By: Sally MacKenzie
Releasing April 26, 2016
Spinster House #2
Zebra
In USA Today bestselling author Sally MacKenzie’s charming Spinster House series, love is always a welcome guest…
Two possible futures loom before Miss Anne Davenport. The first option: sharing an unhappy home with her father and soon-to-be stepmother. The second: a life of independence at the
Spinster House—if only her friend, Cat, would vacate the premises and marry the Duke of Hart. A well-placed whisper about the pair’s secret tryst might speed the course of true
love. But the duke’s stubborn cousin poses an obstacle. A ridiculously handsome, very persuasive obstacle…
Nate, Marquess of Haywood, has spent his life looking out for the duke, hoping to stave off a family curse. The only way to keep his cousin alive is to keep him single. That means
convincing the intriguing Miss Davenport that her lovely lips could be put to far better use than gossiping. Kissing, for instance. In fact, Nate is beginning to hope that Miss
Davenport’s destiny lies not in the Spinster House at all, but with him …
Review:
When I first started reading this, I couldn’t help but to wonder where the story was going, which of course, is a good thing. Readers should always be engaged from the beginning. Although this is fiction, I was iffy on the whole curse-so-keep-an-eye-on-your-cousin thing. However, I was intrigued, as I’m always up for a unique premise.
I was bothered by Nate’s mom’s reaction. Not that she loved her nephew, but that her final words were her concern for him, instead of her love for her own son.
Nate was dedicated and honorable, and I really like his character. He’s as proper as they come, but he’s also a man- a non-perfect human with needs that he itched to satisfy. He was attracted to Anne from the moment he met her, but he put her above his own desires. Always a good trait for a man.
Anne was strong-willed, but she was also loveable and kind. She tried to fight her attraction to Nate at first, but she gave in before he did. I couldn’t blame her. There’s just something about Nate.
Where my issue comes is with the length Nate went through to protect his cousin. Marcus was a grown man, and Nate treated him almost child-like. I understood his motivations- the curse, and his promise to his mother to keep Marcus safe, but after awhile, I was a little bit bothered. Not enough to not like Nate though.
Stephen and Edward are such sweet little boys. My heart went out to them, as well as their mother, for the troubled lives they’d lived, but I was glad they finally had a good home and a nice family life.
There were so slow sections in the book, but overall it was an ok read.
Rating system: Cups of Coffee (the less the better)
0: You won’t need any coffee to stay up for this one. It’s intriguing enough all on its own.
1: You’ll stay up late, but not all night. Brew one cup.
2: You’ll read as long as you’re not tired. If you are, two cups should do the trick.
3: I hope you got plenty of rest; you’ll need it, or at least 3 cups.
4: If the cable goes out, read the book. It’s better than nothing, I guess. Oh, don’t forget your brew!
5: Find anything else to do- it doesn’t matter what it is. Don’t waste your coffee. Too much caffeine is bad for you.
My rating: 2 1/2 cups of coffee
A native of Washington, DC, Sally MacKenzie still lives in suburban Maryland with her
transplanted upstate New Yorker husband. She’s written federal regulations, school newsletters,
auction programs, class plays, and swim league guidance, but it wasn’t until the first of her four
sons headed off to college that she tried her hand at romance. She can be reached by e-mail at
sally@sallymackenzie.net. Please visit her home in cyberspace at sallymackenzie.net.
Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads
Excerpt
Loves Bridge, May 1817
Nathaniel, Marquess of Haywood, strode across the road from Cupid’s Inn, arguing with
himself.
Slow down. You don’t want to attract attention. You can’t burst into the vicarage in a
panic. Think how angry Marcus would be.
Oh, hell.
He stopped and took a deep breath. This was Loves Bridge, not London, and Miss
Hutting, the woman he feared wished to trap his cousin into marriage, was a vicar’s daughter,
not a conniving Society chit.
And Marcus had told him she wanted to be the next Spinster House spinster, not the
next Duchess of Hart.
But she spent hours alone with Marcus the other day, including some time in the
Spinster House. Think what could have happened there!
Nate clenched his teeth and started walking again.
He should have been more suspicious when Marcus accepted this dinner invitation. A
sane man wouldn’t voluntarily sit down to a meal with a vicar, his wife, and their countless
children. He’d let his guard down, that was it. Loves Bridge was the curse’s birthplace, so he’d
thought the villagers would realize the Duke of Hart had to avoid marriage at all costs. Once the
duke said his vows and bedded his wife, the poor man started counting the months left him on
this earth. For two hundred years, no Duke of Hart had lived to see his heir born.
I am not going to let that happen to Marcus. I have to remain alert, especially now that
Marcus is thirty.
Just look what had happened when he’d let his attention wander in London a few days
ago: Marcus had ended up in the bushes with that Rathbone hussy, her dress falling down for
all to see.
Hell, Lady Dunlee, London’s leading gossip, had seen.
Marcus wouldn’t end up in the bushes at the vicarage, of course, but that didn’t mean—
“Good evening, Lord Haywood.”
“Ah!” Nate took several quick steps back. Oh, Lord, talk about not remaining alert.
Two old ladies with white hair and bright, prying eyes blinked up at him. They must be
the Boltwood sisters, the leading gossips of this little village. What wretched luck.
He forced his lips into a smile and bowed slightly. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Looking for some company, my lord?” The shorter of the two batted her eyelashes at
him.
Nate repressed a shudder. “No. My thoughts are company enough, madam.”
The other old woman clicked her tongue. “A handsome young lord like you alone with
your thoughts? That will never do.”
Her sister nodded and then waggled her thin white eyebrows suggestively. “We
happened to see Miss Davenport loitering around the Spinster House.”
“She was looking quite lonely.”
Miss Davenport.
A very inappropriate part of him stirred.
Miss Davenport had arrived at the inn the other day just as he and his friend Alex, the
Earl of Evans, were coming to have a pint and wait for Marcus to finish posting the Spinster
House vacancy notices—accompanied by Miss Hutting. Later, Marcus had told them Miss
Davenport was also hoping to become the next Spinster House spinster.
Unbelievable! She should have men lining up to beg for her hand in marriage. That day
at the inn, the sun had touched her smooth honey-blond hair, making it glow. He’d gazed down
into her blue eyes as he’d opened the door for her and felt himself being pulled deeper and
deeper. . . .
He frowned. He’d seen dark currents swirling below her polite expression and had a
sudden, bizarre urge to ask what was troubling her. Thank God Alex had spoken then. She’d
looked away, and the odd connection he’d felt with her had broken.
And it would stay broken. He was not in the market for a wife. Of course not. Not only did
he have to guard Marcus for as long as he could, he was only thirty, too—far too young to
consider marriage.
His father had been past forty when Nate had been born.
Oh, blast. Now the Misses Boltwood were snickering and nudging each other.
He sniffed in his haughtiest manner and looked down his nose at them. “I am quite
certain Miss Davenport would not welcome my intrusion into her solitude, ladies.”
Though the thought of Miss Davenport a spinster—
No. The woman’s matrimonial plans—or lack thereof— were none of his concern.
“That Spinster House!” The shorter of the Misses Boltwood curled her lip and snorted. “I
can’t imagine what Isabelle Dorring was thinking. Spinsterhood is an unnatural state.”
The other Miss Boltwood nodded. “A woman needs a man to protect her and give her
children.”
Her sister elbowed her, waggling her eyebrows again. “And keep her warm at night.”
Since both ladies looked to have reached their sixth or seventh decade without nabbing
a husband themselves, their enthusiasm for the activities of the marriage bed was more than a
little alarming.
“As you must know,” Nate said, “Miss Dorring had good reason to distrust men. It’s not
surprising she would wish to offer other women a way to live comfortably without a husband.”
The taller Miss Boltwood shrugged and flicked her fingers at him. “Bah. From all
accounts, Isabelle knew what she was about. Her mistake was letting the duke into her bed
before she’d got him to the altar.”
“Though you must admit, Gertrude, that if that duke looked anything like this duke, poor
Isabelle can be forgiven for getting her priorities confused.” The shorter Miss Boltwood’s lips
curved in what could only be considered a lascivious fashion. “Have you seen the man’s
calves? His shoulders?”
These elderly ladies can’t be lusting after Marcus.
The thought was too horrifying to contemplate.
“I’m not blind, am I, Cordelia? And what about his—”
“I’m afraid I must continue on my way, ladies.” It might be rude to interrupt them, but it
was necessary. Some things could never be unheard.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Miss Gertrude winked. “Here we are, keeping you cooling your
heels when you must be anxious to meet Miss Davenport.”
“I am not meeting Miss Davenport.”
Unfortunately.
No! Where the hell had that thought come from? There was nothing unfortunate about it.
He had no time for nor interest in a marriageable woman.
“You aren’t the duke, my lord,” Miss Cordelia said. “You don’t have to worry about the
silly curse.”
Miss Gertrude nodded. “And Miss Davenport is a comely armful in need of a husband.”
Very comely . . .
He must get these wayward thoughts under control. Miss Davenport might be the most
beautiful woman in the world, but she was not for him.
“I doubt if Miss Davenport would agree she’s in need of a husband.” He bowed again. “If
you will excuse me?”
He didn’t wait for their permission. He wanted to get out of earshot as quickly as
possible.
He wasn’t quick enough.
“The marquess has an impressive set of shoulders, too, Gertrude.”
“Yes, indeed. Miss Davenport is a very lucky woman.”
He resisted the urge to turn and shout back at them that he had no interest in Miss
Davenport.
Which would be a lie.
But he could have no interest in the woman. What he had—must have—was an
immediate interest in Marcus’s safety.
He strode—
No. Slow down. Don’t be obvious. Marcus hates it when he knows I’m spying on him.
And he wasn’t spying, precisely. He was merely keeping a watchful eye out.
He strolled toward the vicarage, which just happened to be directly across from the
Spinster House. Was Miss Davenport still there? He didn’t wish to encourage any gossip, but
surely it wouldn’t be remarkable to engage the woman in conversation if he encountered her.
Actually, it would be an excellent thing to do. That way, he could watch for Marcus without being
obvious about it.
Splendid. Miss Davenport was still there, dressed in a blue gown that he’d wager was
the same shade as her eyes. A matching blue bonnet covered her lovely blond hair. She was
slender, though not too slender, and just the right height. If he held her in his arms, her head
would come up to his—
Bloody hell! I’m not holding the girl in my arms.
He jerked his eyes away from her—an action that was far harder than it should have
been—to look toward the vicarage. What luck! Marcus was just leaving. Miss Hutting was with
him, but in a moment the girl would—
Good God!
He stopped and blinked to clear his vision. No, his eyes had not deceived him. Miss
Hutting had just pulled Marcus into a concealing clump of bushes.
Hadn’t Marcus learned anything from the disaster with Miss Rathbone?
It was the blasted curse. Marcus wouldn’t do anything so cabbage-headed if he was in
his right mind.
But what can I do to save him? I can’t “accidently” barge into those bushes.
He glanced back at Miss Davenport. Oh hell, she was staring, too. If she told anyone
what she saw—
His blood ran cold. If those gossipy Boltwood sisters got wind of this, Marcus would be
hard-pressed to avoid parson’s mousetrap, particularly as Miss Hutting’s father was the parson.
Well, this was something he could attend to. He’d have a word with Miss Davenport.
Surely he could persuade her to keep mum.
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