{"id":3582,"date":"2015-02-22T17:22:32","date_gmt":"2015-02-23T00:22:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/?page_id=3582"},"modified":"2025-02-13T14:27:30","modified_gmt":"2025-02-13T19:27:30","slug":"wicked-my-love","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/","title":{"rendered":"Wicked, My Love"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

\"cover-for-blog-PNG\"<\/figure><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Wicked Little Secrets Series \u2013 Book II

<\/strong><\/em>Order from\u00a0Amazon<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>,\u00a0\u00a0Barnes and Noble<\/a><\/strong>\u00a0,\u00a0Kobo<\/strong>\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0,\u00a0iBooks<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0,\u00a0Google Play<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Order the audiobook from Audible<\/a>, Amazon<\/a>, <\/strong>and more<\/a>.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A smooth-talking rogue and a dowdy financial genius<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handsome, silver-tongued politician Lord Randall doesn\u2019t get along with his bank partner, the financially brilliant but hopelessly frumpish Isabella St. Vincent. Ever since she was his childhood nemesis, he\u2019s tried-and failed-to get the better of her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Make a perfectly wicked combination<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When both Randall\u2019s political career and their mutual bank interests are threatened by scandal, he has to admit he needs Isabella\u2019s help. They set off on a madcap scheme to set matters right. With her wits and his charm, what could possibly go wrong? Only a volatile mutual attraction that\u2019s catching them completely off guard\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n
\n
\"Wicked,<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Praise for Wicked, My Love<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWicked Little Secrets are Ives\u2019 forte, but it\u2019s the laugh-out-loud humor and slapstick comedy that will have readers crying with joy. Ives\u2019 sprightly repartee adds to the merriment, yet the poignancy that lies beneath will touch readers\u2019 hearts. Ives delivers on every level.\u201d \u2014 RT Book Reviews, 4 1\/2 Stars, Top Pick! \u2013 2015 RT\u2019s Reviewers\u2019 Choice Awards Nominees \u2013 Historical Love & Laughter Category<\/strong><\/a><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSensuous foreplay heats up the pages but never overtakes the captivating story or the charming, witty characters.\u201d \u2014 Publishers Weekly<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWICKED, MY LOVE made me feel as if I had died and gone to book heaven! What a fun, fabulous book!\u201d \u2014Fresh Fiction<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Excerpt<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s when all manner of hell broke loose.
<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

1847
<\/em>Stuke Buzzard, England<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella lifted a delicate, perfectly coiled tendril of hair in the \u201cluxurious shade of raven\u2019s wing\u201d from the Madam O\u2019Amor\u2019s House of Beauty package that she had secreted into her bedchamber.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her black cat, Milton, who had been bathing his male feline parts on her pillow, stopped and stared at the creation, his green eyes glittery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is not a rat,\u201d Isabella told him. \u201cYou may not eat it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Unconvinced, the cat rolled onto his paws, hunched, and flicked his tail, ready to pounce.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The advertisement in last month\u2019s Miroir de Dames <\/em>had read \u201cLosing your petals? Withering on the vine?<\/em> Return to your full, fresh, feminine bloom with Madam <\/em>O\u2019Amor\u2019s famous youth-restoring lotion compounded of <\/em>the finest secret ingredients, and flowing tendrils, puffs, and braids made from the softest hair.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella typically didn\u2019t believe such flapdoodle. But at twenty-nine, she was dangling off the marital cliff and gazing down into the deep abyss of childless spinsterhood. Now she finally had a live, respectable fish by the name of Mr. Powers, her bank partner, swimming around the hook. After he walked her home from church  on  Sunday,  she  had  decided  not to take any chances and had broken down and ordered Madam\u2019s concoctions. Even then, a little voice inside her warned, \u201cDon\u2019t lie to yourself. Who would want to marry an abnormal, cracked, freakish girl?\u201d All those things Randall had called her years ago. Strange that words uttered so long ago still had the power to  sting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After making excuses to loiter about the village post office for almost a week, Isabella had been relieved when her order  had  finally  arrived  on  the  train  that morning, just in time to restore her full, fresh, feminine bloom before Mr. Powers called on bank business. Little did the poor gentleman know that for once she couldn\u2019t care less about stocks and consuls. She was hoping for a more personal investment with a high rate of marital return: a husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Standing before her vanity mirror, she opened the drawer, drew out a hairpin, and headed into battle. Her overgrown, irrepressible mane refused to curl tamely, held a fierce vendetta against pins, and rebelled against any empire, Neapolitan, or shepherdess coiffure enforced on it. She secured the first tendril and studied the result. It didn\u2019t fall in the same easy, elegant spiral as in the advertisement, but shot out from behind her ear like a coiled, bouncy spring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh no, this looks terrible.\u201d She tugged at it, trying to loosen the curl. \u201cI\u2019ll just secure the other. You can\u2019t tell from just one; it\u2019s not balanced.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile, her cat eyed her, scheming to get at those strange yet oddly luxurious rats on her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The second tendril was no better than the first.      \u201cI look even more abnormal, cracked, and freakish,  if that were possible. I knew this was a stupid idea. Why did I even try when I knew it was stupid?\u201d She sank into her chair and buried her face in her hands. She just wanted a husband and children. Why was    it so difficult for her? Why couldn\u2019t she be like her mother\u2014graceful and gentle?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tap, tap.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDarling, I hate to nag,\u201d  Judith  called  through  the door. \u201cBut the Wollstonecraft Society meeting    is in less than two weeks. You really must practice your speech.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh fudge! <\/em>Isabella didn\u2019t have time to remove the offending curls. She grabbed Madam O\u2019Amor\u2019s box and shoved it under the bed. Milton, who was teetering on the edge of the mattress, saw his moment and took a nasty swipe at her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Judith, founding member of the Mary Wollstonecraft Society Against the Injurious Treatment of Women Whose Rights Have Been Unjustly Usurped by the Tyrannical and Ignorant Regime of the Male Kind, strolled in. Her auburn hair was pulled into a sloppy bun and secured by crossed pencils, her reading glasses sitting low on her Roman nose. Before her face, she held Isabella\u2019s draft of her acceptance speech for this year\u2019s Wollstonecraft award.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy dear, this is interesting information, but it\u2019s rather, well\u2026boring,\u201d she said. \u201cUnlike you, most people don\u2019t remember numbers and\u2014my goodness, what torture have you inflicted on your poor  hair?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella extricated Milton\u2019s claw from her head and drew herself tall. \u201cI\u2019ve styled my hair into tendrils,\u201d she said firmly. Her companion was bossy and a relentless nagger. Isabella had to put up a strong front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTentacles?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI said tendrils<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tiny pleat formed between Judith\u2019s eyebrows.   \u201cI hope you aren\u2019t doing all this for a man<\/em>?\u201d Her  face screwed up tight, as if the word man <\/em>emitted a foul stench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, no, of course not.\u201d Isabella had been careful to hide her little infatuation with Mr. Powers. If she didn\u2019t, Judith would launch into her standard marital lecture, that Isabella shouldn\u2019t give over her freedom and money to a simple-minded, barbaric man who would just gamble away her wealth. \u201cW-what would I do with a man?\u201d Isabella laughed nervously, trying to sound innocent. Her gaze wandered to the bed, and her mind lit up with all manner of things she would do with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thankfully, Judith didn\u2019t pursue the subject, but reverted back to her usual obsession: the Wollstonecraft Society. \u201cNow, darling, you need to make an emo- tional connection with the society members in your speech. You must speak to their desires and pains. Remember how we discussed showing our emotions when writing your  book.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella groaned. \u201cWe agreed never to talk about the book again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A fellow member of the Wollstonecraft Society had recently bought a printing press in London. Judith  had thought it a wonderful idea for Isabella to write   a volume educating women about investing and the stock exchange. She\u2019d pestered Isabella for months. Finally, when the weather turned brutal in the winter, Isabella produced a work she titled A Guide to the Funds and Sound Business Practices for Gentle Spinsters and Widows <\/em>by \u201cA Lady.\u201d She gave the pages to Judith to edit and happily forgot about it. Three  months later, her companion returned a bound book retitled From Poor to Prosperous, How Intelligent, Resourceful <\/em>Spinsters, Widows, and Female Victims of Ill-fated Marital Circumstances Can Procure Wealth, Independence, and <\/em>Dignity <\/em>by Isabella St. Vincent, majority partner in the Bank of Lord Hazelwood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The entire village must have heard Isabella\u2019s mortified scream. To make it all the worse, Judith had taken her modest examples, such as \u201cHannah was a plain spinster with only the limited means left to her by her late father,\u201d and added such Gothic claptrap as Hannah having been used and abandoned by some arrogant lord of a manor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had hoped the book would languish unread on some library bookshelf until it disintegrated into dust, but it was now in its fourth printing. And Isabella, who was only a member of the society because Judith sent in her membership letter each year, was to be awarded the society\u2019s highest honor: the Wollstonecraft\u2014a large gold-painted plaster bust of the famous advocate of rights for women.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Judith pointed to a paragraph on page two of Isabella\u2019s scribbled speech. \u201cNow, where you say consuls return three percent, you should perhaps say, \u2018an infirm widow whose husband, a typical subjugating, evil man, had gambled away their savings before drinking himself to\u2014\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t say those things.\u201d Isabella flung up her arms. \u201cYou know I\u2019m a horrid lecturer. I just stand there mute or start babbling nonsense. Please go to the London meeting and accept the award. You had  as much to do with the book as I. And you know Milton gets mad when I go away, and wets my bed out of spite.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIsabella!\u201d Judith gasped. \u201cIt\u2019s the Wollstonecraft! Do you know how many ladies dream of being in your shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella couldn\u2019t think of more than six. \u201cBut\u2026 but\u2026\u201d I\u2019ve almost got one of those subjugating, evil men<\/em> hooked and squirming on my marital line. I can\u2019t leave now.<\/em> To Hades with the gold bust of Mary Wollstonecraft! If I<\/em> don\u2019t know a man soon, I\u2019m going to spontaneously combust. <\/em>\u201cNo buts<\/em>,\u201d her companion said, handing Isabella back her pages. Surrounding her neat, efficient words and tables were arrows pointing to her cousin\u2019s scrawled notes that read \u201cYoung widow must support ailing  child,\u201d   or   \u201cHonorable,   aging  spinster turned away from her home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is wrong. Investing is about numbers, not whether you are abandoned or caring for your dead sister\u2019s husband\u2019s cousin\u2019s eleven blind and crippled orphaned children or such nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow you sound like a man<\/em>.\u201d Judith scrunched her nose again at the terrible M <\/em>word. \u201cThe women of Britain need your help. They have no rights, no vote, no control over their lives. Money is their only freedom.\u201d She placed her palm on Isabella\u2019s cheek. \u201cI know what a brave, kind soul you are. Inside of you remains the grave child who didn\u2019t cry by her mother\u2019s casket and the young woman who waited stoically every day by her dying father\u2019s bedside. Don\u2019t be afraid of your vulnerability and pain. Use it to talk to your sisters in need.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella\u2019s throat turned dry. Judith didn\u2019t know what she was talking about. Emotions  were  wild  and confusing variables. Their unpredictability scared Isabella, making her feel like that helpless child unable to stop her mama from dying. Logic was, well, logical. It had numbers, lines, formulas, and probabilities. If she could teach those ladies anything, it would be that the key to good investments was to discard those useless, confounding emotions that only muddied the issues and look at the cold, hard patterns in the numbers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI knew from the earliest moments of our acquaintance that you would grow into a brilliant leader of women,\u201d Judith continued. \u201cNow you must go to London and accept your calling.\u201d She turned and sat in the chair by the grate. \u201cLet\u2019s rehearse. So chin up, shoulders straight, and begin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella stared down at the pages and began to drone, \u201cThank you, ladies of  the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mary, one of the servants, slipped through the door. Mr. Powers is here! <\/em>\u201cPardon me,\u201d Mary said with a bob of a curtsy. \u201cLord Randall has called.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLord Randall,\u201d Isabella said, disappointed. \u201cWhat is he doing here? Isn\u2019t his parents\u2019 annual house party starting today? Oh bother. Put him in the library.\u201d At least she could use the loathsome viscount as an excuse to escape this oratorical torture. \u201cI\u2019m sure this is about extremely urgent bank business that needs attending to immediately,\u201d she told Judith.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the last session of Parliament, what Lord Randall, the House of Commons\u2019 famed Tory orator, needed  to fortify himself was twelve uninterrupted hours in bed with a lovely lady before heading home to his parents\u2019 annual house party and shackling himself to a powerful Tory daughter, living unhappily, but politically connected, ever after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If things had gone as planned, at this very moment he might have been leisurely arriving on the train after one last good morning tumble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, things hadn\u2019t gone as planned, as they hadn\u2019t for the last six months. Instead of feeling the soft curves of a stunning little ballet dancer or actress, he had felt the bump and rumble of a train as he traveled alone through the night, staring at the blackness beyond the window, his mind swirling with scenarios of political ruin. Now he stood in the library of a woman he was desperate to see. But hell and damnation, he would rather gnaw off his own leg than share twelve uninterrupted hours of frolicking with Isabella. He raked his hands through his hair, feeling little strands come loose. Great<\/em>. On top of everything,  he was losing his hair. Could something else go wrong?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And where is she?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He paced up and down the Aubusson rug adorning her somber, paneled library. Some books lined the shelves, but mostly financial journals in leather boxes labeled by date and volume. A large oak desk was situated between two massive arched windows, its surface clean except for a lamp and inkwell. He tugged at his cravat as if he were choking. How could Isabella live in such oppressive, silent order? It stifled his soul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He strode to one of the windows and watched the line of carriages and flies from the railroad station heading up the hill to his father\u2019s estate. Inside them rode Tories of the \u201cright kind\u201d as his mother had phrased it, along with their daughters, all vying for Randall\u2019s hand in marriage. He leaned his head against the glass. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to save me, Isabella,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m surprised to see you,\u201d he heard that familiar soprano voice say behind him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An odd, warm comfort washed over him at the sound. He turned and found himself gazing at the fashion tragedy that was Isabella. She wore a dull blue dress or robe or something that made a slight indentation around the waist area and concealed everything else from her chin to the floor. Her glasses magnified her gray eyes, and she had styled her wild hair in some new, odd, dangly arrangement. Still, a peace bloomed in his chest at the sight of her frumpy dishevelment, like that nostalgic, grounding feeling of coming home. Well, not his real home, where, despite all British rules to the contrary, his strident mother ruled. As the rest of his world was coming undone, Isabella remained the same old ungainly girl of his memory\u2014his faithful adversary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust  \u2018I\u2019m  surprised  to  see  you\u2019?\u201d  he  repeated in feigned offense. \u201cPerhaps \u2018Good morning, Lord Randall. I\u2019ve missed you terribly. You haunt my dreams. I\u2019m enamored of your dazzling intellectual and manly powers. There is a void in my tiny, black heart that only you can fill.\u2019\u201d His anxiety started to ease as he settled into the thrust, glissade, and parry of their typical conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a beat, she just stared at him. The old girl took everything at face value. Then the realization dawned in her eyes that he was ribbing her. \u201cOh, I was about to say that, if you had waited\u2026for several thousand years,\u201d she retorted. \u201cWhat I meant was that I thought you would be busy at your house party, choosing a wife. At least, that is what the papers claim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs you often say when avoiding something messy and emotionally taxing, \u2018I don\u2019t want to talk about it,\u2019\u201d he quoted her back to herself. \u201cExcept to say it\u2019s a shame that Napoleon could not have enlisted Mama; I believe the war might have turned out differently. The Duke of Halsington sent a late reply, upsetting Mama\u2019s meticulous arrangements. He will be joined by his wife, who requires a room conveniently adjoining the Earl of Worthsam\u2019s, while his grace much prefers comfortable quarters beside Mrs. Kettlemore\u2019s. That little farce resulted in ousting me from my chambers to the Fauna chamber, named for housing my late uncle\u2019s stuffed avian collection. I spent the early hours of the morning being stared at by dead birds. But enough about nightmares of being eaten by African lappet-faced vultures.\u201d He gestured to a chair. \u201cWould you care to sit down? Oh, wait. It\u2019s your home. You were supposed to politely suggest that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWould you care to sit down, Lord Randall?\u201d she said, with mock sweetness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t mind if I do; how thoughtful of you to ask.\u201d He pulled up a chair before her desk. \u201cAh, I have something to tempt you with.\u201d He withdrew some folded pages from his pocket and wagged them before her. \u201cI did retrieve the list of new clients for the London bank as you ordered\u2014pardon, I meant requested <\/em>in your last letter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She snatched up the papers, her face glowing with the same delight he had seen in his mistress\u2019s\u2014ex-mistress\u2019s\u2014when he had given her a ruby necklace. Isabella was an odd bird. Any man who dared to romance the shrew would have to forgo the floral tributes\u2014and not because of her adverse reactions  to certain flowers, grasses, and hay\u2014and arrive with bouquets of financial reports instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She took a seat in her late father\u2019s massive leather chair on the other side of the desk and scanned the lines of patrons. \u201cThis is much better than expected,\u201d she said, a small smile playing on her lips\u2014soft and cushy lips, he noted. Rather kissable, not that he would ever consider kissing her. It was merely an empirical obser- vation: the sky was blue; the sun was yellow; Isabella had the kind of lips that should be ravished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd by the way,\u201d he continued, drawing her attention back to him, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t write to someone, calling him a flaming ignoramus of the grandest magnitude for his vote on the Scottish banking bill, and then ask him to spend the afternoon at the new bank building kissing babies and welcoming new customers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite  the  panicky  economy, when nervous customers were putting runs on  another  bank every day and sinking their savings, the Bank of Lord Hazelwood was rapidly expanding, \u201cdiscovering new markets,\u201d as Isabella would say, taking offices in London and Manchester. He and his father\u2019s profiles and the family\u2019s coat of arms appeared in journals all over England above a caption that read \u201cFor four hundred years the name Hazelwood has inspired trust. Place your monies where you place your trust.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt must have been such a hardship being adored and fawned over,\u201d she mocked. \u201cI\u2019m sure every unmarried lady in London was beating down the bank door.\u201d She waved the documents. \u201cIncredible. There must be five hundred and fifteen names on this list and about three-fifths of them are women.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI seduced the Hades out of those stodgy old ladies and spinsters for their pennies. I still have bruises in the sensitive areas where they pinched me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She paused, then a spark lit in her eyes as she real- ized that he was jesting again. She laughed, a beautiful, silvery sound. Again, he felt that flood of peace. He had an urge to hide in her library, behind that unfashionable skirt of hers and away from his political woes and his parents\u2019 damned house party. But alas, the world marched on. Or marched over <\/em>him, as it seemed these last weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He drummed the great oak desk with his fingers, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He had never let his guard down around her before, always keeping a protective wall of lithe, barbed words between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSpeaking of being pinched, perhaps you read about  my  little  set-to  with  George  Harding  in the parliamentary railroad committee meeting.\u201d He tried to sound casual, even as his heart sped up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLittle!\u201d She raised a single brow, comically screwing her features. \u201cIt\u2019s an epic scandal! The financial columns criticize you for standing in the way of England\u2019s progress, the political columns believe you have committed electoral suicide with the election coming, and the society columns wonder whose powerful Tory daughter you\u2019ll marry to patch up the mess.\u201d He couldn\u2019t miss that little hint of glee under her words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He found that he was too restless to sit after all, and rose to his feet. \u201cThe railroad committee voted Harding\u2019s line down. I merely asked if he was spread too thin. The very words you used at the bank board meeting last winter when we decided against investing in his other lines.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She blinked. \u201cYou actually listened to something   I said?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to. I was just about to drift off when your words hit my ears. Splat! Then they wouldn\u2019t come out, just rolling around in there. Anyway, I thought you might be right  and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop right there!\u201d She held up her palm. \u201cSay those words again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite his worry, his lips cracked into a smirk. \u201cI said I thought <\/em>you might be right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh God.\u201d She flipped open a ledger and reached for her pen. \u201cI must make a note: On this day of our Lord, May 17, 1847, Lord Randall has finally admitted that I was right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, you weren\u2019t,\u201d he barked. \u201cAnd I\u2019m glad my troubles amuse you.\u201d His words came out harsher than he intended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her head jerked back. \u201cI\u2019m\u2026I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pinched the bridge of his nose, cursed under his breath, and crossed to one of the windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She joined him there. Her eyes were tense, conflicted between fear and concern. She reached out, letting her hand hover an inch from his before pulling back. He knew she struggled to connect with others and messy emotions scared her. He remembered the days surrounding her father\u2019s funeral, when she\u2019d tried so hard to hide her sorrow, but he still felt her deep grief ripping her apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll sail through this tiny setback with no trouble,\u201d she whispered, her voice shaky and unsure. \u201cYou\u2019ll win your seat. You lead a charmed life.\u201d He discerned a hint of bitterness under her last words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s been quite difficult lately, for all its charm,\u201d he quipped. In the distance, a fly rambled down the long drive to the Hazelwood estate. \u201cI think Harding is plotting against me,\u201d he confessed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ran his hand over the cleft in his chin, pondering what he could politely repeat about the previous night\u2019s bad turn. He probably shouldn\u2019t mention to Isabella the desire for twelve uninterrupted hours in bed with a beautiful woman, which had made him stick a red rosebud in his lapel and stroll into a gaming hell off St. James\u2019s early last evening. How he had drained a couple of brandies, trying to wash away the anxiety of the last weeks, until he felt the shine of his old, cocky charm return. That he had been about to amble over to the perfect quarry\u2014curly, raven hair; large, luxurious dark eyes\u2014when he heard a sweet, breathy voice say his name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had spun to find Cecelia, his ex-mistress, standing there, ravishing in pale blue. His throat had gone dry. The entire room stopped mid-roll, play,  bet, or conversation and watched her, as though the famed actress were onstage in her own production. Before he could manage a \u201cgood evening\u201d to her, George Harding had stepped forward, flanked by three personal flash men, and placed a possessive hand on her shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Randall didn\u2019t think that Harding stealing his mistress was relevant to Isabella and the business at hand. Nor did he want to admit to Isabella that Harding was damned handsome, in an exotic way. While Randall was tall, the railroad baron towered over him. The man had bronze skin, a muscular build, a flint-like jaw, and a shiny, bald head. His black brows were slashes above eerie, unblinking eyes. So, essentially his version of the story for Isabella\u2019s ears began with, \u201cI went to a club and saw Harding. He asked me to sit down for a drink, something about clearing the bad blood between us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy did you take my railroad, my lord?\u201d Harding had asked, setting his glass of cognac on the table and opening his palms. \u201cI try to be a good Tory. I back your candidates.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harding\u2019s flash men rushed to agree. \u201cThat\u2019s right, Mr. Harding. You\u2019re a Tory\u2019s best supporter,\u201d and \u201cYou\u2019ve always done right by the Tories.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo  you  pay   for   this  personal  audience  of yahoos?\u201d Randall had asked. \u201cOr do these cullies follow you around because they don\u2019t have any bollocks of their own?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harding\u2019s flash men had glanced at each other, as though deciding how to react. The consensus was menacing until Harding broke into deep belly laughter. \u201cOh, you\u2019re a funny, funny man.\u201d The railroad baron leaned over, plucked the rosebud from Randall\u2019s lapel, and twirled it under his nose. \u201cSmells nice. With your title, pretty words, and face, you could have gone far, maybe prime minister. But you supported child labor laws and the repeal of the Corn Laws, instead of building railroads and prosperity. What will become of our golden boy with his empty head and glorious ambitions if he isn\u2019t reelected?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Randall had let a slow smile crawl cross his lips. \u201cCareful there, old chap. One word from me and you might lose another railroad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harding replaced the viscount\u2019s rose. \u201cWith your title, you think I can\u2019t touch you. The world is about to change; you need to choose which side you\u2019re on before the election. Enjoy your house party. I hope you find a lovely, connected wife. I understand you\u2019ve been a bit lonely of late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Randall decided it wasn\u2019t important to tell Isabella how  everyone  in  the  gaming  hell  had  watched  the railroad baron leave with Randall\u2019s beautiful mistress\u2014ex<\/em>-mistress\u2014or the stream of colorful curses he\u2019d released under his breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now he gazed out the window in Isabella\u2019s library. In the distance, at the entrance of his home, he could make out ladies in expansive skirts stepping from the carriages. His mother must be cursing him for not being there to greet  them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you make fun of me,\u201d he said quietly.  \u201cI know you, like my critics, think I\u2019m shallow and overly ambitious and you disagree with my views.\u201d He turned to Isabella, latching his gaze on her face. \u201cBut dammit, I\u2019m a good politician. I\u2019ve all but given my life to this country. I try\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou need something solid to hold against Harding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d The motivation for his visit sounded so conniving, almost dishonorable when echoed back to him. He sank into his chair, rubbed his forehead, and conceded. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella studied him\u2014his strong shoulders slumped, head bowed, stray strands of blond hair falling over his brow. In that moment, he reminded her so much of Papa in those months after her mother had died. Again she reached out, desiring to touch him, comfort him, but she didn\u2019t know how. Upset people made her feel awkward, because she desperately wanted to make their pain go away. Somehow, though, she always said or did the wrong thing, and just made them feel worse. What are you doing? It\u2019s not your father; it\u2019s Randall.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stop feeling sorry for him. This is probably the only adversity <\/em>he has faced in his life, other than losing a cricket match or <\/em>two at Cambridge.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re being too emotional,\u201d she told  him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course you would say that. Tell me your cold and detached solution to my problems.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She crossed to the opposite side of the room, giving herself some space to turn over the problem in her head. Tangible things involving numbers she could handle. After several long seconds, she began to speak. \u201cI would wager he had several backers lined up, telling them the railroad was a sure thing, until you caused him problems. Now he\u2019s in trouble. You see, Harding pays higher dividends than anyone else\u2014five percent\u2014yet there are other people who have just as many or more lines. He\u2019s probably working out of his capital or using his four obscure companies to conceal or manufacture money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He crossed to her and seized her hand. A heated tingle ran up her arm. \u201cHave you considered turning into a man and running for Parliament?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs Judith\u2019s cousin, I have to ask, is that a compliment or an insult?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy, wanting a woman to be a man is the highest praise he can give her,\u201d he said in what she thought was a serious tone, but his eyes twinkled. She wasn\u2019t skilled at reading twinkles, glows, or sparks in people\u2019s eyes, and the viscount\u2019s dazzling orbs especially confused her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAt least it\u2019s better than those usual compliments you insult ladies with.\u201d She extracted her hand,  which still tingled from his touch, and walked away   a few paces, putting a safe distance between them. \u201cYou know, \u2018vision of luscious splendor,\u2019 \u2018ethereal loveliness,\u2019 and my all-time favorite, \u2018dream of transcendent beauty.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I was just about to say you were looking rather transcendent\u2026well, for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She paused and fiddled with her tendrils. \u201cDo you think I\u2019m\u2026j-just a little pretty?\u201d She smacked her forehead. \u201cI can\u2019t believe I asked you that. Just forget I said anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, no, I want to answer.\u201d Randall clasped her shoulders, eliciting another unwanted tingle, this time in the vicinity of her sacred feminine regions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He studied her, lips pursed in a serious line, his eyes scrunched. Something about his gaze heated her skin, turning that bothersome tingle into a  throb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stop that throb, tingle, whatever, this instant, <\/em>she ordered her body. This is Randall<\/em>. Even if he weren\u2019t wildly attracted to ladies who had difficulty understanding any pesky words with three or more syllables, he was still, unfortunately, a ravishingly handsome viscount. And that was an entirely different genus of miscreation that never cross-bred with awkward spinsters possessing a rather unnatural ability with numbers. All that withstanding, she stood still for his perusal of her face\u2026and lower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tingle. Tingle. Throb.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHmmm,\u201d he considered, stroking his chin with  his index finger and thumb. \u201cI would say above vision of luscious splendor but not quite ethereal loveliness. It\u2019s your hair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her cheeks burned. \u201cW-what\u2019s wrong with it?\u201d \u201cWhy is it being attacked by two jellyfish?\u201d \u201cJudith was right!\u201d She dashed to the mirror  over the mantel. \u201cThey\u2019re tentacles. I have to get these off. He\u2019s going to be here any  minute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, never mind.\u201d She began to tug at the coils but the two-dozen pins she used to keep them captive refused to budge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet me help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She felt his fingers digging into her scalp.  \u201cOuch! That\u2019s my real hair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour real hair?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust let go!\u201d she ordered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait. Don\u2019t move. My cuff link is stuck in what may or may not be your real hair!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPardon  me,\u201d  a  servant  said.   \u201cMr.   Powers has arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella whipped around. Pain flared on the left side of her head. In Randall\u2019s hand dangled a black coil and hairpins were scattered on the carpet. He stared at the creation, his bright eyes wide. A snort of laughter erupted from his lips and then he quickly shoved the thing behind his back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mary stood by the door. Beside her, holding a small box wrapped in a loopy, intricate pink bow, was Mr. Anthony Powers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Isabella opened her mouth but all that came out was a squeak. Randall, that ever-smooth devil, performed a sweeping bow, the tendril behind his back hanging down like a tail. \u201cGood morning, Mr.  Powers.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"header2\"<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Order from\u00a0Amazon<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>,\u00a0\u00a0Barnes and Noble<\/a><\/strong>\u00a0,\u00a0Kobo<\/strong>\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0,\u00a0iBooks<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0,\u00a0Google Play<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Order the audiobook from Audible<\/a>, Amazon<\/a>, <\/strong>and more<\/a>.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Wicked Little Secrets Series \u2013 Book II Order from\u00a0Amazon\u00a0,\u00a0\u00a0Barnes and Noble\u00a0,\u00a0Kobo\u00a0\u00a0,\u00a0iBooks\u00a0,\u00a0Google Play Order the audiobook from Audible, Amazon, and more. A smooth-talking rogue and a dowdy financial genius Handsome, silver-tongued politician Lord Randall doesn\u2019t get along with his bank partner, the financially brilliant but hopelessly frumpish Isabella St. Vincent. Ever since she was his childhood nemesis, he\u2019s tried-and failed-to … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Wicked, My Love”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9076,"parent":1165,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3582","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nWicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Wicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Wicked Little Secrets Series \u2013 Book II Order from\u00a0Amazon\u00a0,\u00a0\u00a0Barnes and Noble\u00a0,\u00a0Kobo\u00a0\u00a0,\u00a0iBooks\u00a0,\u00a0Google Play Order the audiobook from Audible, Amazon, and more. A smooth-talking rogue and a dowdy financial genius Handsome, silver-tongued politician Lord Randall doesn\u2019t get along with his bank partner, the financially brilliant but hopelessly frumpish Isabella St. Vincent. Ever since she was his childhood nemesis, he\u2019s tried-and failed-to … Continue reading "Wicked, My Love"\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/SusannaIvesWriter\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2025-02-13T19:27:30+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1080\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1080\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@SusannaIves\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"31 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/\",\"name\":\"Wicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/02\\\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1\",\"datePublished\":\"2015-02-23T00:22:32+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2025-02-13T19:27:30+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/02\\\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/02\\\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1\",\"width\":1080,\"height\":1080},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/wicked-my-love\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"My Books\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/books\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":3,\"name\":\"Wicked, My Love\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/\",\"name\":\"Susanna Ives - My Floating World\",\"description\":\"\u201cTurning our attention to the pleasures of the moon, the snow, and the cherry blossoms.\u201d \u2013 A Tale Of A Floating World, 1665\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/9b822af94994e3fd7bd18271cffb504e\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":[\"Person\",\"Organization\"],\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/9b822af94994e3fd7bd18271cffb504e\",\"name\":\"Susanna Ives\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/04\\\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/04\\\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/04\\\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1\",\"width\":1024,\"height\":1431,\"caption\":\"Susanna Ives\"},\"logo\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/i0.wp.com\\\/susannaives.com\\\/wordpress\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2024\\\/04\\\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1\"},\"description\":\"Romance author, onsignment fashionista, kdrama junkie, jazz type, occasional runner, coffee lover.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/www.susannaives.com\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/SusannaIvesWriter\\\/\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/susannaiveswriter\\\/\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.pinterest.com\\\/susanna_ives\\\/\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/https:\\\/\\\/twitter.com\\\/SusannaIves\"]}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Wicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Wicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World","og_description":"Wicked Little Secrets Series \u2013 Book II Order from\u00a0Amazon\u00a0,\u00a0\u00a0Barnes and Noble\u00a0,\u00a0Kobo\u00a0\u00a0,\u00a0iBooks\u00a0,\u00a0Google Play Order the audiobook from Audible, Amazon, and more. A smooth-talking rogue and a dowdy financial genius Handsome, silver-tongued politician Lord Randall doesn\u2019t get along with his bank partner, the financially brilliant but hopelessly frumpish Isabella St. Vincent. Ever since she was his childhood nemesis, he\u2019s tried-and failed-to … Continue reading \"Wicked, My Love\"","og_url":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/","og_site_name":"Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/SusannaIvesWriter\/","article_modified_time":"2025-02-13T19:27:30+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1080,"height":1080,"url":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_site":"@SusannaIves","twitter_misc":{"Est. reading time":"31 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/","url":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/","name":"Wicked, My Love - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1","datePublished":"2015-02-23T00:22:32+00:00","dateModified":"2025-02-13T19:27:30+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1","contentUrl":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/WickedMyLoveSM.jpg?fit=1080%2C1080&ssl=1","width":1080,"height":1080},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/wicked-my-love\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"My Books","item":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":3,"name":"Wicked, My Love"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/#website","url":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/","name":"Susanna Ives - My Floating World","description":"\u201cTurning our attention to the pleasures of the moon, the snow, and the cherry blossoms.\u201d \u2013 A Tale Of A Floating World, 1665","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/#\/schema\/person\/9b822af94994e3fd7bd18271cffb504e"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":["Person","Organization"],"@id":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/#\/schema\/person\/9b822af94994e3fd7bd18271cffb504e","name":"Susanna Ives","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1","url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1","contentUrl":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1","width":1024,"height":1431,"caption":"Susanna Ives"},"logo":{"@id":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/LeBrun.jpg?fit=1024%2C1431&ssl=1"},"description":"Romance author, onsignment fashionista, kdrama junkie, jazz type, occasional runner, coffee lover.","sameAs":["http:\/\/www.susannaives.com","https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/SusannaIvesWriter\/","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/susannaiveswriter\/","https:\/\/www.pinterest.com\/susanna_ives\/","https:\/\/x.com\/https:\/\/twitter.com\/SusannaIves"]}]}},"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/PPNQi-VM","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3582","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3582"}],"version-history":[{"count":32,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3582\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9093,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3582\/revisions\/9093"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1165"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/9076"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3582"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}