The spy who sought refuge...
When injured spy Sir Roger Danby comes asking for shelter at her inn, Lucy Carew is wary. He may be strikingly handsome, but the disgraced single mother has learned the hard way with men like him. Against her better judgement, she gives him refuge.
Sir Roger has never been at the mercy of a woman before, and heâs never met one as mysterious and bewitching as Lucy. He hasnât come looking for redemption, but Lucy is a woman who could reach in and touch his closely guarded heart...
His eyes were soft and his lips slightly parted.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb as his fingers slipped behind her head, drawing her towards him. He was going to kiss her. And she intended to let him.
Rogerâs mouth sought hers. Lucy tilted her head until it was within reach. His kiss was eager, his lips hungry for hers. The scent of him flooded her limbsâ¦the taste of him made her grow weak. She gave herself over to the pleasure, allowing him to guide her in pace and pressure until her head spun.
Roger broke away first. He held her gaze in a moment of stillness. The world contained only them.
âAfter I won I started thinking about my futureâand yours. You donât have to live the way you do. There is another way.â
He pushed a lock of hair behind Lucyâs ear in a gesture that was at once intimate yet proprietorial. He smiled.
âI want you to become my mistress.â
Author Note
We first met Roger Danby in The Blacksmithâs Wife, which ended with the disreputable knight heading to York for one last tournament and then planning to go abroad, determined to make his fortune after realising too late the value of the woman he had spurned. His story was going to end there, but readers kept telling me that they wanted to know what had happened to him. I too became curious to see how this knight who had jousting âgroupiesââto use a slightly anachronistic termâdropping at his feet coped when he didnât have his flashy armour, his fine horse and his noble connections to tempt them.
Brewing was once a female task, with many women making a living as ale-wives, selling from their houses. When I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on âThe Changing Role of Inns and Ale houses in English Rural Societyâ I never suspected I would get to use the information for writing a book!
Lucy brews so frequently because back then beer and aleâthere is a differenceâdid not last. An anonymous source from Saxon times wrote: âAfter two days only the bravest or silliest men of the village would drink the ale, but usually it was only fit for pigs.â I planned to brew some myself, but decided against itâpartly because I suspected Iâd end up very drunk or very ill, and partly because an acquaintance told me Iâd need a much bigger bucket!
As always, this story has a theme song. Roger chose âI Would Do Anything for Love (But I Wonât Do That)â by Meat Loaf.
ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabethâs hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencingânone of which has made it into a story yet. When she isnât writing she spends her time reading, and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children, and three cats with ridiculous names.
Books by Elisabeth Hobbes
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Falling for Her Captor
A Wager for the Widow The Saxon Outlawâs Revenge
Linked by Character
The Blacksmithâs Wife
Redeeming the Rogue Knight
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.
To Mark, housebreaker and hacksaw wielder for damsels in distress! I owe you a pint!
Chapter One
âWake up, my lord! We have to leave!â
Urgent shouts infiltrated Roger Danbyâs dreams, whirling him from the home of his childhood on the heather-covered moors to the battlefields of France. The carnage there came almost as a relief.
Heâd been dreaming of Yorkshire again, as he had done nightly since returning to England: the endless, purple moors and deep valleys that he had not seen for almost four years. The people from his past were present, too, which invariably caused Rogerâs dreams to darken. Even though he was somehow aware he was dreaming, his stomach twisted with loss. He wondered if they thought of him as often as he had thought of them and if his name was ever mentioned within the pink stone walls of his fatherâs house.
Someone was still calling his name and a dying archer was tugging at the neck of his cloak. He waved his arms to fend off the man, but the tugging continued. The shouts were not part of the dream and when he opened his eyes it was his squire, Thomas, looming over him, hands on Rogerâs bare shoulder.