by Isobel Carr
A few miles on, clear signs of habitation began. He was nowhere near St. Neots and the Swan and Bell, but whatever village this was would undoubtedly have an inn of some kind. He’d settle for a spot in the taproom at this point.
As Gareth entered the village proper, it wasn’t hard to spot the inn. A mail coach was just departing, and a somewhat battered private carriage was drawn up outside, its groom in the process of checking the harness on what looked to be a fresh team. Gareth reined in. Monty shook like a dog beneath him, flinging droplets of water in all directions.
“I know, boy. It’s high time we both found ourselves a…” His ability to speak deserted him.
A woman’s head of curls broke through the mist, her hair so dark it seemed to bleed right through the gray. Her head was uncharacteristically bowed, but her height was unmistakable. A man ushered her along, hands familiarly at her arm and waist. Not her father. Not either of her brothers. Certainly not one of the handful of men her family might accept as a suitor. Gareth knew them all.
Lady Boudicea Vaughn was eloping.
A red fog filled his head. His vision tunneled out. Monty gave an impatient crow hop, and Gareth forced himself to loosen the reins and relax in the saddle.
The man bundled her into the coach and leapt in after her. The door shut, and the coach rolled into motion. Gareth watched it go. Its wheels sprayed mud in their wake, and it disappeared into the heavy mist in moments.
Monty was cantering after them before Gareth even realized he’d made a decision.
The crack of a gunshot resounded like a clap of thunder. Beau scrambled for the door, only to be dragged back by her hair. The coach skidded to a stop, sliding in the mud with a sickening, sideways lurch. A few shouts, muffled by the rain and the walls of the coach, and then the door was wrenched open and the wide-eyed groom slid hurriedly out of the way.
“Out, everyone out.” The command came from some distance away, muffled but loud enough to be heard nonetheless.
Nowlin swore under his breath, let go of her hair, and stepped out. He attempted to keep Beau inside, but she squeezed out past him. This might be her best chance. Her only chance. Highwaymen were, after all, seeking money. And if there was one thing her family had in abundance, it was money.
Rain droplets splattered across her skin, large but infrequent. A man on a large, dappled horse held a gun pointed at them, the barrel nearly the same smoky blue as the mist that swirled around their feet.
His mouth and nose were hidden in his cravat and the turned-up collar of his coat, but she’d know that horse anywhere. Lord knew she’d ridden him often enough before her brother had sold him. She didn’t need the corroboration of Sandison’s silvery queue and narrowed blue eyes, but she was relieved to see them all the same.
Beau bit her lips and tried to keep from smiling. Nowlin wasn’t going to get a chance to follow through with any of his threats. Not today. Not ever. He’d be lucky to continue drawing breath.
“Your purse, sir.”
Nowlin glared and tossed his wallet onto the ground at the horse’s feet. Monty took a step back, clearly not happy about having things tossed at him in such a fashion.
Sandison’s eyes met hers and narrowed, as though he were accessing the situation still. Beau lifted her chin and stared right back. What was he waiting for?
“If the lady would be so kind as to retrieve it for me?”
Beau stepped toward him, but Nowlin blocked her with his arm, doing quite the impression of a man bravely guarding his own. “Get it yourself, roadbird.”
“Ah-ah-ah. You were so hasty as to toss it to the ground. And I’m not fool enough to dismount. The lady seems the safest choice.”
When Nowlin didn’t remove his arm, Sandison trained the gun directly at him. “I suppose I could simply shoot you and then retrieve it myself. In fact, if you persist in this nonsense, I might take pleasure in doing just that.”
Nowlin’s arm sagged away from her, and Beau stepped around him, trying desperately not to appear too eager. Why didn’t Sandison just shoot him? He had a clear shot. Was he choosing this moment in life to become squeamish?
She picked her way through the mud and bent carefully to pick up the wallet, hissing as her stays dug deeper into her flesh. She thrust the wallet into her pocket as Monty pivoted, swinging his hindquarters about, putting himself between her, Nowlin, and the coach.
Nowlin’s shout of protest was lost in the loud report of the pistol and the splintering of wood. Beau grabbed Sandison’s arm, fingers gouging into the wet wool of his coat. He swung her up, and Monty sprang away, long legs eating up ground at a thunderous pace.
Gareth wrapped one arm around Lady Boudicea and gave Mountebank his head. The gelding flew through the trees. Small branches snatched at Gareth’s hair. One struck his cheek hard enough that he was sure to have a welt.
Beau clutched at his coat, and he tightened his grip. He’d been lucky to get hold of her at all. Retaining her would prove difficult if she fought him. He didn’t ever want to explain that he’d had to hurt Leo’s sister in any way, for any reason.
“Did you shoot him?” Her question rattled through him, bringing a twinge of conscience in its wake. Lord knew he’d wanted to in the moment, but he understood what might prompt a man to go to such lengths.
If he hadn’t been friends with her brother, he might have done the same himself. Now that she was shivering in his arms, the urge to keep her for himself was nearly irresistible. It burned beneath his skin, alive and hot and wicked.
“No, I’ll leave that to your brothers. Rescuing you from yourself is effort enough for me.”
She moved impatiently in his arms. “Can we stop for a moment?”
Gareth grinned. That was the Beau he knew. Get him to stop: give her swain a chance to catch up, give her a chance to slip away and run back to him. Cunning, conniving, and unstoppable. “Not just yet, brat. I’d like a bit more distance between us and them before I do.”
“Agreed, but my busk broke when he kicked me, and it hurts like the devil. Monty’s jostling is killing me.”
He straightened in the saddle, stiffening his seat, and Monty planted his hooves and skidded to a halt. “He what?”
Gareth swung his leg over Monty’s neck and took them both down to the ground in a single motion. This didn’t sound like one of her tricks, and the thought of it brought the red haze back to the edge of his vision.
“What do you mean he kicked you?”
Beau swayed unsteadily as she got her feet beneath her. Gareth gripped her shoulders and looked her over. Her hair was a tumbled riot, and there was what looked like a bruise waxing across one cheekbone. She looked exhausted: the hollows beneath her eyes deep and shadowed, the skin almost papery.
“He didn’t take it at all kindly when I hit him with a chamber pot.” Her fingers popped the hooks that held her jacket closed. “Now help me, please.”
Gareth sucked in a breath and did as directed. That might have been the first please he’d ever had from her. He tugged off her jacket, stripping the damp silk from her with difficulty. She dragged her trailing hair over one shoulder, and he jerked loose the knot that held her stays laced tightly shut.
“Are you telling me I should have shot him?”
“Yes!”
The venom in that single word took him aback. “My apologies, Bantling. Next time I’ll try to do better.”
He took a deep breath and whipped the cord free with sharp, deliberate movements, trying not to think about the fact that Lady Boudicea Vaughn was about to stand before him one damp layer from naked. Trying not to compare the reality of it to the daydreams he so often used to while away the time.
Damnation. The reality was so much better… and infinitely worse. The cord swung free of the last hole, and she ripped her stays away from her body, flinging them to the ground as though she despised them as much as she did her abductor.
Her head was bent forward, exposing the nape of her neck, the visible trail
of her spine leading down into her shift. He traced it with his finger, stopping only when he reached the tie that held her petticoats in place.
Gareth stared at her back, at the sheer linen clinging damply to her skin, at the ties to her petticoats, laying quiescent beneath his fingertips.
Heaven help him.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Margaret Mallory
Dear Reader,
I was a late bloomer.
There, I’ve said it. That single fact defined my adolescence.
When I entered high school at thirteen-going-on-fourteen, I looked like a sixth grader. Was it the braces? The glasses? The flat chest? The short stature? Red hair and freckles did not lend sophistication to this deadly combination. I have a vivid memory of one of my mother’s friends looking at me that summer before high school and blurting out, “What a funny-looking kid.”
To my enormous relief, I entered tenth grade with breasts, contact lenses, and no braces. Boys looked at me differently, girls quit ridiculing me, and adults ceased to speak to me as if I were eleven. And older guys—who had utterly failed to notice my “inner beauty” before—appeared out of nowhere
Although it took my self-esteem years to recover, suffering is never wasted on a writer. With THE GUARDIAN, I wanted to write a story with a heroine who goes through this awkward stage—along with several dangerous adventures—and eventually comes out the other side as a confident, mature woman who feels loved and valued for her beauty inside and out.
Of course, I had to give Sìleas, my ugly-duckling heroine, a hero to die for. Ian MacDonald is the handsome young Highlander she has adored since she could walk.
Sìleas is an awkward, funny-looking thirteen-year-old when Ian rescues her from her latest round of trouble. Ian is not exactly pleased when, as a result of his good deed, he is forced to wed her. Although Sìleas lives in the Scottish Highlands in the year 1513, I know exactly how she felt when she overheard Ian shouting at his father, “Have ye taken a good look at her, da?”
When Ian returns years later, Sìleas is so beautiful she knocks his socks off. Not surprisingly, Ian finds that he is now willing to consummate the marriage. But as Sìleas’s self-confidence grows, she knows she deserves a man who loves and respects her.
Our handsome hero has his hands full trying to win his bride while also saving his clan. Eventually, Ian realizes he wants Sìleas’s heart as much as he wants her in his bed. I admit that I found it most gratifying to make this handsome Highland warrior suffer until he proves himself worthy of Sìleas. But I had faith in Ian. He always did have a hero’s heart.
I hope you enjoy Ian and Sìleas’s love story. THE GUARDIAN is the first book in my Return of the Highlanders series about four warriors who return home from fighting in France to find their clan in danger. Each brave warrior must do his part to save the clan in the troubled times ahead—and to win the Highland lass who captures his heart.
Happy Reading!
www.margaretmallory.com
From the desk of Roxanne St. Claire
Dear Reader,
Character notes? Character notes! Where did I put my character notes for Vivi Angelino? Oh, that’s right. I never had any. She wrote herself.
I have never subscribed to the theory that “a character tells their own story,” despite the number of times I’ve heard writers discuss that phenomenon. Sure, certain characters are vivid in the writer’s head and have personality traits that, for whatever reason, make them standouts on the page. They’re fun people to write, but letting them take over the book? Come on! Who is the boss here? Whose fingertips are on the keyboard? Whose imagination is at work? A good author should be able to control their character.
And then along came Vivina Angelino. From the first book in the Guardian Angelinos series, Vivi was not only vivid and three-dimensional to me, she seemed to liven up every scene. (Make that “take over” every scene.) When I could finally give her free rein as the heroine of FACE OF DANGER, I did what any writer would do. I buckled up and hung on for the ride. There were daily surprises with Vivi, including her back story, which she revealed to me as slowly and carefully as she does to the reader, and the hero.
The interesting thing about Vivi is that she is one of those people—or appears to be on the surface—who knows exactly who she is and doesn’t give a flying saucer what other people think. I think we all kind of envy that bone-deep confidence. I know I do! She scoots around Boston on a skateboard (and, yes, this is possible, because this is precisely how my stepson transports himself from home to work in downtown Boston), wears her hair short and spiky, and has a tiny diamond in her nose… not because she’s making a statement, but because she likes it. She’s a woman, but she’s not particularly feminine and she has little regard for fashion, makeup, and the “girlier” things in life. I wanted to know why.
About five years ago, long before I “met” Vivi, I read an article about a woman who looked so much like Demi Moore that she worked as a “celebrity lookalike” at trade shows and special events. Of course, the suspense writer in me instantly asked the “what if” question that is at the heart of every book. What if that lookalike was truly mistaken for the actress by someone with nefarious intentions? What if the lookalike was brave enough to take the job to intentionally attract and trap that threatening person?
I held on to that thread of a story, waiting for the right character. I wanted a heroine who is so comfortable in her own skin that assuming someone else’s identity would be a little excruciating. Kind of like kicking off sneakers and sliding into stilettos—fun until you try to walk, and near impossible when you have to run for your life. When Vivi Angelino showed up on the scene, I knew I had my girl.
No surprise, Vivi told this story her way. Of course, she chafed at the hair extensions and false eyelashes, but that was only on the surface. Wearing another woman’s identity forced this character to understand herself better and to do that, she had to face her past. More importantly, to find the love she so richly deserves, she had to shed the skin she clung to so steadfastly, and discover why she was uncomfortable with the feminine things in life. When she did, well, like everything about Vivi, she surprised me.
She pulled it off though, and now she’s FBI Agent Colton Lang’s problem. I hope he can control her better than I could.
Enjoy!
www.roxannestclaire.com
From the desk of Isobel Carr
Dear Reader,
Do you ever wonder what happens to all the mistresses who are given up by noble heroes so they can have their monogamous happily-ever-after with their virginal brides? Or how all those “spares” get on after they’ve been made redundant when their elder brother produces an heir? I most certainly do!
In fact, I’ve always been intrigued by people who take charge, go out on a limb, and make lemonade when the universe keeps handing them lemons. So it comes as little surprise that my series—The League of Second Sons—is about younger sons of the nobility, the untraditional women they fall in love with, and what it takes for two people who aren’t going to inherit everything to make a life for themselves.
The League of Second Sons is a secret club for younger sons who’ve banded together to help one another seize whatever life offers them and make the most of it. These are the men who actually run England. They’re elected to the House of Commons, they run their family estates, they’re the traditional family sacrifice to the military (the Duke of Wellington and Lord Nelson were both younger sons). They work—in a gentlemanly manner—for what they’ve got and what they want. They’re hungry, in a way that an eldest son, destined for fortune and title, never can be.
Leonidas Vaughn, the hero of the first book, RIPE FOR PLEASURE, is just such a younger son. His father may be a duke, but he’s not going to inherit much beyond the small estate his grandfather bequeathed him.
My heroine, Viola Whedon, took a chance on young love that worked o
ut very badly indeed. Since then, she’s been level-headed and practical. A rough life in the workhouse or a posh life as a mistress was an easy decision, and keeping her heart out of it was never a problem… until now. Brash seduction at the hands of a handsome man who promises to put her desires first sweeps her off her feet and off her guard.
I hope you’ll enjoy letting Leo show you what it means to be RIPE FOR PLEASURE.
www.isobelcarr.com
From the desk of Katie Lane
Dear Reader,
When I was little I used to love watching The Andy Griffith Show reruns. I loved everything about Mayberry—from Floyd’s barbershop where all the town gossip took place to the tree-lined lake where Andy took his son fishing. I would daydream for hours about living in Mayberry, eating Aunt Bee’s home cooking, tagging after Barney to listen to his latest harebrained scheme, or just hanging out with Opie. And even though my life remained in a larger city, these daydreams stuck with me over the years. So much so that I ended up snagging a redheaded, freckled-faced Opie of my own… with one tiny difference.
My Opie came from Texas.
Welcome to Bramble! Mayberry on Texas peyote.
You won’t find Andy, Barney, or Aunt Bee in town. But you will find a sheriff who enjoys grand theft auto, a matchmaking mayor, a hairdresser whose “ex’s” fill half of Texas, and a bunch of meddling townsfolk. And let’s not forget the pretty impostor, the smoking hot cowboy, the feisty actress, and the very naughty bad boy.
So I hope you’ll stop by because the folks of Bramble, Texas, are just itchin’ to show y’all a knee-slappin’ good time. GOING COWBOY CRAZY, my first romance set in Bramble, is out now.
Much Love and Laughter,
