The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda: A Summersby Tale
Page 30
“I made it clear in the past,” she said coldly, “that our acquaintance was over. Forever. Should we meet again, which I trust won’t be necessary, you may call me Miss Hardwick.”
“Don’t you think that’s absurd, given what we once were to each other?”
She stepped farther away from this unpleasantly damp man. Never mind that his figure was displayed to advantage beneath clinging linen, fine enough to limn the contours of his chest and reveal an intriguing dark shadow descending to the waist. It was true that his thick, wavy hair looked quite good wet, but she no longer responded to the lilt of laughter in his deep voice. “Our past relationship was founded on falsehood and meant nothing. I never think of you, and I’d like to keep it that way. We meet as indifferent strangers.”
A smile tugged on his lips. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him, that hint of humor in an otherwise grave face. “Do you often push strangers into rivers?”
“You deserved it.”
An Excerpt from
TO HELL AND BACK
A LEAGUE OF GUARDIANS NOVELLA
by Juliana Stone
All Logan Winters wants is to be left alone with the woman he loves. But fate isn’t on his side . . . Logan and Kira are back in the latest League of Guardians novella from Juliana Stone.
Priest knew he was in trouble about two seconds after they exited the bed-and-breakfast. Up ahead, just past the giant pumpkin display, stood a pack of blood demons. They’d donned their human guise, of course, but it did nothing to hide the menace they projected. A family of five gave them a wide berth as they traversed the sidewalk, and he watched as the mother hustled her children past.
Smart humans.
The damn things looked like a bunch of thugs—all of them well over six feet in height, with thick necks, tree trunks for legs, and shoulders as wide as a Mack truck.
They were mean and strong, but dumb. Bottom feeders who kissed the asses of most of the underworld. He wondered who they called boss.
Normally, Priest wouldn’t have blinked. As an immortal knight of the Templar, he was used to dealing with all sorts of otherworld scum. In fact, it had been a few months since he’d flexed his muscles and connected his fists with demon hide. Normally he looked forward to this kind of shit because life, such as it was, gave him only a few moments to feel truly alive. Making love to a hot-blooded woman did that. Waking up to the smell of fresh rain did that. Killing a bunch of punk-ass demons did that. He glanced to his side.
But normally he worked alone.
Casually he leaned his tall frame against the brick façade of the coffee shop to his right and kept Kira out of view. The woman didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to. Her pale features and large, exotic eyes couldn’t hide her fear. But there was something else there, and it was that something else that was going to make all the difference in the world. Anger.
He reached his hand forward, as if to caress her cheek. All the while, his eyes scanned the immediate area looking for demons. To anyone glancing their way, they appeared to be a couple deeply involved in each other. Lovers.
Priest ignored both her flinch and her quick recovery as his gaze swept along the street behind him. His liege—the Seraphim Bill—hadn’t told him much of this assignment, but he knew enough. He knew where Kira Dove had been.
The gray realm.
It was a place he was all too familiar with, and he had to give it to her, the little lady had spunk. Anyone who escaped purgatory in one piece was strong. He’d never met the hellhound, Logan Winters, but his woman had guts.
His eyes hardened when he spied a second pack of blood demons hunkered down near the bed-and-breakfast they’d just left. When he felt the unmistakable shift in the air that spelled real trouble, his insides twisted.
Lilith’s crew.
Just fucking great. His Harley was nowhere near where he needed the damn thing to be. He was surrounded by demons, in the middle of a large crowd of innocents and this little bit of woman had the very bowels of hell on her trail.
A new scent drifted up his nostrils. Lilith’s pack hounds were here somewhere, and their human disguises would be hard to penetrate. Those guys were pros.
Priest straightened and dropped his hand from her cheek until he drew her delicate fist into his large palm. Damned if he was gonna let the queen bitch of hell get to Kira Dove. Strong white teeth flashed as he smiled and looked down at her.
“You ready to rock and roll?”
Huge eyes stared up at him, their dark depths hiding a hell of a lot more than pain and fear. There was strength there . . . determination, and—he smiled—a fuck-you attitude.
She nodded and then whispered, “Let’s do this.”
An Excerpt from
MIDNIGHT IN YOUR ARMS
by Morgan Kelly
For fans of Downton Abbey and readers of Jude Deveraux and Teresa Medeiros comes the brand-new tale of a love that crosses the boundaries of time . . . from debut author Morgan Kelly.
Laura collapsed on top of him with a weak moan that he sucked from her lips as he withdrew and coiled himself around her, face to face, his arm cradled along her spine. They were both slick with sweat, drenched in the only substance that quenched what it had ignited.
“One doesn’t learn that in finishing school,” he murmured appreciatively into her ear, when he could speak. She giggled, hiding her face in his shoulder.
“I suppose you think me utterly wanton?” she said. “Isn’t that a word you use these days, to describe women like me?”
“There are no women like you,” he said, tucking a damp curl behind her ear.
“Not here,” she agreed, snuggling against him.
“Not anywhere,” he said.
Laura smiled and pressed her lips to his chest. He ran his fingernails slowly up and down her back, and she nearly purred. He loved the way their skin stuck together, as though they were truly fusing into one person. His eyes grew heavy, and he blinked, afraid that if he fell asleep, she would simply disappear. He didn’t know the rules. He didn’t know if there were any. They seemed to be making them up as they went along.
“In this time,” he said, “are you truly not yet born?”
“Not for years and years.”
“Then how is it you can exist, here and now, with me?”
She looked up at him, her head arched against the pillow. “I really don’t know, Alaric. I only know that I do, and that I have never felt more alive than when I’m with you.”
“If you . . . stayed, here, with me, what would happen when you are born?”
Laura rolled onto her back, her leg still hooked around him and her body pressed alongside his. She cradled her head on her arm, the sinuous curve of her underarm upraised. Tiny beads of sweat pearled her collarbone, a necklace of her own making. “I don’t know. But my time isn’t a good one, Alaric. It’s a dangerous time, when the whole world has been at war with itself. I’ve seen things I can’t erase from my mind. People have done things that take away their humanity—and now they are expected to carry on like decent citizens.”
“I know what war is,” Alaric said.
“Not war like this,” Laura said quietly. “We can never be the same, any of us. Being here with you makes me feel like none of that could ever happen.”
“Maybe it won’t,” he said gently, running his palm over her sweet flesh.
“Oh, it will,” she said. “And then it will happen again. Time isn’t the only endless cycle.”
An Excerpt from
SEDUCED BY A PIRATE
by Eloisa James
In Eloisa James’s companion story to The Ugly Duchess, Sir Griffin Barry, captain of the infamous pirate ship The Poppy, is back in England to claim the wife he hasn’t seen since their wedding day . . . but this is one treasure that will not be so easy to capture.
“You’re married to a pirate?”
Phoebe Eleanor Barry—wife to Sir Griffin Barry, pirate—nearly smiled at the shocked expressi
on on her friend Amelia Howell-Barth’s face. But not quite. Not given the sharp pinch she felt in the general area of her chest. “His lordship has been engaged in that occupation for years, as I understand it.”
“A pirate. A real, live pirate?” Amelia’s teacup froze, halfway to her mouth. “That’s so romantic!”
Phoebe had rejected that notion long ago. “Pirates walk people down the plank.” She put her own teacup down so sharply that it clattered against the saucer.
Her friend’s eyes grew round, and tea sloshed on the tablecloth as she set her cup down. “The plank? Your husband really—”
“By all accounts, pirates regularly send people to the briny deep, not to mention plundering jewels and the like.”
Amelia swallowed, and Phoebe could tell that she was rapidly rethinking the romantic aspects of having a pirate within the immediate family. Amelia was a dear little matron, with a rosebud mouth and brown fly-away curls. Mr. Howell-Barth was an eminent goldsmith in Bath, and likely wouldn’t permit Amelia to pay any more visits once he learned how Sir Griffin was amusing himself abroad.
“Mind you,” Phoebe added, “we haven’t spoken in years, but that is my understanding. His man of business offers me patent untruths.”
“Such as?”
“The last time I saw him, he told me that Sir Griffin was exporting timber from the Americas.”
Amelia brightened. “Perhaps he is! Mr. Howell-Barth told me just this morning that men shipping lumber from Canada are making a fortune. Why on earth do you think your husband is a pirate, if he hasn’t told you so himself?”
“Several years ago, he wrote his father, who took it upon himself to inform me. I gather he is considered quite fearsome on the high seas.”
“Goodness me, Phoebe. I thought your husband simply chose to live abroad.”
“Well, he does choose it. Can you imagine the scandal if I had informed people that Sir Griffin was a pirate? I think the viscount rather expected that his son would die at sea.”
“I suppose it could be worse,” Amelia offered.
“How could it possibly be worse?”
“You could be married to a highwayman.”
“Is there a significant difference?” Phoebe shrugged inelegantly. “Either way, I am married to a criminal who stands to be hanged. Hanged, Amelia. Or thrown into prison.”
“His father will never allow that. You know how powerful the viscount is, Phoebe. There’s talk that Lord Moncrieff might be awarded an earldom.”
“Not after it is revealed that his son is a pirate.”
“But Sir Griffin is a baronet in his own right! They don’t hang people with titles.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Actually, I think they behead them.”
Phoebe shuddered. “That’s a terrible fate.”
“Come to think of it, why is your husband a baronet, if his father is a viscount and still living?” Amelia asked, knitting her brow. Being a goldsmith’s wife, she had never been schooled in the intricacies of this sort of thing.
“It’s a courtesy title,” Phoebe explained. “Viscount Moncrieff inherited the title of baronet as well as that of viscount, so his heir claims the title of baronet during the current viscount’s life.”
Amelia digested that. Then, “Mrs. Crimp would be mad with glee if she found out.”
“She will be mad with glee,” Phoebe said, nausea returning.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s back,” Phoebe said helplessly. “Oh, Amelia, he’s back in England.”
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Lady Alexandra’s Excellent Adventure copyright © 2012 by Sophie Barnes.
Excerpt from Three Schemes and a Scandal copyright © 2012 by Maya Rodale.
Excerpt from Skies of Steel copyright © 2012 by Zoë Archer.
Excerpt from Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman copyright © 2012 by JB Lynn.
Excerpt from The Second Seduction of a Lady copyright © 2012 by Miranda Neville.
Excerpt from To Hell and Back copyright © 2012 by Juliana Stone.
Excerpt from Midnight in Your Arms copyright © 2012 by McKinley Hellenes.
Excerpt from Seduced by a Pirate copyright © 2012 by Eloisa James.
THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY LUCINDA. Copyright © 2012 by Sophie Barnes. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780062225399
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062225405
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