âDid you ever guess that youâre the first gentleman Iâve kissed?â
He hadnât, not at all, but that guileless confession kept him painfully hard. And might all the lords of the admiralty forgive him, he was kissing her again. She parted her lips freely for him, exploring him as much as he was her. He slid his hands along the narrowing curve of her waist, inside her dressing gown so there was nothing but the gossamer-weight linen between him and the quivering fullness of her breasts and this had to stop.
He released her and forced himself to step away from temptation. Her hair was mussed and tousled, her cheeks flushed, her nightclothes askew and, damnation, heâd never wanted any woman more than he wanted this one, whom heâd no right to have.
âOh, my,â she murmured. âThat was not pretending, was it?â
âNo.â The blood was still thumping through his body, demanding to be obeyed. âThat was as damned real as it gets.â
Praise for bestselling author Miranda Jarrett
âMiranda Jarrett continues to reign as the queen of historical romance.â
âRomantic Times
âA marvelous authorâ¦each word is a treasure, each book a lasting memory.â
âThe Literary Times
The Golden Lord
âSexual tension runs high. There areâ¦secrets to be kept, mysteries to be solved and a traditional ending in which sharing truth wins true love.â
âRomantic Times
The Silver Lord
âThe characters and plotting are very good and deftly presented.â
âAffaire de Coeur
Kingdom of Monteverde, 1796
W ho would have dreamed that Londonâwicked, wealthy, barbarous Londonâwould become her only sanctuary?
London. Oh, dearest saints in heaven, whatever were her parents thinking?
Isabella forced herself to take another deep breath as she stared out the window of her bedchamber, striving to master the panic and fear knotting in her chest. She still could not quite believe she was leaving this view, this room, this house, and this life, with no guarantee that sheâd ever return. Usually so full of activity, the palace now seemed forlornly silent, her father and brother already gone and most of the servants fled to the hills.
Nextâlastâto go would be Isabella. Earlier her trunks had been taken away, and as her ladyâs maid fastened the rows of buttons along the sleeves of her jacket, she felt these last minutes here in her home slipping away more relentlessly than the grains of sand in an hourglass. Inside her kidskin gloves her palms were already moist with anxiety, and her heart raced with dread for what lay before her.
But she was the only daughter of the King of Monteverde, and a Fortunaro princess must be strong as a lioness, full of courage and pride like the fierce, noble beasts that graced the familyâs arms. Yes, yes, a lioness of gold: that was what she was, and with fresh determination Isabella drew in her breath and raised her head to what she hoped was a more regal angle.
âIsabella, hold still,â scolded her mother with her usual impatience. No one would ever guess that Mama, too, would be fleeing tonightâwhich was, of course, the point. Mama was as exquisitely dressed and coiffed as she was every evening, her favorite rubies around her throat and her still-beautiful face with the heavy-lidded eyes so artfully painted that, by candlelight, she could pass for Isabellaâs sister instead of her mother.
âIf you continue to fidget, daughter,â she continued, looking down her famous nose at Isabella, âand do not let Anna dress you properly, I shall turn you over to the French and that vile little Corsican instead of to the English.â
At once Isabella went still, letting the maid finish dressing her in her traveling clothes. Mama was right: she was eighteen, far too old for such childish restlessness. If it werenât for General Buonaparte and his ridiculous war turning all the royal houses upside down, a suitable marriage would have been arranged for her long ago.
âThat it should come to this, Your Highness,â said the Marchese di Romano grimly, the last of her fatherâs advisers left in the palace, and one of her motherâs closest friends. He was an older man whose eyes now seemed to wander in opposite directions and who relied weightily upon his gold-headed walking stick, but no one at court had ever doubted that his mind remained as sharp and clever as any foxâs. âThat a Fortunaro princess should be forced to scurry away like a low skulking thief, to snivel and beg for mercy from those heathen Englishââ
âOh, hush, Romano,â said Mama mildly. âShe is going to England because it is the only country that Buonaparte cannot capture. There is no other place where she will be as safe.â