Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Amita Murray’s Unladylike Rules of Attraction, which releases May 14th 2024.

Anya Marleigh is a singer and sitar player in Queen Charlotte’s court. She is left a fortune by Dowager Countess Budleigh, one of her elderly clients who used to hire her for musical evenings. But there is a condition attached. Anya must marry before her next birthday if she wants to see any of the fortune. The executor of the will is an insufferably conceited man who must consent to her marriage—if he doesn’t give his consent, the fortune reverts to him.

But Damian Ashton is only part of the problem. The Budleigh family see Anya as a usurper. They believe the fortune is rightfully theirs, and they will do all in their power—including accusing Anya of murder and Damian of some dubious and criminal dealings—to get their hands on the fortune. Now Anya must do everything she can to thwart their efforts, save herself from the gallows, and at the same time, resist the powerful attraction she feels towards Damian—who surely is only interested in keeping the Budleigh money.

Can Anya sort out the tangle—or must she lose her heart to find her fortune?

It wasn’t for nothing that Damian grew up on the streets of Jamaica. His neck prickled, and he whirled around and came to standing in one motion. But it wasn’t a highwayman or stray poacher with a rifle standing on the other side of his fence. It was a young woman, her hands in the pockets of her greatcoat, her eyes digging straight into his brain. Standing just outside the goat pen.

He placed his hands on his hips and ruefully shook his head. “Miss Marleigh.”

“Lord Ashton,” she said coolly.

It had been two days since he had last seen her. In fact, he hadn’t thought he’d ever see her again. They could communicate by letter about the trust. Why was she still in Folkestone? And why was she here?

She looked cool and composed. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he was streaked with sweat.

“A friendly morning visit?” he inquired.

“We aren’t friends,” she said sweetly.

“Now, now, Miss Marleigh, what a spiteful thing to say. It’s almost like you don’t like m— ” But he didn’t get any further. Because he was rudely headbutted straight in his arse. He blinked. Turned around. It was Prinny. He gave the goat a hard glare, then turned to Miss Marleigh again.

“An intelligent creature,” she said. “There’s always a chance he could be more intelligent than he looks.”

He nodded slowly. “He is.”

“I was talking about you.”

He couldn’t help grinning. She gave him a polite smile back. Prinny headbutted him again. He let out a resigned sigh. He got another apple out of his workbag. Turned and handed it with a bad grace to his bad goat. Sally bleated crossly and started angrily toward his crotch. He didn’t argue— a man has to know when he can’t win— and hastily gave her a carrot. He turned around and faced Miss Marleigh again.

“I like them,” she said.

“I will cook them at the earliest opportunity.”

“Heartless.”

“Sadly.”

“I am leaving tomorrow. It is the Queen’s birthday next week, and I must be at the palace for the celebrations.”

“How can I help you, Miss Marleigh?”

God, she was beautiful. The curve of her neck. The feathery green of her fine muslin dress, with the tiny red embroidered roses on the neckline. The hair that was blowing all about her in the breeze in angry coils.

“I wanted to let you know that I have asked Mr. Prism to act as my lawyer.”

“I didn’t know you needed one.”

“I mean that he’s the one to contact when it’s time to hand over my inheritance.”

“Yes, of course. That suits me.” He wouldn’t have to see her and she wouldn’t have to see him. “I see that you’re reconciled to finding yourself a husband.”

Her eyes flashed. “It’s funny how quickly one can become reconciled.”

“I expect you’re very good at looking out for your best interests, Miss Marleigh.”

A pulse was beating in her neck now. She had been— or at least looked— cool as a cucumber a minute ago, but he was annoying her. He was staring at the beat of that pulse. He had the strange and sudden impulse to put his lips to it.

The very idea. It brought blood rushing to parts of his body that he would much rather not think about right now.

“You can despise me as much as you like, Lord Ashton. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.”

He looked up and their eyes met. He found his own pulse beating faster. Now he was staring at her mouth. His eyes lifted, and their eyes met again.

“Why should I despise you?” he said. “I’ve made my own way in the world. I don’t despise you for doing the same.”

She gritted her teeth, and now she was clenching at her coat. “You think I insinuated myself! You think I’m the kind of woman who— ”

He jerked his head and in a few quick strides walked closer. She almost jerked backward, but then she steadied herself and stood her ground. He was standing close to her now, but they were on opposite sides of the fence. She was still glaring at him. She was almost as tall as he was. He couldn’t stop looking at her. The eyes, the thoughtful eyes that seemed to look through you. He couldn’t help it. He reached out for her hand. He held it almost like this was a social evening and he was going to bend low and kiss it.

He felt for a second the wild beating of the pulse in her wrist with his thumb. The veins under the thin skin. The curve of the mound of Venus. The hollow of her hand. She looked breathless. And he could see the dampness of the tendrils around her neck. She had walked here, not slowly, not meandering, but at a fast pace. He turned her hand palm up. He leaned forward and placed his mouth on the veins of her wrist. When he let go and looked up at her face, it was as cool as ever. But he had heard it, the sharp intake of breath when his lips found her wrist. They stared at each other.

“What happened to your thumb?”

“What?”

“Your thumb, Lord Ashton.”

He looked down at his thumb. He’d forgotten that he’d nearly crushed it with his hammer. Now that he thought of it, it was throbbing and swollen.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

She was staring at it. And he had the time to study her. The deep, intelligent eyes. The soft curve of the lashes. The little scar at the base of an eyebrow. The slightly snub nose. The hint of stubbornness in the mouth. She was staring at his thumb for so long, it was like she’d bent forward and placed her mouth on it. For some strange reason—h is head was clearly fevered—he  felt like the pain receded.

“You should put it in ice,” she said.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ll wait with bated breath to hear of your betrothal, Miss Marleigh. How long will it take you? A few weeks should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

Oh, she wasn’t angry. And she was no longer staring at his thumb. She was pulling the open lapels of her greatcoat together. “Believe me, Mr. Ashton,” she said. “I will do anything to keep you from touching a farthing of the dowager’s money.” She spun around and was walking away.

“What happened to your wrist? There was a cut,” he said behind her.

She reluctantly turned around. “There was some oil spilled at the top of the stairs this morning.”

His eyes narrowed. “Outside your bedchamber? At Budleigh?”

“Trixie bore the brunt of it. Though no bones broken.”

“Miss Cleaver comes out in the morning before you do?”

“Not usually. I’ve been restless. I get up and go for a walk early. Trixie was with me this morning. I only flailed about, quite gracelessly. She fell a few steps.”

“Do you know how the oil came to be there?” He was watching her face.

“Lady Budleigh seemed to think it was one of the housemaids.” She turned away again.

“Miss Marleigh?”

She looked exasperated this time when she stopped.

“Take care of yourself.”

Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Miss Marleigh, you’ve heard of me— the urchin from Jamaica— from the Budleighs. Perhaps from Clara. So you have probably also heard that I care for no one other than my brother, Jeremy. He is a captain in the army and doesn’t need me to care for him, but you must have heard that his and my comfort are the only things important to me. They are right. I am selfish. But . . .” He paused, then carried on. “I think it’s a very good thing you’re heading back to the palace and will no longer be at the Budleigh estate.”

She looked at him consideringly. He wondered what Prism would say if he asked the lawyer what would happen to the Budleigh money if Anya Marleigh died before she had the chance to marry.

“Goodbye, my lord,” she said and, turning around, walked away.

“Damian,” he said behind her.

Excerpted from UNLADYLIKE RULES OF ATTRACTION, provided courtesy of Avon Books/HarperCollins Publishers. Copyright © 2024 by Amita Murray.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Unladylike Rules of Attraction’ by Amita Murray appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Amita Murray’s Unladylike Lessons in Love, which is out May 16th.

“Women mind their reputation if they want to marry. I don’t want to marry.”

As the eldest daughter of an English earl and his Indian mistress, Lila Marleigh knows what it’s like to be an outsider from “polite” society. As children, she and her sisters were wrenched from their home and sent to England, never quite accepted by those who claimed to care for them. Now Lila has set herself up as hostess of an exclusive gaming club, charming the ton that flocks to her establishment each night, though it shuns her by day.

One night, Ivor Tristram comes barging through her door, accusing her of being his father’s mistress. Lila defies his expectations at every step and convinces him to navigate London’s rat pits and pleasure gardens with her, in her quest to solve a violent crime.

As they set out together to uncover the truth, an irresistible passion ignites that will shake them to the core. Lila must fight to protect those she loves, yet the biggest threat is to the sanctity of the heart she has guarded so carefully all her life.

Lila sprang to her feet as if she weren’t completely exhausted and her butler Walsham wasn’t making her anxious. Her dark curls were coiled high on the top of her head and then left to fall down her back. She pushed away unruly strands that were clinging damply to her forehead. Her net silver overdress sparkled, and she shook out the folds of the midnight-blue silk dress that hugged her figure and, followed by the stiffening Walsham, turned to make her way out of the heaving room.

But this was easier said than done. The room was packed, and everyone wanted a piece of Lila Marleigh—some wanted as many pieces as they could get.

Donald Barrymore, Viscount of Herringford, was the first to stop her, with a hand squeezing her upper arm, which she batted playfully away with her fan. His face was purple. The waistband of his trousers was bursting and his cravat more wilted than the hothouse lilies that one of her admirers had sent her, fresh from his estate, just this morning. Herringford had that tottering look that said he should have stopped drinking about three drinks ago—Lila could calculate these things down to the mouthful. She sighed inwardly.

“Lord Herringford, what a hot summer we’re having,” she said in her usual vibrant voice. She checked herself. The cheery tone was grating on her nerves tonight.

The man didn’t notice the complete lack of originality in the remark. “I heard you’re backing Kenneth Laudsley to win the race to Brighton, m’dear,” he said, leaning closer, licking his lips at the deep V of her neckline. “You know his racers don’t hold a candle to the ones I’m putting up for m’nephew?” He squinted at her cleavage as if he was thinking about diving into it.

Her smile widened. She placed her fan under his chin and lifted his face so he was forced to make eye contact. “You’re quite right, Lord Herringford. At this rate, I’ll be forced to run the race myself.”

She was turning away. She meant it as a joke—after all, it would be the scandal of the summer if a woman raced a curricle to Brighton—but, to her surprise, it created an excited hum.

“I’d lay a monkey to see that,” said Henry Alston. She turned to look at him. He was pink-faced too, but in a young and overeager way. He was slim, only nineteen, and his chestnut locks were flying in all directions. He blushed. In his own way, he was just as painfully eager as Lord Herringford, but it was hard to be anything but kind to him, he was just a boy.

Lila’s eyes darted toward Walsham. He looked as though he was willing to be patient until the end of time. She bit her lip but gave her guests her sparkling smile.

At this late hour the women were laughing louder, and the men were swaying dangerously close. It took several minutes to disentangle from the group. It was a good thing, Lila thought, as Herringford pawed at the air behind her, that she had given up trying to save her reputation a long time ago. As she started to wind her way to the door again, she noticed a man she hadn’t seen in her salons before, standing nearby, speaking to no one, an amber glass of brandy held carelessly in one hand. He was over medium height and his broad shoulders and chest made him look imposing. Her practiced eye noticed the strength of his thighs and the understated but elegant clothes. He was wearing pantaloons and Hessians, but she imagined he would be more comfortable in riding clothes. The hair was dark, the face broad, the eyebrows shapely. But these were not what caught her attention. She couldn’t look away from the piercing crystal-blue eyes that were looking at her, not lasciviously like Herringford, nor with a deep blush like Henry Alston, but with strong dislike.

As she stared at him, he didn’t turn away, but instead took a deliberate sip of his drink. She was startled, wondering who he was and why he was looking at her with such loathing. She made herself turn away.

When she finally made it out of the ballroom, she shut the door behind her and sagged. A sliver of longing pierced through her, though for what she didn’t know exactly.

She opened her eyes and shook herself. This wouldn’t do. Whatever the longing was for, it could never be hers. She squared her shoulders as Walsham led the way to the front door.

“I told the person that the back door would be more suitable. But she is refusing to leave until she has seen you, Miss Marleigh.”

“Since when do you let people refuse you anything, Walsham?” Lila murmured.

But then she stepped out into the humid night air and saw the reason for Walsham’s disapproval and his reticence. The girl standing outside was dressed in rags, big with child and fuming, and she looked as though nothing—no woman, no man, no mountain—would dislodge her from Lila Marleigh’s front door.

Excerpted from the book by UNLADYLIKE LESSONS IN LOVE by Amita Murray. Copyright © 2023 by Amita Murray. From Harper Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission.

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