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Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author
Courtney Milan and Proof by Seduction
‘One of the finest historical romances I’ve read in years.
I am now officially a Courtney Milan fangirl.’ —Julia Quinn
‘A brilliant debut … deeply romantic, sexy and smart.
I couldn’t put it down.’ —Eloisa James
‘Historical romance fans will celebrate Milan’s powerhouse
debut, which comes with a full complement of humour, characterisation, plot and sheer gutsiness …’ —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
‘A dazzling debut by a multi-talented author who thrills
readers with a twist on a traditional plot and truly unforgettable characters.’ —RT Book Reviews
‘With a tender, passionate romance, a touch of sly humour,
and a gruff and incredibly sexy hero, Courtney Milan’s Proof by Seduction is a delicious read from the first page all the way to the very satisfying ending.’ —Elizabeth Hoyt
‘Sexy, hilarious, and deeply, deeply touching. Courtney
Milan writes with the keenest understanding of the heart. It is a cliché to say so, but I laughed and I cried. And I cannot wait to read her next book.’ —Sherry Thomas, author of Private Arrangements
‘Courtney Milan is a blazing new talent in the romantic
stratosphere … Warm, witty, wonderful and wise, Proof by Seduction will steal your heart away.’ —Anna Campbell
Dear Reader,
If you are anything like me, you’ve done something in your past that you wish you could forget. No matter how successful you may be, you still remember that one time (if you’re me, it’s more like those twenty-seven times) you did that really embarrassing thing.
You desperately hope nobody else remembers.
Ned Carhart, the hero of this book, has made mistakes in his past. Those of you who read my first book, Proof by Seduction, already have some idea what I’m talking about, but if you haven’t, rest assured: you’ll find out soon enough.
Imperfect as Ned was, I knew those same mistakes would make him an extraordinary hero once he had time to mature. He would be strong, sensitive … and very, very determined to prove that he’d moved beyond his past.
I give all my books code-names as I am writing them. This book was called “Dragon-Slayer,” even though there are no dragons in it. I hope you have fun finding out why!
Courtney Milan
Trial by Desire
Courtney Milan
For Teej. Because when I had to make Ned a hero,
I gave him a little bit of you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’ve heard before that second books are hard. This one was … very hard. I am first and foremost grateful for all the readers who contacted me demanding Ned’s story. Without your encouragement and enthusiasm, I might have given up on this.
As always, I am deeply grateful for Tessa and Amy, who offered support, encouragement and advice. Elyssa Papa and Kris Kennedy gave valuable feedback on various drafts. Franzeca Drouin saved me from about a billion errors. And Kim Castillo truly is an author’s best friend.
Kristin Nelson, my awesome agent, and all the Nelson Agency staff—Sara Megibow, Julie Kerlin, Anita Mumm and Lindsay Mergens—provided the absolute best support an author could want.
A great many people who put up with my whining about this book: the Pixie Chicks, the Vanettes, the Bon Bons, and my favourite debut loop ever.
Margo Lipschultz, my wonderful editor, provided the proper balance of encouragement and gentle prodding, and Ann Leslie Tuttle let me know when I was going off the rails. I wish I had space to thank everyone on the entire team at Harlequin Mills & Boon by name for the amazing job they have all done launching my career—from the extraordinary sales force, to the marketing department, to the editorial enthusiasm at my publisher—but that would take pages and pages.
And last but never least, there’s my husband, who never once complained about my writing while he did the dishes, made me dinner and took care of the dog.
PROLOGUE
London, 1838
LADY KATHLEEN CARHART had a secret.
Truth be told, she had more than one—but the secret she had in mind as she sat across from her husband at breakfast had arrived only today. It was wrapped in paper and had been set carefully atop her chest of drawers. And if her husband knew what it was …
She suppressed a faint smile.
Across the table from her, he set the paper down and fixed his gaze on her. His eyes were a liquid brown, three shades beyond her breakfast chocolate. They stood out, uncannily dark against the sandy brown of his hair. He had no notion what it did to her when he looked at her like that. Her toes curled. Her hands clasped together. All he had to do was look at her, and she found herself wishing—wanting—no, desiring. And therein lay the root of her problem.
“I had a talk with my cousin a few days ago,” he said.
Around London, a thousand couples might have been having a similarly prosaic conversation. Kate’s mother had cautioned her to be practical about marriage, to accept that she and her husband would share a genteel, friendly politeness.
But then, Kate hadn’t married the average London gentleman. Mr. Edward Carhart did nothing properly or politely—nothing, that was, except his newly acquired wife.
“What did Blakely have to say?” Kate asked.
“You know that some of our holdings are in the East India Company?”
“Aren’t everyone’s? It’s a good investment. They trade in tea and silk and saltpetre…. “ Her voice trailed off into roughness.
If he’d known what flitted through her mind when she said the word silk, he’d not sit there so sanguine. Because she’d purchased a filmy night rail on Bond Street. It was made of imported silk and fastened together in front by means of lavender ribbons. Those scraps of opaque fabric were perhaps the garment’s only concession to modesty. It lay on her chest of drawers,
