by Kelly Bowen
Her hands slid inside his coat to loop around his waist. “When you talk like that, Mr. Carruthers, all legal and businesslike, I am only too happy to finalize the arrangement.”
He cupped her face with his palms. “As am I. May I suggest you kiss me?” he whispered.
And Kitty, as ever, followed his advice to the letter.
Dear Reader
Dear reader,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read Maeve and Henry’s story – I hope you enjoyed it. In this tale, my heroine came as a bit of surprise to my hero, and I confess, I do like to keep my heroes on their toes! If you’re new to my books and like a heroine who has more than a few unexpected secrets up her sleeve, I think you’ll enjoy the women in my Season for Scandal series, starting with Duke of My Heart. The ordering links are here.
I’ve also just finished the third installment of my Devils of Dover series. A Rogue By Night is available this May, and introduces Katherine Wright, a surgeon and former smuggler. She’s back in England to help her family escape to a new life but the best laid plans always seem to go awry. Katherine finds herself working with Harland Hayward, a man with his own secrets, even when her instincts tell her that becoming his ally may be a risk to her heart – as well as her life. A sneak peek at their story is in the excerpt below and the ordering links are here.
If you’d like to keep up with my releases, you can sign up for my newsletter, or follow me on Bookbub. All of my books are listed on my website.
Happy reading!
* * *
Excerpt from A Rogue By Night
“I can’t quite figure out how it was that you knew Matthew was injured, my lord.” Miss Wright’s words broke the silence with no warning. She didn’t look up from her patient but her unabated suspicion hung heavy in the space between them.
“Ran in to Hervey Baker on the road,” Harland replied easily. He’d thought she’d have asked that question sooner. His answer was, in fact, not a lie. Hervey Baker had been one of the men who had helped carry Matthew here. And it was always better to tell a version of the truth whenever possible.
“On the road?” The words were skeptical. “Where you just happened to be riding? In the dead of night? When a storm is threatening?”
“Kate,” Matthew admonished, sounding annoyed.
“It’s all right. Your sister asks reasonable questions.”
Matthew scoffed. “It’s rude, not reasonable.”
“And I don’t really care, Matt.” Miss Wright reached for her scissor. “Why were you really out tonight, my lord?”
“Croup,” Harland said. It was his standard answer. A doctor, after all, got called out for all manners of ailments in all manners of weather. No one ever wanted further details about common croup or common children or a combination of those two things.
“Who?”
No one except Katherine Wright, it seemed. “Who what?” he stalled.
“Who had croup?” She snipped the end of her thread and put her needle aside.
“The tinker’s daughter.” There had, of course, been no tinker, but he needed a transient patient whose existence could not be proven or disproven. “They were camped on the side of town.”
“I see.” She bent over Matthew’s back, critically examining her stitches.
Harland had no idea if she believed him or not.
“Are you done with your torture, Kate?” Matthew sounded exhausted.
“Yes. How does it feel?”
“Like my bloody back is on fire.” He groaned and gingerly pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the table. “Give me the damn brandy, Hayward.” He held out his hand.
Miss Wright made a sound of disapproval.
Harland retrieved the bottle and passed it to Matthew.
“You need to rest,” Harland told him as he watched Matthew take a healthy swig. “No riding, no swimming, no strenuous physical work for at least a week. Probably two.” Outside, a distant thunder rumbled.
Matthew rolled his eyes, though the effect was marred by a grimace at the end. “I’m not an old woman.”
“True. You are, however, a man in possession of a bullet wound and four dozen very expertly executed stitches. And if want them to heal, you shall not undo all of your sister’s hard work.”
Harland glanced at Miss Wright to find her staring at him. She looked away almost immediately and started gathering the blood-soaked towels. A few drops of rain splattered against the cottage window, and the thunder outside increased in volume.
Harland retrieved the brandy bottle from the patient. “You should have that arm in a sling so long as it doesn’t catch your stitches around back. Your shoulder—”
“Stop.” Miss Wright’s voice was sharp. “Listen.”
Harland’s blood ran cold. The thunder that had accompanied the rain was not thunder at all, but the sound of many hooves bearing down on the cottage.
“Goddammit,” Matthew swore under his breath, looking around him frantically.
Harland followed his gaze, taking in the bowls of pink water, the stained towels, and bloodied curtain still lying forgotten on the floor. The sound of approaching hooves was now accompanied by a shout. Soldiers, no doubt, and Harland cursed himself for not being more vigilant.
From the sound that was steadily building and the vibrations now rumbling through the ground, he guessed they had less than a minute before someone barged through that door in the name of the king, wanting nothing more than to arrest and make an example of someone guilty of smuggling.
“We have to hide him,” Miss Wright whispered urgently. “There’s a trapdoor under the bed. Help me move it, my lord. Quick.”
There wasn’t time. “No.” In a swift movement, Harland snatched up the heavy wool curtain. “Get off the table,” he ordered Matthew. The man obeyed, staggering slightly as his feet hit the ground. “Lie down underneath,” he instructed him. “And for God’s sake, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don’t move a muscle.”
Matthew stared at him for a moment before Harland helped him lower himself to the ground, sliding awkwardly under the table on his stomach.
“Good.” Harland took the curtain by two corners and threw it over the table, letting it settle as the edges pooled on the ground on all sides, concealing Matthew. “Get on the table, Miss Wright,” he snapped.
“What?” She was pale.
“I need to explain all this blood. I need a patient. Get on the damn table.”
Her expression cleared in understanding, and she hitched up her skirts and clambered onto the wide surface. The unseen riders were upon them, light from their torches now flickering ominously past the edges of the curtains.
“Lie back.”
She searched his eyes for a brief second before she obeyed, lowering herself so that she was staring up at the ceiling. Harland reached into one of the bowls, cupping a handful of water and letting it dribble across her forehead. He smoothed the moisture into her hairline to make her look fevered, trying to ignore the softness of her skin and her hair.
The horses were being reined to a stop, their blowing and stomping audible. Boots were on the ground, the sound of steel being drawn.
Harland grabbed a handful of the bloodiest towels, shoving Miss Wright’s skirts just above her knees and then covering them with crimson-stained linen. She made a small sound of distress but didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” Harland murmured, meaning it. But they were left with few options.
“Do what you need to,” Miss Wright said tightly.
Streaks of blood marred the pale skin on her legs where the soaked towels had brushed against them. Jesus, it really looked like she was bleeding to death. He only hoped that—
The door reverberated on its hinges as someone pounded on it. Which was all the warning they got before it flew open, crashing against the wall.
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