A Dream of Desire

by Nina Rowan

  He inhaled the air surrounding her. No cloying scent of flowers or perfume. She smelled crisp, clean, like starched linens and sharpened pencils.

  Her lips parted. Her posture remained stiff, her hands curled at her sides. Alexander wondered if she ever allowed herself to lose that self-contained tension. He continued to grip her shoulders, and for an instant they were both still. Then he slipped his hand to the side of Lydia’s neck just above her collar.

  She trembled when his thumb grazed her bare skin, brushing back and forth against her neck, the only movement within the utter stillness surrounding them. Color swept across her cheekbones, the same reddish hue as a breaking dawn. Her throat rippled with another swallow, but her expression didn’t break; her posture didn’t ease.

  If anything, she grew more rigid, her spine stiffening. Alexander’s thumb moved higher, to that secret, intimate hollow just behind her ear, his fingers curving to the back of her neck. His palm rested in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was as smooth as percale; tendrils of her dark hair brushed the back of his hand.

  Want. That surge pulsed through him, hot and heavy, the desire to strip her dull clothes from her body and touch her bare skin. As if in response, her pulse quickened like the beat of butterfly wings against his palm.

  A soft thud sounded on the carpet as her notebook fell to the floor.

  He lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t move forward, but neither did she back away. Her flush intensified, her chest rising as if she sought to draw air into her lungs. Multiple shades of blue infused her eyes. Her breath puffed against his lips. His hands tightened on her shoulders, the side of her neck.

  The cracks within him began to smooth, the fissures closing. Instead he was filled with the urge to prolong this strange attraction, to savor the mystery of what would happen when their mouths finally met.

  “Later.”

  His whisper broke through the tension like a pebble dropped into a pool of still, dark water. Lydia drew back, her lips parting.

  “What?” Her question sounded strained, thin.

  Alexander slipped his hand away from her neck, his fingers lingering against her warm skin.

  “Later,” he repeated. “I will require the payment of your debt at a later date.”

  Lydia stared at him before stepping away, her fists clenching. “My lord, this is unconscionable.”

  “Is it? We never determined payment would be immediate.”

  “It was implied.”

  “Ah, that’s your mistake, Miss Kellaway. It’s dangerous to assume your opponent holds the same unspoken ideas. Dangerous to assume anything, in fact.”

  He almost felt the anger flare through her blood. For an instant, she remained still, and then something settled over her expression—a resurgence of control, of composure.

  She started for the door, her stride long and her back as stiff as metal. Just before she stepped out, she turned back to him.

  “Though I prefer a more systematic approach to proving a theorem, my lord, I appreciate your assistance.”

  He watched her disappear into the shadows of the foyer; then he smiled faintly. He picked up her notebook from the floor and slipped it into his pocket.

  Also by Nina Rowan

  Daring Hearts Series

  A Study in Seduction

  A Passion for Pleasure

  Praise for Nina Rowan’s

  Daring Hearts Novels

  A Passion for Pleasure

  “4½ stars! Rowan writes with a passion and compassion that reaches out to readers. Her debut garnered attention, and her latest love story puts her on the path to becoming a reader favorite. Entering the world of music, Rowan finds a rhythm and flow that moves the story quickly, never losing a beat within the plotline or character motivation and providing wonderfully emotional entertainment.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “An extremely fun book…sweet…I enjoyed seeing this relationship crescendo from a mutual adoration into a full-blown romance.”

  —SeducedByaBook.com

  A Study in Seduction

  “A rare combination of beautiful writing and hot sensuality—readers are going to love A Study in Seduction!”

  —Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

  “Here at BookPage we are loving debut romance novelist Nina Rowan and her new book A Study in Seduction. If you are a romance enthusiast with a little bit of closet nerd inside of you, then this novel is the perfect fit for you.”

  —BookPage

  “Four stars! Rowan debuts a historical romance that has plenty of sizzle contained within a strong story line, featuring a feminist approach, likable characters, a mystery with plot twists galore, and plenty of sassy repartee. Readers will eagerly await the next in Rowan’s Daring Hearts series so they can savor her well-crafted, sensual prose.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “[A] fabulous Victorian romance in which the mathematical puzzles provide freshness…The lead couple is a nice pairing of intelligent individuals and the siblings are fully developed…sub-genre fans will enjoy the theorem of love.”

  —GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com

  THE DISH

  Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop

  From the desk of Jennifer Haymore

  Dear Reader,

  When Lady Dunthorpe, the heroine of THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION, came to my office, she filled the tiny room with her presence, making me look up from my computer the moment she walked in. The first thing I noticed was that she was gorgeous. Very petite, with lovely features perfectly arranged on her face. She could probably be a movie star.

  “How can I help—?” I began, but she interrupted me.

  “I need you,” she declared. I could hear the smooth cadence of a French accent in her voice. “My husband has been murdered, and I’ve been kidnapped by a very bad blackguard… a… a scoundrel.”

  I straightened in my chair. “What? How… why?” I had about a million questions, but I couldn’t seem to get them all out. “Please, my lady, sit down.”

  She slid into the chair opposite me.

  “Now,” I said, “please tell me what exactly is going on and how I can help you.”

  She leaned forward, her blue eyes luminous and large. “My husband—Lord Dunthorpe. He was killed. And his murderer… his murderer has captured me. I don’t know what he’s going to do…” She swallowed hard, looking terrified.

  “Do you know who the murderer is?

  She shook her head. “Non. But his friends call him ‘Hawk.’ ”

  Every muscle in my body went rigid. I knew only one man called Hawk. His real name was Samson Hawkins, he was the oldest brother of the House of Trent, and I’d just finished writing books about two of his brothers.

  Yet maybe she wasn’t talking about “my” Hawk. Sam was a hero, not a murderer. Still, I had to know.

  “Is he tall and broad?” I asked her. “Very muscular?”

  “Oui… yes.”

  “Handsome features?”

  “Very.”

  “Dark eyes and dark hair that curls at his shoulders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he have a certain… intensity about him?”

  “Oh, yes, very much.”

  Yep, she was definitely talking about Sam Hawkins.

  I sat back in my chair, stunned, mulling over all she had told me. Sam had killed her husband. He’d kidnapped her… and was holding her hostage… Wow.

  “I need your help,” she whispered urgently. “I need to be free…”

  “Of course,” I soothed.

  Her desire to be free sparked an idea in my mind. Because if she truly knew Sam—knew the man inside that hard shell—perhaps she wouldn’t want to be free of him. She was beautiful and vivacious—she’d lit up my little office when she’d walked inside. Sam had certainly already noticed this about her. Now… all I had to do was work a little magic—okay, I admitted to myself, a lot of magic, considering the fact that Sam h
ad killed her husband—and I could bring these two together.

  Sam hadn’t lived a very easy life. He so deserved his very own happily ever after.

  This would be a love match born in adversity. Very tricky. But if I could make it work—if I could give Lady Dunthorpe to Sam as his heroine—it would probably be the most fulfilling love story I’d ever written.

  With determination to make it work, I turned my computer screen toward me and started typing away. “Tell me what happened,” I told Lady Dunthorpe, “from the beginning…”

  And that was how I began the story of THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION—and now that I’ve finished it, I’m so excited to share it with readers, because I definitely believe it’s my most romantic story yet.

  Please come visit me at my website, www.jenniferhaymore.com, where you can share your thoughts about my books and read more about THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION and the House of Trent Series. I’d also love to see you on Twitter (@jenniferhaymore) or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/jenniferhaymore-author).

  Sincerely,

  From the desk of Kristen Ashley

  Dear Reader,

  As a romance reader from a very young age, and a girl who never got to sleep easily so I told myself stories to get that way (all romances, of course), I had a bevy of “starts” to stories I never really finished.

  Not until I finally started to tap away on my keyboard.

  One of them that popped up often was of a woman alone, heading to a remote location, not feeling well, and meeting the man of her dreams who would nurse her back to health. Except, obviously (this is a romance), at first meeting him, she doesn’t know he’s the man of her dreams and decides instantly (for good reason) she doesn’t like him all that much.

  Therefore, I was delighted finally to get stuck in Nina and Max’s story in THE GAMBLE. I’d so long wanted to start a story that way and I was thrilled I finally got to do it. I got such a kick out of seeing that first chapter unfold, their less-than-auspicious beginning, the crackling dialogue, Max’s A-frame (inside and out) forming in my head.

  But I had absolutely no clue about the epic journey I was about to take—murder, assault, kidnapping, suicide and rape, trust earned and tested—and amongst all this, a man and a woman falling in love.

  The focus of the book is on Nina’s story—oft-bitten, very shy, to the point where she’s hardly living her life anymore, feels it, and knows she needs to do something about it even as she’s terrified.

  But whenever I read THE GAMBLE, it’s Max’s story that touches me. How he had so much from such a young age and lost it so tragically. How he took care of everyone around him in his mountain man way, but also was living half a life. And last, how Nina lit up his world and revived that protective, loving part of him he thought long dead.

  The struggle with this, however, was Anna, the love Max lost. See, I knew her well and she was an amazing person who made Max happy. They were very much in love and neither Max (in my head) nor I wanted to give her short-shrift or make any less of the love they shared even as Max fell deeply in love with Nina.

  I didn’t know if this was working very well, for Nina was so very much not like Anna, but, at least to me, I found her quite lovable. This was good; you shouldn’t try to find what you lost but simply find something that makes you happy. But still, it was important for me that the love Max shared with Anna wasn’t entirely overshadowed by the love he had for Nina because Anna was in his life, she was important, and being so was part of what made him the man he turned out to be.

  In a book that has a good deal of raw emotion, one line always jumps out at me and there’s a reason for that. I was relieved when a friend of mine told me it was her favorite in this whole, very long book. So simple but also, by it being her favorite, it told me that I’d won that struggle.

  It was Max saying to Nina, “I see what I had with Anna for the gift it was but now that’s gone. With this act, are you sayin’, in this life that’s all I get?”

  In a book where grave tragedy had consistently struck many of the characters (as life often hands us our trials), I love the hope in this line. I love that Max finally comes to realize that the beauty he had and lost was not all he should expect. That he should reach out for more.

  And he does reach out for more.

  And in the end, he finds that it isn’t all he would get. Being a good man and taking a gamble on a feisty woman who shows up in a snowstorm with attitude (and her sinuses hurting), he gets much, much more.

  So I was absolutely delighted to take his journey.

  Because he deserves it.

  From the desk of Nina Rowan

  Dear Reader,

  What is the worst part of writing a historical romance? Once upon a time, I might have thought it was most difficult to unravel the plot and character motivations, but the more I write, the more I realize the truth. It’s the research! And I don’t mean that in a moan-and-groan-it’s-homework way. I mean that the more I research for the sake of a book, the more I get flat-out distracted by all the little golden nuggets I find.

  When I start researching, I tend to trawl the London Times archives, which has a searchable database that is so beautiful and easy to use that it almost makes me cry. For A DREAM OF DESIRE, I started by looking up articles about prisons and juvenile delinquency, but got quickly distracted by other things like the classified advertisements. The Times was full of ads for polka and mazurka lessons, “paper hanging” sales, tea companies, and job openings for schoolmistresses and butlers. The “prisons” search term appeared in the classifieds in an advertisement for “prisons supply of coal, meat, bread, oatmeal, barley, candles, and stockings.” The ad requested that suppliers submit an application to the keeper of the prisons to be considered for the position.

  I also get distracted by other articles about criminal court proceedings (a goldmine of story ideas), new laws, intelligence from overseas, and details about royal court life, like the state ball of 1845 at Buckingham Palace, which was attended by over one thousand members of the nobility and gentry and where Her Majesty and the Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburgh Strelitz danced the quadrille in the ballroom, which was festooned with crimson and gold draperies and lit by a huge, cut-glass lustre.

  I find that fascinating. But distractions aside, it really is within the pages of the newspapers and magazines published in the nineteenth century that the most vivid details of a story can come to life. When I first started writing A DREAM OF DESIRE, I thought surely the term “juvenile delinquent” was a historical anachronism, but it was used often in Victorian-era Times articles about “juvenile destitution and crime.”

  I’ve come to accept the fact that rather than being a dedicated, focused researcher, I’m more like a magpie whose attention is caught by shiny objects. But I’ve also learned to appreciate how much all those little tidbits of information come in handy when crafting a story—what might happen if the hero and heroine were in attendance at Her Majesty’s state ball? What if the heroine was having a clumsy moment (or better yet, was distracted by the hero’s rakish good looks) and tripped over the Grand Duke in the middle of the quadrille? What if she found herself face-to-face with a rather irate Queen Victoria?

  Must go. I have some writing to do!

  From the desk of Jane Graves

  Dear Reader,

  I like wine. Any kind of wine. I’ve learned a lot about it over the years, but only because if you use any product enough, you’ll end up pretty educated about it. (If I ate 147 different kinds of Little Debbie snack cakes, I’d know a lot about them, too.) I can swirl, sniff, and sip with the best of them. But the fourth S: spit? Seriously? The theory is that one should merely taste the wine without getting tipsy, but come on. Who in his right mind tastes good wine and then spits it out?

  My husband and I once went to a wine tasting/competition where we took our glasses around to the various vintners’ booths and received tiny tasting pours, which we were to sip, savor, and judge. By the time we sampl
ed the offerings of about two dozen vineyards, those tiny pours added up. At first we discussed acidity, mouth feel, and finish, then thoughtfully marked our scorecards. By the end of the event, we’d lost our scorecards and were wondering if there was a frat party nearby we could crash. Okay, so maybe that spitting thing has some merit.

  In BABY, IT’S YOU, the hero, Marc Cordero, runs an estate vineyard in the Texas Hill Country that has been in his family for generations. As I researched winemaking for the book, I discovered it’s both a science and an art, requiring intelligence, intuition, willpower, and above all, heart. The heroine, Kari Worthington, feels Marc’s pride as he looks out over the grapevine-covered hills, and she’s in awe of his determination to protect his family legacy. For a flighty, free-spirited, runaway bride who’s never had a place to truly call home, Cordero Vineyards and the passionate man who runs it are the things of which her dreams are made.

  So next time I go to a wine tasting, I’m going to think about the myriad challenges that winemakers faced in order to present that bottle for me to enjoy. But I’m still not gonna spit.

  I hope you enjoy BABY, IT’S YOU!

  JaneGraves.com

  Twitter @JaneGraves

  Facebook.com/AuthorJaneGraves

  From the desk of Adrianne Lee

  Dear Reader,

  I have a secret to confess: I’m not creative with my hands.

  My mother and sister inherited an artistic gene that I did not. My mother drew a Christmas scene on the mirror over the fireplace every year. Drawings I create look as though they were done by a toddler.

  My sister can wrap a present that is too pretty to open. Gifts I wrap look as though I’ve hired a chimpanzee and given it ten rolls of Scotch tape, though that is probably insulting to chimpanzees.