The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (Millworth Manor #5)
Author: Victoria Alexander
Publisher: Zebra
Release Date: 28 April 2015
Swim naked in the moonlight
Play in a high stakes card game
Ride an elephant
Be painted sans clothing.
Take a lover…
Lucy Merryweather has inherited a fortune—and her great-aunt’s list of unfulfilled wishes. What better way to honor her memory than by accomplishing as many of them as possible? And with Lucy’s family an ocean away in New York, nothing stands in her way—if one ignores the private investigator hired to spy on her.
Yet Cameron Effington is infuriatingly difficult to ignore…
As a reporter, Cameron is always looking for a good story. An American heiress running rampant between Millworth Manor and Mayfair is the perfect subject. Not to mention captivating. And extremely kissable. And if Lucy believes he’s a detective? Well, the truth should never get in the way of a good story—or hinder delicious, impetuous passion…
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“Sit down all of you, I am not finished.”
Father glared and they all sat back down. “I have yet to make my point.”
“I thought he made any number of points,”
Grace said in an aside to Simon beside her.
“Exactly what I hoped to avoid.” Mother
sighed. “Very well then, go on.”
“I intend to,” Father said sharply, then
turned to Cam. “Regardless of the fact that you are writing under a different name,
this reporting of yours for that disreputable rag of a newspaper is scandalous
and embarrassing and puts this family in the poorest of lights.” Father’s tone
hardened. “You will resign your position at once.” Mother groaned. “Jonathon!”
Cam braced himself. This was it then.
“No, Father. I’m afraid I can’t—I won’t—do anything of the sort.” He shook his
head. “I still have a great deal to learn. With every word
I write I am honing my craft. There is no
better teacher than experience.”
“I believe you’ve said that on more than
one occasion, Father,” Spencer pointed out.
“Well, on this particular occasion,
apparently I am wrong.”
Cam rose to his feet. “I am sorry,
Father, but I am twenty-seven years of age. You have long bemoaned the fact
that I was doing little more than drifting through my life. Now I have found my
calling, my passion as it were, and there will indeed come a time when I give
up my position and turn to the writing of novels, but not yet. If you cannot
accept that”—Cam met his father’s gaze directly and squared his shoulders—“then
I fear we are at an impasse.”
“Oh, sit down, Cameron, and stop being
overly dramatic.” Father cast an annoyed glance at his wife. “He gets that from
you, you know.”
“He
gets all sorts of things from me,” she said sharply.
“But he gets his tendency to overact from you.
Now, sit down, Cameron.”
Cam sat.
“Obviously, I am not pleased, but neither
am I surprised by your refusal. Therefore I have considered what my response would
be should you decide to ignore my wishes.”
“Sounded more like a command to me,”
Simon murmured.
“I am not about to disown you or exile
you from the family or cut you off without a penny,” Father said. “While four
sons may seem like a great many to those who have none, I am
not going to toss one aside for choosing
his own path, even if I disagree with said path.” He paused. “I was not aware
that you seem to have something of a plan for your life in place. In truth I
had feared this was yet another thing you would try your hand at and then
abandon.”
“I have at last found what I want to do
with my life,” Cam said. “It is not a passing fancy.”
Father nodded. “Am I to take from what
you’ve said that you do not intend to pursue this journalistic endeavor
forever?”
“For a while but not forever,” Cam said
cautiously.
“And then you intend to write books?”
Cam nodded. “I do.”
“And I shall be the first to purchase the
first edition of your first book.” Thad studied him curiously. “Do you intend to
be the next Charles Dickens then?”
“Are you going to write about orphans and
poverty and war with heroes or heroines who die tragically in the end?” Grace
asked.
“No.” Cam shook his head. “If I have
learned nothing else thus far, my eyes have been opened to the fact that the world
is often a dire and dreadful place beyond the gates of Roxborough Hall or the
walls of fine London houses. I think what people need in this world, and what I
want to do, is give them a respite from their daily troubles. I didn’t know this
when I began, but now I realize I want to write about the oddities and
absurdities of life. I want to make people laugh or at least bring a smile to
their faces, if only for as long as it takes to read a book. No, I do not
intend to follow in the footsteps of Dickens, although I deeply admire his
work.” He drew a deep breath. “I would much rather follow in the footsteps of
Mark Twain.”
“You want to be a humorist?” Surprise
sounded in Simon’s voice. “Although I should have known. I’ve always found you
most amusing.”
“Mr. Twain’s humor is delightful, but he
is American and we have such excellent English writers,” Grace said. “Some of
them extremely amusing. Why, Shakespeare wrote a number of fine comedies.”
“I don’t think he wishes to be
Shakespeare, Grace,” Thad said with a smile.
“I like him. Twain that is.” Spencer
nodded. “A great deal, really.”
“As do I.” Father studied Cam for a long
moment, a slight smile lifting the corners of his lips. “But then you knew
that, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes.” Cam distinctly recalled his
father attending a banquet for the American during his visit to England when Cam
was a boy.
“You do realize if you had confided in me
as to your plans in the beginning, we could have avoided all this
unpleasantness.”
Cam shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Possibly.”
“I am still not happy with your position
with the Messenger. If it were the Times perhaps but . . .” Father considered him
for a long moment. “I shall make you a bargain, Cameron.” Father leaned toward
him. “You want to write books, then write me a book. A book that proves to me
this is indeed your future and not another lark you have embarked upon. I have
been impressed with your writing thus far, but a brief article where the facts
are laid out before you is a far cry from a work of fiction. Prove to me this
is your passion. I shall give you, what?” He glanced at his mother. “A month?”
“At least two I would think.” Grandmother
cast Cam an apologetic glance. “It doesn’t have to be long, you know.”
“And if I can’t?” Cam asked.
“If you can’t, you resign your position
at the Messenger.” Father’s smile was decidedly smug.
“I see.” Cam thought for a moment. He had
not yet tried to write a book. In truth, the very thought was daunting. Still,
there was no reason why he couldn’t. And if he didn’t believe in himself, how
could he expect anyone else, especially his father, to? “And when I do?”
Father grinned. “If you do, I shall not say another
disparaging word about the Messenger, nor shall I insist you resign. Indeed, I
shall willingly support your efforts in whatever way you wish.”
“Nor shall you throw this in his face
should the rest of the world discover Cameron Fairchild is really Cameron
Effington, son of the Duke of Roxborough,” Mother added.
“Should his work—how did you put it? ah
yes—cast this family in the poorest of lights, bringing embarrassment and
humiliation down upon us all.” Father hesitated, then sighed. “I will agree to
that.”
“Very well then, Father.” Cam adopted his
most confident tone. “You have yourself a wager.”
“Oh, I’m willing to wager on that
myself.” Simon grinned.
“Simon Effington, you will not wager
against your brother.” Mother huffed.
“I would never do that, Mother. Besides,
I think he’ll pull it off.” Simon chuckled. “But I am willing to bet Father
can’t keep up his end of the bargain.”
“Really?” Father’s brow rose. “And you
are willing to put up your own money to back that up?”
“I’d be willing to wager, oh, ten pounds
on it.” A wicked gleam shone in Simon’s eyes.
“As am I,” Thad added.
“I’m in.” Spencer nodded.
“What about you, Grace?” Father glanced
at his daughter.
“Are you too so lacking in faith as to
your father’s ability to abide by his word?”
“Oh, Father, I would never say such a
thing.” Grace scoffed, then grinned. “But it does seem too good an opportunity to
pass up.”
Grandmother nodded. “My thoughts
exactly.”
“You too, Mother?”
Grandmother shrugged.
“What about you, Fiona?” The duke looked
at his wife. “Are you going to join the rest of my traitorous family?”
“Of course not, dear. I said I would not
take sides. Besides”—Mother smiled—“I am already planning to do something
completely frivolous with the money you shall collect from our children.”
“Thank you.” Father shook his head in a
resigned manner.
“It’s so gratifying to know I have the
confidence of my family.”
Cam glanced around the table and smiled.
“That it is, Father, that it is.”
It was indeed good to know his family had
faith in him even if their confidence might exceed his own.
Because, while any number of ideas were
constantly simmering in his head, at the moment, he had absolutely no idea what
he would write about.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and has never looked back. Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in a very old house in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two allegedly grown children and two bearded collies. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it's never too soon to panic.
Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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