levelled on hers something indefinable sparkled
within and, “Good night, Lady Beaumont,” came as quite a shock. Though his
smile was enough to melt the coldest of lady’s heart and somehow as reassuring
as were his final words. “Be assured your presence at Fenemore will not slip my
tongue.”
With that he
departed and closed the door and disappeared from view. So he had known her
identity all along and said not a word. He was most certainly nothing like his
hateful brother. She could, if he were not a Brockenbury be quite taken with
him.
It was all but a
few moments before the drag moved off and there he was standing in front of
magnificent wrought iron gates, a large leather valise at his feet. He waved,
turned, pushed one of the gates and that was her last sighting of him.
Yes. Indeed, there was
something about Edwin Brockenbury that was most appealing. But, who was he
really? For all she knew he could be a married man. After all, who would say no
to a man of his looks, good manners, and those eyes?
~
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Infamous-Regency-Romance-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0075XZNPW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1343645111&sr=8-1
http://www.amazon.com/Infamous-Regency-Romance-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0075XZNPW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343645565&sr=8-2&keywords=francine+howarth
~
The Highwayman’s Mistress
~
It
is 1793: era of the French Revolution.
~
Richard
Courtenay Viscount Somerton, gallant as heroes come, has agreed to see Miss
Diamonta Whitaker, safely delivered to the Palace of Versailles. Half French by
birth and daughter of a French countess, Diamonta has more than one reason for
accepting a gracious invite to stay at the Royal Court at Versailles. Her heart
lies at court, with Francois de Boviere, Count of Saint Mont Marche.
Unfortunately,
tide of revolution has swept from Paris to Versailles and heads of French
aristocrats are seriously under threat of Madame Guillotine. With Diamonta's
coche still en route to Versailles, strange as it seems a highwayman delivers a
message by way of robbery to save her life. Can she, upon return to England,
ever recover from her mother's wrath once her relationship with a highwayman is
discovered, and can he survive a duel to the death?
~
Chapter One
~
“Would he not make for a divine suitor?” said Leohne, emitting a deep
sigh.
Diamonta raised her fan to
shield her face and considered Richard Courtenay, Viscount Somerton with
leisurely eye. She had not indulged in consideration of his handsomeness in a
long while. It was true he was fine of stature, fair of hair, a wicked smile
and uncommon pleasant in manner.
In all the years of his having paid court to
her and her younger sister, she never had thought of him as divine in any sense
of the word divine, nor as a potential suitor, though an angel in many ways.
Her own heart dwelt elsewhere, with someone who might never learn of her
affections toward him.
“I fear you grant Richard more favour than
he deserves,” she said, baiting her sister’s keened regard for the viscount.
Leohne spun round, the silk of her blue gown
shimmering beneath warm sun of September afternoon. “How can you say, that. He
has heavenly blue eyes, hair the colour of ripe corn and a smile to die for.”
“Must you be so obvious in your attentions
upon Richard?”
“I am not,” replied Leohne, petulant in
manner. “I like him, that is all.”
Diamonta’s eyes drifted from the figure of
the tall young man in conversation with their brother, and settled on
Leohne. “I see, and this like you talk of, is it reciprocated?”
Her sister blushed and let fall her eyes to
the grass at their feet. The brim of her hat perched precarious on powdered wig
shaded one eye in coquettish manner, which amused Diamonta in extreme. “I think
not,” replied Leohne, “I am of mind to think him enamoured by you.”
“By me?” exclaimed Diamonta, letting slip a
chuckle she could not hold back at
within and, “Good night, Lady Beaumont,” came as quite a shock. Though his
smile was enough to melt the coldest of lady’s heart and somehow as reassuring
as were his final words. “Be assured your presence at Fenemore will not slip my
tongue.”
With that he
departed and closed the door and disappeared from view. So he had known her
identity all along and said not a word. He was most certainly nothing like his
hateful brother. She could, if he were not a Brockenbury be quite taken with
him.
It was all but a
few moments before the drag moved off and there he was standing in front of
magnificent wrought iron gates, a large leather valise at his feet. He waved,
turned, pushed one of the gates and that was her last sighting of him.
Yes. Indeed, there was
something about Edwin Brockenbury that was most appealing. But, who was he
really? For all she knew he could be a married man. After all, who would say no
to a man of his looks, good manners, and those eyes?
~
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Infamous-Regency-Romance-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0075XZNPW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1343645111&sr=8-1
http://www.amazon.com/Infamous-Regency-Romance-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0075XZNPW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343645565&sr=8-2&keywords=francine+howarth
~
The Highwayman’s Mistress
~
It
is 1793: era of the French Revolution.
~
Richard
Courtenay Viscount Somerton, gallant as heroes come, has agreed to see Miss
Diamonta Whitaker, safely delivered to the Palace of Versailles. Half French by
birth and daughter of a French countess, Diamonta has more than one reason for
accepting a gracious invite to stay at the Royal Court at Versailles. Her heart
lies at court, with Francois de Boviere, Count of Saint Mont Marche.
Unfortunately,
tide of revolution has swept from Paris to Versailles and heads of French
aristocrats are seriously under threat of Madame Guillotine. With Diamonta's
coche still en route to Versailles, strange as it seems a highwayman delivers a
message by way of robbery to save her life. Can she, upon return to England,
ever recover from her mother's wrath once her relationship with a highwayman is
discovered, and can he survive a duel to the death?
~
Chapter One
~
“Would he not make for a divine suitor?” said Leohne, emitting a deep
sigh.
Diamonta raised her fan to
shield her face and considered Richard Courtenay, Viscount Somerton with
leisurely eye. She had not indulged in consideration of his handsomeness in a
long while. It was true he was fine of stature, fair of hair, a wicked smile
and uncommon pleasant in manner.
In all the years of his having paid court to
her and her younger sister, she never had thought of him as divine in any sense
of the word divine, nor as a potential suitor, though an angel in many ways.
Her own heart dwelt elsewhere, with someone who might never learn of her
affections toward him.
“I fear you grant Richard more favour than
he deserves,” she said, baiting her sister’s keened regard for the viscount.
Leohne spun round, the silk of her blue gown
shimmering beneath warm sun of September afternoon. “How can you say, that. He
has heavenly blue eyes, hair the colour of ripe corn and a smile to die for.”
“Must you be so obvious in your attentions
upon Richard?”
“I am not,” replied Leohne, petulant in
manner. “I like him, that is all.”
Diamonta’s eyes drifted from the figure of
the tall young man in conversation with their brother, and settled on
Leohne. “I see, and this like you talk of, is it reciprocated?”
Her sister blushed and let fall her eyes to
the grass at their feet. The brim of her hat perched precarious on powdered wig
shaded one eye in coquettish manner, which amused Diamonta in extreme. “I think
not,” replied Leohne, “I am of mind to think him enamoured by you.”
“By me?” exclaimed Diamonta, letting slip a
chuckle she could not hold back at
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