Amanda McCabe - Running into Temptation

Gretna Green, 1814

After narrowly avoiding scandal with a falsehearted rake, Miss Melanie Harding is sent to live quietly in the country. No balls. No parties. Certainly no flirting with dashing strangers whose dark eyes hint at all kinds of delicious wickedness.

All of Philip Carrington’s practical plans evaporate the moment he encounters Melanie. Is it foolishness to run away with her to Scotland, or the wisest thing he’s ever done? The lovely, impetuous Miss Harding kisses like an angel—and brings out the very devil in him. And together, they may discover the most passionate adventure of all….

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When I first read Dickens’s wonderful book Our Mutual Friend, I was fascinated by so many of the characters, including the newlywed Lammles! They were not nice people at all. They married each other thinking the other rich, only to find themselves stuck with each other and no money at all. It served them right, but they seemed well matched in their capacity for scheming.

As I started writing Running from Scandal, Henry and Melanie were meant to be something like the Lammles, but they quickly showed me there was so very much to them. I saw the pain of their pasts, their deep loneliness, their longing for love, and I did the unthinkable—I started to like the villains of the story! And I wanted them to find their own happy ending, too. I loved the chance to make sure they weren’t alone in the world now, and I hope you enjoy their redemption, too….

Running into Temptation features characters who appeared in Running from Scandal. Look for all three stories in Amanda McCabe’s miniseries Bancrofts of Barton Park.

The Runaway Countess (Mills & Boon Historical)

Running from Scandal (Mills & Boon Historical)

Running into Temptation (Mills & Boon Historical Undone!)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Melanie Harding struggled to climb up the slope of the hill, holding onto her bonnet as the wind tried to snatch it away. Nature was really terribly horrid, especially to someone like her who had always lived in towns with paved roads and noisy lanes. She never would have thought it, but she even missed pokey, stuffy old Bath! Even that was better than living in such a tiny village, with such a dull old uncle.

Melanie sighed as she caught at her skirts, whipped around by the wind. Once she really had thought Bath a narrow, quiet place, especially with those tiny rooms she’d shared with her mother, the evenings at card parties and sipping tea at the assembly rooms. But now she knew what “narrow” really was, when she had no friends at all.

She stopped on the green slope of the hill and closed her eyes, hearing her mother’s voice in her mind again as Melanie had tried to stop her from throwing all her clothes into a trunk.

“Why must I go there?” she had cried, snatching at her spencers and shawls, trying to keep her mother from sending her away. Her mother had been all Melanie had since her feckless father died when she was a child, leaving them so poor, so alone.

“You know very well why,” her mother had said shortly, as she kept on packing. “Because no one there will ever have heard of Captain Whitney and your unfortunate behavior. Your uncle the admiral will keep a close eye on you.”

Melanie sighed. The Captain Whitney thing had been unfortunate, but surely that was his fault, not hers. She had only believed him when he said his pretty words of love and devotion, read his tender poems, and she’d thought that her dreams were coming true at last. That a handsome officer was rescuing her from their impoverished life.

How could she have known that those poems were copied from a dusty old book by someone called Marlowe—or that Captain Whitney’s promises were just as false? That he was like her father, like so many other men. Selfish and careless.

Captain Whitney, in addition to looking handsome in his red coat, had a good income and respectable connections to a viscount’s family. If all had gone as he’d promised, her mother would have been ecstatic. But Melanie had been deceived, and now she was being punished for it, being sent to live with her elderly uncle in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere.

Thank goodness for Mrs. Smythe, Melanie thought as she continued her path up the hill. At least she had one friend here. Mrs. Smythe knew about fashion and the newest dances, even though she herself was enceinte and couldn’t dance for several more months. She would invite Melanie to tea at her cozy village house, where they would sit by the fire to look at fashion papers and share romantic novels.

Everyone else there seemed too serious to be interested in fashion. They never even laughed at all! And at least Mrs. Smythe seemed glad to have a friend, too. Melanie had been feeling all too rejected since her mother sent her away. Mrs. Smythe also had a handsome brother, who was a widower. A brother with a fine estate and a very good income. Sir David Marton.

Melanie reached the top of the hill and turned to look toward Sir David’s house at Rose Hill. Its gray stone walls rose against the rolling green fields, its windows sparkling in the sun. It was a pretty enough place, with Palladian columns and rounded towers. It could use a bit of renovation and decoration, of course, but that was what a wife was for. Melanie could certainly settle for being Lady Marton of Rose Hill. Then she would have a home for herself and her mother forever, a home no one could take from them.

The fact that Sir David was reasonably good-looking and smelled nice, not an old, balding man with gout like her uncle’s retired old navy cronies, made the idea palatable. But, oh, Sir David was so serious! So quiet and dull, buried in books and work. Not like Captain Whitney had been…

Melanie scowled at the thought. Captain Whitney had turned out to be a false scoundrel, just as all men surely were. The sparkling, dizzy feelings she’d got when he danced with her were evidently just as false. She had to be sensible now. Sir David was the best chance she’d had in a long time. He was a respectable, established gentleman and she did not care about him too much, so he couldnot hurt her. She could not let this chance go.

Suddenly tired, and fed up with the wind catching at her skirts, Melanie ran back down the hill toward the road. Her uncle would be waking from his nap soon, and she would have to read to him from the naval reports until dinnertime. She turned back to the village, thinking maybe she could take a bit of tea at Mrs. Smythe’s before she had to go back to her uncle’s stuffy, overheated house. As she strolled along the deserted lane, all she could hear was the whine of the wind. Until suddenly she heard another sound, the rumble of hooves pounding on gravel behind her and coming on fast!

She peered back over her shoulder, holding onto the straw brim of her bonnet, to see a large, gleaming black horse barreling down on her. It was suddenly so close she could see the sheen of sweat on the beast’s flanks and the capes of the rider’s greatcoat flying around him like wings.