“He has a wild spirit, Jezebel. Wilder even than your own. It is fitting two such like souls should find each other. Heed and trust him, and he will honor you much the same. I If you do this, I am certain, you will come to love each other as well.”
Her father, kind, wonderful, and loving, taught her everything about horses. He had been right on all accounts. She and Dark Storm came to trust and then love each other, with a fiery passion born of their wild hearts and shared lust for life. When her father and brother died three years earlier, leaving her the sole heir to Kinrara and all the responsibilities with it, Dark Storm had been her salvation. Not wishing to burden her friends with her worries, Dark Storm became her one true confidant and that love deepened tenfold.
Now galloping across meadow and moor, Jezebel, kept her eyes closed, leaning forward, and relaxing against the soft roughness of Dark Storm’s neck. Releasing the reins, she, with a confidence wrought of time and love, let the steed run roughshod. Which is why, galloping at an equally breakneck pace, Aiden Darlington found himself changing course to pursue the dangerous and feral animal, whose rider it seemed was an unfortunate match for his mount.
* * * *
He appeared to be on all accounts dead, not an unusual incident considering his locale. The wilds of Scotland were fraught with accidents. That said, Aiden could not figure out why, for the life of him he seemed intent on chasing the God-forsaken creature on which the dead man balanced, across the whole damn country when he came to Scotland for rest and relaxation, away from the prying eyes of England’s infamous haute ton. Nevertheless, that’s exactly what he found himself doing. With a heavy sigh, he gave his mount a hearty kick that sent him racing toward the horse and rider.
It didn’t take long for him to eradicate most of the distance between himself and the unfortunate lad. As he came closer, he inspected his quarry. The boy was noticeably young, the Duke pondered, much too young to die, by his guess no more than sixteen. He still reflected on the matter when he realized, with what little surprise he was capable of, there was no blood to be seen.
Well, that ruled out a gunshot, Aiden thought as he observed the young boy. He had probably been strangled. Upon closer inspection however, he could see no sign of that either. Falling in line with the huge creature, Aiden reached, grasping the horse’s reins, and with the ease of an expert horseman pulled the beast up short. As he reached over to examine the victim, three things hit him all at once, and in such rapid succession, they left his head reeling. First the boy was no boy at all, but a maid. Beautiful to be sure, every curve and crevice of her body outlined by the masculine apparel she was clad in. Second, she had the most amazing skein of tresses he had ever seen, he must have been outright mad to have missed it. While he was still contemplating this amazing fact, the third hit him right between the eyes. She was awake, and had a damn strong arm!
““Hell and damnation woman! What was that for?” He sputtered angrily, his face still stinging from her blow.
“That,” Jezebel fired back, “was for manhandling my horse and for trying to assault me in the process, you wretched, disgusting, venomous snake! God should never have let a sadistic, unprincipled bastard such as you walk the Earth, you…you pestilence upon man, you curse upon humanity, you…”
Recovering from his stunned stupor, the smile he gave her was roguish and self-assured.
“Are you done slighting my character and cataloging my faults?” he inquired.
“There aren’t enough words in the world to describe the sort of treacherous lout you are, you miserable…” Jezebel resumed, jerking her horse’s reins from his hand.
“You have made that more than clear enough,” the Duke responded, unperturbed by her incestuous fury, the rakish grin that threatened to reveal itself lingering on the edges of his smile.
“If you’ll but give me a chance to explain,” he continued. “I’m sure I could ease your venomous opinion of me, if only slightly.”
“With your evident confidence I bet you think you could charm a snake out of its poison,” Jezebel snapped back.
Beginning to enjoy himself, Aiden wondered at what a fascinating surprise this dead man had become, all the while listening to the fiery temptress beside him, tick off his faults and social infractions with pleasurable wrath emanating from her every beauteous curve. There were many to be sure, he mused, his predatory nature pressing him to act. What a lovely mistress she would make. She would never bore him in bed, or out as many of his prior mistresses had, even Lila―for all her talent and wit was beginning to become monotonous. She chattered incessantly when he wished silence, she was too quiet when he wished words, even the prospect of bedding her, as appealing as he found her, had become tedious, nothing pleased him anymore. Yes, he considered, annoyed with himself and the subject in general, he was going to discharge her once he returned to England. It was more than time. Returning to the subject at hand he realized the angry beauty next to him was still talking.
“What was that?” he asked idly, choosing to ignore her obvious impatience.
“I asked…” Jezebel snapped, “…are you listening?”
“Not in the least.”
Turning her horse, Jezebel kicked him into a flurry of motion and galloped away, leaving the Duke both stunned and determined. In all his thirty years, he had not known a woman with such a fiery spirit, or such a candid persona. She was rare, unique, and she was going to be his. It mattered not that he didn’t even know her name, he was going to find her, and then he was going to have her.
~
Also from Adrienne Davenport:
Stranger by Morning
by Adrienne Davenport
eBook ISBN: 9781615727063
Print ISBN: 9781615727070
Contemporary Romance
Novel of 73,562 words
An alluring combination of danger and temptation…
Since she was a young girl, impoverished Chicago resident Reese Donavon has known High born teen, Christian St. Lorraine. A friend of her cousin’s, Christian has always harbored a tendency for getting himself into trouble. Still, Reese can’t resist idolizing the handsome teenager. As she grows, so does her attraction for Christian.
Now a teenager herself, Reese’s attraction for Christian has blossomed into far more than petty infatuation. For a time the relationship shared between the pair is nothing short of fairytale material. Until one day, having just graduated from high school, Chris goes off to college leaving Reese alone and confused.
Years go by without any sign of him. Now a reporter for the Chicago Times, Reese has spent much of her career tracking a world renowned thief known only by the sinister title “The Dark Angel”.
Unaware of the criminal’s true identity, she soon finds herself on her way to India, once more tracking the felon’s activity.
A rich businessman by day, Chris has spent the past few years moonlighting as a bandit, working with the secret service in hopes of discovering the identity of the person who murdered his mother and sister. When he catches wind that the young reporter is on his trail he surprises her by sneaking into her hotel room late one night and demanding she help him in his endeavor. Now his partner in crime, she finds herself traveling from country to country by his side. She falls in love with the man who she had once sworn never to trust again.
What started out as an awkward business partnership has turned to a dangerous romance between two people who are only just learning to trust. When they come face to face with the people responsible for the murder of Chris’s relatives their already shaky trust is pushed to the limit.
Now, turn the page to read Chaper One from Stranger by Morning.
Stranger by Morning: Chapter One
Chicago, Illinois, 1986
“Where the hell have you been?” Jonathon Saint Lorraine screamed nastily, following on his s
on’s heels as the tall chestnut-haired teenager strolled through the front door of the large house situated on North Howe Drive, a black evening jacket swung drunkenly over one shoulder. “It’s past twelve o’clock,” he raged. “I told you to be home three hours ago! You were off gallivanting around the city with some degenerate hooker no doubt.”
“I was out.” The fifteen-year-old continued across the wide foyer, his stride deceptively casual. “There’s no point in pretending like you care. We both know you don’t.”
“Don’t talk back to me, you ungrateful little bastard,” Jonathon snapped. About to continue, he stopped as if to collect himself. “Christian,” he stated, in a tone of one who had been pushed to the breaking point and was exerting every ounce of his effort to keep from exploding, “it strikes me that this discussion is both useless and unnecessary. Go to your room and stay there for the rest of the night.”
“Fuck you.”
As he reached the doorway dividing the large entrance from the rest of the house, Christian could almost hear his father’s teeth grinding. He was sorely tempted to glance over his shoulder, for the sole reason of seeing the full effect his words had on his sire. The pleading expression reflecting in his mother’s soft brown eyes, however, as he passed by her on his way into the hall, quickly doused the idea.
He hated his father. As a result, any chance to flout the son of a bitch’s command was worth whatever punishment would result. In recent weeks, however, Jonathon had begun to take his fury out on his timid wife instead of his rebellious son, a fact that infuriated Chris but one that—short of murdering the bastard—he was helpless to stop.
Jonathon enjoyed having control over people, in the workplace and at home—especially at home. Over the last year Chris had sat back, watching with gleeful satisfaction as, with each of his transgressions, that control slipped a little more. At first, his infractions were small—a fight outside a nightclub and arrests for underage drinking. When that had not been enough to unnerve Jonathan, however, he had resorted to crimes which were far more serious.
Six months ago, a strange man, whom he had never before encountered, caught him driving his neighbor’s car across state lines. As a result, the local courts charged him with grand theft auto. Luckily, due to the far-reaching influence possessed by his family as well as the help of a very expensive attorney, the judge lowered the charge to mere joyriding. Certain his father would be furious, Chris was surprised when he received only a slap on the wrist and a chilly order to cease his shenanigans. After that, his crimes became progressively worse until two months ago they had culminated in his first real offense.
That night he broke into his father’s business and stolen forty thousand dollars along with a large 14-karat gold Rolex valued at around eight thousand dollars. It took his father one month and another twenty thousand dollars to discover who stole the items.
When at last he did, he was both embarrassed and outraged. Instead of allowing Chris to go to prison, as by all rights he should have, Jonathon marched him out of the police station and into the waiting limo.
Once they reached the daunting brick structure where the family resided, he had hauled Chris from the car and into his study where, without one word, he had delivered his own brand of punishment in the form of a brutal beating that left Chris with two broken ribs and a black eye.
No one asked how he acquired the injuries. No one dared. Instead, they accepted the lukewarm explanation given to them by Jonathon that his son fell from a very high tree. After that it didn’t take his father long to discover his one weak spot—his mother and sister. As of late he used them against him, wielding his newfound power with all the harsh strength that a blacksmith wields a hammer, slamming it down whenever he got out of line.
One day, he pondered as he ascended the stairs, he would get them away from Jonathon, as far away as he could. He just needed to figure out how.
* * * *
“Daddy!” Reese exclaimed, sprinting towards the open door where her father, damp from the pounding rain outside, had entered.
Though exhausted from the long hours he spent at the foundry where he worked for most of the past forty-five years of his life, the sight of his daughter racing towards him at the end of a long day never failed to bring a glow to his heart and a smile to his weathered face.
“Have you been hiding from your mother again, sweetheart?”
Looking sly, Reese shifted her gaze a little to the side.
“So you have,” Patrick guessed, following her eyes across the scarred wooden floor to the ragged couch covered in a handmade patchwork quilt a few feet away.
Giggling, Reese swung her head around and stretched her arms skyward.
With a jovial chuckle, her father swept her up in his arms, giving her a tight squeeze.
“Guess what? Guess what?” the little girl expounded, staring up into her father’s expressive features.
“Well, let me see,” Mister Donavon joked. “You got an A on your history test this morning.”
“No, silly,” Reese replied, enjoying the lighthearted game. “Guess again.”
Affecting a pretense of ignorance, Patrick attempted, “You found a lost kitten on your way home from school and your mother said you could keep it.”
“Well, no,” Reese replied, taking a moment to give the matter further contemplation. “That would be nice, but it’s much better than that. Give up?”
“I can’t imagine what could be better than a kitten,” Patrick said. “I know,” he exclaimed as though he were experiencing a great revelation. “How could I have not guessed.”
Holding her breath, Reese waited, her excitement obvious, as he intentionally prolonged the moment.
“It wasn’t a kitten you found,” he announced after what felt to Reese like an eternity. “It was a puppy!”
“No!” Reese replied, shaking with gleeful mirth. “Much better—my birthday is only one day away. I’m going to be a whole year older. Isn’t that wonderful, Daddy, a whole year!”
Not proof against his daughter’s bright smile, Patrick threw her high in the air.
“That’s wonderful, darling,” he replied when he caught her. “You know, I never did forget.”
* * * *
He genuinely meant it, but along with his joy came a twinge of sadness, a whole year. She was growing up too fast, he pondered, his crystal blue eyes deepening to a dark navy.
Patrick was proud of all of his children. His three boys were becoming fine young men with a notion for hard work and a strong moral backbone. Sure, they all had a bit of fire in their blood, but they were young yet. They would mellow with age.
However, Reese—his youngest child and only daughter—held a special place in his heart. In that way he supposed he was much like every other father. He could not help it. Tomorrow she was going to be nine years old; it didn’t seem that old, really—except to him, it was. Before he knew it, she’d be ten and then sixteen and then, well, he’d just as soon not think about that, nine was old enough.
Setting his daughter back on her feet he watched as she ran to the bottom of the rickety staircase, where a tall lithe woman with fading blonde hair stood with open arms. Lifting her daughter off her feet, Katarina gave Reese a tight hug, sending her husband a warm smile over the top of her shoulder.
“Come, Reese,” she said, directing her attention to the little girl whose hair was much the same as hers had once been, “it’s almost dinner time. You’d better go wash up.”
Setting Reese back on her feet, she gave her a soft nudge. Her daughter raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top, she swung around the banister and skidded into the upper hall, disappearing from sight. Nodding her satisfaction, Rena turned her attention away from the now empty staircase and started walking towards her husband, her steps slow and a weary smile set on her lips.
<
br /> “I missed you today,” she said, her voice quiet as she wrapped her arms around his well-muscled neck.
“Ah and I you, Rena darling.”
Taking his wife in his arms, Patrick placed a hot kiss on her lips, drawing her ever nearer as he did. He pulled back as the front door burst open, emitting three rowdy boys, all of whom dripped with a liberal amount of mud.
* * * *
“I won!” the oldest of the three shouted over his shoulder, darting across the room and flopping down in front of the fireplace where a fire was burning on the grate.
“No way, Niki,” his younger brother retorted. Setting aside his ball and glove the boy went to join his sibling by the fireplace. “It was a tie. You didn’t even hit the base!”
“I did.” Nicoli shot his brother a cocky grin. “You just didn’t see it, Gabi. You were too busy making eyes at that redhead with the big eyes and the even bigger…”
Glancing at his mother, he observed her frown of disapproval and stopped short.
“Sorry, Mama,” he said. Determined to get in one last jibe he finished with staunch resolve, “He was though, you know.”
Both boys turned to their younger sibling for support.
With a wide spread of his hands the youngest of the three boys regarded the other two with a helpless frown, sat down on the hard floor, and without a word began removing his sneakers.
~
Coming in 2015
Almost Wonderful
by Adrienne Davenport
Miracles in the Making Page 8