Otherwise Engaged by Amanda Quick *Starred Review* There is nothing Londoners love more than a good scandal, and Amity Doncaster has given the city’s residents plenty to talk about. While en route home to London, Amity’s Good-Samaritan efforts to take care of Benedict Stanbridge, a wounded fellow passenger on the Northern Star, are transformed into a tawdry shipboard tryst by scandalmongers. When Amity finally arrives in London, she has the misfortune to be abducted by the serial killer known as the Bridegroom for his attacks on women. Thanks to her cool head and a cleverly weaponized lady’s fan, Amity escapes the killer’s clutches, only to find herself once again fodder for gossip. Fortunately, Benedict has the perfect solution. If they pretend to become engaged, not only will it diffuse any of the rumors about their shipboard relationship, it will also allow Benedict to stick close to Amity’s side until the Bridegroom can be stopped once and for all. Neatly complemented by equal measures of smoldering chemistry and lively banter, the action-packed plot is served up with plenty of dramatic flair and just the right dash of dry wit, making this a first-rate addition to Quick’s canon of classic historical romances. --John Charles "...Equal measures of smoldering chemistry and lively banter, the action-packed plot is served up with plenty of dramatic flair and just the right dash of dry wit..." - John Charles, Booklist , starred review "...Stellar plotting, exquisite dialogue and impeccable characterization. Benedict and Amity are a perfect pair." - Kirkus , starred review "...Quick... has outdone herself. ...Sustains the suspense in a novel that never loses its sense of humor." - Seattle Times Amanda Quick is a pseudonym for Jayne Ann Krentz, the author, under various pen names, of more than fifty New York Times bestsellers; there are more than thirty-five million copies of her books in print. She lives in Seattle. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof.*** Copyright © 2014 by Jayne Ann Krentz CHAPTER THREE London   Amity blamed herself for failing to realize until too late that there was a man concealed in the shadows of the cab. It was the rain, she concluded. Under most circumstances she would have been far more observant. Traveling abroad she made it a point to pay strict attention when she found herself in unfamiliar surroundings. But this was London. One did not expect to be kidnapped straight off the street in broad daylight. True, she had been distracted when she left the lecture hall. She was still fuming because of the countless inaccuracies in Dr. Potter’s lecture on the American West. The man was a benighted fool. He had never so much as set foot outside of England, let alone bothered to read her pieces in the Flying Intelligencer. Potter knew nothing of the West, yet he dared to present himself as an authority on the subject. It had been too much to take sitting down, so of course she had been forced to stand up and raise some serious objections. That had not gone over well with Potter or his audience. She had been escorted out of the lecture hall by two stout attendants. She had heard the muffled snickers and disapproving sniffs from the crowd. Respectable ladies did not interrupt noted lecturers with the goal of correcting them. Luckily, none of those in the audience were aware of her identity. Really, one had to be so careful in London. Irritated and eager to escape the dreary summer rain, she had leaped into the first cab that stopped in the street. That proved to be a serious mistake. She barely had time to register the odd, shuttered windows and the presence of the other occupant before the man wrapped an arm around her neck and hauled her close against his chest. He pressed the tip of a very sharp object to her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he gripped a scalpel in one gloved hand. “Silence or I’ll slice open your throat before it’s time, little whore. And that would be a pity. I’m so looking forward to photographing you.” He spoke in a harsh whisper but the accent was unmistakably upper-class. His face was covered by a mask fashioned out of black silk. Openings for his eyes, nose and mouth had been cut into the fabric. He smelled of sweat, spice-scented cigarettes and expensive cologne. She was vaguely aware of the fine quality wool of his coat because of the way he held her pinned against him. He moved, reaching out and around her to pull the door shut. The vehicle jolted into motion. She could tell that the carriage was moving at a rapid clip, but with the view through the windows blocked by the heavy wooden shutters she had little sense of direction. One thing was evident immediately. Her captor was stronger than she was. She stopped struggling and allowed her arms to go limp. Her right hand rested on the elegant fan attached to the silver chain at her waist. “What do you want with me?” she asked, striving for a thoroughly indignant and outrag