The Heir and the Spare by Maya Rodale

“May I cut in?” It was worded as a question, but not delivered as such.

The dandy took one look and fled. Emilia took one step into Phillip’s arms. He placed one hand on her lower back—a few more inches lower would have been grounds for a marriage proposal. He held her other hand as if he would never let go. And there was something in the way he looked at her—as if savoring and memorizing every inch of her—that heightened each and every one of her senses, leaving no capacity for other, more rational thought.

“I owe you an apology for the other night,” he said quietly.

“Oh, so you do remember,” she replied, looking into his eyes.

“What happened was not something that a man forgets.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Or ten. She really couldn’t count at the moment.

“I’m glad to hear you say it, for you had led me to believe otherwise. You are quite an actor, Phillip.”

His grasp on her hand tightened, and his mouth straightened into a firm line.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps people only see what they wish to see,” he said with a slight lift of his eyebrow.

“Do you think I wished to forget that kiss had happened?” she asked.

“Do you?”

“My memory pays no heed to my wishes,” she confessed.

“It was wrong of me, to take advantage of you in that manner. I apologize.”

“And what if I don’t want your apology?” she asked, feeling her throat tighten. That was the last thing she wanted.

“Promise me it won’t happen again. Promise me you will resist if I try,” he said. She pulled back, but he didn’t let her go. Emilia looked into his eyes, and looked at the way his gaze was settled on her. She may be an innocent, but her instincts shouted that he did not mean it. He could not possibly mean it and still look at her, at her mouth, in the manner that he was.

Devon felt like an ass. A cad. A hundred horrible things. In his efforts to escape the ball unnoticed, Devon had seen his brother leaving as well. Devon had returned to the ballroom, and seen her dancing with some sorry excuse for a man. The next thing he knew, he was interrupting them, scaring off her dance partner and claiming her for the rest of the waltz.

All he knew was that he wanted her, and yet he didn’t want to want her. Most of all, he didn’t want his brother to have her. And so he apologized for a kiss that he was not really sorry for. And he made her promise that it would never happen again, even though he could not stop wanting it again. Chances were, she would kiss Phillip instead of him. But if he was an ass, and a cad, and a thousand awful things, he could turn her away from Phillip before Phillip could ruin her. Because it was all too clear that she thought them one and the same.

But he wouldn’t let her go just yet. Not until the conclusion of the waltz. She was certainly not going to speak to him for the remainder of it, because he was an ass, a cad, and a million horrible things. So he smiled at her, as he wanted to do, and pulled her just a little bit closer, as he really wanted to do. It was an exquisite sort of torment to have her in his arms for the second half of a waltz. To have her look up at him, eyes dark and unfathomable as the sea. And to know, all the while, that she thought he was someone else.

He cursed those sixty seconds, twenty-five years earlier, when Phillip had shoved his way out of the womb first. He cursed his twin for having everything, and treating it all so carelessly. He cursed something inside him that blocked the truth from coming out. And he cursed the damnable layers of silk between his hand and her skin. He imagined that he could feel the soft heat of her bare skin beneath his palm. He wondered if London ballrooms were always this hot. He gazed down at her, wanting to memorize how she looked, because tomorrow, he was leaving London. He would not be coming back.

Emilia was trying very hard to hate him. But the way he looked at her made it difficult. So did the wild beating of her heart. His firm and steady grasp on her that felt almost possessive, distracted her.

She wanted him to take back his apology. She wanted him to waltz her out into the gardens. More, she wanted more. Of his kiss, of his touch. Almost as if he was reading her mind, or that he shared the same desire, his hand moved tantalizingly lower on her back. She felt a tingling sensation radiate throughout. Her body was a traitor.

One two three…one two three…she battled the desire to be closer to him. His words echoed endlessly in her head: Promise me it won’t happen again.

She was acutely aware of the small distance between their bodies. Now would be the time to stumble, to collapse even, if it meant she could brush against his chest, to touch the source of the heat that was slowly stealing over her. Once again, as if reading her mind, he pulled her even closer, so that falling was unnecessary.

He laughed softly, with his eyes still locked on hers.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked quietly.

“This is just perfect,” he murmured, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel his breath on her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered, lying. Almost. It was almost perfect.

“Hmmph,” Lady Palmerston muttered to no one in particular as she watched Emilia dance with that scoundrel for the second time. The way he looked at her niece was a scandal in itself. She could already picture tomorrow’s gossip sheets, predicting a betrothal announcement within the week. There was clearly something between them…something that had not been present earlier this evening. Lady Palmerston frowned, puzzling over the change in Lord Phillip. She could never be accused of standing in the path of true love, but something just did not seem right to her. Good Lord, this chaperoning was work. It seemed as if she would actually have to keep an eye on those two.

End of Excerpt. Like it? Order it!

A fellow author once suggested putting a bit of myself into each character, as a way to make them seem more real to me, and thus to the reader. So…

» Lady Palmerston was given my love of gossip magazines. Like LP, I can effortlessly remember every bit of gossip I have ever read or heard, particularly if it involves celebrities. With the exception of quiz night at my local pub, this has never proven to be a useful skill.

» Emilia was given my clumsiness. But writing her trips and falls made me even more clumsy. Within the span of a week, I:

Totally wiped out on the sidewalk, ripping a hole in my favorite jeans (sob).
Broke a vase in a store (thankfully, they didn’t make me pay for it!).
Walked face first into a clear glass door (I had to laugh at myself for this one).

The original first sentence was “Emilia Highhart listened at the library door.” Boring, right? You can see why I changed it.

In early drafts, Phillip, the evil twin, died at the end of the novel. On his deathbed, he and Devon reconcile. Even though this scene put tears in my mum’s eyes, I cut it because I thought of a delicious story for him.

“A lively and delightful Regency romance.”
-- www.freshfiction.com | Read the full review

"Maya Rodale has written a fascinating story with a rich plot that is filled with the beauty of passion and romance. The Heir and the Spare is a definite keeper."
-- www.romancereaderatheart.com | Read the full review

"This is a debut novel that is going to be hard to beat with a sophomore effort."
-- www.theromancereader.com | Read the full review

"The Heir and the Spare is a dazzling, exciting and sexy book that will have readers glued to the pages from the beginning till the end."
-- www.theromancereadersconnection.com | Read the full review

"...a compassionate, sensitive and sensual love story about a young man fighting to be his own man and the young woman who follows her heart and shows him the meaning of love. This is a most satisfying book for a summer day."
-- Romantic Times| Read the full review