Secrets to Seducing a Scot - By Michelle Marcos Page 0,3

want to be called is gone.

Serena Marsh tilted the champagne flute into her mouth. The champagne wasn’t as bad as all that. Come to think of it, neither was her article. The polite yet forceful expulsion of Lord and Lady Lamoreaux tonight gave her just the material she needed for this week’s contribution to the “Rage Page.” The column practically wrote itself.

She gazed out over the stonework balustrade. Below, people dressed in their royal finery swirled about the sunken garden like fluttering confetti. Over by the rosebushes, Princess Augusta chatted amiably with a flock of parliamentarians.

“Are you Serena Marsh?”

Serena turned around. Two ladies approached her, and she could tell they were related. One was in her early dotage, with a face like a gnarled tree trunk, and the other looked to be her daughter.

“Yes, I am.”

The wrinkles in the older lady’s face deepened as she beamed at Serena. “Oh, Miss Marsh, it’s so good to finally meet you. I simply adore your column! I read it every Wednesday in the Town Crier.”

“As do I,” insisted the younger.

“You’re too kind, Mrs.—”

“Lady Geraldine Hewitt. This is my daughter, the Lady Marie Enstrom. My friends and I have such fun with the clever things you say. Why, just yesterday we were having tea with the Camberwells, and your column was the sole and exclusive topic of conversation all afternoon. What was it you called that Dutch courtier, the one who loved to eat? Ah, yes, I remember … ‘a man for all seasonings.’”

Lady Hewitt cackled, making Serena smile.

“I’d never laughed so hard in my life. Was he really so gauche?”

Serena rolled her eyes prettily. “Unrepentantly so. Be glad you were not a witness to the awful wig he wore. I’m certain his hair wasn’t that color even in his youth, which had to have been about three centuries ago. He can’t possibly fool anybody. One’s hair does not turn black with age.”

The ladies laughed gaily.

“My favorite,” remarked Lady Enstrom, “was that story you told of the French noblewoman who divorced her husband because of his profligate spending.” Lady Enstrom turned to her mother. “She titled the article, ‘Till Debt Us Do Part.’”

Their giggles could be heard well down into the garden, gladdening Serena’s heart. If there was one thing she relished, it was having her words quoted back to her.

Lady Enstrom’s eyes beamed at Serena. “I must remark, Mama, on the exquisite gown that Miss Marsh is wearing.”

“Yes. Quite enchanting,” confirmed Lady Hewitt.

The dress Serena had on was fashioned of blond silk embroidered with gold thread at the neckline, sleeves, and hem. A wave of starched lace fanned out behind her neck, and her golden hair was collected high upon her head. A string of pearls cascaded through the artfully placed curls.

“Thank you very much,” she replied, a surprised blush rising to her cheeks. Modesty prohibited her from mentioning that she herself had designed it. “It was crafted by a very talented couturier from Orléans. The French seem to be better with a sewing needle than a bayonet.”

Lady Hewitt smiled as she lay down her glass on the stone balustrade. “Tell me, who will you be writing about in your next column?”

Serena grinned. “My dear Lady Hewitt. You know I do not divulge any names in my column. And even if I were to write about someone attending this ball, I should not be so heartless as to break in upon his incognito.”

“His?” Lady Enstrom replied with a curious gleam in her eye. “Oh, do tell us what you know.”

Serena smiled benevolently. “I will only hint enough to say that if I were you, Lady Hewitt, I would pick up that drink again and make a great show of enjoying it.”

The crinkles in Lady Enstrom’s eyes deepened. “Oh, I can’t wait. Miss Marsh, you simply must come to a party we’re holding at the end of the month. I’m inviting masses of people. There will be lots for you to write about.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“Where is your honored father? I shall invite him personally.”

Serena had lost track of Earlington Marsh when the Prince Regent pulled her aside to have a good rail over Lord Lamoreaux. She craned her neck over the garden below. “I don’t see him. But I shall look for him presently, and I’ll be sure to convey your invitation.”

“Good! I can’t wait to tell everyone you’ll be coming!”

Serena grinned as she walked away from the effusive women. Her social diary was full almost every night for weeks. There was something to