“I do not understand.” Demetrius scratched his temple and peered at the missive.
“Read it.” Arucard nodded once.
As Demetrius unfolded the note, Arucard caressed her bottom and pulled her closer. For some strange reason, Isolde held her breath as the tension grew.
Then Demetrius jerked, toppled his tankard, and blanched. “Great abyss of misery, I am to marry.”
Excerpt from Love With An Improper Stranger
Book Seven of the Brethren of the Coast Series
Coming in November 2015
Available Exclusively on Amazon
The Descendants
Brussels, Belgium
September, 1814
“Hurry, Lucilla.” Hefting the small trunk of her belongings, Lenore Teversham huffed and puffed, as she glanced at her younger sister and all but ran along the sidewalk. The lanes, a muddy mess after recent rains, bustled with activity, as she dodged elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen. “We must not be late, or we may have to search out another ride home. Given our financial situation, I am not sure I can procure appropriate boarding to sustain us any longer.”
After the Allies had driven the French from Belgium, and their father had died from wounds suffered in battle, she and her awkward sibling had begged, borrowed, and pleaded their way to the city, wherein they secured return passage to London from one of Papa’s friends. While the British Army transported the war dead home, it made no provisions for survivors, and she had been left to her own enterprises.
Alone and in dire straits, Lenore had put aside pride and sold precious trinkets to purchase coach fare from Ghent to Brussels. Now all she needed was the assistance of General Stapleton Cotton and his associate, a naval captain of some estimation with space on his ship for two vagabonds.
“Nag, nag, nag.” Lucy clucked her tongue. “Stop crowing, Lenny.”
“I have told you numerous times not to call me that in public.” When they arrived at a large intersection, she studied the road and frowned. “Oh, dear. I will never navigate that muck without soiling the hem of my dress, and I did so wish to make a good impression on our benefactor.” Just then, a gust of wind caught her favorite hat, which landed amid the soggy mire in the middle of traffic.
“Well, you may kiss that goodbye.” With a mischievous grin, Lucy snickered. “As you will never recover it in one piece.”
“Watch me.” With her steely gaze fixed on the much cherished, lavender felt fashion item, decorated with a jaunty white feather, she set down her trunk. “Stay here.”
A passing team gave her pause, and then a curricle raced past, but Lenore remained determined, as she refused to cede anything by accident. On tiptoes, she evaded a large pool of water and skipped beyond the path of a brougham, but the driver shook his fist at her, which she ignored. She hopped left and then right and finally neared her goal, with nary a spot on her frock.
So focused on her prize, she scarcely heeded the hoofbeats until it was too late. The ground shook beneath her feet, a thunderous roar filled her ears, and then the largest most menacing stallion she had ever seen trounced her beloved adornment and spattered her with clumps of mud, as it sped by in a rush.
“Sorry.” The rogue rider slowed.
“Blackguard.” To her unmitigated embarrassment, she spat dirt from her mouth and wiped her face. Then she glanced up and beheld Satan—if the Lord of Darkness sported thick brown hair and vivid blue eyes that danced with pure evil. “Look what you have done to my gown, and that beast destroyed my hat.”
“Big words for a little lady, and lucky for you I do not offend easily.” He reined in and circled her. Garbed with precision, her hellish antagonist sported polished Hessians, buckskin breeches, a chocolate brown waistcoat, a dark blue coat, and a pristine cravat with a diamond twinkling at center. Then his gaze traveled her from head to toe, and she shifted. “You have spirit, and I like that in my women, but I have a prior appointment, so we cannot explore the possibilities, which I suspect would be delicious.”
“How dare you.” Despite her somewhat disheveled appearance, she stomped her slippered foot, which became stuck in the slimy filth, and the last of her pride drowned in a pile of nasty ooze. “I will have you know my father was a hero in His Majesty’s service.”
“Calm yourself.” He chuckled, in a rich baritone that seemed to kiss her everywhere. “I paid you a compliment, my dear. But I cannot delay, as much as I would love to become better acquainted with you. Alas, I am already late.” To her shock, he saluted, reached into his pocket, retrieved a bag of coins, and flung it at her. “For your trouble.”
Then he turned and heeled the flanks of his horse, which showered her in a fresh coat of silt, and Lenore gave vent to an uncharacteristic and unladylike shriek of fury. Unable to pull her shoe from the sludge, she yielded the fight and hobbled back to the sidewalk, where Lucy waited.
“If you say one word—”
“My lips are sealed, sister.” But Lucy snorted, and Lenore wanted to cry, as she picked up her trunk.
It was a lengthy, miserable journey to the business district and an exercise in humiliation for Lenore, as passersby gawked at her unsavory attire. By the time they arrived at the inn where the Cotton’s lodged, her hose was in tatters with her tenacity. The servant girl who answered the door stared down her nose, and Lenore sniffed.
“The Tevershams to see General Cotton.” She attempted to hand the maid a card, but the rude girl retreated, as she ushered them into the stylish residence. “He is expecting us.”
“Lenore? Lucilla?” General Cotton strolled into the sitting room, took one look at her, and winced. “Upon my word, what happened?”
“I met with an unfortunate incident on the way here.” At that point, she swayed, but an iron grip provided unfailing support, and she daubed her brow with her handkerchief. “Thank you,” she said to her unknown champion. “A most dastardly villain almost trampled me beneath an equally vile creature.”
“Perhaps I should order a bath, and you may change into clean clothes.” Then the general glanced to her right. “That is, if there is ample time.”
“By all means.” A familiar voice pricked her ears, and a shiver of recognition traipsed her spine. “I will await the lady’s pleasure.”
“Wonderful.” General Cotton snapped his fingers. “But first, permit me to make the introductions. Miss Lenore Teversham. Miss Lucilla Teversham. Allow me to present Captain Blake Elliott, of His Majesty’s Navy, and your gallant escort.”
When Lucilla cackled, stepped forward, and extended an arm, as would a man, she rocked on her heels. “Cap’n, you should quit right now and set sail without us.”
And that confirmed Lenore’s worst suspicions. Given fate had saddled them with so many hardships, she just knew luck would not have thrown her into the auspicious charity of her assailant. Swallowing hard, she inclined her head, and her unholy tormentor winked. That was it. At the end of her tether, everything inside her railed at once. “You.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller. A Texan, through and through, Barbara hasn't been without a book in her possession since she was in kindergarten. She wrote her first short story, a really cheesy murder-mystery, in high school, but it was a Christmas gift, a lovely little diary with a bronze lock, given to her in the fifth grade that truly inspired her love for writing.
After completing part of her undergraduate studies at the University of London, where she developed a love of all things British, Barbara returned home and began a career in banking. But the late 80s weren't too promising for the financial industry, and every bank that hired Barbara soon folded. So she searched for a stable occupation, and the local police department offered the answer to her prayers.
Initially, Barbara wasn't too sure about her new career in law enforcement, but she soon came to love being a police officer. And then one uncharacteristically cold and icy day in December 1998, Barbara was struck by a car and
pinned against a guardrail while working an accident on a major highway. Permanently disabled, she retired from the police department and devoted her time and energy to physical therapy.
Once Barbara got back on her feet, she focused on a new career in academia. She earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.
To connect with Barbara Devlin, go to barbaradevlin.com, for links to Facebook and Twitter, as well as her monthly newsletter, The Knightly News. Sign up for the chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card, and enjoy the latest sneak peeks, exclusive details, interesting information on life in Georgian England, and much more.
Table of Contents
ARUCARD
OTHER TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
Excerpt from Love With An Improper Stranger
Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) Page 23
