A Groom of One's Own by Maya Rodale

After getting lost in the massive London residence of the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon (yes, he's a double duke!), Sophie stumbled upon his study. At first they had a lovely, pleasant conversation. And then…

"I don't suppose that among those papers you have a map of this house," Sophie said, referring to the neat piles on his desk. "I haven't time to get lost again on my way out."

"Let's see…" he said, picking up a stack and thumbing through the lot of them, as if there might actually be a map of Hamilton House. As he did, one sheet escaped from the group to fall gently to floor, resting on the carpet.

Sophie bent down to retrieve it, and so did the Duke. Their heads collided.

"Ouch!" Sophie said, laughing a little. It was more shocking than painful.

"Ouch indeed," he responded, grinning and rubbing his temple.

"You have a hard head," Sophie said, hastily adding "Your Grace."

"You are not the first to say so, Miss Harlow, but you are the first to speak literally."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Sophie wondered.

"Would it be ungentlemanly of me to say that you, too, have a hard head?" he asked.

"I'm not quite certain of the etiquette on that. I could ask Dear Annabelle," Sophie said, mentioning her fellow Writing Girl's advice column in The Weekly. "Should it turn out to be improper, I shall not hold it against you."

"Thank you. I do pride myself upon being the Perfect Gentleman," he said, as he stood and held out his hand to help her up.

She placed her right hand in his. She wore beautiful cream-colored kidskin gloves that were ever so soft to the touch. Brandon's hands were bare, warm, large and strong—everything a man's hands should be.

With the slightest effort, he helped her to her feet and she stood before him, as close as if they were about to waltz. Sophie tilted her head back so that she might look up at him rather than straight into his chest that she knew to be firm and strong.

Lord Brandon was gazing down at her intently.

They were still holding hands.

She took a deep breath and felt him tense. Brandon released her hand and took a small step away. A sense of shame and guilt tempered her pleasure.

She recalled that troublesome half-sheet of paper, which she held in her other hand the whole time.

"Now what has caused all this trouble?" She wondered aloud, surprised to find her voice oddly shaky.

"Oh no you don't," he said, reminded of it, and reaching for it. Years of experience with her older brother made her instinctively turn quickly, presenting her back to Lord Brandon, as she held the paper far in front of her, and far from his grasp.

Vaguely, she was aware that this was wrong, rude, and in violation every known rule of etiquette.

But it was too late to surrender. Lord Brandon reached out and closed his hand around her wrist—gentle, but still commanding. Sophie was suddenly hotly aware of him and this strange half-embrace. If she were to lean back, she would certainly find his chest there to stop her fall. Mere inches of air, if that, and a few layers of clothing, kept them from touching.

Sophie knew what it felt like to be held by him and that it was worth risking everything for. She ached to close her eyes, surrender and lean against him; to savor the blissful and rare sensation of being held in a man's arms.

This was inappropriate. She didn't need to ask Dear Annabelle about that.

"Miss Harlow," he said softly and his warm breath sweeping gently across the back of her neck made her shiver. If she were to turn her head every so slightly, her mouth would be in kissing distance of his. It was so very, very tempting.

It was outrageously unacceptable.

Instead, she opened her eyes and focused her attentions upon the sheet in her hand and she read aloud: "Desired Qualities In A Wife."

"Miss Harlow…" He repeated and the warning tone was unmistakable.

"Item the first: Attractive. That is understandable," Sophie commented. "A pretty face across from yours at the breakfast table would be pleasant."

She dared not refer to other reasons why an attractive spouse might be preferred for fear that she could not control the blush.

"I thought so," he said tightly, as he loosened his grip and took a step back.

"Item the second: Reasonable Intelligence. That strikes me as…reasonable," she said.

The Duke now stood away from her, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Obviously he was not pleased with this but would patiently allow her to continue with this ridiculously rude charade of hers. She could not stop.

What did a man like the esteemed and illustrious Duke Of Hamilton And Brandon wish for in a wife? Thus far, Sophie liked to think she qualified—not that she was a candidate for the position.

She thought herself of reasonable intelligence and fairly attractive. No odes and poems had been written to her beauty, as many had done for his betrothed, Lady Clarissa, but Sophie had been called pretty often enough. As for intelligence, well, she was a history-making journalist. If she wasn't smart, then she was absolutely mad. But that was not to be debated at present. There was this list in her hand…

"Item the third: Agreeable Temperament," she said, and then continued. "Again, I do concur that is a reasonable request in a spouse. One would not wish to deal with hysterical tantrums or violent outbursts or the like."

"I do not care for episodes of disruptive or highly emotional behavior," he remarked. Sophie decided to ignore that and carry on with her disruptive behavior.

"Item the fourth: From a respectable and distinguished family," Sophie concluded. That was all. That was all that he required in a wife. An attractive woman, with a modicum of intelligence, placid personality and distinguished lineage.

"It seems to me," Sophie remarked, "that you have found the perfect woman in Lady Clarissa, for she fulfills all of these qualities."

"I am in agreement with your assessment."

"Anyone would think so. But I notice something, Your Grace. Love is not mentioned on this list," Sophie said, daring to carry on. She had traveled so far out of the bounds of propriety that there was really no going back now. Lord Brandon did not stop her.

"Of course not," he said, responding in the same tone one might have done to say, "Naturally, I do not wish to marry someone with a second head."

"Why would you not wish for love? Or at the very least, companionship, friendship, or affection?" Sophie asked. She had always wondered why one would marry for anything less—if they already had money and status and security. Lord Brandon could certainly afford the luxury of a love match.

"Because, Miss Harlow, the purpose of marriage is to combine assets and protect them for the future generations, which one is to create. Love does not enter into it at all."

"But love will make all of that so much more happy, pleasant, wonderful…"

"Or it can lead to crushing and devastating heartache that numbs one to any and all other pleasures in life," Lord Brandon said sharply, and Sophie was taken aback. "I trust that none of this will find it's way into your column, Miss Harlow?" Lord Brandon said softly, but firmly.

"Of course not. I should hate to crush the romantic notions of my readers," she retorted.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," he said sharply.

Who could it be!? Find out here or read the "naked" dialogue only version of this scene here.

End of Excerpt. Like it? Order it!

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I always like to put a little bit of myself in my characters. In this book, Lord Brandon is always making lists, just like me.

This novel was originally going to feature two minor characters from The Heir And The Spare—Lord Knightly and Juliet Winsworth. I wrote 80 pages, scrapped it and wrote The Rogue And The Rival instead. And then one day, I dusted off the plot and tried writing it again.

My engagement ring came from a shop near Burlington arcade, where Sophie and Brandon meet. Yes, my fiancé knew what he was doing.

I always try to name a character in my books after my darling dog, Penelope. Which lucky girl has the name in this book? You’ll have to read it to find out...

For more details about the book, click here.

“For a delightful love-and-laughter, madness and mayhem romance, Rodale calls upon the joy, troubles, triumphs and tribulations of wedding planning. With its quick pace and wonderful sense of humor, Rodale's new entry in the Writing Girl series is a smash.”
-- Romantic Times
(posted 6.14.10)

“A GROOM OF ONE'S OWN took my breath away.”
-- Romance Junkies Reviews
(posted 6.13.10)

“The first Writing Girl's Regency romance is a screwball comedy of errors that feels like combining Sheridan's The School for Scandal with a 1930s madcap movie inside a regency romance. Maya Rodale provides a wonderfully zany historical.”
-- Genre Go Round Reviews
(posted 6.13.10)

“A GROOM OF ONE'S OWN was an absolutely enchanting read.”
-- Romance Reviews Today
(posted 6.13.10)