The Lady Meets Her Match, Book 2
Cyrus Ryland rose from humble origins to become England’s wealthiest citizen and most eligible bachelor. Called the King of Commerce, he thinks nothing of marriage until he hosts a masked ball and discovers an alluring woman hiding in his study. After one dance, the lady vanishes at midnight…leaving behind a single shoe. The hunt is on, but finding her is only half the battle.
She’s determined to succeed on her own…
Claire Mayhew wants her hard won independence with a mid-town shop of her own. She resists the scorching attraction with Mr. Ryland, her new landlord. Cyrus isn’t a man who gives up easily, yet…
What if Cinderella doesn’t want her shoe back?
Book 2 of the series
Get ready for a new take on an old fairy tale.
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They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of their
breathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,
the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steeds
moving them forward. The whole carriage cocooned
them in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thick
mists pressing against the windows.
Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but she
shifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg on
his thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floor
with a thud.
Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are you
undressing for my benefit?”
His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From her
stays to her drawers, everything was too tight, too
much against her skin. Cyrus reached for her hand
working his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips and
kissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration.
“We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathy
and quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.”
Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, his
warm breath brushing her skin.
“There are so many ways a man could go with
that.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure you
mean to provide tender care to my neck only.”
She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This was
the experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kiss
and touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking her
with hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm.
“You would break down the meanest soul with
your soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’s
scratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist.
“High praise, indeed, sir.”
Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not letting
her recover from those gentle touches, his lips to her
arm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that rested
“And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of a
Midland swine farmer, do you?”
Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voice
conveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrous
brawler showing a hidden spot? She peered at
him, wanting a better view of his shadowed features.
How was she to decipher this latest turn?
The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outside
candle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. His
quicksilver stare pinned her.
“Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how a
freehold farmer got to be in such a fine place?”