Page 1 of Scottish Seducer
Chapter 1
Stephanie Steel
London smelled a little wet,and I couldn’t quite see the sun, but honestly, I kept my chin up. Pittsburgh wasn’t much better in the spring. Days upon days of misty rain have always been my normal.
So I kept my head up and strode into Pure Industries and up to the third floor, where I now worked in acquisitions. Well, “worked” was probably a strong word for what I did, but someone needed to keep files and paperwork in order.
One day, maybe I’d head home and settle down, but I wasn’t ready. Here, so close to the amazing world where Jane Austen lived and wrote her wonderful novels, my life was almost exactly what I’d always wanted: living as much as possible in the Regency era.
The Jane Austen ball in Bath had been amazing, as always.
And my role on the committee for next year was to entice more Americans to visit. So I’d finally cracked into the upper echelons of my fandom and was now running an important project.
This was why I lived in London. The job was just to pay the bills so I could spend my fun time in Jane Austen’s world.
That morning, I was busy typing away at my desk, quite sure the past was never coming back to haunt me. But at noon, my sister in Pittsburgh, who always called as soon as she woke up, rang like clockwork, despite having just returned from her honeymoon.
After “hellos”, Olivia immediately asked, “How was the masked ball?”
Good thing it was lunchtime. I took my phone to the break room no one used, partly because of the refrigerator born to a different generation of people and no windows.
I slumped into the plastic seat, propped my elbows on the nondescript white table, and said, “I’ll have to spend a week mending that rip in my last good costume.”
But the ball had been amazing, especially when I was named to join the committee. I’d been attending for five years now, and finally my years of volunteering had been acknowledged with an assignment. For ten days in Bath, thousands of people wore costumes and pretended we lived in a world of whist card games, and where one dance alone might take a half an hour.
London was my base because my friends and I easily slipped into our fandom and wore our hand-stitched dresses with glee. I was determined that next year my muslin gown would be a masterpiece of brand-new fabric and cunning needlework.
Olivia asked, “Do you need anything?”
Never cry at family weddings, even if I’m the only single one left. For now I checked the door to make sure no one was listening and said, “I’m great. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Olivia’s voice was calm when she said, as usual, “You don’t have to pretend. We can wire you money until that new roommate shows up.”
Damn. I thought my day was going great. No one—till now—had brought up my failures, but this was one step closer to reminding me that I absolutely had to mail back the diamond ring.
Ann, my ex-roommate, and Richard, my ex-fiancé, needed to stay the hell away from me. I might prefer to behave like a lady of old, but cheating was cheating, and I half wanted to toss them both in the Atlantic Ocean, never to be seen again.
I let out a sigh and said, “I’ll be fine. I’m not a charity case just because my ex left.”
Oliviatsked—a sound she must have perfected when she was a teacher, before she married a billionaire doctor. “Don’t be prideful. One day soon, you’ll find a good man of your own.”
I rolled my eyes. Enough of this nonsense. “Because every woman must want a husband.”
She laughed at me. “Falling for the wrong British guy is no excuse for misquoting Jane Austen.”
Right. The same island that created Richard also gave me the men of my dreams. Mr. Darcy. Mr. Knightly. Colonel Brandon. Mr. Bingley. And, of course, Edward Ferrars.
Jane Austen never created the brawny, cowboy-type hero in her novels that changed my life. Instead, her heroes were all charming, sweet, misunderstood men with faults but also greatness.
My sister knew exactly when to bring up the Wisdom of Jane Austen, so I let out a sigh and said, “You’re right. Well, lunch is almost over, so I should get going. A new boss is coming in today, and I don’t want him to find me in the lunchroom talking about husbands and weekend costumes.”
Real life never measured up to my dreams, but I headed back to my desk and my boss, Margot Fletcher, ten years my senior, who liked to pretend she’s upper management because she finally got her degree. She waved me over to her desk before I even reached mine.
I adjusted my boring, black, size-twelve skirt that went to my knees...careful not to give her a reason to pick on my clothes...and scurried over. The second I approached, she said, “There you are, Stephanie.”
I steeled my spine as best as I could. Sure, my last name is Steel, but I’m not like my strong sisters. I’m the one with my nose in a book, and I never knew how to talk to Margot on the days she’s been rejected for a promotion. Hopefully, that wasn’t today, but I took a breath, ignored the spike in my pulse, and asked, “Did something happen?”
She gave me a curt nod, like she was telling me something important I probably should already know and said, “The new boss isn’t coming today.”
