Excerpt: 'Love in the Time of Scandal' by Caroline Linden

Caroline Linden stops by HEA to share an excerpt from her latest, Love in the Time of Scandal (out this week!), book three in her Scandalous series.

First, here's the blurb about the book (courtesy of Avon):

Penelope Weston does not like Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton. He may be the suave and charming heir to an earl, as well as the most handsome man on earth, but she can't forget how he abandoned a friend in need— nor how he once courted her sister, Abigail. He's the last man she would ever marry. If only she didn't feel so attracted to the arrogant scoundrel . . .

Once upon a time, Benedict thought he and Penelope got along rather well. Though he needs a wealthy bride to escape his cruel father's control, spirited Penelope just doesn't suit his plans for a model marriage—until a good deed goes awry, and scandalous rumors link his name to Penelope's. She might not be the quiet, sensible wife he thought he wanted, but she is beautiful . . . beguiling . . . and far more passionate than he ever imagined. Can a marriage begun in scandal become a love match, too?

Caroline sets the scene for us …

Caroline: Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton, is in desperate need of a wealthy bride. He would prefer a quiet, sensible, sweet girl, not a spirited temptress like Penelope Weston. Even though she's beautiful and clever and has a joie de vivre he secretly admires. Too bad she dislikes him rather intensely.

But Fate seems to be against him, throwing him together with Penelope at every turn. When she's caught in a scandalous moment, Benedict decides to make an honorable proposal of marriage. He's attracted to her, of course, and it will save both of them from ruin. And even more, he's sure that with the right persuasion, he can convince her they'll be wonderful together …

EXCERPT

He held out his hand. "Come here."

Her heart tried to jump into her throat for a moment. "Why?"

"Trust me a moment." When she still didn't move, he took hold of the arms of her chair and tugged, dragging it toward him until their knees touched. Penelope sat frozen in her seat as he leaned forward. "I don't dislike you," he said in that buttery-smooth voice. "On the contrary. From the moment we first met I thought you were enchanting."

"No, you didn't," she said, trying not to stare at the way his hair fell in dark waves over his brow. It was romantic and poetic and rakish. Damn him for being so attractive, especially close up.

"And we got on splendidly," he went on, ignoring her protest. "At first."

"First impressions are very unreliable." One lock fell in a perfect curl right above his left eye. She wondered what it felt like, and then she squeezed her fingers into fists to punish them for wanting to know.

"Penelope," he murmured, "we're both in a very bad spot." He lifted her hand, handling it as if it were fragile, and smoothed her fingers straight. He bent his head and brushed his lips over the pounding pulse in her wrist. "Fortunately we can save each other."

She felt the room sway around her. Her heart seemed to be choking her. His breath was warm on her skin, and he kept her hand cradled against his cheek, where she could feel the faint scratch of stubble. Heaven help her, but something inside her thrilled at the contact. Her dislike of him had been the bulwark protecting her from her own wicked urges to fling herself into his arms and beg him to do scandalous things to her, and now he was dismantling that disapprobation, brick by brick. Soon she would be defenseless.

"I don't think we should," she said by way of one last effort, but her voice had lost its vigor and defiance, and become soft and almost regretful instead.

He tilted his head, peering up at her with those vivid blue eyes from beneath the rumpled waves of his hair. "I do."

Penelope swallowed. He was still holding her hand, but barely; if she pulled, she would be free. Unfortunately she seemed unable to do anything remotely sensible when he touched her. She had never seen this side of him ... because of course he'd never wanted to marry her before. The thought gave her a small burst of courage. "Is this how you proposed to all the other girls?"

"No," he said. "But I think I did it all wrong before. There was something missing ..." He eased his weight forward, sliding off the chair and onto one knee. Penelope knew what he was going to do—she even caught her breath as he leaned ever closer—and there wasn't a single thing she could do to stop him. Indeed, some treacherous part of her seemed to burst into life at the prospect, until she had to grip the chair arm with her free hand to keep from reaching for him. His mesmerizing gaze never wavered from her; Penelope could only assume she was staring at him like a simpleton, unable to move or think or even breathe as his lips dipped toward hers.

She quaked at the first brush of his mouth. Like evil pixies unleashed from captivity, her thoughts spilled out in a tortured mess. How she'd imagined him falling in love with her the first time he sat in Mama's drawing room and turned his dazzling smile on her. How she'd been so stupidly silly trying to get his attention during a barge expedition by tossing her hat overboard, and how he'd gallantly rescued it. How she'd dared him into taking her off to look for ghosts at Hampton Court, all the time hoping he might steal a kiss. How ecstatic she'd been when he sent her flowers ... until she realized he'd also sent flowers to her mother and her sister. And even how jealous she'd been when he focused his attention on Abigail and gave everyone to understand that it was the kind, sensible Weston girl he wanted, not her.

Except ... he wasn't kissing Abigail now, or Frances Lockwood, or any other young lady. He was kissing her, his lips moving over hers lightly yet teasingly, until she barely realized that her own mouth had softened and responded. Apart from her hand, which he still held clasped in his own, he wasn't touching her anywhere else, but Penelope felt nailed to her chair. Or perhaps she simply didn't want to move, to interrupt this breathtaking moment of unexpected tenderness.

"Marry me, Penelope," he whispered, his mouth still brushing hers.

Find out more about Caroline and her books at www.carolinelinden.com.