Series: The Gilded Age Heiresses, Book #1
Genre: Historical Romance/Victorian

Even a fortune forged in railroads and steel can’t buy entrance into the upper echelons of Victorian high society—for that you need a marriage of convenience.

American heiress August Crenshaw has aspirations. But unlike her peers, it isn’t some stuffy British Lord she wants wrapped around her finger—it’s Crenshaw Iron Works, the family business. When it’s clear that August’s outrageously progressive ways render her unsuitible for a respectable match, her parents offer up her younger sister to the highest entitled bidder instead. This simply will not do. August refuses to leave her sister to the mercy of a loveless marriage.

Evan Sterling, the Duke of Rothschild, has no intention of walking away from the marriage. He’s recently inherited the title only to find his coffers empty, and with countless lives depending on him, he can’t walk away from the fortune a Crenshaw heiress would bring him. But after meeting her fiery sister, he realizes Violet isn’t the heiress he wants. He wants August, and he always gets what he wants.

But August won’t go peacefully to her fate. She decides to show Rothschild that she’s no typical London wallflower. Little does she realize that every stunt she pulls to make him call off the wedding only makes him like her even more.

Excerpt

“Is your sister joining us this evening?” Evan asked.

Violet Crenshaw brightened for the first time that evening. “My sister is here. She’s stepped into the garden with Her Grace.” Her voice was soft with just the right amount of husk to be pleasing. It should have enchanted him. Instead, his pulse pounded with the anticipation of seeing the elder Miss Crenshaw again. Her gaze went past his shoulder, lighting up pleasantly as it rested on whom he assumed would be her sister.

He whipped his head around to look for her before he could think better of what it might reveal about his eagerness. The woman he had kissed stood framed in the doorway, her eyes wide in shock as they roamed from her sister to him. She was as striking as she had been that night, except instead of a cloak, she wore a sapphire blue gown that revealed the right amount of bosom. In the light of the lamp overhead, he could make out the striking shape of her cheekbones and the tilt of her chin. Even across the room, he could see that her eyes had hardened in determination.

He did not think she would recognize him. The pomade he wore in his hair when he fought darkened it from blond to brown. He also made certain to have a few days’ growth of beard for each match, and now he was clean-shaven. The anger alighting her eyes as she made her way into the room was most certainly from the position they found themselves in and not recognition. Apparently, neither of the women welcomed his suit.

Instead of waiting for him to approach her, as any proper English girl was raised to do, she strode across the room with her shoulders back, her gaze never wavering from his. She walked with purpose and a confidence that was very attractive. Upon reaching him, she did not bother to wait for a proper introduction; instead she held her hand out to him.

“I am August Crenshaw,” she said, as if she were not causing a scene before the entire room.

Momentarily startled, he stood for a moment, staring at her glove-clad fingers. Her hand was offered to him with her fingers stacked in a line, thumb on top. She was not holding it out, palm down, for him to kiss or bow over but offering it in a handshake. Yes, she truly meant for him to shake her hand.

Deciding to take up her challenge, he recognized it for what it was, and he took her hand, savoring the heat of her palm against his own. Obliged to answer her direct manner, he said, “I am Evan Sterling, Duke of Rothschild.” Then, with wicked amusement, he added, “Marquess of Langston, Earl of Haverford, Viscount Blackwell, Baron Clifford.”

Without missing a beat, she said, “That’s quite a mouthful.” Her tone was dry, but her lips quirked upward in the most fascinating way.

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About the Author

Harper St. George was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was a setting filled with stories of the old days that instilled in her a love of history, romance, and adventure. By high school, she had discovered the historical romance novel which combined all of those elements into one perfect package. She has been hooked ever since.

She lives in the Atlanta area with her husband and two children. When not writing, she can be found devouring her husband’s amazing cooking and reading. She would love to hear from you. Please visit her website at www.harperstgeorge.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads.