Blurb
A runaway countess finds love when she least
expects it…but she can’t hide from her past forever.
Elizabeth,
Lady Beauchamp, fears for her life. When she discovers her dissolute and long-estranged
husband has syphilis—and he wants to beget an heir no matter the cost—she flees
to a remote part of Scotland to begin a new life as the widowed governess, Mrs.
Beth Eliott at Eilean Tor Castle.
When
Mrs. Eliott unexpectedly arrives on his doorstep, the reclusive and recently
widowed Marquess of Rothsburgh is both irritated and intrigued. No longer in
need of a governess—his young daughter now resides with his sister’s family in
Edinburgh—he proposes the beautiful widow fill a position of a different kind…
Torn
between staying true to her marriage vows and her wanton attraction to the
devilishly handsome marquess, Elizabeth struggles against the temptation to
become his mistress. But living a lie is not easy when you have fallen in love.
And secrets always have a way of coming out…
Excerpt #1
Prologue
Harcourt
House, London, September 1815
Elizabeth
sat before her cherrywood dressing table, determinedly brushing her hair with
slow methodical strokes, trying in vain to relax. The simple routine always
used to be soothing, a balm to her taut nerves.
But
not anymore.
Especially
not tonight.
The
grandfather clock in the hall outside suddenly heralded the hour. Midnight.
With
a shaky sigh, she placed the brush upon the silver tray and glanced at her
candle-lit reflection. A grave young woman stared back at her; shadows as dark
as bruises marred the usually pale skin beneath her grey eyes. She was so
tired. And so anxious, she felt as brittle as a dried-out birch twig that was
going to snap at any moment.
But
she couldn’t break now. All going well, in six hours she would be gone from
here in a hired cab that was scheduled to arrive in the mews behind the
servants’ entrance where her travelling trunk had been carefully stowed.
Despite her fatigue, she doubted that she would be able to sleep at all between
now and then.
There
was too much at stake.
The
unexpected sound of her bedroom door opening made her start. In the dark
shadows behind her, the reflection of her husband’s tall, lean frame appeared.
He paused on the threshold and by the way he leaned against the door frame it
was obvious that he was drunk—not an unusual circumstance for this time of
night. Elizabeth knew that he’d probably spent the best part of the evening at
his club or some gaming hell. But what was unusual, what caused her heart to
hammer against her breast, was the fact that he had come to her room at all.
Hugh
hadn’t entered her bedchamber for more than a year.
She
tried to read his expression, judge his mood. Desperately tried to fathom what
could have prompted this unexpected nocturnal visitation. But Hugh’s blue eyes,
indeed the sculpted planes of his entire face, were hidden in shadow.
“Elizabeth.”
Pushing away from the door, he prowled toward her bed, then sank onto the pale
blue silk counterpane with a heavy sigh. The lingering odor of port and stale
cigar smoke assailed her, but she forced herself to remain still, as she
watched—and waited, her stomach cramping with fear. It made no sense at all
that he had come to her, instead of seeking out the more titillating company of
his latest mistress or at the very least a prostitute—his usual custom at this
late hour.
Unless…Does he know what I have
planned?
Despite
her rising panic, Elizabeth was suddenly struck by the realization that her
husband was uncharacteristically maudlin. Turning to face him, she was acutely
conscious of the fact that she only wore a thin, white cotton nightrail.
Although it buttoned all the way to her throat and had long sleeves, she felt
vulnerable. Exposed. It bothered her that her feet were bare.
But
she couldn’t afford to show any weakness.
“Are
you all right, my lord?” she asked carefully, forcing the words past her tight,
dry throat. It seemed safer than asking—what
do you want?—or—are you here to stop me
leaving you? She hoped to God he hadn’t uncovered her secret. She must
tread carefully. Her life depended upon it.
Excerpt #2
At
last, she heard the unmistakable sound of bolts being pulled back, and then the
door was thrown wide. A bright lantern was thrust toward her face, blinding
her. She raised a hand to her eyes in a futile attempt to shield them and
squinted upwards. An extremely tall man was holding the lantern aloft; she
could discern little else about him as the intense light in her eyes obscured
her vision.
“What
do you want, woman?” The man’s voice was a low growl.
Elizabeth
drew a deep breath and summoned her most imperious voice. She had come so far
and she would not be cowed by an obnoxious servant. “I seek an audience with
Lord Rothsburgh. Is your master at home?”
“What
the deuce for?”
She
immediately bristled at the insolence in the man’s tone. “I’d have a care to
mind your tongue, sir. And lower that lantern. You’re hurting my eyes.”
The
light was immediately lowered, and Elizabeth was able to see a little more of
the man who seemed to be filling up the whole doorway. He must have been at
least six foot four, with black hair that fell across one eye. She also noted
that he was informally dressed in a loose, white cambric shirt that was open at
the neck, black breeches and boots. The marquess obviously had low standards
when it came to fitting out his staff in proper livery.
“Well,
aren’t you going to invite me in?” she demanded.
The
man—she assumed he was some sort of sloppy butler or footman—let out a snort of
laughter. “What on earth for?”
She
scowled and drew herself up, raising her chin. She would not be laughed at by
the hired help. “I understand there is a vacancy for a governess. I’ve come to
offer my services to Lord Rothsburgh.”
“Have
you indeed?” There was still an annoying undercurrent of laughter in the man’s
voice. Nevertheless, he stepped aside and made a grand sweeping gesture with
his free hand. “Then by all means, come in.”
Elizabeth
picked up her skirts and started to step forward when the toe of her boot
caught on an unevenly laid flagstone on the threshold. With an unlady-like
squeal she pitched forward toward the floor—until she was deftly caught about
the waist by the vulgar butler. With a gasp of half-shock, half-embarrassment
she found her midriff was bent across his muscular forearm, whilst her side was
crushed roughly against his wide chest. One of her hands had involuntarily
fisted into the linen sleeve of his shirt where underneath she could detect the
bulk of a sizeable, iron-hard bicep.
The
scent of the man flooded her senses; warm male, whisky and the tantalizing
scent of exotically rich soap; it reminded her of sandalwood, leather and a
spicy note she couldn’t quite place—perhaps it was cloves. She took all of this
in within the instant that she was suspended above the floor before the man
righted her. She took a step away, her cheeks flaming. “I’m so sorry, sir. How
clumsy of me. And I’ve made you all wet…Mr.…”
The
man’s arm lingered across her waist. Perhaps he thought she would fall again.
She noticed he had dark eyes; his gaze travelled over her face, studying her.
She must look a sight.
“James,”
he said, his eyes holding hers. In the dim light she couldn’t work out if they
were dark brown or black.
Author
Bio
Amy Rose Bennett has always
wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. An avid reader with a
particular love for historical romance, it seemed only natural to write stories
in her favorite genre. She has a passion
for creating emotion-packed—and sometimes a little racy—stories set in the
Georgian and Regency periods. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish
heroes always find their happily ever after.
As an unpublished author,
Amy has been a finalist in contests in both Romance Writers of Australia and
Romance Writers of America. In 2013 and
2014, she achieved second place in the top three of Romance Writers of
Australia’s Emerald Award, and her debut Regency romance novel—‘Lady
Beauchamp’s Proposal’—was the winning entry in the historical section of two
Romance Writers of America Chapter Contests in 2013—the Chicago North Fire and
Ice Contest and the San Francisco Heart to Heart Contest.
Amy is happily married to
her own Alpha male hero, has two beautiful daughters, a rather loopy Rhodesian
Ridgeback and a Devonshire Rex cat with attitude. She is a Speech Pathologist,
but is currently devoting her time to her one other true calling—writing
romance.
You can find Amy on her
website, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads.
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