Authors: Denise Patrick
“Perhaps she thought so,” Max spoke for the first time. “You were at Waterloo with me. There was so much confusion in the aftermath that many men were thought dead, but turned up alive, sometimes months later.”
He did not contradict Max’s plausible explanation, but Sarah wasn’t convinced.
“I thought your family name was Cantrell. Yet her name is Laughlin.”
He had no answer to that. Laughlin wasn’t even Emma’s maiden name. He had no idea where she’d gotten it.
“I have no explanation for that.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps she didn’t want to be found.”
Lady Royden was too shrewd, he realized, but there were some things she would not learn from him.
A panther. A prince. A promise. Can destiny tie the knot?
The Earl
© 2009 Denise Patrick
Gypsy Legacy, Book 3
During a magical childhood summer, a gypsy woman gave Lady Amanda Cookeson a black panther statuette, promising that the man who came to claim it would also claim her heart. Amanda believes the Earl of Wynton is the prince she has awaited. Yet his reluctance to declare them anything more than friends leaves her wondering if she waited in vain.
If he wasn't the last of his line, Jon Kenton, Earl of Wynton, wouldn’t marry at all. Since leaving his inheritance to the Crown is out of the question, however, he is compelled to search for the statuette his great-grandmother promised him. His quest leaves him empty handed—and secretly relieved. Finding the statuette would mean embracing the gypsy roots he has long denied.
Amanda is perfect countess material: lovely, admirable and—he thinks—statueless. Their passion is unquenchable…until the gypsy magic Jon thought he’d buried nearly destroys his future with Amanda.
Warning: Trying to outrun your destiny is dangerous to your beloved’s health, but a little bit of the right drug goes a long way.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Earl:
Jon threw himself into a corner of his carriage as the door shut behind him. Moments later the conveyance began to move and he let out a huge breath, relaxing into the velvet-covered cushions. If tonight was anything to go by, he’d be a candidate for Bedlam well before the end of what was left of the Season.
He pulled out the list Felicia had given him. Why he’d asked her to provide him with a list, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he thought she’d give him a clue as to who he was looking for on it. Maybe she had and he hadn’t discovered it yet. What she had given him was a variety.
Blondes of every shade, redheads, brunettes and all the colors in between. Blue eyes, grey eyes, brown eyes, black eyes, and even one with eyes that mirrored his own. Tall, short, average, pleasingly plump, slim, svelte, rounded and not so rounded. She must have worked long and hard on the list in order to ensure there was little to do in the way of comparison.
She had been right about one thing, though. He had only spoken directly to two of the women on the list, but their reactions had not been very welcoming. Susanna Marsden openly took him to task over his near-rudeness three years ago, then informed him she would be returning to the country after this Season to marry a neighbor with whom she had a long-standing acquaintance. Thank God she wasn’t who he was looking for. A passing reference to a cat had elicited a visible shiver of distaste.
Lady Catherine Hargrave was an empty-headed piece of fluff. She hadn’t even known what a panther was, and her large grey eyes went completely blank once she was no longer the topic of conversation. She would make someone who was looking for a biddable but simple wife the perfect spouse. Thankfully, not him.
His eye unerringly went to one name on the list.
Amanda.
He’d hoped three years would have dimmed the attraction he felt. Had thought it had—until tonight. Seeing her again brought back all the memories he’d suppressed. Touching her, even momentarily, was enough to cause him to react physically. But the worst had been watching her walk away on another man’s arm, smiling up at him as if she hadn’t a care in the world, when only moments before she’d stood tense and stiff beside him wishing, he was sure, she was anywhere but there.
She had looked at him like that once upon a time. Before he’d kissed her. Before he let his emotions get the best of him. Before he’d destroyed her hopes and dreams. He’d watched them crumble in the aftermath of that kiss and known he was responsible. She had not forgiven him—probably never would.
Perhaps it was for the best. She was the only woman who had ever gotten under his skin. The only one who could provoke a reaction in him. He didn’t need that kind of attachment. Not only did he not want a clingy, dependent woman as a wife, he didn’t want to become emotionally attached to the woman he married, either.
He wondered briefly if Felicia hadn’t put her on the list to torture him. But Felicia hadn’t known about the encounter at the Abbey. Amanda had avoided him once Felicia and Brand were gone, pleading a headache in order to retire early in the evening. Even later, at The Downs for Brand’s father’s funeral, she made excuses not to be in his company. The one time Felicia and Eliza had thrown them together had been distinctly uncomfortable.
He may as well cross her off the list now. Yet somehow, he couldn’t. He’d promised himself this afternoon he would work through whatever list Felicia gave him in an orderly fashion, eliminating candidates only after speaking to them personally, until he found the one he was looking for. He owed Nona, and himself, that much of a search. Not that he intended to fall in love with the woman with the statue—he just wanted to know who she was.
There was no doubt he would eventually marry. He was the last of the Kentons, and possibly would be the last Earl of Wynton if he didn’t marry and beget an heir. There had been a time when that wasn’t true.
The coach slowed and came to a stop. Moments later the door opened and he stepped out and climbed the steps to his home. Sending his butler to bed, he headed for the library and poured himself a large brandy. Holding the balloon-shaped glass in one hand, he idly flipped through the correspondence on his desk as he sipped.
Finding nothing that couldn’t wait until morning, he left the room and headed upstairs. He was tired, but would get little sleep tonight. Amanda had done that to him.
His valet, on his orders, hadn’t waited up for him. Undressing, he shrugged into a dressing gown of black silk and went to the window. Still sipping his brandy, he stared into the darkness and relived his past.
He could admit to himself now that he had fallen for Amanda. She was a breath of fresh air in the stale world of London society, yet the embodiment of all that was English. All that he was not. Young and innocent, her wide blue eyes made promises she had no idea how to keep. He’d wanted to be the one she kept those promises to. But he’d been afraid to acknowledge his attraction.
At the time, he told himself he wasn’t looking for his figurine. He still had to make sure Felicia found the person who could identify her ring. When it became obvious Amanda had him in her sights, fear had kicked in.
Then came the disastrous meeting at the Abbey. The taste and feel of her was permanently imprinted in his memory. Burned into his senses. He’d spent the last three years trying to forget her. Trying to lose himself in other interests and pursuits.
Instead, she haunted him. In Italy he saw her magnificent eyes in the intense blue waters of the Mediterranean. In Greece he saw her in the golden sand of the sun-washed beaches. In France he saw her in the beautiful gowns of the women of the French court. No matter where he went or what he did, something reminded him of her.
Resisting the impulse to ask Felicia directly about her in their correspondence, he had, nevertheless, scanned his sister’s letters avidly for news of her. And even though Felicia never mentioned a marriage, he had been convinced Amanda would be married with a babe in arms by the time he returned.
Only she wasn’t. And she was on his list.
What if she had the statuette? The thought came out of the blue like a bolt of lightning. He froze at the possibility. It couldn’t be. Fate could not be that cruel. But Nona said the woman with the statuette was his destiny. His mate. Could that explain his attraction to her?
He didn’t want his destiny. He only needed a wife to give him sons to carry on his title. Then she could go her way and he could go his. If he married his destiny he suspected that would not be possible.
Despite his scientific and logical bent, he knew better than to underestimate his great-grandmother’s otherworldly intuitiveness. Marrying someone destined to fall in love with him would cause untold misery to that person if he did not reciprocate.
Turning from the window, he put down the now empty glass, shrugged out of his robe and slipped between cool sheets. And wondered what he would do if it turned out Amanda was the person he was looking for.
A passion neither of them wanted…and neither can deny.
Rogue Countess
© 2012 Amy Sandas
Anna Locke was once young, naïve and infatuated with the handsome Jude Sinclair. Until the charismatic “gentleman” showed his true colors by abandoning her on their wedding day.
In the years since, she has transformed herself into a confident, successful woman, independent of her errant husband’s aristocratic family in every way but name. When Jude unexpectedly returns demanding a divorce, she quashes the butterflies he still elicits, and resolves to show him she won’t be so easily cast aside.
Jude has come home to assume the responsibilities left to him upon his father’s death, and to finally end the marriage into which he was tricked. To his surprise, Anna is no longer an awkward, skinny girl with a furtive gaze. She has become a lush, enigmatic vixen with a dark gaze that shields secrets she seems determined to keep.
In their intimate war of wills, the heat of bold desire flares into passion—and casts light on a shared past tangled in lies and blackmail. But until Jude can win her trust and learn the truth, there will be no destroying the obstacles that loom darkly between them…and the love that should have been theirs.
Warning: This title contains a shockingly revealing sapphire gown, highly improper behavior at a masquerade, a tangled web of deception, and perhaps most scandalous of all, a fiery passion that flares to life between a husband and wife who have been estranged since their wedding day.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Rogue Countess:
Anna gasped again as his fingers continued to follow along the top edge of her gown. He stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, yet he only touched her with a light brushing of his fingertips. He wore no gloves, another thing a gentleman would never do. She had noticed with the very first stroke of his fingers that they were not soft and smooth, as they should have been. His touch was slightly callused.
She discovered she liked the feel of a man’s roughened hands on her skin.
He moved around behind her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brushed his fingers across the swollen rise of her breasts where they pushed over the top of her bodice. Her skin tingled with masterfully awakened sensitivity in the wake of his caress. He stalked her with his movements and his gentle touch soothed her at the same time. Her breath caught in her throat and she willed herself to remain in control.
This game wasn’t played through yet. Recalling that he had asked her a question, she sorted through the hazy corners of her mind for the appropriate answer.
“Would it matter if I had a husband?” Her reply was breathless.
“No,” he murmured just before he pressed his warm mouth to the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
Anna had to fist her hands to keep from jumping out of her skin at the sudden sensations wrought on her system. Her nerves hummed and vibrated like the strings of a violin. Her muscles grew heavy and weak as if they had been filled with sand. He pressed another hot kiss to the side of her throat and his palm covered the upper rise of her breast, pressing over the spot where her heart beat fiercely. At the same time, his other hand slid around her waist to pull her back against his chest.
Impressions of sparkling licks of flame erupted throughout her body as she tried to accustom herself to the feel of his mouth on her bare skin and his arm encircling her middle to hold her so intimately against him. His strength was unexpected, as was his unhurried and practiced mode of seduction. She could never have imagined the way her body reacted to the warmth of his hand covering her breast. She tried to remind herself what this elaborate masquerade was all about. But when he trailed a path of kisses across the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, she had to concentrate to keep her knees from giving way.
There was too much sensation, too much heat, too much fluttering reaction in her belly. She was grateful for the stiff binding corset, for surely he would have felt the wild quivering of her body beneath the steadying band of his arm.
“Relax,” he whispered behind her. “Your heart beats like a trapped bird beneath my hand. Do I frighten you?”
“I do not frighten easily,” Anna replied, though she doubted her words were very convincing.