An Unexpected Gentleman

Table of Contents

 

 

Praise for

“A delightfully witty gem . . . A courageous, hilarious heroine, laugh-out-loud humor, and a true hero who will steal your heart.”

—Jennifer Ashley,
USA Today
bestselling author

“High on believable, witty characters and emotional honesty.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

“This book was perfect for me. Seriously,
perfect
.”

—
Fiction Vixen

 

“
Nearly a Lady
is a fun and utterly charming book.”

—
Rakehell

 

“Highly recommended!”

—
Fresh Fiction

 

 

“Johnson beautifully tells a rags-to-riches tale.”

—
Booklist

 

“I plan to revisit this story for years to come.”

—
All About Romance

 

 

More praise for the novels of Alissa Johnson

 

“Alissa Johnson strikes the perfect tone between romantic humor, suspense, drama, and just good old-fashioned hijinks between two charismatic characters.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

 

“Spiced with razor sharp wit with a perfect touch of comic jest, Alissa Johnson has served up a hot and passionate Regency romance like a seasoned pro.”

—
Fresh Fiction

 

“[This book] has everything that I look for in a romance novel! I cannot wait to pick up another of her books.”

—
Romance Reader at Heart

 

“If you’re a lover of historical romance—even if you aren’t—and you haven’t read Ms. Johnson’s books yet, you should remedy that immediately.”

—
The Good, The Bad and The Unread

 

“With wit and whimsy, Johnson crafts tales filled with charming original characters, captivating readers seeking the unusual, the imperfect and the most endearing heroines since Jill Barnett.”

—
RT Book Reviews

 

“Funny, charming, heart wrenching, majorly romantic, and sexy as hell . . . Destined to become a keeper.”

—
Rakehell

NEARLY A LADY
AN UNEXPECTED GENTLEMAN

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

AN UNEXPECTED GENTLEMAN

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / December 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Alissa Johnson.

Excerpt from
Practically Wicked
by Alissa Johnson copyright © by Alissa Johnson.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

ISBN : 978-1-101-55241-4

 

BERKLEY SENSATION
^®

Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION
^®
is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

M
iss Adelaide Ward was, by her own admission, a woman of unassuming aspirations.

In recent years, she had come to the conclusion that it was folly to seek more from life than what might reasonably be expected to materialize. And for an undowered spinster burdened with an eighteen-year-old sister, an infant nephew, a brother in debtors’ prison, and seven-and-twenty years, what might reasonably be expected was very limited indeed.

She wanted a home, the company of those she loved, and the security of a reliable income. These were her dreams. They were few in number and simple in nature, but they were hers. She longed for them as any debutante might long to snare a peer, and she had fought for them as any officer might fight for glory on the battlefield.

It was with some disappointment, then, that on the very eve of seeing her efforts come to fruition, she found herself not emboldened with the thrill of imminent victory but battling fear, nerves, and the surprising weight of reluctance.

Tonight, Sir Robert Maxwell would propose. She was certain of it. Fairly certain. It seemed a reasonable expectation. The courtship was reaching near to four months, which, in her estimation, was an excessive amount of time to allocate to romance. More significantly, Sir Robert had strongly hinted at the possibility of a proposal should she attend Mrs. Cress’s house party. Well, she was in attendance and had been for a fortnight. Surely, tonight, amidst the music and drama of a masquerade ball, Sir Robert would present his offer.

Mind you, Sir Robert had no great appreciation for music, but he did seem to Adelaide to be inordinately fond of dramatics.

“I don’t care for dramatics,” she muttered.

Her feet slowed in the hall that led from her guest chambers to the ballroom. At best guess, the distance between the rooms required a thirty-second walk. She managed to stretch the first twenty yards into a ten-minute exercise of unproductive meandering. She stopped in front of the mirror to fuss with a rebellious lock of chestnut hair and wrinkle her small nose at the narrow features and light brown eyes she’d inherited from her father. Eyes that had, she could not help but note, begun to crease a bit at the corners.

A few feet later, she reached down to straighten her hem and pull a bit of lint from the ivory silk of her sleeve. Then she peeked into a room, fiddled with a vase, adjusted the low bodice of her gown, and stopped again to examine an oil painting . . . in minute detail, because art appreciation was not something one ought to rush.

And between each pause in movement, she literally dragged her feet. Her dancing slippers made a soft and drawn-out
woooosht, woooosht, woooosht
against the polished wood floor with every step.

Annoyed by the sound, Adelaide stopped to pull off her mask and fiddle with the feathers. This, she assured herself, was
not
another bid to stall. The mask required a considerable amount of fussing. She’d constructed the silly piece herself, and having no experience with—nor any apparent talent for—such an endeavor, she’d made a terrible mess of the thing. The feathers were unevenly spaced, sticking out where they ought to be lying flat, and bent in several places.

Sir Robert was certain to take note of it. She could envision his reaction well. His pale blue eyes would go wide, right before they narrowed in a wince. Then he would cover the lapse of manners with a smile that was sure to display his perfect teeth to best advantage.
Then
he would pronounce her a
most charming creature
in that awful, condescending tone.

“I don’t care for that tone,” she muttered.

She rubbed an errant feather with the pad of her thumb while the lively strains of a waltz floated down the hall and the scent of candle wax tickled her nose.

It was only a tone, she told herself, a minor flaw in a man positively brimming with things to recommend him. He was handsome. He was fond of her.

He was in possession of five thousand pounds a year.

The mere thought of so much money lightened the worst of her nerves with visions of a happy future. Her sister, Isobel, could have a London season. Little George could have a proper nanny. Wolfgang’s debts would be paid. And the lot of them would have a roof over their heads and no shortage of food on the table. It was her dream come true.

“Right.”