Quicksilver's Catch
Marcus Quicksilver Moved Like A Mountain Lion On The ProwlAnd if Amanda Grenville had any sense, she'd be putting miles of prairie between them, instead of running straight into his arms. Even covered in trail dust Amanda Grenville still radiated plenty of appeal - five thousand dollars' worth, to be exact!Now if only bounty hunter Marcus Quicksilver could keep his eyes on the prize and forget about the heiress… !
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“I landed in…in…a damn mule pie!”
Marcus burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Now that he knew it was mostly Amanda’s dignity that was injured, he felt intensely relieved. Even when she cursed him and smacked his arm hard enough to make him lose his balance, he couldn’t stop laughing.
“That’s you, then?” he said, chortling, crinkling up his nose and sniffing dramatically.
“Oh, please.” She pitched him a look of pure, undiluted murder. But it was dry murder now. The tears, thank God, were gone.
“I hate you, Quicksilver. I truly, truly do.” She shook her fists at the sky. “Just look at me! I’m sitting here all crippled and smelling to high heaven, and all you can do is laugh like a damn, demented hyena!”
Dear Reader,
All of us at Harlequin Historicals would like to wish Mary McBride a warm congratulations on making the USA Today bestseller list with her story in our OUTLAW BRIDES collection along with authors Ruth Langan and Elaine Coffman. Mary has a new book out this month, a Western romance called Quicksilver’s Catch. This delightful story features a runaway heiress bride and the tough-as-nails bounty hunter who is determined to make as much money as he can from his association with the willful young woman, if she doesn’t drive him to drink first. Don’t miss this warm and funny story of two people who really don’t belong together.
A devil-may-care nobleman finds redemption in the arms of the only woman who can heal him, in Margaret Moore’s The Rogue’s Return, the next installment in her MOST UNSUITABLE… series set in Victorian England. And Outlaw Wife by Ana Seymour is a bittersweet Western about the daughter of a notorious outlaw who loses her heart to the rancher who saves her from jail.
Fleeing Britain and marriage to an elderly preacher, an English adventuress becomes involved with an American spy in our fourth title for the month, Nancy Whiskey by Laurel Ames.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you’ll keep a lookout for all of our books, wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
MARY McBRIDE
is a former special-education teacher who lives in St. Louis, Missouri, with her husband and two young sons. She loves to correspond with readers and invites them to write to her at: P.O. Box 411202 St. Louis, MO 63141.
“Miss Amanda says she doesn’t want to eat, ma’am.” Bridget flexed her knees, as much to steady herself on the moving train as to show proper respect to her elderly and exceedingly rich employer.
“Poppycock.” Honoria Grenville snatched a hanky from her black sleeve and waved it brusquely at the maid. “My granddaughter hasn’t eaten a bite since we left Denver yesterday. Give her the tray, Bridget.”
“Oh, but, ma’am…”
“Now.” Mrs. Grenville’s voice was as adamant as the rap of her ebony cane on the floor of her private Pullman Palace car.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bridget flexed her knees again, stifled a sigh of resignation, and made her way toward the curtained sleeping compartment. Rich people. They baffled her and made her very nervous.
“Won’t you have a bite of supper, Miss Amanda?” she crooned, a bit hesitantly, through the closed drapes as she hoisted the large silver tray shoulder high and slipped it between the brocade folds. When there was no response, Bridget bit her lip and stepped back. Oh Lord, here we go again, she thought when a teacup whizzed inches from her nose, to crash against the mahogany paneling on the opposite side of the car. The saucer followed a second later and met with the same shattered fate.
Then, suddenly, it was raining. Peas and carrots! Saints preserve us! Forks and spoons! Bridget ducked just as the big silver tray sailed over her head, skimmed the length of the Oriental carpet, and came to rest at the black hem of Honoria Grenville’s dress.
“That will be quite enough, Amanda.” The old woman’s cane came down, denting the tray. “Bridget, did she hear me? Tell my granddaughter I won’t tolerate this behavior any longer.”
A muffled shout came from behind the curtains. “Tell my grandmother I heard her, Bridget. And tell her the minute she stops keeping me prisoner and lets me go back to Denver to marry Angus McCray, she won’t have to tolerate my bad behavior anymore. I’m going to marry him, Grandmother. Did you hear me? Did she hear me, Bridget?”
One look at Mrs. Grenville’s livid face proved to the maid that she had, indeed, heard the threat. “I believe she did, miss,” Bridget said, her gaze flick-ing nervously now from her irate employer to the brocade curtains, which were rippling and waving, as if from Miss Amanda’s hot breath.
