Excerpt of A Notorious Love by Sabrina Jeffries

Chapter One London October 1815

The hero now I speak of, he was proper tall
and straight,
Like to the lofty poplar tree, his body was complete;
His growth was like the tufted fir that does ascend
the air,
And waving o'er his shoulders broad the locks of
yellow hair.

Helena Laverick couldn't help remembering that stricture as
she surveyed the deserted hallway of the St. Giles lodging
house. For she was about to break it most flagrantly.

Her sister Rosalind had always criticized their late
mother's favorite instruction book, Mrs. Nunley's Guide to
Etiquette for Young Ladies. Rosalind's philosophy was to
follow Mrs. N's rules when possible, but ignore them when
they were impractical. Helena usually considered that her
excuse for disregarding any checks to her outrageous
behavior.

But in this case she had a point. Their young sister
Juliet's mad dash into trouble made it impossible for
Helena not to break the rules. And by venturing into this
strange lodging house, where rats scrabbled all around her
and burning rushlights clogged the air with their scorched
mutton scent, she was breaking quite a few.

The Well-bred Young Lady does not take long trips alone --
she'd broken that one when she'd traveled alone to London
from Warwickshire. Since Rosalind and her new husband,
Griff Knighton, were honeymooning on the Continent and Papa
was unable to leave his bed, someone had to handle this
messysituation.

The Well-bred Young Lady never ventures outdoors without
her maid -- that one was laughable. The fewer servants
involved in her secret mission, the better. Servants did
have a tendency to talk.

Her grip tightened on her cane as she stared at the scarred
oak door before her, the one that belonged to Mr. Daniel
Brennan, her brother-in-law's unmarried man of affairs. Now
she was about to violate one of Mrs. N's most serious
strictures -- The Well-bred Young Lady does not call on a
gentleman in his lodgings unchaperoned.

And certainly not at dawn. Why, Mr. Brennan's own landlady
had refused to risk his ire by rousing him so early.

A shiver ran down Helena's spine as she remembered the last
time she'd provoked Mr. Brennan's ire, when he and Griff
had been guests at Swan Park this past summer. Not that
he'd had any right to be angry. He'd been the one in the
wrong. He'd been the one shamelessly taking money from
Griff for misleading them all, for pretending to court them
while undoubtedly laughing at them behind their backs for
believing his kindnesses and compliments...

No, she mustn't think of that. All that mattered was saving
Juliet. Which was why she must swallow her pride, rouse her
courage, and awaken Mr. Brennan. And soon, too, because her
bad leg pained her from the arduous climb up the steep
stairs, and nothing would be more mortifying than having it
give out in front of him. So before she could change her
mind, she rapped sharply on the door.

At first she heard nothing. Merciful heavens, what if she
had the wrong place? She'd wondered why Mr. Brennan would
reside in a slum like St. Giles when he surely could afford
better, but Griff's coachman had insisted that the man
lived here.

She knocked again, this time more loudly. Nothing. Might he
refuse to answer? Panic seized her at the thought, so she
rapped the silver head of her cane on the door repeatedly,
loud enough to raise the dead.

Success at last. Through the thin walls, she heard heavy
steps and a male voice growling, “I'm coming, devil take
you!” If not for her mission, she might well have fled.
Instead she braced herself for whatever might happen.

But nothing could prepare her for her first sight of the
burly giant. Bare-chested, clad only in his drawers.

Struck speechless, she gaped at him. Despite what her
sisters thought, she did have some curiosity about men,
especially half-naked ones of such impressive dimensions.
Mr. Brennan was a veritable Samson, with the muscular
shoulders of a pugilist and the broad, sculpted chest of a
laborer, thickly sprinkled with dark blond hair. As for
those arms swathed in sinew...she could easily imagine them
pulling down a temple.

Just now, however, the Samson was staring at her,
perplexed. “Lady Helena?” He shook his head as if to clear
it. “It is you, isn't it?”

She kept her eyes trained on his face as a blush crept up
her cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Brennan. I'm sorry if I
awakened you.” Not that there was any question of it -- his
tousled sandy hair and lack of attire confirmed it.

“Is everything all right at Swan Park? Your father is well?”

“Yes...no...I mean, I...” Her lame attempt at coherent
speech came crashing to a halt when he leaned one huge
forearm against the doorframe, unwittingly causing all his
muscles to shift and flex.

How in creation could a lady converse rationally when such
a magnificent display of male flesh was before her? Despite
his size, he hadn't an inch of fat on him -- no hint of
unwanted flesh on the chest and arms, no telltale thickness
about the waist. Not a woman above the age of fifteen could
miss that Mr. Brennan in his drawers was a fine figure of a
man.

“M'lady, are you well?” he queried.

Only when her head snapped up did she realize her gaze had
wandered down to his bulging drawers. “Yes!” she cried too
loudly, then added in a more subdued tone, “I'm fine. Quite
well. Yes.”

He cocked an eyebrow, as if knowing precisely how much his
appearance unnerved her. “Forgive my inappropriate dress,
but I wasn't expecting company..."