Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 3

by Lynne Connolly

  Look for these titles by Lynne Connolly

  Now Available:

  Triple Countess

  Last Chance, My Love

  A Chance to Dream

  Met by Chance

  A Betting Chance

  Secrets

  Seductive Secrets

  Alluring Secrets

  Tantalizing Secrets

  Richard and Rose

  Yorkshire

  Devonshire

  Venice

  Harley Street

  Eyton

  Hareton Hall

  Maiden Lane

  Lisbon

  Even Gods Fall in Love

  Lightning Unbound

  Coming Soon:

  It All Started at Waterloo

  Even Gods Fall in Love

  Forged by Love

  The fight for their love will be a battle of Olympian proportions.

  Mad for Love

  © 2014 Lynne Connolly

  Even Gods Fall In Love, Book 2

  Wherever he goes, Blaize, Marquess of Stretton, hears the jingle of keys as society mothers lock up their daughters. No wonder: he is secretly the embodiment of Bacchus, god of wine and madness.

  Yet his melancholic heart is lonely. Until he enters a ballroom, hunting for the Titans who destroyed his father. One look at Lady Ariane Wells and he is consumed with an instant, almost violent compulsion to protect her from the attentions of another man who smells of Titan—Marcus, Duke of Lyndhurst.

  Ariane is no shy debutante. She knows what she wants, and it is the stunningly handsome Blaize, even if it means defying her powerful mother. When Blaize disappears, Ariane embarks on a treacherous cross-country chase to find him, knowing that if she fails, she must marry her mother’s choice: Marcus.

  Now that Blaize knows the true identity of his captor, he will fight for Ariane even if it means using his terrifying ability to drive everyone around him insane—including himself. For if he doesn’t save her, he will truly go insane—forever.

  Warning: Contains a rake who can make a woman’s good sense completely melt away, and a debutante who isn’t afraid to spread her wings to fly in the face of convention. Could make even the bluest blood boil.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mad for Love:

  The Comte d’Argento—or as the legends had it, Mercury, messenger and physician to the gods—stood next to him, watching and waiting. They’d come here searching for more of their kind. After their enforced dispersal thirty years before, the quest had become Blaize’s raison d’etre. Nothing else mattered next to that. Once completed, he’d allow himself the sweet forgetfulness of insanity.

  He sensed something. Just a twitch, a tinge of the mental communication they could use or disguise at will, but it flashed through his senses like wildfire. A buzz, like a sound only a bat would hear.

  “Feel that?” d’Argento said sharply.

  “Yes, but only a little.”

  “It’s the first hint we’ve had for months.”

  They’d been hunting the lost gods, the re-creations of the divinities destroyed in an explosion thirty years ago. Nearly thirty-one now. They’d lost most of their number and the battle between the Olympians and the Titans, which had died down in recent times, revived in full force to clash swords, minds and bodies in the ballrooms of fashionable London. Blaize and d’Argento were two of the few gods to escape the slaughter, the others scattered, living in hiding or simply ignorant of their true nature.

  That nudge of a mind against his meant back to work. They needed to discover what it was and if it was deliberate communication or accidental. “We should split up. The mamas love you, so you take the ladies and I’ll stroll to the card room and see what I can find there.”

  “Torturer.” D’Argento adopted a plaintive tone. “You have a way of turning every situation to your advantage.”

  Blaize chuckled. “One of the best parts of a fearsome reputation as a rakehell is being avoided by designing mamas.”

  “Not all of them are designing. And you’re rich enough that most don’t care.”

  He deposited his empty glass on a tray and seized another before the waiter could pass him. “True enough. So I’ll take the ones that don’t want anything but enjoyment and good company.”

  Grumbling under his breath, d’Argento left him. After pasting a smile on to his face, Blaize headed for the corner where the older matrons clustered closest. He only avoided them because of their marriageable daughters, for scandalous though he was, he still held one of the highest titles in the country. Marquess of Stretton, no less. A less scrupulous mama might still try to net him for her daughter. The daughter would get a great deal more than she bargained for.

  He took his time strolling down the window side of the elegant room, a salon converted to a ballroom for the occasion. All fashionable elements lived in this gilded space, every candle in the two big chandeliers was lit. Wall sconces enhanced the glitter, while mirrors over the fireplace and between the windows added to the glare. Too much, in his opinion, but it reflected off the jewels and shining fabrics of the people pacing the stately moves of the minuet played by the quartet stationed in one corner of the room.

  He could appreciate the sight, though often he wished himself a thousand miles away. Still smiling, he managed to snag and drink two more glasses of red wine before he reached the end of the room. People stopped him to exchange words and he began to relax, the tension caused by abstinence leaving him, sanity returning, the wildness banked down deep inside. Resting, not gone. While he walked, he scanned, tracking the room for a trace of that supra-normal buzz. Blaize didn’t care how many people watched his progress and his consumption of wine. They could think what they liked, as they always did. Besides, he wasn’t the only person taking advantage of the generous hospitality their hosts offered. The Dowager Duchess of Kentmere and her daughter had newly arrived from Scotland. In London they were known by repute only, but by this display they were certainly not short of the means to throw an elegant ball. He was about to leave the room, heading for the smaller salon beyond, when he felt it again. Another twinge, like catching a nerve unaware, and then it disappeared. He had no idea if the flicker was meant to draw him or if the owner was unwittingly sending it, but someone had contacted him mentally, and it wasn’t d’Argento.

  He glanced around. He didn’t know everyone here. A young woman snagged his attention. Her hair gleamed dark through its covering of fashionable powder, her eyes clear and blue. She was innocent, respectable, no doubt wellborn. Everything he’d determined to avoid. Short, slender, a fairy of a woman, she appealed to him like no other.

  His heart beat harder, then subsided. A warning, and a recognition. One hammer blow against his chest told him the truth.

  This woman was his. Deep down, something primitive and unreasoning called to her. She belonged to him. Even though men thronged around her, he’d kill them all to get to her.

  Every rational bone in Blaize’s body screamed against him approaching her, but she drew him like no other person in this place tonight. His cock twitched most inappropriately. He wanted her in private, alone, where he could strip that pretty pale blue gown from her body and feast on her pearly skin. He stared at her like an untried boy, yearning to touch her, to take her.

  Despite having calmed the beast inside him with wine, it strained at the leash, drawing him as inevitably as a snake drew a rabbit. Blaize was used to being the rabbit. He chafed at the reversal of the roles.

  The older lady sat on a wide sofa, her voluminous skirts spread wide. She held court while the younger woman, her daughter, stood just to one side of the sofa. As he approached, Blaize took note of her pure, cut-glass accent. “Indeed, Scotland was good enough for us, sir. Edinburgh is an elegant city with many attractions. You know it?”

  She took her time turning, a
play for power. He glanced around, found someone he knew, Lord Siddling, and put a subtle persuasive hint into the man’s mind. Siddling glanced at him and bowed. “May I have the pleasure of introducing someone to you, ma’am?”

  She scanned him. Blaize took care not to let his attention stray to the young woman standing by the sofa smiling gently. Too much interest and the guardian would slam the door on him. He’d wait to be invited in.

  With only a brief second of what am I doing? astonishment, Blaize went through the introduction. “Delighted to meet you, Duchess,” he murmured, his breath whispering over her hand.

  An invisible net closed around him, gilded and glittering, but only one of his kind would see it. The pretty snare sent to trap a man in seduction—a spell. It was nothing he couldn’t slice his way out of. He’d escape long before the cords strengthened enough to hold him.

  This woman had psychic power of some kind. She might even be one of his own, but some mortals had powers too, and a few witches remained, despite the purges of the last century. Although—could they cast a spell powerful enough to ensnare a god? Certainly they could, especially if the god in question went eagerly to his fate. But they couldn’t hold him.

  Blaize made his bow to Lady Aurelia Welles, and when he took her hand, he touched his lips to her skin. Barely, lightly, but he might as well have pressed his naked body to hers.

  Shock arced through him with the power and intensity of pure emotion, no reason in the way. Civilization dropped away from him and he wanted to grip that little hand and drag her away so he could have her to himself. It took a considerable effort of will to batten it down.

  Not that he would, of course. Not yet, at any rate. But he wanted her.

  Even Society’s most scandalous writer couldn’t have predicted this.

  A Measure of Deceit

  © 2014 Jess Michaels

  The Ladies Book of Pleasures, Book 3

  The Ladies Book of Pleasures, now credited with two marriages and countless other affairs and liaisons, has Society all aflutter. The one person not benefitting from its scandalous advice? The author herself.

  From the safety of her anonymity, Lady Grace Hollis, Duchess of Jameswood, enjoys the blissful results of her handiwork—and pretends she does not miss the passionate proclivities she penned. But when her handsome editor begins making the rounds of Society parties, she wonders how long her secret will be safe.

  Connor Sheridan wants—needs—to know the answer to the one burning question on everyone’s lips: the mystery writer’s identity. And it’s not just because their correspondence, delivered via untraceable couriers, has made him smile, frown, or imagine her engaged in erotic escapades—with him.

  Other letters have begun landing on his desk, letters written by a decidedly unfriendly hand. And though it may threaten her reputation, the safest place for her could very well be his arms. Whether she likes it or not.

  Warning: This book contains secret identities, dangerous liaisons, and a very sexy Scot.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for A Measure of Deceit:

  Spring 1814

  Although she had never been classified as a wallflower, there were times Grace, the Duchess of Jameswood, wished she could vanish into the floor and escape the boredom of a party or ball. Tonight—this very moment, in fact—was a very good example.

  Grace forced a smile as Lady Harldrum continued prattling on about some topic (perhaps it was bonnets?) and tried not to exchange a meaningful look with her two best friends, the Marchioness Lyndham and the Countess of Northfield.

  Of course, neither Isabel nor Jacinda looked as frustrated and annoyed as she felt. But then again, neither of them ever did anymore, thanks to their relatively recent marriages. They were both blissfully happy. And that made Grace happy.

  Mostly.

  “But you must know, Your Grace,” Lady Harldrum said, gripping Grace’s arm with surprising strength. “I’m certain you’ve read the book.”

  Grace blinked and shot Isabel and Jacinda a look of panic in the hopes her two friends would understand she had been woolgathering rather than listening. Isabel seemed to catch the hint first, for she gave a bright smile.

  “I believe Lady Jameswood is more than aware of The Ladies Book of Pleasures. Aren’t you, my dear?” she supplied.

  Grace tensed at the mention of that subject, just as she always did. The Ladies Book of Pleasures was a rather naughty book which had been written by “An Anonymous Lady”. It encouraged women to embrace their desires, to welcome their feelings of need and attraction. Since its appearance on the marketplace, it had taken London Society by storm, inspiring outrage, titillation and more than a few torrid affairs.

  There seemed to be two camps when it came to the book: those who supported the Lady and said she was a revolutionary, and those who despised her and wished to rip her to shreds, likely in the city square, for what she had “done to Society”.

  Grace frowned. What did Isabel mean by “more than aware”, anyway?

  Jacinda and Lady Harldrum both stared at her, expecting an answer, and she swallowed hard before she waved the hand that wasn’t captured in Lady Haldrum’s grip.

  “Oh, that book, that book,” she said with a put-upon sigh. “I realize it has supposedly changed lives—”

  Jacinda sucked in a breath. “There is nothing supposed about it.”

  Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Both Jacinda and Isabel considered The Ladies Book of Pleasures to have played a large part in their falling in love with their husbands. Not that they would say something so direct or shocking in front of Lady Harldrum.

  Grace shook her head. “Very well, it has changed lives. But I do wonder when the furor will die down. The book has been out for more than two years now. Certainly something more fascinating has come along.”

  Isabel cast her a strange look, but before the marchioness could say anything, Lady Harldrum laughed rather nervously. “I do not think the interest will pass soon. At least I hope not, for I have planned a coup of magnificent proportions for tonight that has to do with that wicked little tome.”

  Isabel had been staring at Grace, but now her attention focused in on Harldum. “A coup?” she said, her voice quivering with excitement. “Don’t tell me you have uncovered the identity of the author of the book?”

  Jacinda stepped forward, her hands clenched over her heart. “Is she here?”

  Grace’s stomach dropped at the thought and she searched Lady Harldrum’s face. The woman had a vapidness to her that made Grace doubt she could uncover such a secret. But if she used her vast supply of money, could even the most carefully covered trail be unearthed? Was it possible?

  Lady Harldrum’s face fell, putting Grace’s fears to rest even before the baroness said, “No, I’m afraid I cannot boast to that discovery.” She gave a weak smile. “But I do have someone here who might be just as good as the Lady herself.”

  “Who?” Isabel asked.

  “Yes, don’t keep us in suspense,” Jacinda encouraged.

  “I have the publisher of the book here. Connor Sheridan.”

  Lady Harldrum motioned through the crowd, which parted quite obligingly to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man with close-cropped dark hair and bright green eyes. A very handsome man—which was not going unnoticed by the ladies in the crowd, who were currently cooing over him.

  Grace could hardly breathe as she stared, drinking in the sight of him without blinking. “He—he is the editor of the book.”

  Lady Harldrum cast her a quick glance. “Is there a difference?”

  The question shook Grace from the trance Sheridan seemed to inspire in her. She thinned her lips and looked away from him. “I don’t really know.”

  But that was a lie. She knew the difference between them quite well. She knew Connor Sheridan fulfilled both roles, in this case. Because she was the Lady. And he
was her editor.

  The editor she was seeing for the very first time.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Arrows of Desire

  Copyright © 2015 by Lynne Connolly

  ISBN: 978-1-61922-580-0

  Edited by Amy Sherwood

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2015

  www.samhainpublishing.com