She knew in her heart this was true.
Faith used her fan to cool herself and tilted her small nose up in obvious dislike. “That man is staring this way again.”
“Robert O’Gannon?” Mary Jane asked, amused. “Or Seamus O’Gannon?”
Faith shrugged. “I do not know which one he is. Both of them are rather rough around the edges.”
Mary Jane quirked one eyebrow. “They are both handsome.”
Cora tossed a meaningful look at Faith. “More handsome than your fiancé, Faith. And much younger. How old do you suppose they are?”
Faith glared. “Handsome and young is not a requirement for a good husband.”
Mary Jane almost laughed, but held back. “Perhaps you have an admirer, Faith.”
Cora snorted. “The other brother is…taller, is he not? They are quite the same except for that.”
Mary Jane wasn’t certain, but then she did not obsess with the brothers, who had become good friends with Elijah. Mary Jane found it amusing that Seamus and Robert kept darting intrigued glances at her sisters. Cora and Faith, whether they would admit it or not, obviously found the O’Gannons equally interesting.
Mrs. Connor, who attended the wedding in a dress she had purchased with a stockpile of money she had kept under the floorboards of her old cabin, looked elegant enough to compete with any woman in the room. Of course, Mrs. Connor’s plain speaking gave her away, and Mary Jane’s mother found the woman far too coarse to abide.
Mary Jane smiled at Mrs. Connor and waved. In typical Peg Connor fashion she waved and hooted, causing other people in the room to stare at her.
A surge of pure happiness hit Mary Jane as her handsome groom walked towards her in a dark waistcoat with crisp white shirt, elegantly pressed trousers, and an overall polished appearance. Yes, her Irishman was most assuredly the handsomest man in the room.
A grin curved those sinful lips, and when he reached her he wasted no time asking to speak with her privately.
As they left by way of the back garden door, she clasped his arm. “I hope nothing is wrong, Elijah.”
With a quick movement of his left arm, he swept her into a secluded area around the corner of some bushes. In the late afternoon the area was shady and secret. The perfect place for a rendezvous. When his lips met hers, it lasted a long time. Heat and warmth and excitement shot through her.
“My beautiful wife, nothing can ever be wrong again.”
“And my family loves you now. I never expected it to be this easy.”
“Well, they did oppose it at first.”
“For all of two days.” She plucked a fallen leaf from his hair. “I think this wedding was good for another reason.”
He dived in to nibble her ear, and she shivered in delight. “What is that?”
She moaned as his tongue traced a path along sensitive nerves in her neck. “The O’Gannon brothers seem to have made conquests.”
“Your sisters? I noticed that too. It will never work.” Elijah shook his head in stern denial, but the amusement in his eyes gave him away. “They are rough country men and your sisters are refined and delicate.”
She gave an unladylike snort equal to anything Mrs. Conner might make. “Honestly, sir, I would think you would have learned after meeting me, that delicate is not something that runs in my family. Whether my sisters know it or not, I do not think they are as proper as they believe.”
He tilted his head to the side. “I suppose I should know better, but I don’t see Robert or Seamus dropping their positions as U.S. Marshals to marry society ladies.”
She rolled her gaze to the night sky and sighed. “Well, never underestimate the power of an Irishman to seduce a fine and proper lady to another way of thinking.”
He chuckled. “I think it was the other way around, darlin’. I was a rough grain of sand until you smoothed my edges.”
In a most scandalous fashion his hand came up and cupped her breast. She had not worn a corset or a crinoline, and when his thumb brushed over her nipple, sweet arousal bolted straight through her. She gasped. “Oh, sir…I think you were mistaken. It was my rough edges that were worn down.”
He cupped the back of her neck and brought her close for a kiss, whispering against her lips. “Darlin’, I was drowning. Before the dawn, I didn’t know how far into the dark I had fallen. Your love saved me.”
About the Author
Suspenseful, erotic, edgy, thrilling, romantic, adventurous. All these words describe Denise A. Agnew’s award-winning novels. Romantic Times Book Review Magazine called her romantic suspense novels “top-notch” and her erotic romance Primordial received a TOP PICK from Romantic Times Book Review Magazine. Denise’s record proves that with paranormal, time travel, romantic comedy, contemporary, historical, erotic romance, and romantic suspense novels under her belt, she enjoys writing about a diverse range of subjects. The fact she has lived in Colorado, Hawaii and the United Kingdom has given her a lifetime of ideas. Her experiences with archaeology and archery have crept into her work, as well as numerous travels through the U.K. and Ireland. Denise lives in Arizona with her real-life hero, her husband. Visit Denise’s web site at www.deniseagnew.com
Look for these titles by Denise A. Agnew
Now Available:
Male Call
Unconditional Surrender
Private Maneuvers
Close Quarters
Marshall’s Law
For A Roman’s Heart
His scarred soul knows no vulnerability—except her touch.
For A Roman’s Heart
© 2011 Denise A. Agnew
Trapped between cruel parents and the need to hide her gift of second sight from suspicious villagers, Adrenia Tertia Brigomalla walks a line as thin as the threads she weaves. The need for independence burns fierce in her heart, but not as hot as her unexpected attraction to a Roman soldier who comes to the village in search of a deserter.
Though hardened by war, Centurion Terentius Marius Atellus defies any man to harm an innocent. Nothing shakes his relentless determination to track down a murderous legionnaire with a taste for young women. Yet Adrenia’s spirit and vulnerability spark a protective instinct stronger than duty…and temptation that could be his downfall.
Fragile trust built on stolen kisses and a premonition saves his life and drives his offer of the ultimate protection—marriage. While she revels in the feral passion he awakens within her, Adrenia would sooner brave the fires of Hades than trade one yoke for another.
It’s a decision that could leave them both dangling above a precipice they may not survive…
Enjoy the following excerpt for For A Roman’s Heart:
The dirt street stretched forever, and she guessed the sprawling area reached around six acres and might support half a legion or less. Inside this structure, Adrenia felt both protected and fearful. Many men looked at her blankly, some with curiosity, others with disinterest, few with thinly veiled lust. Most of the soldiers worked hard at something, whether it was blacksmithing, cutting wood, building, making tools or polishing dented shields and repairing armor. Talking, shouting, order and chaos, it all sounded loud and disturbing to her. She breathed deep and caught the pungent scents of man, leather, dirt and food cooking. Shouts echoed in the distance. A light rain drifted down from a few sparse clouds and dampened everything around them with dew that sparkled in temporary bursts of sunlight between the clouds.
Finally they reached a block of wooden structures where the soldier leading them stopped. He knocked on one door. It opened swiftly on squeaking hinges, and a large man stood in the doorway.
“Sir. As you requested, I’ve brought the women,” the soldier said.
“Thank you.” The rumbling voice Adrenia remembered, so deep and husky, belonged to Terentius.
Terentius took in the sight of Adrenia and Pella with a severe frown. His gaze snapped to her hair and lingered, then dropped to the threadbare cloak about her shoulders. His mouth worked for a second a
s anger flashed through his eyes. For just one moment fear lashed through her veins and threatened to send her running in the other direction. Had she made a horrible mistake coming here? He looked hard and unforgiving. The man she’d met along the roadside no longer existed, and a tiny piece of her heart longed to crumble, to die. To weep with the thought she might have been wrong that he felt some caring for her, no matter how small.
Then his gaze landed on the red cloak over her arm, and his attention narrowed. “Adrenia? You are here without your father? Without any protection?”
Despite everything she thought she knew about this man, fear rose inside her. She drew her shoulders back. “We are.”
She thought she saw admiration flicker in his gaze, and then concern flashed in his eyes just as quickly.
“Sir,” Adrenia said. “This is my dear friend, Pella Pictrix, wife to Tiberius Pontius Pictor, a farmer on Cordus land.”
Terentius saluted. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Pella had a ready smile for the centurion. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Please be gentle with my friend. She was ill this last week.”
Adrenia glared at her friend. “Pella.”
“Ill?” Terentius’s voice chopped through the stillness.
“It was nothing significant,” Adrenia said, intimidated by his fierce expression.
Pella squeezed Adrenia’s shoulder gently. “I’ll wait for you outside the fort.”
For a few seconds Adrenia’s stomach dropped, then her heartbeat quickened. Alone with Terentius. Excitement danced inside her and a little panic.
Terentius nodded at Pella. “Very well, ma’am.” He turned to the soldier. “Escort her from the fort and then remain with her until she is reunited with her friend. Make certain no harm comes to her.”
The soldier’s eyes didn’t flicker at the request. He saluted. “As you will it, sir.”
As the soldier and Pella disappeared down the street, Terentius assessed Adrenia once more with those disturbing eyes that stripped her of defenses. “Come in.”
He allowed her to enter first. The room had one window, and the remaining light came from a single candle on a desk against one wall. Through a door to the left she caught a glimpse of a pallet like hers at home, only much larger. Various equipment, his chain mail, his swords, other tools littered a worktable. A makeshift cooking area lay in one area. She stared, amazed, when she saw the Italic helmet on the table. He’d secured a transverse crest on top of the helmet in the same white and black she’d dreamed. A shiver passed through her. It shouldn’t surprise her that she’d foreseen his attire.
She touched the rough, stiff hairs used to make the crest. “I dreamt it was white and black.”
He closed the door and locked it. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Terentius moved in close to her. Although he wore only a blue tunic, wide leather belt, and boots with socks, he intimidated with his size and masculinity. “You were ill?”
“A trifling thing. My stomach was unhappy for a day. Something I ate perhaps.”
Without missing a beat, he reached up and cupped his huge hand over her forehead.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You don’t have a fever.”
“No, of course not.”
“You’ll see the medicus before you leave the fort.”
Surprised, she blurted the first word that came to mind. “No.”
He glared down at her. “You will. I won’t have it any other way. You were ill the day I first met you, weren’t you?”
“I believe so.”
“Damn it.”
She flinched.
His hands went to his hips, and he stalked the room like some untamed beast ready to erupt in violence.
He fascinated her. His body moved with assurance, muscles coiling and bunching.
It was terrifying to watch him.
And oh, so, exciting.
Her breath caught. She hadn’t imagined him that day he’d given her the cloak. He wasn’t a god come down to earth for a short stay to tantalize women, steal their hearts and leave. No. He was flesh. He was blood. In some way that was far more daunting and thrilling.
He turned and pointed at her, his soldiering voice in place. “You’ll see the medicus.”
“You’re not my husband, sir.” The defiance in her voice surprised her. “I do not have to obey you.”
He closed his eyes a second, then took a deep breath. “Do this for my peace of mind and to assure you are well. Not because you don’t want to obey me.”
“I don’t have funds to pay for a medicus.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll pay.” Before she could launch another protest, he crossed to a table and picked up a goblet. He handed it to her. “Take this water. You must be thirsty. I just poured this.”
She had a strong thirst, and as she sipped the water, the cold, delicious drink eased her throat and calmed her. “Thank you.”
Before she could speak again, he asked, “Is that my cloak?”
“Yes.” She held it out to him, but he didn’t take it.
“Why did you bring it back? I realize it is worn, but—”
“No.” She almost gasped the word, and when she reached out to touch his chest, her hand brushed hardness. She snatched her hand back. “It isn’t that, sir. You were most generous to allow me to borrow it.”
“It was a gift. Yours to keep.”
His heartfelt statement shook her down to her boots. “I thank you. It kept me warm. I…it was on my bed and kept me comfortable during this last cold snap.”
“Then why did you bring it back?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“My parents insisted I return it.”
His lips tightened, and muscles in his jaw worked. He turned away and stared out the window. “I see. Though I’m not surprised.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I did not mean to offend.”
“Offend?” Once more he turned towards her, and his hand came up.
She flinched and drew back.
He frowned, but his voice was soft. “Did you think I was going to hit you?” He clasped her shoulders and leaned in close. “Listen to me. I’d never raise a hand to you. I don’t hurt women or children. I’ve never beaten a woman or child, nor will I suffer anyone to do so.”
Realizing that she trembled from head to toe, Adrenia closed her eyes and took a shivering breath. Her muscles, which had locked tight, eased.
“Goddess.” He rubbed her shoulders. “I was only reaching to do this.” He lifted his left hand slowly and touched her uneven hairline. “Who did this to you, Adrenia?” When she wouldn’t answer, he continued. “Were your parents angry about this cloak?”
His hand brushed over her hair, then her cheek in a touch that made her want to melt like a kitten under a caress. “They say it isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to take a gift from a soldier.”
His eyebrows went up. “Even an officer?”
“Not any man.”
He sniffed. “It’s as I told your father. No daughter of mine, no woman who belonged to me would go without protection from the elements.”
“Because you have enough money?”
“I do well enough. Enough to provide a wife with clothes.”
At the word wife, something hot and unbidden shot through her. “I’m not your wife, sir.”
He grunted. “As you said before. Please, Adrenia, don’t call me sir. Call me Terentius.”
“Terentius.” She spoke without thinking. “You are quite different.”
“Different?”
“From any man I’ve known.”
Silence dropped over them once more. She noted one thing she’d missed earlier in her survey of his modest quarters. Another cloak, this one a darker red and newer, lay looped over the back of a chair.
“You have another cloak?” she asked.
“I’m borrowing it from a fellow centurion who has two.”
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br /> She laid his cloak and the exquisite broach that went with it onto the chair with the other cloak. “There are weavers hereabouts who sell to soldiers. I’ve made cloaks.”
A genuine, wide smile brightened his features. She couldn’t help but stare into those verdant eyes and noticing his thick, dark lashes. “Then why didn’t you make one for yourself?”
“My mother said I have to sell most everything I make. I keep a few garments so I have a little something to wear, but she insisted I sell the last cloak I made to one of her friends.”
His gaze dropped to the long-sleeved grey tunica she wore, its ends falling in folds down around her ankles.
“If you need a new cloak…” she started to say.
“You’d make it for me?”
“I could.”
He walked to a table and withdrew money from a bag. He returned to her side and handed her the coins. “Will this be enough for a brand new cloak?”
Adrenia’s eyes widened. “This is too much. I cannot accept it.”
“You should be paid handsomely for good work. And I know you will weave a fine cloak for me.”
“But—”
He put one hand up. “If you do a poor job, I’ll take some of my money back. Does that sound fair?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
His eyes gleamed with enjoyment, and she understood then he was the most breathtaking man she’d seen in her life. She allowed her gaze to lock with his, and that slow-burning heat that always seemed to stir inside her when he was near came to full life.
Blinded—she by nature, he by loyalty.
Out of the Dark
© 2008 P.G. Forte
As a blind woman seen as a flawed commodity, Lady Lynett is used to the idea that she’s unlovable. But her parents’ plan to force her into a loveless marriage is too much. Wandering, upset and lost in the cellars of the King’s castle, the darkness doesn’t frighten her, but the murder plot she overhears chills her to the bone. Worse, no one believes her, and the only one she can turn to is a Norman sheriff whose voice sounds disturbingly like one of the conspirators.
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