“Hunter is going to take care of you. You’ll be just fine.”
“Brady.”
“Yes, love?”
“I wanted you to know, just in case I die --”
“You are not going to die.” The vehemence in his voice comforted her. She sighed.
“Even so, I wanted you to know that I love you.”
“I love you, too, Libby.”
She tried to smile, but she felt tears gather in her eyes and slide down her face.
“I wanted you to know that I left before...” She sucked in a breath when another shaft of hot pain radiated from her shoulder. “I wanted to say that I left because I was afraid. You... me... different.”
He chuckled, although for some reason it sounded watery to her. “We are at that, lass. Well, to make it up to me, you have to marry me.”
“Sure, Brady, anything you say.” Warmth spread through her, relaxing her muscles. She figured John had given her something for the pain. That was her last thought as she drifted off into nothing.
* * * * *
Libby ground her teeth together and decided that maybe, just maybe, she should have left Brady in that cave.
“Brady, I’m not an invalid.”
“Doc says bed rest.”
“Hunter is not a doctor.”
He stared at her, blinked once, and turned his attention back to his handheld ebook reader. It had been three days since she’d been hit, and he had been driving her crazy. He treated her like glass. She didn’t like it one bit.
Sighing, she looked at the ring on her finger. He’d held her to her promise, but she’d insisted on a fast wedding. At least, after they sorted out the mess of what had happened. After the dust had settled, they’d found out that both Masters and John were agents for some agency, although neither of them were forthcoming about just who they worked for. But they’d been watching Tony for months as he embezzled thousands of dollars from the government.
“You never did explain what that nonsense was about being royal Irish blood.”
He shrugged. “My family is distantly related to the English aristocracy.”
“You’re royal, and you didn’t tell me?”
He looked up, surprised by the irritation in her voice. “We don’t think much of it; and really, Libby, you know my family and I don’t talk anymore. But I guess you could say that I have some blue blood in me.”
Dismissing her again, he went back to his ebook reader. She sighed and looked around the room. She had nothing to do. Brady wouldn’t even join her in bed. She’d tried to convince him just a few moments earlier, even offered to put on the genie outfit, but he’d refused. If she heard him utter the words “Hunter said so” one more time, she was going to punch him in the nose. Hard.
“Isn’t there something I can do? Why don’t you get me a book, too?”
He looked up, frowned but nodded, and went to do her bidding. Before he reached the door, loud voices sounded down the hall and the door burst open.
“What the hell have you done to my daughter, Saint?”
She blinked. “Daddy?”
She jumped out of bed, ignoring Brady’s reprimand. “Daddy.” She threw herself into his arms. Taller than her by three inches, and muscled, without an ounce of fat on him, he could easily lift her off the floor. He hugged her close, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar scent of peppermint that she always associated with him. He kissed her cheek, and the whiskers from his beard tickled her face.
“What did you do to yourself, Libby?” His voice was gruff with emotion, and she felt her own eyes sting with tears.
“What she did was risk her life to save your sorry ass, and you don’t even appreciate it.”
Slowly, her father set her aside and faced Brady.
“And what did you do? Let her go off running around. You’re supposed to protect her.”
“I did protect her, but the ass she married tried to kill me so he could have some fictional emerald. And another thing --”
“You didn’t do a very good job of it.”
Both of their voices had risen to the point where she winced from the sound bouncing off the walls.
“Shut up.”
Both of them looked at her as if she had grown two heads.
“I can take care of myself.” The men looked at each other and smiled. “You’re going to piss me off.”
“Never mind that. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters. Hunter says you’re good to go. Get your things and we can hop on out of here. I have some meeting down in New York City in a couple weeks, so we have to get going if I’m going to make it.”
“First of all --” Brady grabbed her arm and pulled her over to his side. “-- she’s not going anywhere. And second of all, what the hell happened to your quest?”
“Not going anywhere?” Sterling looked at both of them, his eyes sparking, his face flushed with anger. “And just why do you have some say-so in that?”
“Because I’m her husband, and she’s staying with me.”
Her father’s eyes widened and then a smile curved his lips. “Well, now, that’s more like it. When did this happen, and why couldn’t you wait? I wanted to walk you down the aisle.”
She smiled. “I didn’t want to wait, and we did a quick civil ceremony. Neither one of us wanted a big ceremony.”
“Ahh, Libby, that’s okay. Fantastic, in fact.”
Brady stopped his celebration with a question. “Sterling, what the hell were you doing running around after the legend of the Snake King?”
“Oh, that.” Sterling shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, see, Libby was unhappy, and I had been researching things, and... it was a good plan.”
“Plan?”
“I knew I made a mistake about Freemont, Libby. And I knew you’d never stopped loving Saint. So I figured out a way to give him to you.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. This was beyond anything her father had pulled before. “You mean you concocted this story, put my life in danger, and yours and Brady’s, to get us back together?”
She heard Brady chuckle, and shot him a dirty look.
“Ahh, love, you know your da does nothing in a small way.”
“So you think I should just forget about it?”
“Well, it did turn out well.”
“Brady St. James, you know if we let him get away with this now, it will only keep getting worse.”
“He did get away with it.”
She turned and realized her father had slipped out the door. “Dammit.”
Brady pulled her back into his arms. “Ahh, love, it turned out perfectly.”
She sighed. “I guess so.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Your father is safe, your ex is in jail, and we’re married.”
She felt his erection against her stomach and her body responded in kind. “Saint, you know that you’re easy, don’t you?”
He smiled, his dimples in full force. “Only where you’re concerned, love; only where you’re concerned.”
Melissa Schroeder
Melissa Schroeder was born at an Army hospital to an Air Force family. She's been a little screwy ever since. When she was almost five, her father was assigned to Germany. Over the next four and a half years, her parents dragged Melissa and her sister from castle to castle, and museum to museum all over Western Europe. She saw the house where Anne Frank lived, visited the Berlin Wall, and saw the Eiffel Tower at night. Her love of history was born and flourished through their many travels. And, although she loved the travel, she swore she would never marry a man in the military (see info. below for a good laugh).
Melissa has always loved to read. She is convinced the love was developed because her mother read to her even before Melissa knew what she was saying. In the seventh grade, Melissa read To Kill a Mockingbird. This book convinced her she wanted to be a writer. It wasn't until she was in college working on her double degree in history and English, though, and enrolled
in creative writing with Professor James Hoggard, where she began to explore her writing. It was there she discovered she had a gift for comedic writing but refused to accept that she wasn't the next James Joyce. She blindly ignored the fact that she was a woman, not Irish, and basically a happy person. She slaved away, ignoring the comments from her instructor who told her she was good at comedy, trying to write full of angst. She didn't fully explore comedy until she began writing romance several years ago.
She cites Jayne Ann Krentz, Lori Foster, Susan Andersen, Rachel Gibson Stephanie Laurens, Julia Quinn, and Jennifer Crusie as influences in her romance writing. Melissa has been married happily for many years to a man who, after they were married, decided to enter the AF. Since she was already in love with him, she decided to put up with the military. They have two daughters, an adopted dog daughter, and live wherever the military sticks them. Which, Melissa is sure, is somewhere with hot summers, and lots of bugs you would normally see on The Animal Discovery channel…
Now that she has signed her first e-book contract, she has two dreams: to sign one of her single titles to a print contract and to live somewhere the bugs die.
Visit Melissa on the Internet at http://www.authormelissaschroeder.com/
* * * * *
CARTE BLANCHE
Camille Anthony
carte blanche
NOUN: n. Inflected forms: pl. cartes blanches: kärt bläsh, kärts blänch, blnch)
Unrestricted power to act at one’s own discretion; unconditional authority
ETYMOLOGY: French: carte, ticket + blanche, blank.
In the days before the world burned, the original definition of the term “carte blanche” literally meant “blank ticket.” If one could obtain a blank letter or ticket stamped with the king’s seal, one could write whatever they wished upon the paper. Many such papers were secured and sold for a price to ruthless men of power. Many people disappeared -- some into the dreaded prison called the Bastille and others into the murky waters of an undisclosed and unmarked death. And so carte blanche came to be known as limitless power and authority. The years passed, and in the latter days of the kings of Great Britain, men took mistresses as they always did. Also as always, the women who captured the lusts and interests of such men demanded something in return for their favors. The bargaining was intense as the doves negotiated everything but a wedding dress. The highest any kept woman could aspire was to be given a home of her own and a blank ticket of credit. -- Ananda, ship’s librarian Diaspora a.p. 194
Prologue
One of the last original colonists from Old Earth, Liana, stood on her balcony, eyes narrowed against the hot rays of Paradyse’s afternoon suns. One hand shading her face, she gazed out over the verdant, teeming jungle of New India. The huge orange sun that was the primary solar light shone down on the pale blue expanse of trees and underbrush, highlighting the turquoise fronds of the fur tea plants -- so named because the leaves of the indigenous plant were clothed with a soft, velvety covering that resembled the fur of some Old Earth animals. The smaller, dwarf sun, blizzard white and dying, bathed everything in double shadows.
Liana sighed. Sometimes she missed Earth with a pain that threatened to rip her heart apart. Green trees and grass, blue water and skies... Lord above, she missed the simplest things. Closing her eyes against the memories of a long-dead reality, she drew in a deep breath. She missed her parents, who had not been among those rescued.
She, of all her family, had been the only survivor of Earth’s death throes. She had grown to maturity aboard the colony ship, ironically looked upon as one of the leaders. Her visions had given her a place of authority. After all, she had been the first to sound the alarm, though no one had heeded her. Amidst the turmoil of terror, the people had turned against all scientists, claiming rampant technology had stripped them of the atmospheric protection Earth had needed.
Liana’s lips quirked up in a sardonic sneer. Never mind that scientists had been telling people for decades that they were destroying the stratosphere... that the ozone layer grew dangerously thin... At that point, the people weren’t looking for answers -- they were looking for scapegoats.
She’d lived through the time of panic and horror, hoping never to be involved in such again. Now, she sensed a disturbance, dreamed a disorder, a glitch in the rightful order of things. Something was stirring; something evil and insane rode the winds, targeting the family she’d adopted as her own. Targeting her new world.
I am an old woman, retired and forgotten. I have earned my peace. What have I to do with the trouble coming upon this place and these people?
Liana shook her head, her grizzled curls brushing against her thin cheeks. She had seen the end of civilization, had seen the old world burn. Just like then, she knew herself incapable of ignoring the danger to those she had come to love. She couldn’t stand by and neglect to give a warning, much good it would do. Against her will, she recalled the emotional devastation of that long-ago time.
Long before Earth’s sun had exploded, she’d dreamt of the great conflagration over and over again. Telling her parents had been futile. They wouldn’t believe the flighty child she’d been, didn’t believe such powerful, important visions could flow through her. The other adults had responded in the same vein. A melodramatic dreamer, they’d called her, idly brushing off her warnings and dire predictions. Nearer the end, they’d all believed, all listened, but they’d waited too late to take meaningful, effective action. During the chaotic days just before the end, they’d managed to save only a pitiful few. There were times when she still wished she hadn’t been among those chosen to occupy a berth on one of the seven colony ships sent off before the massive nova destroyed the sun. From their vantage point light-years out from Earth, they’d watched in horror as the sun flares engulfed the planet, instantly killing those who’d had no other means of escape...
Throwing off the memories that haunted her still, Liana turned her back to the world outside. There was much she needed to do to prepare for the threat that drew nearer every day. Evil’s stench surrounded the figure of the father, and she feared it might be beyond her capability to aid him. Even if she succeeded, the attack against her father would devastate Chastity, and she would need her old ayah in the days to come.
Liana tightened her lips. She’d sensed the seedling talents of a visionary in the girl years ago. Accepting the position as her ayah, she’d trained the young child. During those formative years, she’d grown to love the intelligent youth as the granddaughter she’d never had. This new world couldn’t afford to lose the talents of a budding seer. Chastity must be protected at all costs.
Gliding over to her storage chests, Liana began packing for a prolonged visit. She just hoped she wouldn’t arrive too late to do what little she could.
* * * * *
The loud retort of a shot rang through the air, startling Chastity out of a light doze.
“What the hell --?” That sounded like it came from Father’s rooms.
The book she’d been reading fell from her lap as she jumped up from the divan. Rushing out the library door, she tore through the corridors separating the duke’s private quarters from the rest of the house. Her scandalous pantaloons -- held in oft-reiterated aversion by Papa -- gave her the freedom of movement she needed to reach her father’s side as quickly as possible.
Heart pounding from the double rev of exertion and fear, she exploded around the last corner and skidded to a halt. Lungs laboring, she frantically dragged in enough air to shout, “Father!” as she burst through his bedroom door.
Sheer curtains fluttered at the bank of tall, open windows. Beneath one screenless opening, her father lay sprawled, his bloodied chest draped half out the low marble sash.
“Oh, my guardian angel-serpents! Papa!”
Chastity dropped to her knees beside her father, fingers scrabbling, pressing against his carotid in hope of finding a pulse. Her hands shook badly, hindering her efforts. A curse and a sob broke free as she
took a deep breath and held it, fighting to steady herself and her hand.
“Powers Above... help me!” she pled, trying again for a pulse, this time at the wrist. Recalling a bit of medical trivia, she made sure not to grip with her thumb. A faint, thready beat pulsed against her forefinger and she collapsed in a weak huddle, thankful tears raining down her face.
She slid all the way to the floor and cradled her father’s head in her lap. “Why would someone shoot you, Father? What enemy do we have that I don’t know about?”
Just then, the thud of retreating footsteps sounded on the cobbled flagstone walkway, followed by the jingle of a harness and the whinnying of a horse. An outraged yell, a cry of pain, and the sound of clanging metal rang in the stable yard. She listened to the clattering hooves clip-clopping down the long dirt drive, and ground her teeth. Anger seethed within. Torn between wanting to catch the person responsible for harming the most important person in her life, and staying to see him out of harm’s way, Chastity cursed the unknown person but chose to remain with her father.
The perpetrator may have escaped today, but she would see the villain captured and repaid if it were the last thing she did in this life.
* * * * *
“Oh, hell, no, Liana, I refuse to go! How could you expect me to just up and leave while my father is still struggling to survive?”
Liana sighed at the truculent look marring the earthy beauty of her former charge’s face. She’d raised this turbulent child and knew better than most what that expression presaged. If she wanted Chastity to walk the only path of safety she could design, she’d have to present her with logical, overwhelming reasons for going against her deepest instincts.
“And if you don’t go, who will catch your father’s would-be killer?”
The arrested glare was all she could have hoped for. Those velvety brown eyes went vague as the young woman’s focus turned inward. Her shoulders slumped. “Just the thought of having to deal with so-called ‘polite society’ turns my stomach. I don’t have it in me to sashay around like a weak reed, leaning on strong, protective men. I am a capable woman and I --”
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