Sneak Peek at Wendy LaCapra’s other books
Lords of Chance Series
Scandal in Spades https://amzn.to/2WBvjmC
After learning he’s a bastard, the Marquess of Bromton sets out to restore his honor by courting a lady with the proper bloodline—the scandal-ridden Lady Katherine. Only, Katherine is not at all what Bromton expects…and she has no interest in marrying him.
Lady Katherine trusts nothing about the Society she left behind, especially not an imperious marquess and his single-minded pursuit. Or his knee-weakening kisses. But, as their connection deepens, Bromton surprises Katherine. Has she finally found love, or will the truth behind their courtship destroy everything?
Excerpt:
Lord Bromton cupped Lady Katherine’s jaw with one hand. “Perhaps you shouldn’t assume I am a scoundrel with dishonorable intent.”
“What do you want, Lord Bromton?” The question held more breath than she’d intended. “I know you want something, and I don’t believe it is me.”
Isn’t it? His eyes asked the question as his thumb burned a line across her cheek.
“And,” she said, “stop falling silent just to make me breathless and confu—” She ceased abruptly. “Breathless and angry,” she finished.
With his free hand, he worked her cap far enough back to release a single lock of hair. “For now, all I want—” his cheek brushed against her forehead—“is the courtesy of an answer.”
She blinked. Furiously. Her eyelashes brushed against his hot, unforgiving skin.
“Did you ask a question?”
“I asked if you play often,” he murmured.
Was he referring to billiards? “No.”
“Who taught you to play?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not.” His breath shuddered. “So long as—from now on—you play only with me.”
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t certain what was happening. However, just because a handsome, heady-smelling, hard-bodied marquess demanded exclusive rights to her billiards, did not mean she was obligated to comply.
Heart’s Desire (Coming soon)
Lady Clarissa has decided to live life on her terms. After the end of a ten-year betrothal, she wants nothing to do with marriage or the men of the ton. Least of all her friend’s brother, the very charming Lord Markham, or Hearts, as many ladies call the oh-so-handsome earl.
Markham pursues relationships with no ties that bind. Acting the rake leaves everyone satisfied...until he overhears a wager that could lead to Clarissa’s ruin. He can’t help but step in and claim she’s his intended bride.
Clarissa is appalled. She did not need to be saved. Reluctantly, she agrees to the fake courtship, if only to experience what the rakish Markham can offer. But when lust becomes love, Clarissa must make up her own terms and bet it all on Hearts.
Excerpt:
“You must believe,” Lord Markham looked deep into Lady Clarissa’s eyes. “I am not out to harm you in any way. And I will always respect your wishes.”
Always.
She rather liked that word.
She nodded slowly. “I wish—” What did she wish?
I wish…I wish…I wish…
Her unfinished wishes wafted between them like seeds flying on little feathered umbrellas.
I wish…I wish…I wish…
But would her wishes land on fertile ground, or would they be crushed beneath a boot?
“I wish us luck,” she finished.
He smiled warmly. And suddenly she was thinking of trees in unlikely places—hanging off cliffs, pushing up between flagstones.
“Would you permit me to hold your hand?” he asked.
Hearts—rake of the seasoned ton—asked to hold her hand.
And, his voice had shaken.
“Now?” Silly question. When else would he mean?
The color in his cheeks deepened. He nodded.
She held out her hand. “Since we’ve made an agreement, I suppose we should shake hands.”
At first, he did not move. She began to wonder if time itself had frozen—caught inelegantly between desire and impossibility. Then, his warm, gloveless fingers closed over hers and the sensation was divine.
“Clarissa…”
Pillowed by the rich tones of her voice her name was not so much a name as a blessing.
He threaded his thumb under hers and stroked between her thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes, leaving their hands entwined. Behind her lids the world turned gray as he traced indecipherable lines into her hand.
Only they weren’t lines, were they?
He was tracing a heart.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wendy LaCapra is a RITA® award-finalist whose heart-pounding historical romances bristle with temptations, secrets, and scandal. She lives in NYC (though she loves wandering), and she has had a life-long, unquenchable passion for books, history, and happily-ever-afters. For new release information, join Wendy's newsletter at http://bit.ly/GetWendyNews
To Hell and Back
Annabelle Anders
To Hell and Back
Eve Mossant’s life has been quite turned over. As has the carriage she was traveling in to attend her estranged husband’s funeral.
Thank heavens for Mr. Waverly, her ever dependable man of business. She wouldn’t know where she’d be without him…
Read More by Annabelle Anders
Devilish Debutantes Series
Hell Hath No Fury
Hell in a Hand Basket
Hell Hath Frozen Over (Novella)
Hell’s Belle
Hell of a Lady
Lord Love a Lady Series
Nobody’s Lady
A Lady’s Prerogative
Lady Saves the Duke
Not So Saintly Sisters Series
The Perfect Debutante
The Perfect Spinster
I love keeping in touch with readers and would be thrilled to hear from you! Join or follow me at any (or all!) of the social media links below!
Amazon
Bookbub
Website
Goodreads
Facebook Author Page
Facebook Reader Group: A Regency House Party
Twitter
www.annabelleanders.com
To Hell and Back
Copyright © 2019 Annabelle Anders
All rights reserved.
Dedication
To every woman who has ever felt the sting of feeling “too old.” This book is for the women who never give up on themselves or their happiness. It’s for the women who’ve sacrificed and are grateful that they have because this brings them joy.
Because we all deserve joy.
And Love.
And yes. Even Passion.
CHAPTER ONE
Finally a Widow
“Ma’am. Please sit down. You’ve had quite a shock.” The words barely registered as Eve Mossant processed that her husband of twenty years was dead.
Two years had passed since she’d last seen him. They hadn’t lived together in over a decade.
She hadn’t had relations with Jean Luc for thirteen years and seven months.
She was free.
“Mama.” Her oldest daughter, Rhoda knelt beside her. Eve hadn’t resisted when the gentleman delivering the news guided her to the sofa and lowered her to sit. “It’s good riddance.”
Eve nodded. “Yes.” Yes, it is.
Her husband had been a libertine and a wastrel. Among other things.
She glanced up at Mr. Waverly, her man of business. He’d handled her own fortune for the past year. Apparently, word had been sent to him first, rather than to the wife.
“How? When?” Did it really matter? It should. Perhaps if he shared some of the details she could believe the news to be true.
And although she’d spent years hating Jean Luc, tears welled in her eyes.
Mr. Waverly glanced over at Rhoda and her husband, Lord Carlisle, and they all no
dded grimly.
“January twenty-ninth. Two days ago. Found dead. In his bed. Smothered with his own pillow.”
Eve processed the information stoically. It made sense. He’d likely angered some woman or her husband. Or perhaps been unable to pay one of his lady birds. And they’d held a pillow over his face.
The feat would have been easily accomplished as Jean Luc probably had passed out from drink or opium.
Or whatever potion he’d chosen to poison himself with that day. She wasn’t sure what he’d most recently been dabbling in.
“Do they know who?” Again, it didn’t matter. But a wife would be expected to ask such a question.
Mr. Waverly addressed her question but, of course, the answer wouldn’t matter. She stared out the window as two drivers skirmished over their vehicles on the street below. Ah, yes. One of the barouches had scratched the other. Unfortunate, really, it had been painted such a pretty color blue.
“Mama. Mama? Are you listening?”
Eve shook her head to stare into Rhoda’s coffee-colored eyes. “But of course.”
“I’ll return tomorrow. After she’s rested.” Mr. Waverly’s voice softened. His assistance had been indispensable to her. Since she’d come into her own fortune, he’d done his best to keep it out of Jean Luc’s reach.
And he’d succeeded.
But before he could leave, Eve sprang off the sofa. “You are certain? This isn’t some joke? Or a mistake?” Did she want it to be? Jean Luc Mossant had been her husband, after all. He was Rhoda, Coleus, and Holly’s father — biologically anyhow.
Mr. Waverly stared at her solemnly. She’d not noticed how steady his gaze was. Had it always been so reassuring? So…solid? It must have been, for she’d trusted him with her lifetime security amounting to thousands of pounds.
And then he took both of her hands in his and squeezed. “I am certain.”
“Did you travel to Pebble’s Gate? Have you seen the body?”
“I did not. One of my associates brought me the news, and he is utterly reliable. But I will, if you’d like me to.” He rose to his feet and moved across the room. He knew her circumstances well enough that he would comprehend her misgivings.
Eve took a deep breath. She hated losing her composure in front of anybody, particularly one of her daughters.
At least Coleus and Hollyhock were safely ensconced at Miss Primm’s Ladies Seminary this year. Since winning a considerable amount of money on a most disreputable bet, Eve now had the funds to pay the exorbitant tuition.
“I think the girls ought to be informed in person. Coleus will be most vexed to put off her coming out another year.”
Not that Eve thought her husband deserved a full year of mourning from any of them, but society would judge them poorly if they failed to observe such a ritual.
“Rhododendron and I can go to the school, if you’d like,” her son—in—law, a former vicar, suggested. Yes, her two younger daughters ought to hear of their father’s death from Rhoda.
“Thank you, Carlisle.” She nodded. “But don’t pull them out of school. I don’t want to compromise their educations right now.”
“We’ll come to Pebble’s Gate afterwards, Mama.” It was Rhoda who reached across to squeeze her mother’s hand this time, before glancing over her shoulder at her husband.
Lord Carlisle nodded in agreement.
Eve could not have been any more proud of Rhoda if she’d married the Prince Regent himself.
“And you will travel with her, Mr. Waverly?” Rhoda had turned to the sturdy man who’d done his best to disappear into the wallpaper. “I don’t want her to go alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” Eve interjected. She hadn’t depended upon a man for years now. She’d learned the hard way that such laziness put a lady in some most disadvantageous circumstances.
“Of course. I’ll make arrangements this afternoon, and we can depart early tomorrow morning. If that is satisfactory.”
Eve wondered at the condition she would find the country property. At one time, it had been her home, but it had never belonged to her, of course. Jean Luc’s nephew would inherit most of the estate. She wondered if the heir had been willed the debts as well.
God, she hoped so.
She needed to go.
Mr. Waverly could assist her with the funeral arrangements. And other legal matters, she supposed.
She pressed her fingertips against her forehead. “Tomorrow is fine.”
As soon as Sixtus delivered the news of Jean Luc Mossant’s death, Nigel Waverly had anticipated a visit to Bristol, the largest town near Pebble’s Gate. She’d been a most unusual client from the beginning, and he quite preferred to handle the details of her business personally.
Not quite a year ago, he’d been asked to handle a rather delicate bet for Mrs. Mossant at the direction of Thomas Findlay. After she’d won, Findlay had sent him to her townhouse to discuss the management of those winnings. She’d proven even more interesting upon close inspection. His first thoughts were that she did not appear old enough to have three grown daughters. Elegant, slim, mocha-colored eyes, and shining chestnut hair, she could have been Lady Carlisle’s older sister.
Ah, but there the similarities ended.
Mrs. Eve Mossant possessed a backbone unlike any he’d found in a woman before. Especially in a gently bred lady.
Developed out of necessity, no doubt. She protected her daughters like the lioness she had become due to enjoying absolutely no help from their father.
Eve had been decidedly pointed in what she required. She’d entrusted him with protecting her winnings from her husband at all cost. If Mossant had known his wife possessed such a fortune, he’d have wasted it away within a few months.
Nigel had no misgivings in doing as she asked. He’d heard of Mossant’s libertine lifestyle.
During their first visit, she’d explained to Nigel, most unapologetically, that she needed the funds handled in a manner so that her husband would never have any legal right to them, which had been tricky, but nothing Waverly was not familiar with.
Nigel had then taken it upon himself to investigate Mr. Jean Luc Mossant. He’d even sent Sixtus down to Bristol from time to time.
Through those reports, he’d learned why Eve Mossant never allowed her daughters to dwell in the same residence with their father. And he’d respected her all the more for it.
A desire to safeguard the woman and her daughters had emerged in him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he’d been drawn to his client in a manner that had not been platonic. But although he remained a bachelor still at the advanced age of seven and forty, she’d been a married woman.
And a client.
First and foremost, he must remain professional. He’d never do anything to compromise his reputation. His job was to protect her legal and financial circumstances.
She could purchase the townhouse she’d been leasing now, with no one else having legal claim to her possessions. He supposed they’d discuss much of this over the next several days. He’d have to go through Mossant’s finances.
“Until tomorrow then, ma’am.” He would leave her with her daughter and son-in-law for now. He had no obligation nor request to further his stay.
Nigel duly noted, however, that she had not collapsed at the news.
“Ah, yes, thank you Nigel.” Her eyes appeared somewhat dazed. For her to have slipped and addressed him by his Christian name, she must be experiencing understandable distress.
He’d not offer his sympathies. In good conscience, he could not.
Nodding at the others in the room, he bowed and slipped out of the house. His carriage awaited. His office was situated within walking distance, but he hadn’t wanted to delay the meeting any longer than necessary.
And now he had a journey to plan. He’d allow two days for travel in case of bad weather or difficulties. She’d ride in her own carriage, and he’d ride outside. All propriety would be observed.
CHAPTER TWO
> January Rain
“Mr. Waverly has arrived, and the coach is ready outside.”
Eve nodded toward her maid as she drew her favorite gloves on. They fit her perfectly, gliding over her hands to slide in place snugly like a second skin.
She would not make him wait. She knew other ladies made it a point to always be tardy, and that bothered her. It was disrespectful. And this was business. Her business, for which he was paid handsomely to attend to, and she needed to maintain a good relationship.
Jean Luc had been perpetually late. Even before his injury.
Eve glanced at Lucy but then turned again to study her more closely. Her skin seemed a little greener than normal, and she clutched her arms around her abdomen. “Are you not well, Lucy?”
The young woman sniffed. “Feeling queasy, I’m afraid.” And then she pivoted and disappeared hastily into the dressing room.
Sounds of her maid’s stomach discontent emerged all too clearly.
Oh, but this created something of a quandary. Eve hadn’t considered traveling without a female companion.
Rhoda and Lord Carlisle would have already left for Miss Primm’s.
She tapped her finger on her lips, contemplating her options, and then winced as more sounds of retching reached her ears.
They could delay travel — wait another day or two.
But Eve felt an urgency… She’d be quite uneasy, delaying in London, unable to look into her new situation.
She would travel today and have Lucy follow later. The luggage coach could be delayed until the maid was well enough to travel.
Decision made, she conveyed the new plans to her wan looking maid, retrieved her small valise, and made her way downstairs to meet Mr. Waverly.
Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set Page 9
