Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts
Seven Historical Romance Stories from Seven Best-Selling & Award-Winning Authors
Table of Contents
The Wallflower's Wicked Wager by Collette Cameron
Highland Knight of Dreams by Amy Jarecki
Christmas in Camelot by Brenda Jernigan
A Legendary Love by Catherine Kean
A Knight's Protection by Laurel O'Donnell
Forbidden: Claude by Elizabeth Rose
The Duke She Wished For by Ellie St. Clair
Table of Contents
Quick Start
The Wallflower's Wicked Wager by Collette Cameron Title
Quote
Copyright
Other Books by Collette Cameron
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About Collette Cameron
From the Desk of Collette Cameron
Connect with Collette Cameron
Highland Knight of Dreams by Amy Jarecki Title
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About Amy Jarecki
More Books by Amy Jarecki
Christmas in Camelot by Brenda Jernigan Title
Copyright
Dedication
Praise for Christmas in Camelot
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About Brenda Jernigan
Also by Brenda Jernigan
A Legendary Love by Catherine Kean Title
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About Catherine Kean
Connect with Catherine Kean
Also by Catherine Kean
A Knight's Protection by Laurel O'Donnell Title
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About Laurel O'Donnell
More Books by Laurel O'Donnell
Forbidden: Claude by Elizabeth Rose Title
Copyright
Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
From Elizabeth Rose
About Elizabeth Rose
The Duke She Wished for by Ellie St. Clair Title
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Ellie St. Clair Newsletter
Also by Ellie St. Clair
About Ellie St. Clair
THE WALLFLOWER’S WICKED WAGER
A Waltz with a Rogue Novella
By
COLLETTE CAMERON
Blue Rose Romance®
Portland, Oregon
Sweet-to-Spicy Timeless Romance®
“I’ve prayed for a man like you my whole life.” ~Miss Shona Atterberry
Copyright
THE WALLFLOWER’S WICKED WAGER
A Waltz with a Rogue, #5
Copyright © 2017 Collette Cameron
Cover Design by: Teresa Sprecklemeyer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By downloading or purchasing a print copy of this book, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
Please Note
The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Blue Rose Romance
8420 N Ivanhoe # 83054
Portland, Oregon 97203
ISBN eBook: 9781944973919
www.collettecameron.com
A Waltz with a Rogue Series
A Kiss for Miss Kingsley
Bride of Falcon
Her Scandalous Wish
To Tame a Scoundrel’s Heart
The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager
Earl of Wainthorpe
A Rose for a Rogue
Castle Brides Series
The Viscount’s Vow
Heart of a Highlander (prequel to Highlander’s Hope)
Highlander’s Hope
The Earl’s Enticement
The Blue Rose Regency Rom
ances: The Culpepper Misses Series
The Earl and the Spinster
The Marquis and the Vixen
The Lord and the Wallflower
The Buccaneer and the Bluestocking
The Lieutenant and the Lady
Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series
Triumph and Treasure
Virtue and Valor
Heartbreak and Honor
Scandal’s Splendor
Passion and Plunder
Seductive Surrender
Seductive Scoundrel’s Series
A Diamond for a Duke
Only a Duke Would Dare
A December with a Duke
Boxed Sets
Embraced by a Rogue
To Love a Reckless Rogue
When a Lord Loves a Lady
Seductive Scoundrels Series 1-3
Stand-Alones
Heart of a Highlander
Earl of Wainthorpe
An author’s most treasured gift—when a reader becomes a dear and beloved friend.
The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager is for you Dee. For all that you’ve done for me, for all of your unfailing support, for being a girly-girl like me, and most of all, for your precious friendship.
Love you bunches!
Collette
Firstly, I have to thank my VIP Reader Group, Collette’s Cheris, for helping me pick The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager’s title. As always, when I run ideas past you, you give me honest and helpful feedback. I adore you!
The characters Aunt Barbara and Kandi are named after two of the group’s members who won a contest. Thanks ladies, for the privilege, and I hope you enjoyed getting to know the characters I borrowed your names for.
Beta Babes, as always you came through for me. Your suggestions never fail to make my stories better. I appreciate the time you take to read, critique, edit, and share your opinions!
Huge accolades to my cover artist, Teresa Spreckelmeyer for The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager’s cover, and my most sincere gratitude to my assistants for all that you do so that I may write!
Finally, to Travess for letting Mom put you on one of her covers. Thanks, sweetie.
xoxo
Davenswood Court, Buckinghamshire
August 1819
A droplet of perspiration trickled between Shona’s breasts leaving a dribbly, sticky trail despite her frantic fanning and the conservatory’s open doors.
Would this summer’s sweltering temperatures never cease?
How was she to appear dignified and fresh when moisture beaded every part of her person, from her brow to her toes tucked into quaint new turquoise slippers?
Desperate for relief, and despite the impropriety, she’d removed her bonnet and gloves—who would know anyway? They, along with her parasol and the book she’d thought to read but abandoned, now lay atop a charming wrought iron bench situated beside the far door.
Cloying tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and she feared her Indian sprigged muslin gown—chosen specifically for the fabric’s airiness—exhibited humiliating damp spots in mortifying places.
Fingers spread, she held one hand beneath the miniature waterfall cascading from the upper level of the burbling fountain centered in the greenhouse. Even the water felt warm to her touch, and she would’ve forsaken shortbread for a month if she could stand beneath the Falls of Bruar’s gushing flow at this very moment.
She patted her forehead and then her cheeks with her wet fingers.
The lush greenery and colorful flowers artfully displayed throughout Davenswood Court’s hothouse, including a lemon and an orange tree, thrived in the tropical atmosphere.
Not so Shona. She wilted like a pansy plopped in freshly-poured oolong tea.
Selecting the most humid building on the estate to steal a few moments alone hadn’t been the wisest of decisions. But even amidst this torrid heat, she relished the peace and privacy she’d filched by doing so.
Truth to tell, she’d also fled Miss Rossington and her two cohorts, the Dundercroft sisters. That trio of mean-spirited chits had been nothing but malicious since Shona had arrived yesterday.
Lacy fan splayed in her left hand, and lifting her skirts to a most indelicate height with her right, Shona ventured to the conservatory’s other door. Once there, she covertly surveyed Davenswood Court’s sprawling, neat-as-a-tailor’s-seams lawns. She saw no one addlepated enough to attempt a stroll beneath the late-afternoon sun’s punishing rays.
Excellent.
A bittersweet smile tipped her mouth. She wasn’t ready to face the house party’s growing throng just yet.
Never would, truth be told.
She was, to say the least, completely, hopelessly, and chronically socially inept.
Oh, put her in a room with family members or close friends, and she produced the wittiest dialogue, the most intelligent, thought-provoking conversations. Even humorous ripostes. But amongst casual acquaintances or, worse yet, strangers?
Utterly hopeless.
A chair cushion or a teacup displayed more finesse and cleverness.
A wistful sigh escaped her as she eyed the sparkling indigo lake beyond the well-tended greens.
Bordered by a grove of towering, thickly-leafed, gnarly-branched oaks, the refreshing water beckoned. What she wouldn’t give to strip her stockings and slippers from her sweaty legs and feet and soak her toes in the cool depths.
Out of the question, of course.
More’s the pity.
Despite the heat, an icy shudder scythed across her shoulders.
Och. Just imagine the elevated brows, pinched mouths, and censured superior glances from the hoity-toity upper crust even now mingling within the manor house. The upper ten thousand weren’t all pretentious and judgmental, of course. Regrettably, she seemed to be a magnet for those who were.
Hence, Shona had determined to remain as inconspicuous and innocuous as possible for the interminable seven days, eleven hours, and—she squinted at the blazing sun—however many torturous odd minutes remained before her zealously anticipated departure.
Too bad this wasn’t Wedderford Abbey, her Scottish estate—her blessedly temperate, mild-weather home. There she could frolic about barefoot, gown hiked to her thighs, or swim naked as a robin if she wished.
Which, naturally, being a reserved and modest creature of twenty—one-and-twenty tomorrow—and possessing a title in her own right, she didn’t.
Verra much. Verra often.
Last evening, several male guests—originally dismissing her as a frumpy, somewhat plump, beneath-their-touch Scot—became comically attentive and moon-eyed upon learning of her position and not-so-modest fortune. Worse than hunting hounds in full cry, once they’d caught the scent of her money and power.
A lady Lord of Parliament.
Shona had finally stopped trying to explain the complicated title to the cod-pated popinjays. She wished the Scots referred to the noble rank as a barony like the English did. So much simpler.
And why, for heaven’s sake, couldn’t whoever dreamed up the classification have created a feminine equivalent for women holding the rank?
Because in that, as in most things, men deem women irrelevant, incapable, or insignificant.
A movement caught her eye, and suddenly tense and alert, she swung her wary consideration toward the motion.
A tall man, his rather longish hair glinting with bronze streaks, strode with animal-like grace across the clipped lawn.
Headed straight for the lake, she’d be bound.
The stranger held one bare hand angled against his forehead, no doubt shading his eyes from the unrelenting sun. Still, his profile’s silhouette revealed the sharp blade of a patrician nose, the slashing angle of high cheeks, and a sculpted chin.
A strong face. Ruggedly handsome. Arresting, in a sort of untamed, almost predatory way.
As he marched along, anger exuded from him in every stalking step of his powerful legs.
The fuggy air stalling in her
lungs, like a doe in a hunter’s sights, Shona stood stock still, fearful of detection.
Or so she told herself.
What other rational reason could there be for her breath to snag and her pulse to pitter-patter?
She was a sensible miss.
Not a totty-headed nincompoop given to histrionics, giggling, pouts, waterworks, swooning, or any other absurd feminine dramatics. No indeed. No coy twirling of parasols, fluttering of fans, artfully-dropped gloves. Good thing she had no inclination to flirt, for the artifice was so far beyond her scope, her maladroitness would bring further shame upon her.
Nevertheless, despite her complete and total lack of feminine wiles, her dratted attention remained curiously—disturbingly—riveted on the gentleman.
His jacket’s fabric strained against his biceps and shoulders, and with each long stride, the back of his coat hitched up, revealing what was surely one of the finest manly behinds she’d ever had the pleasure of observing.
Not that she made a regular habit of inspecting gentlemen’s posteriors. Generally, when dashing men were near, she seldom lifted her focus from the floor or her slippers’ toes.
She needn’t have fretted he’d catch her staring, for not once did he glance her way.
His Spanish brown coat, biscuit-colored pantaloons, and ebony boots blended with the oaks’ tawny-gray trunks, and in a few moments, he disappeared.
Suddenly, a touch cross and uncertain why, she muttered, “Too much to hope, I suppose, that the country air would be cooler than London.” She fervently resumed waving her fan and gave her face a brisk cooling.
A much-coveted breeze wafted past, carrying the essence of several late-blooming flowers and vines. Her nostrils quivered, and she drew in an appreciative breath.
At least it smelled scads better here.
Town reeked most days. However, in the summer, the stench became intolerable. If required to venture outdoors, she often covered her nose with an orange-blossom scented handkerchief. She far preferred the fresh, invigorating air of the country—the Highlands in particular.
Wheels crunching on gravel drew her reluctant attention to the ostentatious mansion’s circular drive. The portentous sound meant only one thing.