Elizabeth Keysian's Blog, page 17
September 17, 2018
TODAY you can get A PERILOUS PASSION for only 99 cents, AND enter a prize draw!!!
This is fantastic news for the discerning reader, which of course you must be, as you’re visiting this blog.
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Here’s the story-
When your country’s future is at stake, be careful who you fall in love with…
Dorset, 1804
He’s risking his life to save England from invasion.
She’s young, stunning, secretive, and wants to help.
But is the disgraced daughter of a smuggler the best ally for a spy-catcher? Especially when he can barely keep his hands off her…
If you like steamy romance, heroic action and a Happy Ever After ending, you’ll love this book!
“Lots of laughs mingled with an intriguing story.” Petula
“Absolutely brilliant book.” Gwessie
“A book that I didn’t want to end.” Michelle
Grab your copy NOW while the offer lasts.
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I’m offering a mystery Elizabeth Keysian paperback to one lucky US or UK resident!
Just do the quiz below, and let me know your score by commenting on the pinned post on my Facebook page.
You can now order the sequel A POTION FOR PASSION here! Link coming soon!
I’ll be doing the quiz shortly- watch this space!
August 31, 2018
Elizabeth Keysian’s Key to Romance Newsletter August 2018
Woohoo!!!
This collection of brand new novellas is to raise money for the medical charity Planned Parenthood. Every penny raised in 2018 goes to the charity.
If you pre-order now, you only need to pay the bargain price of only
99 cents!!!
So what better way to get to know historical romance authors Eve Pendle, E Elizabeth Watson, Elizabeth Keysian, Evelyn Isaacks and Diana Lloyd???
So, what’s it all about?
Here’s the blurb-
Christmas is a time for rekindling love in five new historical romance novellas.
These couples will be sheltering from blizzards and hiding in wardrobes, reuniting with old flames, stealing mistletoe kisses, and falling in love. Passions are reignited by Snapdragon, a fiery Regency party game, but who will receive the best Christmas present of all—a happy ending? Immerse yourself in the romance, snow-covered landscapes, and blazing hearths of a heart-warming, sensual, Regency Christmas.
This is feel-good reading at its best: happily ever after for you and help for women in need.
Authors: Evelyn Isaacks, Elizabeth Keysian, Diana Lloyd, Eve Pendle, E. Elizabeth Watson
Tropes: second chance, reunion, childhood sweethearts, snowed-in, forced proximity, compromised, scandal, road-trip, makeover, friends-to-lovers.
Heat level: medium (~one love scene per novella)
Length: 28,000 – 40,000 per novella (170,000 total)
Publication: 1 November, self-published
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A Midwinter Wager by Elizabeth Keysian
Her viscount’s been stolen…
When her stepsister tricks her noble beau into a fake engagement, Miss Francesca Heathcote tires of playing nice. She’ll even risk ruin to win him back. A game of dare, a wager and a night in a haunted room offer a chance to set him free, but her conniving stepsister has one more ace up her sleeve…
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Christmas wore Plaid by E. Elizabeth Watson
When Scarlet Fever forced Emerson Lindt to move to England, her only consolation was Brady MacInnes’s promise of writing—letters that never arrived. When she returns to Scotland years later, Brady is adamant that he never betrayed her. And though poverty plagues Scotland and stretches Brady’s pocketbook, their love for each other flares anew. Can a Christmas miracle and the spirit of giving finally grant them a future together after they were denied marriage so long ago?
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A Pineapple in a Pine Tree by Eve Pendle
Five years after breaking Amelia Chilson’s heart, he’s back. Robert Danbury wants the mistletoe kiss Amelia denied him years ago, but nothing more; loving a woman again is an unthinkable risk. Then they’re caught innocently in bed together and Robert has an instant to choose: Amelia’s reputation, their lost love, or his conscience.
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Let it Snow by Diana Lloyd
When he stole her first kiss one Christmas, Tobin Everleigh didn’t realize it would be ten years before he got another. Saffron Thomas is determined to forget the kiss and the boy who called it a folly. When fate brings them back together for a holiday celebration a fiery game of Snapdragon gone wrong and a midnight dash through a snowstorm proves their attraction was no game.
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A Captain for Christmas by Evelyn Isaacks
Georgiana Throckmorton is eager to return to social life after years of isolation in the north of England. When she’s invited to spend Christmas with an old friend she never expects to be reunited with her first love—Alexander Forrester, who ran away to the sea after he made love to her. Passion reignites once again, but past hurts loom over their second chance at love.
Can’t wait to get your copy at this special price? Just click one of the Amazon links below. More links will follow shortly.
Please share, get your friends to share, and get them to get their friends to share. We’d love to see this charity anthology swoop up the rankings!!!
If you have a Goodreads account, it would be great if you could add the book to your Goodreads To Be Read pile!
Thank you, thank you, thank you. We are sooooo excited about this book !
August 28, 2018
A Technicolor Regency Christmas!
I am thrilled to announce I have been part of a wonderful project aimed at raising money for the charity Planned Parenthood. Five historical romance authors (myself, Eve Pendle, E. Elizabeth Watson, Evelyn Isaacks and Diana Lloyd) were given the following brief- write a novella (around 30,000 words in length) set in the Regency era featuring romantic Christmas reunions and the parlour game of “snapdragon”.
And this is what we came up with.
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Christmas is a time for rekindling love in five new historical romance novellas. These couples will be sheltering from blizzards and hiding in wardrobes, reuniting with old flames, stealing mistletoe kisses, and falling in love. Passions are reignited by Snapdragon, a fiery Regency party game, but who will receive the best Christmas present of all—a happy ending? Immerse yourself in the romance, snow-covered landscapes, and blazing hearths of a heart-warming, sensual, Regency Christmas.
All proceeds from the sale of this book will go to Planned Parenthood. The authors have worked hard to raise funds for this praiseworthy charity.
A bit about Planned Parenthood
When you get to my age- yes, I’ll admit it, I’m over 50- that’s when many things start to go wrong in your body. Not only do you have the discomforts and embarrassments of menopause but, as a woman, you also have to worry about cervical and breast cancers, urinary tract infections and various other nasties. For men of my age, testicular and prostate cancer are big fears, so access to affordable health care is essential.
As is looking after all aspects of your reproductive health, which is where the charity Planned Parenthood comes in. It’s not all about birth control, pregnancy care and sexually transmitted diseases. It can help both men and women with just about any issue they might have with their reproductive systems. The clinics don’t just offer advice, but educate and raise awareness of such issues before they even get to the stage of needing medical treatment. Check out their website and you’ll see what I mean- https://www.plannedparenthood.org/
You can help Planned Parenthood by buying this anthology. You can help still more by donating, or you can let them help you, with problems you just don’t want to discuss with anyone else, because they’re simply too personal.
The world needs charities like this one, which are not afraid to tackle awkward problems head-on. In my opinion, they need all the support they can get.
Love Rekindled at Christmas
The book will be available for pre-order soon, and I’ll be able to provide more details shortly on each of the five individual novellas. Watch this space! But here’s a hint of mine…
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A MIDWINTER WAGER by Elizabeth Keysian- coming soon as part of LOVE REKINDLED AT CHRISTMAS.
April 11, 2018
March 12, 2018
A Teaser Excerpt from Vanquishing the Viscount
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James stood by the fireplace, one booted foot resting on the empty fender, his hands clasped behind his back, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Despite the heat of the day, his white neck linen was crisply pristine, his face fresh and smooth, framed by hair recently cut into the fashionable windswept style. With his long legs encased in tight-fitting buckskins and his light blue tailcoat, he looked extremely dashing.
But…remote.
His gaze fastened on her as soon as she entered the room, and he stepped forward to give her a smart bow before brushing a kiss across the back of her hand.
All her bravado melted away.
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2EpgHNF
Paperback: https://amzn.to/2HfrAED
B&N: https://bit.ly/2IynV4i
iBooks: https://apple.co/2EopBeg
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2GGUFaS
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2qajCET
Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2EpKYfn
Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2qcNpwG
Vanquishing the Viscount sample chapters
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Imagine yourself in the moment…
Chapter One
St George’s Day, April, 1821
Old Wessex, England
Her mind buzzing with speculation about the new life she was about to begin, Miss Emma d’Ibert wasn’t prepared for the jolt that shook the wagon in which she was traveling. As she struggled to avoid being hurled onto the road, she heard the scream of a horse, followed by an ominous thump.
Heart racing, she steadied herself and peered through the rain to find out why Carrier Marshman had pulled his team to a halt with such violence.
“Sorry, miss,” Marshman said. “There was a rider tearing through the crossroads. Don’t think he saw us coming and got a bit of a shock.”
Evidently. A glossy-coated thoroughbred was bolting off in the direction of Bath—minus its rider.
Horrified, Emma scrambled down, hampered by her sopping skirts. As Marshman jumped to the ground to calm his team, she squelched toward the fallen rider.
The man lay supine, staring up into the leaden sky with a glazed expression, his beautifully cut riding coat spattered with mud and his arms flung out to either side as if welcoming the rain into his embrace. He groaned and tried fruitlessly to rise.
“Oh, sir, are you all right? Let me help you up.” She reached for his hand, but the instant their fingers touched, a pulse of awareness shot up her arm, and she pulled away.
Was there a thunderstorm brewing now? Or was that powerful charge something else entirely?
His blue-gray eyes flickered toward her. “I doubt you have the strength, girl.”
He’d be surprised. But she detested being called girl and was briefly tempted to leave the fellow lying there and tell Marshman to drive on. She was already late for her arrival at her new home and was bound to get a tongue-lashing from her employer, Mrs. Keane.
That touch had set her nerves on edge. Not on fire. “I’m stronger than I look,” she stated briskly, “and I know all about anatomy and medicine—my brother is studying to be a doctor.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Heaven protect me from females armed with third-hand knowledge. I don’t need mending—just a hand to get me upright.” His accent was crisp, as befitted a member of the Quality, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen him before, despite having moved in such circles when she was younger. How far had he galloped, she wondered? It must be a very important errand to make him ride out in such a downpour.
“Mr. Marshman!” she called. “Can you leave your horses now and help the gentleman?”
“I’ll just put a chock under the wheel, miss, to stop my cider kegs heading off without me.”
Between them, they managed to get the man sitting upright on the grassy verge. Again, an unsettling sensation fizzed through Emma’s veins as she touched the stranger, something that filtered even through the leather of his riding gloves.
“Where are you headed, zur?” drawled Marshman in his thick Gloucestershire accent.
She crouched by the horseman’s feet and noted a worrying pallor in his square-jawed face. When he frowned and said, “For the moment, my exact destination escapes me,” she wasn’t at all surprised.
Concussion. He shouldn’t be allowed to ride any further until he’d recovered.
As Marshman waited patiently for an answer, she watched as the gentleman pushed his bedraggled hair out of his eyes, revealing his face properly. He was fine featured, his complexion fresh and pleasing. His square chin was clean-shaven, and his cravat was tied in a knot of such intricacy, her brother George would be green with envy. The bronze buttons on the man’s caped coat and his Hessian boots had been polished and buffed to within an inch of their lives. Wherever he was bound today, he clearly meant to look his best.
However, not even the most handsome of men could look good after a tumble in the mud on a sodden spring morning.
No more groans escaped him, so she decided it was safe to examine him gently. She prodded at his chest, but her finger just sank into soft layers of wool.
Bother. “I can’t tell if you’ve any ribs broken under such a thick coat,” she told her patient. “We must take it off.”
“I’m none too keen, considering the weather, ma’am,” he responded.
Awkward creature! “To move about with a fractured bone could turn a hairline crack into a full break,” she said decisively. “The coat must go.”
“Oh, very well. Do your worst.” He stuck his arms behind him while she and Marshman divested him of the coat, heavy with rain.
My, but his chest was broad and his shoulders wide. The man was not only handsome of face, but he had a magnificent figure, as well.
Not that she should notice such things, being a female bound for certain spinsterhood.
She squeezed the cuff of his coat, and water trickled down. Even if he recovered quickly from his fall, he could still catch a chill. Where had he come from, and what merited such haste, in such awful weather?
“You’re not planning to rob me, are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Loath as I am to strike anyone, I’m renowned for my right hook.”
She knew she hardly looked like a lady, with her skirts caked in mud and her hair lank with water, but the accusation stung. “We’re hardly likely to own it if we are,” she said stiffly. The temptation to stab at his collarbone and chest rather than probe gently was hard to resist.
As she felt up and down his arms for breaks, she couldn’t help but notice how firm his muscles were. Like those of a man who worked with his hands, not a pampered dandy of the aristocracy. What a pleasing packet of contradictions this fellow was!
“This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen off a horse, you know,” he said. “I’m certain there has never been such a fuss before.”
He should think himself lucky she was even bothering with him. Left to his own devices, Carrier Marshman would probably have captured the man’s horse, bundled and sent him on his way regardless of his physical condition. She bit her lip and continued her examination, refusing to look the man in his blue-gray eyes. She could feel them on her and knew the light in them was not friendly.
“Not at all the done thing, you know, for a young lady to run her hands over a gentleman,” the stranger said in her ear.
Her hands halted for the briefest of moments. Good Lord. Had she been enjoying the feel of him too much, and that was why she’d lingered over her examination?
Refusing to blush—or rise to the bait—she said, “Then thank your stars I’m not a lady, but a servant.”
This was only partly true. She was a lady, descended from a family with roots reaching back to Domesday. But their estates had never recovered from the failed harvests of 1816, known as the “Year without a Summer.” Now, both she and her brother were seeking their fortunes elsewhere, to reduce the expenditure of their elderly parents.
“Fortunes” being a relative concept.
“A servant?” The stranger’s blue-gray eyes mocked her. “What manner of Banbury tale is that?”
“I don’t intend to dispute with you, sir,” she replied, getting to her feet. “It matters not who, or what, I am. Now that I’m sure there’s nothing broken, you may stand up.”
The thickset Marshman hoisted the gentleman up with a fist beneath each armpit. It wasn’t a glamorous elevation, and true vertical was not achieved—when the man attempted to lift his head, he swayed alarmingly and lurched into Emma.
Marshman bore his weight as they tried to maneuver him upright again. Their patient moaned, raising a hand to his head.
“I think he’s concussed,” she told Marshman. “We’ll have to take him up with us—it’s not safe for him to travel alone.”
“But he’s traveling crosswise to us, Miss d’Ibert.”
She winced and placed a finger against her lips. “It’s Hibbert now, remember?” She glanced up at the stranger, but he seemed not to have heard.
Her real name had been left behind, at poor, decaying Tresham Hall, her childhood home. She was now just plain Miss Hibbert, governess. If any of her family’s creditors were to discover she’d gone into service, they’d immediately suspect the d’Iberts couldn’t honor their debts. Then the grasping tradesmen would call in those debts, and the family would be faced with bankruptcy.
They’d also be faced with the prospect of having to sell Tresham Hall.
Which was unthinkable.
“Concussed, miss?”
“Yes. He’s had a blow to his head that’s jarred his brain. You can see how dizzy and confused he is.”
“He is still here, quite in his right mind, and perfectly able to hear you,” the stranger retorted.
Ignoring him, she told Marshman, “We must put him in the cart and take him somewhere he can be looked after.”
“There’s The Four Swans a mile or so back, Miss d’Ib…I mean Miss Hibbert.”
“That will do splendidly. So sorry to delay you, Mr. Marshman, but I don’t think we can leave the fellow to his own devices.”
The carrier eyed the sky, then smiled at her. “I don’t reckon it’s going to get worse anywhen soon,” he observed, “so, we’ll do as you say. Once we’ve delivered the afflicted gentleman we can be on the road again, and the going will be much quicker once we reach the turnpike. I can still set you down ‘afore noon, and be down to Bath and back again afore nightfall. Heave ho, miss!”
After a brief struggle, the puzzled stranger was deposited in the wagon, with his back to the horses and his feet among the cider barrels. But just as Emma was lifting her skirts to clamber up beside him, he struck his forehead with the ball of his hand.
“What an idiot I am! I can’t stop here! I’ve got to get to Ashleaze Court. Not a moment to lose. Now, set me down so I can recover Lawrie.”
Assuming Lawrie to be the man’s horse, she reassured him that Marshman had gone after the animal, intending to tie it behind the wagon. “We’re going to the nearest inn so you can rest up until you’re better,” she explained.
“I’m not going to some blasted inn! I’m on a mission of the utmost importance, and can brook no delay.”
He made as if to leap over the side of the cart, and it was only by dint of throwing her arms around his waist that she was able to stop him. “You mustn’t!”
“Let me go, foolish girl. This is most unseemly.”
They must, indeed, have made a shocking sight—she with her bonnet askew and her skirts knee-deep in mud, and he, coatless and bare-headed with the rain weaving runnels through his hair and down his cheeks. Anyone seeing her with her arms about him would think they were a pair of quarreling lovers, with him threatening to jilt her, and she begging him to stay.
“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere,” she said flatly as Marshman lumbered up with the gentleman’s mount in tow. “Stop making a scene and sit back down.”
“Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do? Do you know who I am? Let go, or you’ll live to regret it!”
“Now, then,” said Marshman, suddenly appearing right beside them. “Do you see this stick? It be a very sturdy one and could like as not knock you out cold. Shall we try it and see?”
“Who are you, anyway?” Emma asked, curious. Did she have any reason to fear him?
The attractive stranger ceased his struggles and collapsed back onto the bench. He gazed at her for a long moment, his face tense with concentration. Then he let out a sigh, looked at her helplessly, and said, “I’ve absolutely no idea.”
Chapter Two coming soon!
March 2, 2018
March 1, 2018
Cover reveal for a new, sweet romance
Emma Hibbert will never trust a good-looking man again-they have nothing to offer but heartbreak and humiliation. So when she rescues a sinfully handsome stranger from an accident, it’s all-out war against the passions he ignites. She can’t afford distractions-she has to hide her past and protect her family. But the stranger Emma saved is Viscount Tidworth, and she soon realises she should have left the stricken aristocrat on the muddy road where she found him. He’s a friend of her new employer, and has the power to ruin everything.
Tidworth blames Emma for wrecking his engagement plans, and threatens to expose her deception. But when she risks her reputation for him, he vows to make amends to Emma and her family. The mistrustful beauty sees his gratitude as meddling, until a moonlight kiss exposes the viscount’s true feelings.
Then a notice appears in the paper, announcing Emma’s engagement to Charles Keane, Tidworth’s best friend…
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The third book in the Wayward in Wessex series will be here very soon! Follow me on Twitter for the Big Announcement!
Please note, this is just the mock-up of the cover, so you are getting a very privileged peek!
January 17, 2018
Fancy something a bit different?
How about an Elizabethan spy romance? Not quite James Bond with a codpiece, but thrilling all the same!
DANCE OF DECEIT is revealing itself little by little on Wattpad. You can read it for free right HERE.
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Mistress Alys is intrigued by the handsome gardener employed by her cousin Kate. Certain there’s more to him than meets the eye, Alys becomes ensnared in a tangle of spying and deceit, until she no longer knows who to trust.
Banished from Queen Elizabeth’s court through the lies of a jealous lady, Sir Christopher Penrose has a lot to prove if he wants his old life back. Can he convince the tragic but alluring Alys of her cousin’s treachery before it’s too late? Or will he be forced to watch the woman he loves sent to the Tower?
November 22, 2017
A Perilous Passion is heading your way!
I’m proud to announce that my first book for Entangled Publishing’s Amara line is due out on December 11th 2017!
Firstly, here’s the gorgeous cover-[image error]
Secondly, here’s the deliciously tempting blurb-
Miss Charlotte Allston is unwittingly ensnared in a sinister web of traitors and spies when she is literally swept off her feet by a handsome stranger on the beach. Fiercely determined to redeem his honor after a humiliating military defeat, the Earl of Beckport is living incognito, hunting a band of smugglers at the center of a French plot to invade England.
The enigmatic Miss Allston instantly becomes a person of interest to the earl…and not just in the smuggling case. Passion flares swift and hot between the two. But when her attempts to help with his secret mission only endanger it, he must question where her loyalty truly lies.
Stunned by the sudden revelation that the woman he is falling for is the daughter of a notorious smuggler, Beckport feels duty-bound to report her. But then Charlotte is captured by the very traitor he’s after, forcing the earl to decide between redemption…and love.
And lastly, if you fancy a sneak peek at this tremendous tale of treachery, intrigue and love, here’s the first chapter-
Chapter One
August 1804, Dorset
Miss Charlotte Allston was just about to wade into the sea to examine a mysterious object when a tremendous force sent her crashing to the ground. Flat on her back in the shallows, she gaped up at the summer sky, winded, struggling helplessly against the weight that smothered her. From the vise-like grip on her arms it had to be a man, an extremely strong one, pinning her down on the sodden sand. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed fervently for someone on the beach to rush to her rescue. But no one did. A cultured voice commanded, “You’re not to do it, d’ye hear? There’s no problem that can’t be solved—life’s too precious to throw it away.” Charlotte tried to focus on the face that now hung mere inches from her own, and failed. Fortunately, he shifted
his weight, making breathing easier, but she still couldn’t muster enough air to scream. Why did no one come to her aid? Was her attacker carrying some fearsome weapon she had yet to see? Suddenly, his words cut through her confusion. Life’s too precious… He thought she was about to drown herself. Great heaven, how could any sane person confuse wading on Chelney Beach with suicide? If she’d been going to do that, it would have happened months ago, after her failed elopement with Justin Jessop. Barely had these thoughts crossed her mind than the man set her back on her feet, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a doll. He swiftly removed his coat and tucked it about her shoulders. This wasn’t what one might expect from an assailant with evil intent. Shading her eyes against the sun, she stared at the man who’d so mistaken her actions. He was wellbuilt, with a deep chest that taxed the buttons on his plain kerseymere waistcoat. Long legs with powerful thighs and calves swept down to his boots, adding a masculine grace to his muscular physique. Was he an out-of-uniform officer, perhaps? He had the stiff, upright bearing of one. Or a bareknuckle boxer? This should account for the muscles. No, a pugilist wouldn’t have retained such dark good looks. There were no dents or lumps in the long, aristocratic nose, no scars to mar the line of the close-shaven square chin. The man was older than her beloved Justin and didn’t look particularly mad, or stupid. He must know she wasn’t about to put an end to herself. So, what, then, was his real motive for toppling her over? He gazed intently into her face. “You’re wet and cold.
Come with me back to the inn. I’ll have them do a hot brick for you and make up a caudle. Then I’ll return you to your family. Or take you to see the local parson. Whoever you feel might be able to help. I’ll carry you if you don’t feel up to the walk.” Somewhat lost in the face of such determined decision making, she summoned anger to her defense. “I can walk perfectly well by myself,” she stated, pushing away the proffered arm. “I don’t want your coat. I’d rather throw it in the sea and trample upon it! And I hate caudles. Tell me, do you make a habit of pushing young ladies over?” His eyes hardened. “Of course not. But I couldn’t let you do such a terrible thing.” “Is it so awful to walk into the sea?” “What you were about to do is against the laws of God and Nature. As I’m sure you’re aware.” He genuinely thought she’d been about to drown herself. “Well, really!” she said on a gasp. “Of all the ridiculous notions!” His broad shoulders sank. “You looked so melancholy. I thought—” “You were watching me?” She wasn’t sure she cared for that. The shoulders stiffened again, and he spread his hands in a gesture of self-defense. She noticed scratches on them, as though made by bramble thorns. Who was this man? And why was he spying on her? As she continued to gaze at him, nonplussed, the breeze flapped at her gown, driving the wet muslin against her legs. She resisted the urge to shiver, for fear of being threatened with a caudle again, and tilted her chin defiantly.
His deep voice had an edge to it as he said, “I see that I may have made a mistake. Only, you looked quite…bereft. Then you just turned and walked into the water. Anyone would have thought the same.” “If I have good reason to look melancholy, that’s my own business.” Wasn’t the fact that Justin was exiled to Scotland a good enough reason? Wasn’t the fact that she’d been confined to the house for the entire spring, more than enough to make her look miserable? “A lady doesn’t normally stroll along the beach unchaperoned,” the stranger informed her, “or ruin her shoes with sea water.” He coughed and looked self-conscious. “When things happen that are out of the ordinary, I feel the need to investigate.” She had been chaperoned. But Aunt Flora was so intent on listening to the quack doctor on the green that Charlotte had been able to escape. “I—” she began, then paused. Why try to justify herself? She should turn around and stalk off, not waste time standing here disputing with the fellow. “You behaved like a lunatic,” she said. “Shall I send for the constable and have you returned to your asylum?” He gave her a crushing look. Then, acknowledging the barb, he smiled. And for no reason she could fathom, she blushed. “If I were mad, I would hardly be likely to own it,” he said. Probably true. She really should stop arguing with him, brush down her sandy skirts, and return to Aunt Flora before she was missed. “You can apologize to me and be on your way,” she suggested.
There was a hiss of breath. “I should prefer you not to talk to me as if I were a child, when I quite clearly am not.” He certainly wasn’t. As he spoke, his powerfully male body became taller, more formidable—which made her feel a bit like a feisty sheep standing up to a wolf. “Look,” he said, grasping her elbow, “why don’t you just tell me why you walked into the sea, and then we can both go home.” She tried to shake him off. “You’re impertinent, sir, and no gentleman. If I tell you, will you stop pestering me?” He nodded, watching her with disturbing concentration. “Very well. I noticed something strange in the water and was wading in to see what it was. Satisfied? You can take your hand off me now.” The fingers tightened. “What did you see? Point it out.” Why was he so interested in such an unimportant thing? Definitely no gentleman, and most certainly addle pated. What a sad waste of a handsome face and striking physique. She relented. “I thought it might be a piece of cloth, trapped by a rock and waving in the billows, or it may just be seaweed. It’s out there.” Still holding her captive, he shaded his eyes and peered out to sea, then suddenly released her, strode into the shallows, and pulled out the object she’d seen. He splashed back toward her, his trousers soaked to the knee, and she stepped forward to see what he’d picked up. “Oh, it’s lace. How lovely! I can think of a hundred uses for it already.” Lace was scarce and expensive due to the war with Napoleon, and she happened to know that most of it was brought in by smugglers, keen to avoid the weighty customs duties.
Yes, she knew rather more about such goings-on than she would ever let on to a stranger. Or even a friend. It looked like Brussels lace—the very best money could buy—yet the stupid fellow was crumpling it in his great fist. “You’ll ruin it!” she exclaimed, reaching for the lace. He held a finger to his lips, then thrust the piece inside his waistcoat and peered around him, intent as a hound on a scent. “We must go from here,” he said. Catching her by the arm again, he jerked her into a running walk and headed back up the beach toward the path that led inland. “Let go of me at once! Where are you taking me?” “Back to the village. It’s not safe for you here on your own. Haven’t you heard the stories about the horseless highwayman?” She had, as had everyone who lived on this part of the Dorset coast. She countered, “But it’s broad daylight, and we’re on the beach, not the highway.” His square chin was determined, the full lips pressed into a stubborn line. This was a man used to being obeyed. Without slackening his pace, he said, “It’s for your own good. How do you know the footpad doesn’t mark his victims by day, then follow them and watch until nightfall, waiting for his moment to strike?” This gave her pause for thought. Then her foot slipped into one of the freshwater rills that laced the beach, and her anger returned. “How do I know you’re not the footpad?” she queried, hauling him to a stop so she could balance on his arm and shake the water out of her shoe. “You could be abducting me even now, planning to have your evil way with me.” Jerking her back into motion he said, “You’ve been
reading too many Gothic novels, by the sound of it. I think they’re ridiculous, responsible for spoiling many a young mind. You should try Swift, or the wonderful studies in human absurdity written by Miss Burney. So much more realistic.” He was striding along so fast, she had to struggle for the breath to respond. “Not only do you manhandle me in a most ungentlemanly manner,” she said, panting, “but now you’re recommending suitable reading material. What kind of man are you?” “The kind that has your best interests at heart, believe me.” “I don’t believe you. Let me go!” She yanked so hard on his arm it pulled him off-balance, and they both fell with a thump into the icy trickle of a rill. Well, at least she was on top now. But that didn’t make it any better. To get off would involve an undignified scramble, and parts of her anatomy would come into even closer contact with parts of his. Oh dear. His body arched beneath her, his stomach muscles flexing against her belly in a thoroughly disturbing fashion. She fought against a peculiar lightheadedness, intensified by the friction of his chest against her breasts. She didn’t realize what was happening until a smile blossomed on his face. “Oh, how dare you laugh! It’s not at all amusing, being tumbled around in the mud with you.” She scrambled off, subjecting him to a quelling look that did no good at all. He regained his feet in an instant, still chuckling. She snapped, “You look ridiculous. Your hair’s plastered
with silt.” “And you look like you’ve been trying to catch a piglet in a muddy sty.” She regarded him coolly and found herself distracted by the way his expression had transformed from a warning frown to a decidedly attractive grin. His brown eyes with their long lashes sparkled at her, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of a vibrant, virile man in the peak of health and humor. Dazzled, she smiled back. He said, “I can’t let you go home looking like that. I’ll fetch some grass to brush the sand off. I can’t do anything about the wetness except wring you out, and that would crumple your skirts, so best not.” She stood self-consciously by a dune while he broke off handfuls of long grass, the sharp edges raising beads of blood on his palms. As he brushed at her skirt, she watched, fascinated, enjoying the play of the muscles across his shoulders, and his quick, sure movements. He was so very different from Justin, yet she could see how some women might be drawn to such a man. “Turn round,” he commanded, straightening. She moved like an automaton, the stroking of his hands lulling her into compliance. If he attempted to brush her body any higher than her waist, she’d have to slap him. Or…would she just give it a moment, to see what it felt like? She swayed at the thought. “Sorry to keep bumping you. Don’t fall over. Are you dizzy?” “A little faint, perhaps.” “Let me steady you.” An arm came around her waist, and her mouth went dry.
Goodness! The man was emanating so much heat that she felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. “Now you’ve dropped your reticule. Here, allow me.” She reclaimed her bag in fingers that trembled. It was imperative she pull herself together. This man wasn’t Justin. She couldn’t possibly feel the same sort of stirrings she’d felt in her former sweetheart’s arms. She licked her lips. “I must go. My family will be wondering where I am. Thank you for the loan of your coat.” “I’ll walk you back.” “No need, I assure you. Good day!” She gathered her reticule in one hand, her skirts in the other, and hastened away in what she hoped was a dignified manner. On reaching the firmer footing of the path, she broke into a trot. She could have gone faster, but she didn’t want the stranger to think she was afraid of him. Her mother would be appalled at this new scrape. So her mother must never know. With any luck, Aunt Flora would be too distrait to notice her disheveled state. Her skirts would dry out quickly in the hot August weather, but she’d need to douse her face in cold water to get rid of the heat in her cheeks. Because every time she thought of her encounter with the man on the beach, her face flushed hot and her heart beat faster. But wait! They had unfinished business. He’d taken the contraband lace, which should, by right, be hers! Well, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself by turning around and marching back to confront him. But at some point—and soon—she would seek him out to reclaim what was hers.
