindsey!”

—
NYT
Bestselling Author Teresa Medeiros

“Delightful characters and sizzling sensuality blend beautifully with a sense of humor and the joy of falling in love. Lindsey is off to a fabulous start.”

—Kathe Robin
RT Book Reviews

Excerpt:

J
AMES
S
HEFFIELD HAD ALWAYS CONSIDERED
himself a good person, but he spent several moments savoring his best friend’s suffering expression before going in to rescue him from the most boring man in Christendom.

“Took you bloody long enough,” Henry grumbled as they made their escape. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages, but you were too wrapped up in the luscious Lady Finkley to pay any notice. Not that I blame you. Had similar thoughts myself. Bloody unfair, though, that you got to play Casanova while I was stuck with old Blathersby and his sheep.”

“Blathersby and his sheep.” James laughed. “Never fear; I’ve heard it all before and on multiple occasions.” He shook his head. “Come, it’s nearly midnight, and we promised Izzie and Livvy we’d bring them some sweets.”

Henry grimaced. “Lord, it completely slipped my mind. Good thing you remembered. You know how Izzie gets when she’s angry.”

James nodded and hustled Henry over to the crowd waiting to get at the dessert table.

“What a devilishly dull affair,” Henry remarked as they waited in line. “First the christening this morning, and now this. It was good of you to come. You could have been off weeks ago.”

“Of course I came,” James replied, a gruff note creeping into his voice. “Neither of us would have been comfortable leaving until your mother was safely delivered, and delaying our trip for another month made no real difference. The Colosseum isn’t going anywhere, and it was important to your mother that you be here for Richard’s christening.”

“And you,” Henry insisted.

“Only to make sure I keep you out of trouble,” James teased, but his chest was tight with emotion. The Westons were the closest thing he had to a family since he’d been orphaned at age ten and sent to live with his grandfather, the Earl of Dunston. The best that could be said of the earl was that his main property, Sheffield Park, neighbored Weston Manor, home to Viscount Weston and his family.

They had taken him in as another son; their warm, bustling home had been his refuge. When he and Henry had gone off to Eton, Lady Weston had kissed and clucked and wept over both of them, a performance she had repeated when they’d headed to Oxford. She had cried when they’d graduated earlier that year, but James figured that was primarily because Henry had spent more time “rusticating” than he had at school. James had taken a first in literature, partly to please Lady Weston, who was more than a little enamored of a certain Elizabethan playwright. Henry had joked that morning that if his father had not had some say in the naming of his children, the family’s newest addition might well have been christened Hamlet or Falstaff. Yes, the Weston children were fortunate to have such a father. James had once thought himself lucky in his own sire, but—

He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Not tonight. Not ever, really. Far better to focus on the present, and—

“Put it back on the plate, Hal. These are for Izzie and Livvy,” James scolded as they filed past the refreshments table.

“When did you grow eyes in the back of your head?” Henry grumbled through a mouthful of cake.

“I’ve known you since we were ten. Don’t you think a decade of friendship gives me some insight? Besides, you eat everything within reach.”

“I’m a growing lad,” Henry retorted.

James chuckled. He was tall at six feet, but his best friend had at least three inches on him and was built like a brawny prizefighter.

“If you grow any bigger, I am going to sell you to a traveling Gypsy circus.”

“Remind me once more why we are friends.”

“Aside from the fact that no one else is going to put up with you?” James joked, turning to look back at Henry. “For one thing, you would never have graduated without my help.”

Henry laughed. “I still can’t puzzle out how you went to all those boring lectures.’

“Self-control?” James suggested.

Henry grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it would have made a difference. I was never much good at lessons.”

James couldn’t argue with that. Intellectual pursuits were not, admittedly, Henry’s forte. Bedroom games—actually, games and sports in general—were where he excelled. Still, James was certain Henry was smarter than he let on; his best friend certainly wasn’t lacking in imagination, he reflected, remembering all of the scrapes Henry had gotten them into.

He was smiling as he made his way up to the gallery, Henry right behind him, but his amusement faded when he saw Isabella standing at the top of the stairs, one foot tapping impatiently, her arms crossed.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Standing as she was, the braces of candles flanking the staircase illuminated her from behind, casting a golden glow all about her and gilding her unruly blond curls into a halo. She looked like an irate angel.

“What happened to Livvy?” Henry asked.

Izzie gave them both a pointed look. “
She
got tired of waiting, figured you had forgotten us, and decided to go to bed.”

Henry looked down at the plate and glass in his hands as the clock chimed the quarter hour. “I’m sure she’s still up. I’ll go take this to her. Wouldn’t want her to think we forgot. She can be nearly as bad as you.” And with that said, he took off down the hallway.

“What does he mean, ‘She can be nearly as bad as you’?” Izzie muttered, sitting down.

“Er, have some cake,” James said quickly, shoving the plate of sweets at her. He waited until she’d downed three gingersnaps and a piece of cake before deeming her mood restored enough for him to safely sit beside her.

“So, did you enjoy the dancing?” he asked.

“Not as much as you seemed to,” she said, a hint of bitterness shading her words.

“Beg pardon?” James leaned closer to her, certain he’d misheard her.

“I simply remarked that you seemed to be having a grand time dancing with Lady Finkley.” She stared down at her plate. “Is she your lover?”

“W-what?” James sputtered. “Izzie! That—that is totally inappropriate. You shouldn’t even know about—”

“Lovers?” she supplied, gazing up impishly at him as she licked her fingers.

“Yes, blast it! You shouldn’t know about those sorts of things, and you certainly shouldn’t ever speak of them.”

“Then she isn’t?” Isabella queried.

“No!” James exploded, and then lowered his voice. “Dash it all, this isn’t proper. And it certainly isn’t any of your business.”

“Oh.”

The softly uttered syllable contained a definite note of dejection. She looked away, and James thought he saw her shoulders tremble. He instantly gentled his tone. “Izzie, look at me. Come on. Izzie.”