Synopsis:
The author of The Millionaire
Rogue returns to her dazzling series about a bygone era filled with
romance, espionage, and one dangerously seductive diamond…
Mr. Henry Lake spent the past
twelve years uncovering the most scandalous secrets of Europe’s wealthy and
powerful, serving as one of His Majesty’s most decorated spies. But when a
mission to find the legendary French Blue diamond brings him back to London,
and face to face with a beautiful noblewoman he once loved, it’s his own hidden
passions that are uncovered…
Lady Caroline, dowager Duchess of
Berry, knows better than to lose her head over a man. After an embarrassing
romantic entanglement forced her into a loveless marriage and early widowhood,
she learned to never trust in desire, especially when it comes to the man who
once broke her heart. Only, despite her good sense, she finds Henry impossible
to resist—even when he once again places her in deathly danger…
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Excerpt:
She breathed against him, and he breathed against her. He
wondered how a naked shoulder could be infinitely more erotic than other, more
private naked parts.
Her left hand went to her forehead; with her right, she
poured wine into her cup and threw it back in a single gulp.
“Henry,” she whispered. The sound of her voice made him
feel the burn behind her closed eyes as his own. “Mr. Lake.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She scoffed. “Maybe we shouldn’t call each other anything.”
“Of course. Yes,” he said. A pause. He was holding himself
an inch away from her. It was killing him, the impulse to close the distance
between them, to press his body against hers. Resisting it was like resisting
the end of night, the approach of morning: inevitably idiotic, vexingly futile.
Frustrating. Waiting out the passing of this moment, and
then the next, frustrated him to no end.
He wanted to touch her. God, he wanted it more than he’d
ever wanted anything.
But he was hurting her. She was hurting, and it was because
of him. He closed his eyes against his guilt. He’d married her, claimed her as
his own, and left her the next day.
Henry had no right to touch Caroline. He’d lost that right
twelve years ago. He’d lost her. He was a cad, a blackguard, a scalawag of the
worst sort.
Still, the desire to claim her again glowed brightly inside
him.
He stared down at the skin of her neck; that skin. His fingers burned with the need to touch her there.
Those stray wisps of her hair were stuck to her glistening
nape. Without thinking—without meaning to—he reached up and brushed them aside
with his thumb.
Caroline sucked in a breath as the skin along her neck and
shoulders broke out in a wave of goose bumps. She didn’t say anything.
And then Henry was leaning forward, angling his neck as he
lost himself in her nearness. He pressed his mouth, gently, to the bottom
corner of her neck, the place where it sloped into shoulder. Her skin singed
his lips; he tasted salt, and her.
A flood of memory rushed through him. He knew her, he knew
her taste and the curves and hollows of her body, the breathless sounds she
made. Across the ballroom she’d been a stranger; but now, up close, she was as
familiar as she’d been that summer night so many years ago.
She was his.
At least for now.
His lips were moving up the elegant length of her neck now,
slowly, as he savored every inch of skin, and felt the furious working of her
pulse in the curve beneath her ear.
Caroline’s eyes were still closed as she tilted her head,
baring her throat to him. He held her neck in his hands, holding her closer
against him, steadying[CE1]
her against his increasing hunger.
His mouth moved over her jaw to graze the corner of her
lips, and then he was turning her toward him, trapping her legs between his own
as he at last took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.
A levy broke inside him at that moment, releasing a torrent
of emotion, of feeling he hadn’t known he’d been holding inside his chest until
now.
Behind his closed lid he saw stars, and then he saw
nothing, blind to everything but the riot of sensation that pulsed through him
from this place where skin met skin.
In half a heartbeat he was wild with desire. It took his
every ounce of self-control to kiss her carefully, thoughtfully, as she ought
to be kissed; as he wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to do a thousand other things, too, things he’d
learned in the misguided hope that he would one day be able to do them to her. Things that one could only learn in Paris; things that
would make an Englishman blush, or die, or both.
God, but her lips were soft. Yielding. Her mouth tasted
sweet, like wine, and clean. She allowed him to open her lips with the gentle
press of his own; he groaned aloud, eyes rolling to the back of his head.
He dug his fingers into her hair, his thumbs hooked beneath
her chin. He moved her head against his kiss, tilting her to the right, then to
the left, taking her bottom lip between his teeth.
Henry took and she gave, willingly, meeting him stroke for
stroke. She was falling into his caress; he could feel her sway beneath him.
The wildness that ran hot just beneath his skin—he
struggled to control it.
And then, in the next instant, he couldn’t.
About the Author:
Jessica Peterson began reading
romance to escape the decidedly unromantic awkwardness of her teenage years.
Having found solace in the likes of Rhett Butler and Mr. Darcy, it wasn’t long
before she began creating tall, dark, and handsome heroes of her own.
A graduate of Duke University,
Jessica worked at an investment bank before leaving to pursue her writerly
dreams. She lives with her husband, the tall, dark, and handsome Mr. Peterson,
in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Links:
Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Author Goodreads
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Beautiful cover and interesting excerpt!
ReplyDeleteLove the cover and the book sounds great.
ReplyDeleteLove the cover. I too love Rhett Butler :)
ReplyDeletethe book cover looks great
ReplyDeleteLove the cover, love the synopsis!
ReplyDeleteThe synopsis grabbed me!
ReplyDeleteLove the cover, sounds great!
ReplyDeleteSounds really good!!
ReplyDelete