Runner up in Readers' Choice Award for Best Historical 2007
The life of Deran Morissey, Earl of Atherton, upends when Ava Fychon is dumped in his hall, sopping wet from her swim in the Thames. He doesn’t believe her tale of being kidnapped from her home in Wales and brought to England to be sold, yet grudgingly agrees to help locate her missing siblings not knowing that this journey will have him falling in love with the high spirited Ava, a woman he cannot have.
Excerpt
“I feel guilty. And ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“I am safe and dry and not hungry. I’m enjoying a free morning in a park before I leave for someone’s home
where I am to be a guest. I am very fortunate and I feel guilty that...that I’m alive and…” She shook her head
violently and clasped her arms around her as a fresh font of tears spilled over. She stomped a foot and spat out
words foreign to Deran’s ears.
Unsure whether her distress was from anger or sorrow, he meant to console her. Standing behind her, he set his
hands on her shoulders, lightly at first. The top of her head came to his chin allowing the faint rose scent of her
hair to fill his nose. His thumbs rested on the nape of her neck and his groin tightened in reaction to the warmth of
that small patch of skin. He eased his hands from her shoulders and covered her arms with his, encasing her in an
embrace meant to comfort, to let her know that all would be well. We will find them, he whispered. I will help you.
Do not worry so.
His heart thrummed against her back and he felt her wrist pulse, its tapping, fast and insistent. Step back. But
before he could talk himself into it, she rested her hands on top of his arms and squeezed. He slowly slid his arms
fully around her waist and pulled her back against him.
This was not wise. Not wise on many levels. They were in a public park, somewhat secluded behind a tree but
especially not wise because he had situated her round buttocks against his lower body which had already been
strongly influenced by a simple touch.
No, not wise at all. But, oh so heady.
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