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What’s a Viscount to do when a mysterious lady with a secret past and a reputation frayed around the edges suddenly appears in London in hot pursuit of his naive young cousin, setting the gossips’ tongues wagging, stirring his family into pandemonium, and driving him mad with her irreverent ways?
If the Viscount in question is Simon Easton, the answer is quite simple. Seduce the beguiling lady. But Miss Beatrice Morgan isn’t your average tarnished lady. She’s lived a slapdash life wandering the globe like a gypsy, painting fantastical portraits of Duchesses as Sirens and landscapes featuring a crumbling old fountain, all the while harboring a secret desire to return to Idyllwild, the only home she’s ever known.
What Simon does not know is that Beatrice just might be willing to sacrifice her honor, her virtue, her very heart to reclaim Idyllwild.
Enjoy an excerpt:
“Easton, are you all right?” Beatrice asked quietly. “You haven’t said a word, well apart from that bit about the butler.”
“And the part about you just rising from your bed,” he reminded her just as quietly and watched her eyes widen before she laughed—a dark and husky laugh that rolled over him like a wave.
“I thought I should be proper and ignore that part,” she said. She turned and walked across the room as she added, “After all, one of us should be. And today it seems it shall be me.”
Simon swallowed a bite of lemon muffin quickly before he could choke on the chuckle that tried to escape.
“You? Proper?” he teased. Mabel’s head swung around and she glared at him.
“I can be, you know.” She had stopped in front of the sink and he saw that she was pouring milk into a glass. She turned and started back across the kitchen before continuing. “I know how. I simply choose not to be. Much more fun that way.” She handed the glass to him and stood watching while he took a sip before handing it back to her.
He stood in absolute awe as she proceeded to take a long swallow from the glass he had just handed back to her.
“What do you think?” she asked, licking the foam from her upper lip.
Think? How could he possibly think? How could he think when he was standing in the kitchen with her looking up at him while she licked her lips? How could he be expected to think when she was wearing what had to be her nightgown with her hair still in its braid from the night before? How was he to think with her bare shoulders and bare toes on display?
About the Author:Write About What You Know.
Every Creative Writing Teacher and College Professor said these words to Lynne Barron in one form or another. But what did she know?
She knew she enjoyed the guilty pleasure of reading romance novels whenever she could find time between studying, working and raising her son as a single mother.
She knew quite a bit about women’s lives in the Regency and Victorian era from years spent bouncing back and forth between European History and English Literature as a major in college.
She knew precious little about romance except to know that it was more than the cliché card and a dozen red roses on Valentine’s Day.
Then she met her wonderfully romantic husband and finally she knew.
Passion, Love and Romance.
And she began to write.