deception.
She winced and tried to remind herself that she had every right to call on the Duke of Banbury. Especially considering the unavailability of her own mother. What else was she to do? She was a gentlewoman. A lady. She nodded to herself as Mrs. Heathstone’s arguments played silently in her mind.
Her stepbrother would not turn her away. True, he had not responded to Mrs. Heathstone’s letter, but Mrs. Heathstone insisted he would do his duty. Rosalie hoped she was correct.
She bit into her bottom lip, gnawing it until she forced herself to stop. She didn’t need a bloodied lip when she came face-to-face with Declan. She blinked hard and long, reprimanding herself. He was no longer Declan to her. She must not think of him so informally. He was a duke now and as far removed from her as the moon. A man full grown. She must forget the boy she remembered with such fondness. Oh, very well. With such adoration. Natural, she supposed. So often relegated to the country together, he had accepted her. Five years her senior, he had not minded when she traipsed after him. He even rescued her from a tree a time or two. She was always climbing trees. And always managing to get herself stuck. Come, Carrots , he would beckon her with waving hands and wide, encouraging eyes. Come down. I’ll catch you .
A maid entered the room pushing a cart. She smiled at Rosalie shyly and bobbed a tiny curtsy.
“Thank you. I’ll serve myself.”
“Yes, miss.”
With another bob of her head, she left Rosalie alone.
She fell upon the tray, making short work of the tea and delicious frosted cakes and tiny sandwiches. She ate everything and then regretted it, eyeing the crumbs. She would appear a graceless sloth when they come to claim the cart.
She collapsed back on the settee, with little refinement one hand rubbing her full belly, the other idly stroking the elegant brocade pillow beside her. She blew out a repleted sigh and glanced around the well-appointed room. An enormous painting depicting Persephone’s abduction hung along a wall, taking nearly the entire space. It was riveting. Bold and dramatic. The dark Hades clasped the fair Persephone about the waist, one large hand splayed just below the swell of a breast that threatened to spill from her white tunic as he pulled her into the murky cavern of hell lined with demons and skeletons. Rosalie swallowed, her stare fixing on Hades’ feral expression, clearly intent on possession. Something curled in her belly at the idea of a man wanting, needing a woman that much.
The clock on the mantel ticked in the silence of the room. Only the occasional pop from the fire interrupted the still. She yawned widely into her hand. The journey had taken its toll. She had not left Harwich in ten years. No visits anywhere. She was unaccustomed to the rigors of travel.
Her head lolled against the back of the sofa, grateful that she was turned partially from the door, not in full sight of anyone upon first entering the room. She’d hear them before they spotted her. It would give her time to compose herself.
The warmth of the fire licked over her and her limbs grew boneless. This was the most comfortable she had felt since leaving Yorkshire.
Her eyes drifted shut. Just for a moment she would rest them. She snuggled drowsily into the sofa. No doubt the duke would arrive soon. She’d hear his approach. Better yet, she’d hear the approach of the maid when she returned to reclaim the cart.
For just a moment she would rest her eyes.
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at five brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
An Excerpt from
VARIOUS STATES OF UNDRESS: VIRGINIA
by Laura Simcox
If she had it her way, Virginia Fulton—daughter of the President of the United States—would spend more time dancing in Manhattan’s nightclubs than working in its skyscrapers. But when she finds herself in the arms
She winced and tried to remind herself that she had every right to call on the Duke of Banbury. Especially considering the unavailability of her own mother. What else was she to do? She was a gentlewoman. A lady. She nodded to herself as Mrs. Heathstone’s arguments played silently in her mind.
Her stepbrother would not turn her away. True, he had not responded to Mrs. Heathstone’s letter, but Mrs. Heathstone insisted he would do his duty. Rosalie hoped she was correct.
She bit into her bottom lip, gnawing it until she forced herself to stop. She didn’t need a bloodied lip when she came face-to-face with Declan. She blinked hard and long, reprimanding herself. He was no longer Declan to her. She must not think of him so informally. He was a duke now and as far removed from her as the moon. A man full grown. She must forget the boy she remembered with such fondness. Oh, very well. With such adoration. Natural, she supposed. So often relegated to the country together, he had accepted her. Five years her senior, he had not minded when she traipsed after him. He even rescued her from a tree a time or two. She was always climbing trees. And always managing to get herself stuck. Come, Carrots , he would beckon her with waving hands and wide, encouraging eyes. Come down. I’ll catch you .
A maid entered the room pushing a cart. She smiled at Rosalie shyly and bobbed a tiny curtsy.
“Thank you. I’ll serve myself.”
“Yes, miss.”
With another bob of her head, she left Rosalie alone.
She fell upon the tray, making short work of the tea and delicious frosted cakes and tiny sandwiches. She ate everything and then regretted it, eyeing the crumbs. She would appear a graceless sloth when they come to claim the cart.
She collapsed back on the settee, with little refinement one hand rubbing her full belly, the other idly stroking the elegant brocade pillow beside her. She blew out a repleted sigh and glanced around the well-appointed room. An enormous painting depicting Persephone’s abduction hung along a wall, taking nearly the entire space. It was riveting. Bold and dramatic. The dark Hades clasped the fair Persephone about the waist, one large hand splayed just below the swell of a breast that threatened to spill from her white tunic as he pulled her into the murky cavern of hell lined with demons and skeletons. Rosalie swallowed, her stare fixing on Hades’ feral expression, clearly intent on possession. Something curled in her belly at the idea of a man wanting, needing a woman that much.
The clock on the mantel ticked in the silence of the room. Only the occasional pop from the fire interrupted the still. She yawned widely into her hand. The journey had taken its toll. She had not left Harwich in ten years. No visits anywhere. She was unaccustomed to the rigors of travel.
Her head lolled against the back of the sofa, grateful that she was turned partially from the door, not in full sight of anyone upon first entering the room. She’d hear them before they spotted her. It would give her time to compose herself.
The warmth of the fire licked over her and her limbs grew boneless. This was the most comfortable she had felt since leaving Yorkshire.
Her eyes drifted shut. Just for a moment she would rest them. She snuggled drowsily into the sofa. No doubt the duke would arrive soon. She’d hear his approach. Better yet, she’d hear the approach of the maid when she returned to reclaim the cart.
For just a moment she would rest her eyes.
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at five brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
An Excerpt from
VARIOUS STATES OF UNDRESS: VIRGINIA
by Laura Simcox
If she had it her way, Virginia Fulton—daughter of the President of the United States—would spend more time dancing in Manhattan’s nightclubs than working in its skyscrapers. But when she finds herself in the arms
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