Not Wicked Enough

She's a heartbroken socialite. He's a roguish bore. A mysterious relic stirs their hearts like magic.

Lily Wellstone lost her chance at true love when the man of her dreams was killed in the war. She has to laugh when a gypsy gifts her a medallion that supposedly has the power to connect a person with their perfect love. When she visits her newly-widowed best friend Eugenia, she can't help but be fascinated by the brooding, handsome Duke of Mountjoy.

Mountjoy would rather deal with business than spend five minutes socializing at a party, but when he sees his sister Eugenia's beautiful friend Lily, money doesn't seem nearly as appealing. He's practically engaged and she's nowhere close to his type. He resists the temptation, but some rules were meant to be broken.

Not Wicked Enough is a Regency historical romance novel. If you like scandalous romance, witty main characters, and passionate lovemaking, then you'll fall for Carolyn Jewel's smart, steamy tale. Buy Not Wicked Enough to begin the engaging Regency romance today!

EXCERPT: Lily Wellstone wasn't the only one to have been caught in the downpour. She ignored the rain dripping off her bonnet and gazed at the other occupant of the entrance hall. He was tall with dark hair and an ill-fitting and very wet greatcoat about his broad shoulders. Raindrops darkened his worn boots and glistened in his hair. His eyes were deep-set and private. This was a man who did not share his secrets, a man who could only be unraveled bit-by-tortuous bit.

Not for a moment did she mistake him for a fellow caller, though his clothes were hardly better than something a country squire might wear. This most fascinating man stood at the opposite side of the room from the front door, near the magnificent arched doorway to the second floor. To the right, if she was correct about Bitterward's architectural integrity, that same archway ended at the butler's pantry. Two sets of crossed swords hung on the wall on either side of the doorway's pointed top. As the shape of the doorway proved, Bitterward was Gothic. Legitimately several centuries old and therefore not a reconstitution of the medieval as was the fashion of the recent past. Such follies as the modern Gothic only demonstrated, in her opinion, a failure of imagination. Her as yet silent companion could have passed for the ghost of one of Bitterward's ancient lords. His present century clothes spoiled the effect, but notwithstanding that anachronism, the ancient spirit gazing out of his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation through her.