11:29 AM |
LORD DARVER’S MATCH
Author: Susanne Marie Knight
Genre: Time-Travel Regency
AN INNOCENT WISH--Little did modern day Hillary Logan realize when she made her innocent wish for a happy marriage, that she’d be waking up in bed next to a handsome nobleman--in 1815. Struggling to adjust to Regency England, she teaches the dashing marquess a thing or two about love and “a woman’s place.”
A PLEASANT DIVERSION--Seeking a diversion from the ongoing horrors of the Napoleonic Wares, Simon Altmont, looks forward to a liaison with the attractive woman in his bed. She would make a perfect new mistress! He soon learns just how different his mysterious Mrs. Logan really is. Has the Marquess of Darver finally met his match?
On assignment in the past, Serenity attends her first “haut ton” ball. As she studies the notorious rake, Nicholas Wycliffe, Lord Brockton, she finds him studying her.
Hillary’s cheeks radiated heat. She knew her face had to be the color of her nightshirt--shocking pink. She was standing there half-naked in front of the most desirable man she’d ever come across--and a stranger to boot.
She fingered the long line of buttons at her bodice. “I wish you’d hurry. I’m uncomfortable enough as it is without you eyeballing me.”
Her frankness surprised her. She shrugged it off as a case of the nerves. Who, in her position, wouldn’t be nervous? Who, in her position, wouldn’t be nervous?
The man unsuccessfully turned his laughter into a cough, and then he gave her that lopsided grin again. “Certainly, my dear. Although I must say I have never heard such a quaint manner of speaking. I find the term ‘eyeballing’ quite expressive, to be sure.”
She tapped her foot. How dare he make fun of her speech when he sounded so... so British!
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “And such unusual night attire. I have never seen the like. Not that you do not look fetching.”
Hillary wanted to strangle him. Through clenched teeth, she commanded, “Hurry up!”
“Impatient, m’dear?” He completed his task and, properly covered by the robe, sauntered over to the door. “May I suggest you take position behind the door? When it comes to females, Finch can be disapproving. He does not understand that women can be necessary at times.”
The man knew he was infuriating. He knew it. Hillary frowned but followed his suggestion. His gaze moved over her bare feet, lower limbs, knees, and partially exposed thighs. She tried to pretend his scrutiny didn’t bother her but if her face got any hotter, she’d scorch her eyebrows.
He chuckled. “By the bye, shall I have a bottle of champagne sent up? To celebrate our good fortune? Or rather, my good fortune.”
She balled her fists. What she wouldn’t give to floor the man. But she was in no position to argue.
Eyeing her combat-ready hands, he raised one eyebrow. “No champagne? Perhaps you do not favor things that are French?”
“If you please.” She spat out the words.
Hi grinned, opened the door, and called out into the corridor. “Finch. Finch, old boy, are you up?”
Hillary heard a shuffling noise down the hallway. The shuffling stopped at the door. “Did you require me, my--”
“My good man,” her bedfellow interrupted. “I have a commission for you this early morn. I have an unexpected companion with me--a charming one, I might add. It seems she has misplaced her husband, Jim.”
He turned to her and used the door as a barrier to hide her from Finch. “Jim what, my dear?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.
His eyes crinkled merriment at her predicament. Damn the man! Hillary concentrated on keeping her voice cool. “Jim Logan,” she said succinctly.
With his back to Finch, her tormentor curved a finger under her chin. “I have been remiss. We have not introduced ourselves. Simon Altmont, at your service.”
She met his gaze and ignored the fluttery sensations that zigzagged down her backbone. Hoping she showed no emotion, she raised her chin. “And I’m Mrs. Logan.”
His hearty laugh shook those massive shoulders. Releasing her chin, he bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.”
Finch’s shuffle announced that he still waited. Mr. Altmont turned back to him. “I need you to ferret out this Jim Logan--discreetly, of course. If you have no success, then you must find some suitable clothes for Mrs. Logan to wear.”
As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, her stomach decided to roar. Even Finch must have heard it.
“Oh, and Finch,” Mr. Altmont drawled, “do bring Mrs. Logan and me some breakfast. We have worked up an appetite!”
Speechless, she stared at him. Had she heard right? How dare he imply....
In that moment, there was nothing Hillary wanted to do more than to murder the man.
Susanne Marie Knight
Read outside the box: award-winning Romance Writing With A Twist!