.:Reviews:.

Jodici Belle has written a creatively amusing and romantic story set in regency England. Her characters are colorful and fully developed so that the reader gets to know their personalities and appearance... Jodici Bell's, His Unexpected Bride, is a passionately amusing romance filled with action and adventure sure to appeal to many readers.
5 Hearts ~ Anita :: The Romance Studio
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Jodici Belle's HIS UNEXPECTED BRIDE will touch a cord in every reader's heart. From Damien's bumbling attempts at escaping marriage, to Bethany's consistent mishaps this is a book you'll smile through while cheering for this mismatched couple to get their act together and admit they are perfect for each other.
4.5 Ribbons ~ Chrissy :: Romance Junkies
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His Unexpected Bride is a captivating from beginning to end... From the humorous escapades of Bethany and her bad luck and Rutledge's complete lack of manners and common sense at times gives the readers and enjoyable look back into what might London have been like from these two lively and truly captivating characters. I truly enjoyed my first time reading Jodici Belle and hopefully will see more of her captivating romances in the future.
4 Cups ~ Dee :: Coffee Time Romance
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HIS UNEXPECTED BRIDE is a charming historical romance. Set against the colorful backdrop of a London Season and filled with the types of characters that make historical romance so fun to read -- the foppish dandy, catty society dames, ladybirds, etc. -- Jodici Belle's story is one that is sure to entertain.
~ Viki :: Romance Reviews Today
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.:Excerpt:.

The Marquis of Rutledge groaned as he watched his mother drag yet another young debutante in his direction. Why wasn't God being merciful? Cold fingers of dread ran up his spine and with a surreptitious glance around the ballroom, he made his escape.

Ducking behind the potted fern, he crept out onto the terrace beyond. Eyeing the corner stone of the building, he made a dash for it. Sliding behind the safety of stone, he waited with bated breath to hear the patter of approaching feet. When nothing was forthcoming, he released a sigh as his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Never thought I would see the day. Rutledge running off and hiding like a scared rabbit."

Choking on his shock, his head snapped in the direction of the voice to find the jaunty figure of the Earl of Brighton standing in the dim light, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Smiling, Damien pushed off the wall and approached his old comrade from Eton.

"You would too if every marriage-minded chit in town was being thrown in your path. My mother has cast her net far and wide in hopes of snaring some insipid debutante to be the next marchioness."

Brighton chuckled. "Not I, dear friend. I'm far too--"

"Brighton? Brightooon?" The piercing tones of Brighton's mother drifted on the air and Brighton recoiled, his over-confident remark cut off with a muttered curse as he dived for the shadows.

Damien chuckled and turned away from his quivering friend who flattened himself against the wall as though he wished to be absorbed into the very brickwork. He watched with an amused eye as an older woman tottered by the terrace doors without so much as a glance outside.

Casting his attention back at the not-so-brave Earl, he noticed he'd not moved in the slightest since taking up his post there. Damien wouldn't be surprised if the fool were holding his breath.

"She's gone."

Brighton hesitated. "Are you certain?"

Rutledge rolled his eyes. "For God sake, yes."

He let out his pent-up breath in a gush. "Jackals," he muttered with a dramatic shiver. "Well, next time I should remember to bring my dignity along and not leave it at the door. Of course, I must have lost my common sense, otherwise I would not even be here," he added with a lopsided grin before moving away from the wall and taking up his former position. "You know, you shouldn't stand out here too long. They'll be able to spot me. And if your blond locks don't give me away, then your sparkling white cravat will."

Damien raised an eyebrow in amusement. Indeed, Brighton stood a better chance of hiding in the shadows than he did. His ebony hair and olive skin, a product of the man's Spanish ancestry, concealed him well in the darkness. "I doubt my standing here will give you away. Your red jacket is like a flag."

Brighton chuckled in response. "Touché. You know," he said after a pause. "I don't know why I even attended tonight. I should have known those tears were a show." He turned to face him. "I don't even know why you're here."

That was a poignant statement and Rutledge struggled to hold his frustration at bay. A month ago he never would have been seen at such an event, but that was no longer so.

He shrugged. "Mother insists I be present at every event my sister attends. Chaperoning or some such," he said with a wave of his dismissive hand.

"Looks to me like she's more concerned about marrying you off than Violet."

"Indeed, it does look that way." Rutledge paused to watch an eggshell-blue gown twirl by.

If anyone enjoyed the attention, it was his sister. Her lilting laughter that drifted out the doors and reached his ears proved him correct in his assumption.

Most debutantes and their mothers had thus far avoided him whenever he deigned to attend such a soirée. Although that was perhaps true a month ago, he couldn't say the same now, and he knew where to place the blame.

His mother.

For the last three months, his mother's nagging had become her latest obsession and his hell. Where did she come up with the idea he was ready for marriage he wondered with a wave of irritation. He refused to settle down, his late night stints and mistress attested to the fact.

"I've never done so much running since the time Jennifer caught me with another woman," Brighton said, breaking into Rutledge's musing. "You know the saying. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"How did you eventually get her off your tail?"

"Took up your suggestion. Set Penning's eye one her. The fool bought my woeful tale of a broken heart over her, and promptly set her up in a townhouse. Poor sod."

Penning and Brighton had been at war with each other since Brighton stole the supposed interest of a woman Penning had his eye on. But Penning was nothing but a sniveling, spineless worm who lived on the malicious intent to harm Brighton any why he knew how. The man lived and breathed on his misguided need for revenge.

"Speaking of getting women off your back, how long do you think we'll be running around like this. I have always despised hide and seek, a rather pointless game if you ask me."

Damien leaned back and smiled. "I've pondered on that for a while now, but I think I have an idea."

Brighton chuckled. "Another plan?"

"Of course." Damien lived by a straightforward adage. In truth, his motto in life was quite simple. Nothing in life can be achieved without a well-laid plan and a well-tied cravat. And his new strategy would prove him correct and ease his hell known as the "marriage mart".

Brighton lifted an eyebrow in query. "Indeed?"

"Yes, I came up with it two days ago," he said with a smug grin. "It will get those marriage-minded vultures off my back for a while. I'll simply invent a betrothed."

There was silence for a moment as Brighton absorbed what Damien said. "It sounds completely absurd!"

"It most certainly is not." He glowered, offended Brighton couldn't understand the true brilliance of his strategy. "It's a sound plan."

"Has this imaginary woman a name?" Brighton asked, a dubious frown marking his uncertainty toward the solidity of Damien's plan.

"Certainly. Miss Hinglebottom."

Brighton's eyes widened then he let out a hearty chuckle. "Hinglebottom? Indeed, I must give you credit. How did you come up with a name like that?"

"I just tried to make up the most ridiculous sounding last name I could think of. I must say, however, that this one was the winner of all the names I considered."

With a thoughtful nod, Brighton leaned back on the balustrade. "Well then, how will you explain her absence?"

"Ailing father or some sort of family matter. Not to worry, I have it all in hand. I just have to wait for the right moment before I spring it on everyone."

Brighton grinned. "I do wish I had thought of that," he said with obvious disgruntlement. "I cannot do this forever."

"Not to worry, old chap, only a few more months and it will be over."

"Not if mother has me leg-shackled before then."

They stood in a comfortable silence as the music wound down and came to a halt, the low din of voices picking up volume as the dancers moved off to find their partners for the next dance.

Violet came gliding through the terrace doors. "I thought you would be in hiding," she said with glee. "Mama is frantic trying to find where you've run off to."

Damien scowled. "Now you know where I am."

Violet remained before them, her skirt swishing as she swayed to and fro with the music that had started up again in the background. He knew what she wanted and he refused to grant it to her. An introduction to Brighton? Out of the question.

She turned her attention away from him, her eyes running over his friend as though she were hungry and Brighton a tempting dessert. "Would you care to introduce me to your friend?" she asked, her eyes never leaving him.

Damien stiffened. Granted he'd introduced Brighton to his relatives a total of perhaps three times in the span of their friendship, but the last time was a good six years ago. Rutledge didn't consider himself the type to mingle rousing good company with relations and he preferred it that way.

He knew his friend preferred women with no strings attached. Violet, on the other hand, had strings a plenty and he loathed the idea of re-introducing her to Brighton now she was of age. He had the unusual urge to act like an overgrown ogre, carry her over his shoulder kicking and screaming from the terrace and toss her into the nearest carriage.

Brighton stepped in saving Damien from embarrassing both his friend and his sister.

"You are Lady Violet and I am Lord Brighton but you can call me Completely Charmed." He took Violet's hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

Damien rolled his eyes over Brighton's rehearsed lines, but his irritation increased when his friend lingered far too long over his sister's hand. "That is enough," he growled as he grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

Violet's hand fluttered to her chest and Damien groaned. "You knew my name," she murmured. Her eyes shifted from Brighton, the awe draining from her face as her lips turned down. "I suppose Damien has been telling you all about me."

Brighton lips rose with that infamous ever-indulgent smile of his. "Not so, my dove. Matters of the heart are rarely discussed between men."

That was it! In an instant, Damien dragged Brighton aside. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Merely having a conversation," he replied, a grin of amusement adding to Damien's fury.

"Leave off with your practiced lines! She's not some light skirt, she's my sister."
Brighton's smile faded. "Do you think that I am fool enough to bed an innocent? Not only an innocent, but your sister besides. Come man, she is safer with me than she is with any of those foppish dandies out there."

Damien trusted his friend to be true to his word but he couldn't help the overbearing urge to protect his sister. He wanted her to marry some boring stuffed shirt and it wouldn't benefit him or his sister to allow her time with his friend.

Brighton's idea of marital bliss involved him and some poor sod's wife. Married women were often his choice of bed partner. He had no intentions of marrying, not for a long while yet. "Very well, but--"

Violet's gloved hand slipped through Brighton's arm and clung onto his elbow, effectively cutting off whatever he wanted to say. "The next dance is about to start, and I believe I have you down for this one."

He watched in stupefied amazement over Violet's audacity as she half dragged Brighton toward the dance floor. He knew full well no reservation for this dance existed and he opposed his sister dancing with a known rake. Moving forward, he blocked the entrance with his arm.

"I forbid you to dance with him," he commanded with his most authoritative tone and furious frown, a move that under most circumstances sent her running. Now it seemed to have no effect for she glared right back at him, her bold behavior sending a wave of shock through him. This brazenness must be stifled.

"Step away," she demanded.

Damien's fury raised a notch and he drew in a harsh breath to hand her a heavy set down. "Listen here--" He paused, noticing the death grip she had on Brighton's arm.

He wanted to oppose her action with the righteous fury of a concerned brother, but it seemed his friend didn't want to take a twirl on the dance floor either. It showed upon his face like a white flag judging by the man's pallor.

"I do believe Lord Brighton might have some objections."

Her eyes flashed at his refusal to move but she calmed her features enough to smile at Brighton. "My lord, do you not wish to dance?"

"No, no. Nothing like that at all, my dear." Always falling to the whim of the fairer sex.

Pursing his lips in irritation, Rutledge inclined his head and stepped aside. Leaning on the doorframe, he relished the look of fear that washed over Brighton's features as he caught sight of his mother. It proved well worth it to have yielded to his sister.

It serves the fool right.

Brighton might have the ability to talk his way out of most things, but the minute his mother spotted him, one could see she was already planning the wedding. Chuckling, he pushed off the frame to search for the card room when misfortune decided to shine upon him.

Lady Rutledge's intentions were very clear and he realized with a grimace that he couldn't remove himself from the situation without being unpardonably rude. He could do nothing more but hold his ground, eyeing the approaching group that brought on the eerie feeling that he was a fox and they, the bloodhounds.

Coming to a halt, his mother's disapproving frown expressed her displeasure before she masked it with a pleasant smile. She knew. He cringed at the twinge of both shame and fear. His mother possessed a fiery temper that he had the unfortunate opportunity to experience several times in his life, and he had no desire to fall victim to it now.

"Viscountess Tawdy, allow me to introduce my son, the Marquis of Rutledge. Damien, Lady Tawdy and her daughter, Miss Cecilia Funt."

With a stiff smile, Rutledge bent over each woman's hand, a polite practiced reply passing his lips. The young debutante giggled as he brushed a scant airy kiss over her glove and batted her eyelids as he straightened. Curious. He wondered if the gel stood in front of a mirror and practiced her feminine wiles, for it did in fact seem...rehearsed.

The young woman was attractive in a classical sense, with blonde curls pinned back in the current style, porcelain features and--again she batted her eyelids pulling Damien's musings to an immediate halt. Frowning, he watched her demonstrate her skill as though to ascertain he'd seen her perform the very same trick before.

Irritated and a tad disturbed, he turned to his mother who prattled on about something regarding lineage. His hope that the discussion involved dogs or horses vanished when his mother said, "He would love to take Miss Cecilia to Hyde Park tomorrow."

When had he agreed to this? Desperation bit at the edge of his control. He must stop this runaway conversation, and now.

"Mother, I must speak to you."

She didn't even spare him a glance. "Not now."

"It is of the utmost importance," he said, unable to keep the urgent tone from his voice.

She paused in her tirade and looked over at him with mild curiosity. "What is it then?"

He glanced at the two women beside her. "I prefer to speak with you in private."

Her bemused frown cleared, as though visited upon by an epiphany. The smug smile and tilt of her head said it all. She thought he wanted to avoid an outing with Miss Cecilia. And although correct in her assumption, he felt well within his rights to deny the invitation.

"Here is fine. If it's so important you can tell me now."

Passing a brief glance at the other two ladies who stood anxious to hear what he had to say, he gathered his courage and prepared to speak his lie. "My interest lies elsewhere."

There. He did it.

"What do you mean, 'your interest lies elsewhere'?" his mother huffed.

"I meant to tell you once she came to London. But there is no avoiding it...I am betrothed."

His mother's indignant confusion melted into uninhibited joy, the two disgruntled ladies next to her forgotten. "Oh! This is wonderful news."

Lady Tawdy stood, watching him like a hawk. Her lips pursed in disapproval, her eyes narrowing to slits in suspicion.

"This is wonderful, wonderful news," his mother reiterated with a clap of her hands. "When did you meet her? I cannot recall you courting anyone."

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition. His mind scrambled for an answer. "When I went to Bath last summer," he improvised. "We met quite by accident but before we could make anything official, she had to return to the country regarding a family affair and promised to come to London as soon as everything was resolved."

Damien beamed with pleasure. The story he'd concocted was perfect. Foolproof.

"Well? What is her name?" his mother prompted.

His chest puffed out as he answered. "Miss Hinglebottom."

The three women looked at each other, trying to figure out if they had heard that name before. Damien felt exalted. They could search under every rock until the sun fell from the sky. She didn't exist.

"Not Miss Bethany Hinglebottom?" someone said behind him.

Hot shock washed through him followed by cold dread. Bethany? A Miss Hinglebottom actually existed! Did grown men succumb to vapors? Because he could do just that right now.

His mother glanced past him. "You know her?"

Lady Witherspoon stepped around him and approached his mother, her brown eyes sparkling. "Indeed I do. I remember her debut five years ago. Never met a more likable girl than that one there." She paused for a moment. "Though she did have a knack for getting herself into trouble."

Lady Rutledge frowned, her elation disappearing in an instant. "What sort of trouble?"

"Oh no, not that sort of trouble," Lady Witherspoon assured. "She was just a little clumsy at times. Nerves and such."

"Well, I must meet the girl. It would be bad form for me to start planning the wedding without her." She giggled behind her fan.

His mother had never giggled before in her life. This didn't bode well for him at all. He swallowed at the cold lump of dread that settled in his stomach. He felt as though he were watching this happen to someone else. It felt like a very bad dream, and he had the fervent hope that he would wake up soon. Very soon....

"You're looking a bit green around the gills. Are you unwell?" asked Lady Witherspoon, her concerned visage swimming before him.

"No, no, I am quite all right," he rasped, though he felt far from it.

"Yes, you do look quite ill," his mother agreed after passing a critical eye over him. "Perhaps you need something to eat?"

"I just need to sit down," he mumbled, his search for a spare seat becoming immediate as he shuffled along the edge of the assembly room. Sinking into a vacant chair as though the burden of the world rested on his shoulders he dropped his head between his knees in the hope his shock would subside.

"Well, I must congratulate you," Lady Tawdy said, if a bit insincere in her accolades. "Who would have suspected? What a coup!"

Damien groaned from his seated position but didn't bother to look up. "Dear God," he rasped out. When will this nightmare end?