Tarah Scott's Blog, page 6
December 26, 2012
Facebook Contest Winners
An Improper Wife
Name: Lynn Reynolds Facebook
Lord Keeper
Christie Moore Facebook
My Highland Love
Paloma Beck Facebook
Labyrinth
Patricia Crews
Way to go, ladies!
December 14, 2012
Candy Cane Kink
Yeah, baby, that's what I'm talking about! That's one Christmas gift I don't mind coming 'unwrapped.' I love Christmas and all its surprises. If you like a tall, dark, Native American archaeology professor, then I have just the thing for you. I'm giving away two digital copies of my erotic/romantic suspense Hawk and the Cougar.
She’s sure he’s too young for her-he knows she’s exactly what he needs. A
case of mistaken identity sends them on a run for their lives through
the Arizona desert, where their need for each other is all they have.
Forty-four
year old Liz Williams intends to put a stop to the affair between her
daughter and her daughter’s archaeology professor.
But she’s
unprepared for the six-foot-three, thirty-two year old Native American
man who turns out to be Professor Thornton Hawkins-and the men who try
to kill him.
If you would like to win this book ENTER HERE a Rafflecopter giveaway
No worries if you don't see your comment right away. I'm moderating comments.
GOOD LUCK!
Ready for more great prizes? Hop back to the linky list at Close Encounter with the Night Kind and fill up your Christmas stocking with more goodies!
Happy Holidays!
Christmas Wishes blog hop winner
It was great seeing everyone! Have a very safe and happy holiday.
Tarah
December 6, 2012
Christmas Wishes Blog Hop
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Welcome! We are so happy to announce that 3 great Virtual Tour companies have joined together to bring you this wonderful hop. Book & Trailer Showcase (BTS Virtual Book Tours), Coffee Beans & Love scenes (CBLS Promotions), and Full Moon Bites (FMB Blog Tours) proudly presents the “Christmas Wishes Giveaway Hop.”
We are giving away a GRAND PRIZE of a Nook Glow and a Kindle Touch
3G--both with a book bundle! And winner's choice of a $90 gift certificate from either B&N or Amazon.
Of course, I am giving away a copy of my latest book.
How does a woman explain to her betrothed that she murdered her first husband?
Shipwrecked
in the Scottish Highlands, American heiress Elise Kingston quietly
plans revenge for the deaths of her daughter and the brother who
sacrificed his life to save her.
When Marcus MacGregor, Marquess
of Ashlund, returns to his Highland home to discover a stunning American
woman has been taken in by his clan, his attraction is instant and he
resolves to make her his--no matter what secret she's keeping.
Elise
is shocked by her need for Marcus and, too late, discovers that her
feelings make him a target of her enemy--a man powerful enough to
destroy even a Scottish nobleman.
All you have to to is ENTER the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win.
Good luck!!
Now that you've entered my contest, head on over to BLOG CENTRAL at Book and Trailer Showcase to visit the other 168 blogs participating.
December 2, 2012
My Highland Love Now on Sale $3.99
How does a woman explain to her betrothed that she murdered her first husband?
Shipwrecked
in the Scottish Highlands, American heiress Elise Kingston quietly
plans revenge for the deaths of her daughter and the brother who
sacrificed his life to save her.
When Marcus MacGregor, Marquess
of Ashlund, returns to his Highland home to discover a stunning American
woman has been taken in by his clan, his attraction is instant and he
resolves to make her his--no matter what secret she's keeping.
Elise
is shocked by her need for Marcus and, too late, discovers that her
feelings make him a target of her enemy--a man powerful enough to
destroy even a Scottish nobleman.
Excerpt--
Scottish Highlands
Spring 1826
England lay far behind him, though not far enough. Never far enough. Marcus breathed deep of the crisp spring air. The scents of pine and heather filled his nostrils. Highland air. None sweeter existed. His horse nickered as if in agreement, and Marcus brushed a hand along the chestnut's shoulder.
"It is good to be home," Erin spoke beside him.
Grunts of agreement went up from the six other men riding in the company, and Marcus answered, "Aye," despite the regret of leaving his son in the hands of the Sassenach.
He surveyed the wooded land before him—MacGregor land. Bought with Ashlund gold, held by MacGregor might, and rich with the blood of his ancestors.
"If King George has his way," Erin said, "your father will follow the Duchess of Sutherland's example and lease this land to the English."
Marcus jerked his attention onto the young man. Erin's broad grin reached from ear to ear, nearly touching the edges of his thick mane of dark hair. The lad read him too easily.
"These roads are riddled with enough thieves," Marcus said with a mock scowl. His horse shifted, muscles bunching with the effort of cresting the hill they ascended. "My father is no more likely to give an inch to the English than I am to give up the treasure I have tucked away in these hills."
"What?" Erin turned to his comrades. "I told you he hid Ashlund gold without telling us." Marcus bit back a laugh when the lad looked at him and added, "Lord Phillip still complains highwaymen stole his daughter's dowry while on the way to Edinburgh." He gave Marcus a comical look that said you know nothing of that, do you?
"Lord Allerton broke the engagement after highwaymen stole the dowry," put in another of the men. "Said Lord Phillip meant to cheat him."
"Lord Allerton is likely the thief," Marcus said. "The gold was the better part of the bargain."
"Lord Phillip's daughter is an attractive sort," Erin mused. "Much like bread pudding. Sturdy, with just the right jiggle."
A round of guffaws went up and one aging warrior cuffed Erin across the back of his neck. They gained the hill and Marcus's laughter died at sight of the figure hurrying across the open field below. He gave an abrupt signal for silence. The men obeyed and only the chirping of spring birds filled the air.
* * * *
"Tavis," Elise snapped, finally within hearing range of the boy and his sister, "this time you've gone too far and have endangered your sister by leaving the castle."
His attention remained fixed on the thickening woods at the bottom of the hill and her frustration gave way to concern. They were only minutes from the village—a bare half an hour from the keep and safely on MacGregor land—but the boy had intended to go farther—much farther. He had just turned fourteen, old enough to carry out the resolve to find the men who had murdered his father, and too young to understand the danger.
Bonnie tugged on her cloak and Elise looked down at her. The little girl grinned and pointed to the wildflowers surrounding them. Elise smiled, then shoved back the hood of her cloak. Bonnie squatted to pick the flowers. Elise's heart wrenched. If only their father still lived. He would teach Tavis a lesson. Of course, if Shamus still lived, Tavis wouldn't be hunting for murderers.
Those men were guilty of killing an innocent, yet no effort had been made to bring them to justice. The disquiet that always hovered close to the surface caused a nervous tremor to ripple through her stomach. While Shamus's murderers would likely never go before a judge, if Price found her, his version of justice would be in the form of a noose around her neck for the crime of defending herself against a man who had tried to kill her—twice.
Any doubts about her stepfather's part in Amelia's death had been dispelled a month after arriving at Brahan Seer when she read a recent edition of the London Sunday Times brought by relatives for Michael MacGregor. She found no mention of the Amelia's sinking. Instead, a ten thousand pound reward for information leading to the whereabouts of her body was printed in the announcements section.
Reward? Bounty is what it was.
The advertisement gave the appearance that Price was living up to his obligations as President of Landen Shipping. But she knew he intended she reach Boston dead—and reach Boston she would, for without her body, he would have to wait five years before taking control of her fifty-one percent of Landen Shipping. She intended to slip the noose over his head first.
Elise caught sight of her trembling fingers, and her stomach heaved with the memory of Amelia's body sliding noiselessly from the ship into the ocean. She choked back despair. If she had suspected that Robert had been poisoning her daughter even a few months earlier—
"Flowers!"
Elise jerked at Bonnie's squeal. The girl stood with a handful of flowers extended toward her. Elise brushed her fingers across the white petals of the stitchwort and the lavender butterwort. She was a fool to involve herself with the people here, but when Shamus was murdered she been unable to remain withdrawn.
"Riders," Tavis said.
Elise tensed. "Where?"
"There." Tavis pointed into the trees.
She leaned forward and traced the line of his arm with her gaze. A horse's rump slipped out of sight into the denser forest. Goose bumps raced across her arms.
Elise straightened and yanked Bonnie into her arms "It will be dark soon—" Tavis faced her and she stopped short when his gaze focused on something behind her.
Elise looked over her shoulder. Half a dozen riders emerged from the forest across the meadow. She started. Good Lord, what had possessed her to leave Brahan Seer without a pistol? She was as big a fool as Tavis and without the excuse of youth. She slid Bonnie to the ground as the warriors approached. They halted fifteen feet away. Elise edged Bonnie behind her when one of the men urged his horse closer. Her pulse jumped. Was it possible to become accustomed to the size of these Highland men?
She flushed at the spectacle of his open shirt but couldn't stop her gaze from sliding along the velvety dark hair that trailed downward and tapered off behind a white lawn shirt negligently tucked into his kilt. The large sword strapped to his hip broke the fascination.
How many had perished at the point of that weapon?
The hard muscles of his chest and arms gave evidence—many.
The man directed a clipped sentence in Gaelic to Tavis. The boy started past her, but she caught his arm. The men wore the red and green plaide of her benefactors the MacGregors, but were strangers.
"What do you want?" She cursed the curt demand that had bypassed good sense in favor of a willing tongue.
Except for a flicker of surprise across the man's face, he sat unmoving.
Elise winced inwardly, remembering her American accent, but said in a clear voice, "I asked what you want."
Leather groaned when he leaned forward on his saddle. He shifted the reins to the hand resting in casual indolence on his leg and replied in English, "I asked the boy why he is unarmed outside the castle with two females."
Caught off guard by the deep vibrancy of his soft burr, her heart skipped a beat. "We don't need weapons on MacGregor land." She kept her tone unhurried.
"The MacGregor's reach extends as far as the solitude of this glen?" he asked.
"We are only fifteen minutes from the village," she said. "But his reach is well beyond this place."
"He is great, indeed," the warrior said.
"You know him?"
"I do."
She lifted Bonnie. "Then you know he would wreak vengeance on any who dared harm his own."
"Aye," the man answered. "The MacGregor would hunt them down like dogs. Only," he paused, "how would he know who to hunt?"
She gave him a disgusted look. "I tracked these children. You think he cannot track you?"
"A fine point," he agreed.
"Good." She took a step forward. "Now, we will be getting home."
"Aye, you should be getting home." He urged his horse to intercept. Elise set Bonnie down, shoving her in Tavis's direction. "And," the man went on, "we will take you." The warriors closed in around them. "The lad will ride with Erin. Give the little one to Kyle, and you," his eyes came back hard on Elise, "will ride with me."
The heat in his gaze sent a flush through her, but her ire piqued. "We do not accept favors from strangers."
His gaze unexpectedly deepened.
She stilled. What the devil? Was that amusement on his face?
"We are not strangers," he said. There was no mistaking the laughter in his eyes now. "Are we, Tavis?" His gaze shifted to the boy.
"Nay," he replied with a shy smile. "No' strangers at all, laird."
"You know this man?" Elise asked.
"He is the laird's son."
"Marcus!" Bonnie cried, peeking from behind Elise's skirts.
Elise looked at him. Marcus? This was the son Cameron had spoken of with such affection these past months? It suddenly seemed comical that she had doubted Cameron's stories of his son's exploits on the battlefield. She had believed the aging chief's stories were exaggerations, but the giant of a man before her was clearly capable of every feat with which his father had credited him.
Prodded by the revelation, she discerned the resemblance between father and son. Though grey sprinkled Cameron's hair, the two shared the same unruly, dark hair, the same build… and… "You have his eyes," she said.
He chuckled.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She pulled Bonnie into her arms. "You might have said who you were." She gave him an assessing look. "Only that wouldn't have been half as much fun. Who will take the child?"
His gaze fixed on the hand she had wrapped around Bonnie and the small burn scar that remained as a testament of her folly. His attention broke when a voice from behind her said in a thick brogue, "'Tis me ye be looking for, lass." She turned to a weathered warrior who urged his mount forward.
Elise handed Bonnie up to him. Stepping back, she bumped into the large body of a horse. Before she could move, an arm encircled her from behind, pulling her upward across hard thighs. A tremor shot through her. She hadn't been this close to a man's body since—since those first months of her seven-year marriage.
Panic seized her in a quick, hard rush. The trees blurred as her mind plunged backward in time to the touch of the man who had promised till death do them part. Her husband's gentle hand on their wedding night splintered into his violent grip the night he'd tried to murder her—the movement of thighs beneath her buttocks broke the trance as Marcus MacGregor spurred his horse into motion. His arms tightened around her and she held her breath, praying he couldn't hear her thudding heart.
The ambling movement of the bulky horse lifted her from Marcus's lap. She clutched at his shirt. Her knuckles brushed his bare chest and she jerked back as if singed by hot coals. Her body lifted again with the horse's next step and she instinctively threw her arms around Marcus's forearm. His hold tightened as rich laughter rumbled through his chest.
"Do not worry, lass. Upon pain of death, I swear, you will not slip from my arms until your feet touch down at Brahan Seer."
Elise grimaced, then straightened in an effort to shift from the sword hilt digging into her back.
"What's wrong?" He leaned her back in his arms and gazed down at her.
She stared. Robert had never looked so—she sat upright. "I've simply never ridden a horse in this manner."
"There are many ways to ride a horse, lass," he said softly.
Elise snapped her gaze to his face, then jerked back when her lips nearly brushed his. She felt herself slip and clutched at his free arm even as the arm around her crushed her closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest where his shirt lay open. Heat penetrated her bodice, hardening her nipples. A surprising warmth sparked between her legs. She caught sight of his smile an instant before she dropped her gaze.
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November 8, 2012
Autumn's Harvest
I love Autumn. Leaves change colors, the air is crisp, and the rhythm of nature tells us to settle in for the upcoming cooler weather. This is when I starting thinking about curling up with a comforter in front of a fire with--of course--a cup of hot chocolate. (Any excuse for chocolate is a good one, as far as I'm concerned.) The days are shorter this time of year, and once the sun disappears over the horizon I start thinking about winding down with a good book...and a sexy hero. Speaking of sexy heroes...I'm giving away one digital copy of my erotic Scottish Historical An Improper Wife. This will warm you up--I promise!
A proper young lady should never attend a Masque...Aphrodite is no lady.
Betrothal
to the callous Lord Blackhall painted a future devoid of love. Upon his
death, Lady Caroline Wilmont is promised to the younger brother.
Caroline refuses to allow her first taste of desire to be at the hands
of a man who would rather have any woman but her. This, her last night
of freedom, is to be a memory of lust that she can take with her
throughout her loveless marriage. As Aphrodite, Caroline attends a
masque determined to find a man to initiate her into the intimacies of
erotic love.
Taran Robertson, Viscount of Blackhall, makes no
secret that he despises his obligation to marry the Sassenach heiress
chosen for him by his father. As a last foray before his wedding, he
attends a masque. However, the spirited vixen he meets and seduces has
secrets...secrets that just may reveal he’s to have an improper wife.
ENTER HERE for my Rafflecopter giveaway
Now, aside from the other great blogs you can visit for more fabulous prizes, we have THREE grand
prizes. You as a reader can go to EACH blog and comment with your email
address and be entered to win. Yep, you can enter over 200 times!
Now what are those prizes?
1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
2nd Grand Prize: A $50 Amazon or B&N Gift Card
3rd
Grand Prize: A Swag Pack that contains 10+ paperbacks, ebooks, 50+
bookmarks, cover flats, magnets, pens, coffee cozies, and more!
http://carrieannbloghops.blogspot.com/
GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!
November 4, 2012
Haunted Garden Blog Hop
Congratulations to Adila and Kelsey. Ladies, you've each won a digital copy of the hot little menage Double Bang! This one is double the fun.
It was so nice seeing my friends, and meeting new folks during this hop. Hope to see everyone again soon.
Tarah
After Dark Blog Hop
Congratulations to Christina Arterburn Livingston and Patricia Crews! You ladies are the winners of a digital copy of Labyrinth. This one is steammmy!
Thanks for visiting with me, everyone. Catch you next time around.
Tarah
November 2, 2012
BTS November Magazine
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[image error]Open publication - Free publishing - More authors
October 27, 2012
An Improper Wife Chapter One
Chapter OneNewcastle, England, December 1798
Despite the crush of people that pressed into the intimate corner of the crowded
ballroom, the din faded into the background when Lady Caroline Wilmont allowed the
hooded blue domino to draw his cape close around them. She leant against the stone pillar
and he rested a muscular arm above her head.
His costume wasn’t original—few at such masques were—but the piercing blue eyes
staring back at her from behind the mask offered the hope she could forget the prison that
awaited her tomorrow.
Guilt niggled. If her presence at the soiree was discovered…she commanded her nerves
into submission. Responsibility be damned. She would leave before the assigned hour of two
a.m. when the masks were to be removed. No one would know the future Viscountess of
Blackhall had attended a masque. Tonight, she was simply one of the many masked women
bent on seduction—and being seduced.
Caroline ducked her head, allowing the locks of her long blonde wig to fall to the sides
of her face. A crescendo of violins rose from the orchestra. The beat of her heart matched the
trilling vibrato. She turned her face just enough to be able to study her admirer through her
lashes. His gaze boldly met hers, then dropped to the draped bodice of her Aphrodite
costume. Warmth spread through her limbs and brought a flush to her cheeks.
The rich purple of the long sash around her neck contrasted with the stark white of the
plunging décolletage designed to accentuate full breasts, bared to a hint of nipple pink. Her
pulse skipped a beat. If she leant forward a hair’s breadth…
The crowd pressed closer, up the two steps that separated them from the dance floor.
The masked gentleman’s leg brushed her thigh, revealed by the slit in the costume’s long
skirt. She could scarcely believe her luck. A second move, and one so bold this early in the
evening. The hour was just before midnight and the more prominent guests had yet to
appear. If she had captured his imagination to the extent he would forsake other possibilities,
this last night of freedom might cost less than the allotted two hours.
“Your beauty makes me forget my manners,” the domino murmured.
She gave a low laugh. “I daresay your manners are impeccable—outside of this room.”
His gaze locked onto her mouth. “Do you prefer impeccable manners?”
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes darkened, and her heart skittered
as he leant into her. Caroline slid around the pillar towards the wall, intending to draw him
into a more intimate semblance of privacy. Her hip collided with rounded buttocks. She
twisted to the right. A masked joker grinned at her over the head of the lady she had
bumped into. He reached out with the hand that was wrapped around the woman’s waist
and nipped at the skin just below Caroline’s breast.
She turned back around and got a mouthful of her domino’s hard chest. She snapped
her head up, and blue eyes stared down at her in a blaze of desire. She froze as his mouth
descended. Soft as velvet, his lips slid languidly over hers. He flicked his tongue against her
lips and she breathed in the heavy aroma of cigars, and recognised the pungent taste of
brandy. Her uncle smelt of brandy and cigars.
Uncle? She tensed, eyes locked on the domino’s shadowed features. His seductive kiss
played on her lips. An unpleasant tremor fluttered in her stomach. Damn her uncle. She
closed her eyes tight and focused on the warmth of the domino’s lips. A low groan rumbled
from him. Strong, solid arms banded around her and pulled her closer. Caroline
concentrated on the feel of her breasts flattened against the hard muscles of his chest. Why
didn’t her heart pound, her breath catch, her body yearn for his touch?
Fear surfaced. No. She refused to believe what her betrothed, John, had said only two
months before his death. Despite the fact he had come from yet another night of drinking,
gaming, and carousing, the accusation that she was a passionless husk had cut deep. The
cloying scent of perfume and tobacco that clung to him had reminded her that he felt no
regret about going from one woman’s bed to another. But doubt lingered.
She forced back the memory. It wasn’t lack of desire that kept her from enjoying the
domino, but the dread of discovery. Once they were alone, she would discover the ecstasy of
his lust. Her heart beat faster with the memory of overhearing John speak of how a woman
had driven him mad by sucking and licking his cock. She planned to drive this man wild and
discover the part of her that ached for a man’s touch.
The domino deepened the kiss and Caroline envisioned him braced over her, hands on
her bared breasts, his hard length rubbing against her pussy. Darker features and black hair
unexpectedly replaced the fair-haired domino in her mind. A flicker of pleasure tightened
her nipples and the desire streaked to the heated petals of her pussy.
Caroline clutched the domino’s shirt. His grip tightened as his tongue curled around
hers, tasting, stroking. She slipped her hands between their bodies and pressed against his
sternum. The firm, contoured muscles of his chest quivered beneath her fingertips. She liked
this, would gladly take him, and yet, she had expected something more.
He drew back and trailed fingers over the thin material of her costume, grazing the
edge of her breast. From the corner of her eye, Caroline caught sight of lush, blonde hair
piled atop the head of a woman wearing a Marie Antoinette costume. She froze. Only one
woman between Newcastle and London had such luscious hair that she needed no wig to
play Marie Antoinette. Lady Margaret.
What was Margaret doing here? Earlier that afternoon, when her mama had asked her
if she planned to attend the ball, she had claimed to have a headache. She’d told Caroline
privately that she found the ton even more tiresome in Newcastle than she did in London.
Caroline would never have dared attend the masque in London, where she was sure to be
recognised. But her uncle had insisted at nearly the last minute that they oblige her future
father-in-law and hold the wedding in the chapel on his estate. So here in Newcastle, she had
little fear of getting caught at the party. Her heart sank. Now Margaret had destroyed her last
chance for seduction. There was nothing left but to flee.
The blue domino leant forward and whispered in her ear, “Aphrodite.”
His breath, warm and eager, brushed the tiny hairs on her skin. A shiver raced along
her spine and made her scalp tingle. Yes. This she craved. Damn. Too late, all too late.
The domino withdrew enough to be able to look upon her face. “Perhaps we should
find somewhere more private?”
If he had suggested that but five minutes ago! She would throttle Margaret. Caroline
lifted a corner of her mouth in a half-smile. “Pray, sir, fetch me a punch. This room is a
veritable sweatbox.” She ran fingers over the swell of her breasts, wiping a trail in the sheen
of perspiration beaded across her skin.
His gaze followed the action, eyes darkening before he returned his gaze to her face and
gave a slight bow. “At your service.”
He turned and took the two steps down to the dance floor, then began shouldering his
way through the crowd towards the buffet table at the opposite side of the room. Caroline
hesitated, the lost hope of feeling that muscled chest beneath her palms and his hard thighs
heavy against her, suddenly bitter. She had planned intimate kisses, clandestine caresses, and
the memory of a man’s hard cock between her fingers. She planned to give all, save proof of
her innocence. On the morrow, she would do her duty as the promised virgin. Now nothing.
If Margaret caught her at the ball, there would be hell to pay.
Caroline swallowed the panic bubbling in her throat, and turned to the left, intending to
skirt the wall to the French doors that lay a few feet away. She met the joker’s gaze. He
grinned. The woman with him faced Caroline and gave her a sultry look. Caroline turned to
the right and glanced in the direction she’d seen Margaret. Where had she gone? Nerves
sizzled with apprehension and tension in her neck promised a headache in the morning.
She looked back in the direction of her companion. He halted to the left of the masked
dancers and turned to stare at her. A small smile curved one side of his mouth. Her stomach
fluttered, then soured. The ball was the event of the season. He would be another ten
minutes making his way through the crowd. By then, she would be on her way home.
Caroline turned and hugged close to the column as she headed for the balcony doors. She
slipped past couples in intimate conversation. Under her breath, she cursed again, and
scanned the crowd as she sidestepped a woman dressed as Autumn. Once outside, she
would make her way through the gardens to the servants’ entrance, then to the front of the
mansion where a hackney waited.
She was out the door, across the stone balcony and down the last of the four steps when
behind her a voice said, “Have you gone mad?”
Caroline froze, skirt held above her ankles. It had been too easy. She released the dress
and slowly turned. Lady Margaret stood at the top of the stairs, the ridiculous pannier she
wore spanning half the width of the steps. Caroline started to speak, then paused when
another masked domino and sultana emerged from the ballroom. He pulled the sultana
closer and she responded with a giggle. They rushed down the stairs, headed for the
seclusion of the gardens. Longing stabbed at Caroline. She was a fool to have thought she
belonged here.
Margaret’s gaze followed their retreat, then shifted back to Caroline. “Looking for a bit
of privacy?”
Caroline ignored the cold—she had left her wrap inside and had not intended on
retrieving it—and leant against the stone pillar. “I am alone, as you can see.”
“Yes, I can see you are…now.” Margaret took two of the steps, stopping so that she
towered over Caroline. “Perhaps you have a lover waiting in the garden?”
Caroline sighed. “How did you know it was me?”
Margaret snorted. “We have known one another since the nursery. I would know you
in any disguise. Just as you recognised me—and do not deny that is the reason you fled.” She
descended to the fourth step so that they were eye level with each other and said in a voice
barely audible over the music filtering from the ballroom, “You are to marry on the morrow.
What in God’s name are you thinking?”
“As you say, tomorrow I marry. I go from grieving betrothed to wife.” Unwanted wife,
she mentally corrected. So much so that her future husband’s business had taken precedence
over their marriage and he refused to come to England until the very day of their wedding.
“Surely, I can have this,” she added, “my last night of freedom.”
Margaret arched a brow. “Do not expect the privileges of rank then flout the
responsibilities.”
Caroline snorted. “Responsibilities be damned. I have worn black a full year and will
wed the Viscount tomorrow, as my rank dictates. Tonight, I am not Lady Caroline, heiress to
twenty thousand pounds a year, soon to be Viscountess. Tonight, I am Aphrodite, the
goddess of love and beauty, who indulges her whims as she wills.”
A couple appeared from the garden shadows beyond the light cast by the open balcony
doors. The dark wig on the woman dressed as Curiosity was askew and leaves clung to the
cape on the gentleman dressed as Death.
Margaret frowned and waited until they’d ascended the stairs and entered the ballroom
before saying, “If word of your escapade reaches his lordship, you may well not become
Viscountess.”
“By God, I shall rip off my mask now!” Caroline declared.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Pray, forego the dramatics.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Where is your sense of adventure? What is this spell that
has turned you into a prig?”
“Good sense and age,” Margaret replied. “The same spell you should have fallen under
long ago.”
Caroline gave an unladylike snort. “A year of mourning has soured me. As if being
betrothed to that indifferent man hadn’t been enough,” she added under her breath.
Margaret’s face softened. “Perhaps his brother will be better.”
Better? She’d heard rumours. Lord Taran Robertson demanded obedience. As apathetic
as John had been, Taran was forceful in his cravings—his sexual cravings. She’d even heard
he’d used a paddle on a mistress when she’d been disobedient. A thrill streaked along her
spine. Controlling and dominant, yet virile and passionate. She remembered the new
Viscount of Blackhall. Eyes the colour of copper laced with amber strands had darkened to a
rich brown when he’d met her gaze in the instant before bending over her hand. She’d been
sixteen, too young to recognise the tremor of awareness in her stomach as desire.
When John died, Taran had become Viscount of Blackhall. A prickle skimmed her arms.
Odd, that the same twist of fate that had taken her father had repeated itself and saved her
from John. Both had died in riding accidents. Despite her lack of feeling for John, his death
had come as a shock. Finding herself betrothed to the brother ere the body was cold had been
an even greater shock. She’d had her uncle to thank for that. No. Her father. Had he not left
his brother-in-law in charge of her fortune, her future might have looked very different.
Loneliness closed around her heart. She missed her father. He had been a good man,
who couldn’t accept that his wife’s brother, privateer Phillip Etherton, was the infamous
pirate Peiter Everston. The fortune Phillip Etherton had amassed came as a result of blurred
lines between protecting the seas for the Crown, and murder. But wealth wasn’t enough.
Uncle wanted to join the elite circles of society, and her marriage to the Viscount of Blackhall
was the price.
“John cared nothing for me,” she said, more to herself than Margaret. “He was cold and
unfeeling.” As would be his brother. A lifetime of cold nights and dreary, lonely days
stretched out before her.
Margaret placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have heard otherwise.”
“From his mistresses, no doubt.”
“A man may have as many mistresses as he likes,” Margaret replied. “It is no shame to
the wife.”
“I shall provide the required heir,” Caroline replied with an aplomb she was far from
feeling. “I am going.” She turned and continued down the stairs.
“Car—Aphrodite,” Margaret called, but Caroline didn’t turn back.
