A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (46 page)

As if their words had manifested it, the largest dog Olivia had ever seen lumbered into the room.

“Blue!” Charlotte squealed.

The dog—or perhaps it was really a small horse—gave an answering bark, which exposed far too many sharp teeth for Livvy’s comfort, and then began to gallop toward the little girl. The beast could eat her in a single bite and still be hungry for more.

Olivia lunged forward and grabbed her cousin’s arm, pulling her to safety.

“Let go of me, Livvy! I want to see Blue.” Charlotte shook off Olivia’s grasp and bounded toward the horse-dog.

Livvy cast anxious glances at her aunt and the marquess. “Aren’t you afraid it will attack her?” Her voice rose sharply on the last words as the beast reared up on its hind legs.

At her words, Lord Sheldon’s head jerked up. He quickly scanned the room before his gaze focused on her, or rather on something beyond her. His eyes widened in alarm. “No, Red, no!” he commanded sharply.

“Red? I thought its name was Blue—oomph!”

Something plowed into Olivia from behind, knocking the breath from her as she went sprawling to the ground. The carpet was but a thin barrier against the hard, cold stone that lay beneath. She heard a snarled growl and heavy panting and came to three new certainties.

One, she was about to die.

Two, Blue—and really, what sort of name was Blue?—had a friend.

Three, the other horse-dog-beast was called Red, an equally ridiculous name.

Red and Blue.

Together they made purple, which was the color her body was going to be tomorrow if the pain coursing through her was any indication. Supposing, of course, she didn’t die of mortification first. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping this might turn out to be some dream gone horribly wrong.

“Oh, Livvy, dearest, are you all right?”

Olivia drew some air into her lungs, answering her aunt with a pitiful sound that fell somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

“I think she’s dying,” Charlotte proclaimed, not seeming overly concerned by the prospect. “Bad, Red Dog, bad!”

“No, Charlotte, do not scold Red. He hasn’t been around strangers in a long time and he heard a word that made him so angry he forgot his manners for a moment.”

The marquess’s voice grew increasingly loud and clear as he said this, and suddenly Livvy found herself lifted by a pair of strong arms. Her eyes flew open in surprise. She had never been held by a man other than her father, and that had been when she was a child.

This felt quite different.

She was close enough to see the stubble shadowing his jaw, though it was clear he had been clean-shaven that morning. Close enough to discover his hair wasn’t black, but rather a deep, dark brown, like rich, freshly turned soil. Close enough to breathe in the faint scent of the stables that hinted at an early-morning ride. Close enough to feel the whisper of his breath against her temple when he exhaled.

“This is some welcome you have provided,” Aunt Kate huffed. “It’s a bit late for formal introductions, but I suppose we must observe those proprieties still left to us. Jason, allow me to present my niece, Miss Olivia Weston. Livvy, as you may have surmised, you are being held by my stepson, the Marquess of Sheldon.”

Her aunt’s mention of propriety caused Olivia’s face to heat. She was in the arms of a man to whom she had never been introduced. Livvy pushed at Lord Sheldon’s chest. It was like granite, hard and unyielding, but she could feel the heat of his body through the layers of his clothing. The thought of his skin, of his bare torso, sent a shiver of excitement through her. His eyes narrowed on her flushed face, then dropped to her mouth. She shivered again and a predatory, knowing look came into his eyes.

Oh, my! She had guessed the marquess had a powerful effect on women, but given the weakness stealing over her body and turning her bones to jelly, she had clearly underestimated his potency.

“Miss Weston, I trust you are not seriously injured?”

She felt more than heard the deep rumble of his voice. She nodded automatically, slightly breathless, held captive by the wicked promise in his deep brown eyes. She hoped she hadn’t just agreed to anything untoward, or rather, anything unpleasant. She suspected untoward behavior with the marquess would be very pleasurable indeed…

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S
ARA
L
INDSEY
began writing during her senior year of college. The rest, as they say, is history… or rather, historical romance. Along the way, Sara decided a girl could never surround herself with too many books, so she decided to get a degree in library science. Having read many romances featuring librarians, Sara figures this profession bodes well for someday getting her own happily ever after. In the meantime, she plans to turn as many unsuspecting library patrons as possible into fellow romance addicts.

Sara lives in Los Angeles. If you would like to know more about Sara, her books, her ability to write in third person, and/or her penchant for putting hats on her cats, visit
www.saralindsey.net
.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The biggest thank you has to go to my family. You stood by me, even on the days when I would have run as far away from me as I could get. I’d be lost without your love, your patience, your laughter, and your hugs. I must acknowledge, however, that we’re one man—er, fish— down. Dorio, you took one for the team—swim free in the great blue beyond.

Huge thanks also to my friends, both for allowing me to retreat into the writing cave for long stretches of time and for dragging me out before official hermit status is declared. Lizy Dastin, you overwhelm me every day with your unflagging love and support, and you inspire me to do better and be more. Stacey Agdern, this book wouldn’t exist without our brainstorming sessions and breadsticks. Elyssa Patrick, I know I can count on you, day or night. Jennifer Goodman, you read this book in all its incarnations—from some very exotic locations—and you provided invaluable feedback and friendship throughout this
long
process. Courtney Milan and Tessa Dare, I sure got lucky when they were handing out big sisters in Romancelandia! Marni Bates, you came along when I needed the final push, and you gave me the energy and enthusiasm to keep going.
Merci beaucoup
to Brenna Aubrey who helped with some of the French translations—any mistakes are mine. I am also so grateful for the Vanettes and my other romance friends—you know who you are—who always take the time to listen and offer encouragement and advice.

The romance world has brought me into contact with so many incredible people. These individuals are not only masters of their crafts, but genuinely lovely people who all went above and beyond for me. I am indebted to: Charlotte Herscher, my editor, whose insight into the story and characters helped me to write a stronger book; Martha Trachtenberg, copy editor extraordinaire, who answered questions I didn’t know I had and was marvelously patient with the barrage of emails I sent at odd hours; and Janet Holmes, graphic design goddess, who worked tirelessly to create my perfect cover and surpassed all my expectations.

Finally, thanks to all of the readers who stuck by me through a difficult time. Writing is said to be a lonely business, but I’ve never felt that way with you around.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Rogue for All Seasons
© 2013 by Sara Lindsey.

Cover design by Janet Holmes —
www.seejanetwork.com
.

Excerpt from
Promise Me Tonight
© 2010 by Sara Lindsey.

Excerpt from
Tempting the Marquess
© 2010 by Sara Lindsey.

Graphic embellishments
CC BY
www.vectorian.net
.

Digital Edition 1.0

eISBN: 978-0-9860125-0-1

All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.