Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (19 page)

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes.”

He glanced back at the street. A police car was pulling up behind the Colonel’s, its orange lights flashing.

Rick smiled. “Let’s go home.”

“I still can’t get over how beautiful it is,” Rick said, staring down at the book display on the table.

“Neither can I.” Jill smiled as she leaned against him, still in awe at seeing her words turned into a book. Better still, a book the public liked.
Castles and Cots: The Customs of the Medieval Man
by Jill Daneforth Kitteridge had been on the London
Times
best-seller list for three months.

He put his arm around her and kissed her. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Not quite as adventurous as our burglary days, but not bad,” she murmured. The book had taken two years to research and write, a job that had never been more satisfying. Or more appropriate, she’d discovered. Like a medieval cathedral built stone by stone, a book had been built page by page.

Rick looked around at the anniversary party being given for them at Devil’s Hall. His grandmother, in typical fashion, had descended on
them with the families for the event, completely disrupting their quiet life. Not quite so quiet, he mused, remembering all the interruptions for lovemaking. How Jill had ever gotten the book out and how he ever kept the manor running was a major miracle.

He grinned at her and surreptiously dropped his hand below her waist.

“Sex fiend,” she murmured affectionately.

“Love slave.” He glanced around their crowded drawing room again, then shook his head. “She must have chartered a damned jet. The Colonel would have had a field day with this crowd.”

Jill chuckled. The Colonel had been well and truly caught by those swans. Thanks to the information Rick had provided his friend, a long list of cons attributed to the Colonel, under various names, had come to light. The Colonel was now in long-term residence at Strangeways Prison. She caught sight of the loaded buffet table. “And Grahame’s in his glory, cooking.”

“And off my back for once,” Rick said, then added, “I suppose we’re overdue for a visit to the States.”

“They’re all here, so I think we can skip it this year. Besides, who would feed George and the new kits?”

Rick grinned at the mention of his old friend finding a new mate. “And the new farm manager would never manage either.”

“Why do I think we’d have been great as serfs tied to the land?” she teased, knowing her husband preferred to do the managing anyway.

He stared at her with that intense gaze of his.
“As long as you never have a regret making your home in England.”

After the Colonel had been caught, Jill had taken the emerald necklace home, dumped it into her father’s lap with a lecture to keep it safe and get his marriage back in order, then quit her new job before it even started, and
then
turned around and caught the first plane back to England. It had been the most sensible thing she’d ever done in her life.

She kissed him softly on the lips. “Never.” She kissed him again. “I’m home.” She kissed him a third time, their mouths lingering. “It’s spring. Let’s go make a baby.”

“Now see, Caroline. Of course she’s happy.”

Jill turned around in time to see her mother nod dubiously. Lettice was beaming.

“Grandmother,” Rick said dryly, “you have all the timing of a bull elephant in a china shop.”

“You ought to be more grateful,” Lettice snapped back. “You never would have met Jill if I hadn’t brought her to you.”

“Here she goes again about this matchmaking,” Rick’s sister Susan said.

Rick’s cousins crowded around them, several chiming in with similar comments.

“No, she didn’t,” Rick said, amused at the notion.

“You honestly don’t think I forgot your parents would be in Moscow, now did you?” Lettice asked. She glared at Rick, who stared back at her. “Senile, ha! In a pig’s eye, I’m senile!”

“You—you did it on purpose?” Jill asked.

“Well, of course I did it on purpose. I’m not bad for a spur-of-the-moment plan.” She chuckled.
“And to think I thought you two would be perfect because you’re both so sensible.”

“Got that bleedin’ wrong, didn’t you, Mrs. K.?” Grahame said, bringing around the hors de’oeuvres tray. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “The tales I could tell you about these two.”

“Which you won’t!” Rick ordered.

“No labor disputes on an anniversary,” Jill’s father broke in, trying to keep the peace. Lawrence Daneforth reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a long flat box. He smiled at Jill, a knowing smile that was slightly sad around the edges. Suddenly she knew what was in the box. His next words confirmed it. “It’s time to receive your heritage.”

He opened the lid and the square-cut emeralds flashed in the sunlight. Everyone gasped.

“It would seem,” her father went on, “they have come home to England where they started out, three hundred years ago.” He paused, then added ruefully, “At least they’ll be in safer hands than mine or Caroline’s.”

“They were perfectly safe—” Caroline began, then subsided at a look from her husband. She kissed Jill on the cheek. “I suppose your father’s right. Anyway, I’ll be glad not to have to worry about them.”

“Now I bloody do,” Grahame said in disgust. He held out a tray to Caroline. “Have a salmon and crab dab, Mrs. D.”

Rick lifted the necklace out of the box and fastened it around Jill’s neck. She could feel the pearls warming against her skin, even as the green gems burned a cool fire. She touched the necklace at her throat.

“Someday for our daughter,” she whispered, gazing at her husband.

“I love you,” Rick whispered back, pulling her into his embrace.

Lettice smiled.

Welcome to Loveswept!

Next month, Loveswept is offering our first ever historical e-original title: Samantha Kane’s
THE DEVIL’S THIEF
. We’re incredibly excited about this sexy tale of wicked passion, where the clever wit and engaging banter shine through in the most captivating way. We believe Samantha Kane is an author to watch – and after reading
THE DEVIL’S THIEF
, I think you’ll agree. Look for the next book in her Saint’s Devil’s series,
TEMPTING A DEVIL
in 2013.

We also have a great selection of incredibly sensual and endlessly entertaining classic romances for you to enjoy.

PARADISE CAFÉ
… Beloved author Adrienne Staff’s sensual story of reckless desire.

THE PERFECT CATCH
… Linda Cajio’s playful book about the sexy game of love.

TEASE ME
and
BAYOU HEAT
… two sizzling novels from Donna Kauffman.

And if you’re already anticipating the holidays, don’t miss Debra Dixon’s
DOC HOLIDAY
, a touching and humorous story about the magic of Christmas.

If you love romance … then you’re ready to be
Loveswept
!

Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher

P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: December brings these fantastic releases: Juliet Rosetti’s charming
ESCAPE DIARIES
, Juliana Garnett’s enchanting medieval
THE MAGIC
, and four more breathtaking stories from Donna Kauffman:
BOUNTY HUNTER, TANGO IN PRADISE, ILLEGAL MOTION
, and
BLACK SATIN
. We start 2013 with a fantastic new e-original from Wendy Vella,
THE RELUCTANT COUNTESS
, Donna Kauffman’s captivating
WILD RAIN
, Karen Leabo’s moving
MILLICENT’S MEDICINE MAN
, and three fantastic titles from Linda Cajio:
SILK ON THE SKIN, HARD HABIT TO BREAK
, and
THE RELUCTANT PRINCE
. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come….

Read on for excerpts from more
Loveswept
titles …

Read on for an excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s

Blaze of Winter

Of all the possible pranks a person could pull in the Star Harbor Library, putting a dead fish in the heating vent ranked high on the list of ones to try. And Theodore Grayson would know. He’d played that very trick twenty years ago, with his brothers Cole and Seb as his partners-in-crime. Still, the risk—considerable, given that every wall vent in the main room was visible from the circulation desk—had been worth the payout. His large frame tucked into a carrel at the very scene of his youthful misconduct, Theo smiled at the memory.

They had done the deed in the middle of one of Star Harbor’s coldest winters, and with the heat on full blast, it had taken precisely thirty-seven hours for the smell to become overpowering. Even better, he and his brothers had all been present to witness the prank’s outcome—the unholy stench, a furious search for the source, and finally, a full evacuation of the library. And as any good trickster—Theo himself included—would acknowledge, a key component of every good prank was the payout.

The payout. The completion. The end. If only he could achieve the same with this damned book he should be writing. His smile faded fast.

“What the hell am I doing back in Star Harbor?” he groaned, shoving his chair back from the desk and abruptly standing up. An octogenarian seated on a nearby love seat flipped down Wednesday’s edition of the Boston
Globe
and gave him a disapproving look from beneath her tightly curled blue-tinted locks. In return, he gave her a dirty grin, and she let out a small gasp as her head disappeared in a rustle behind the Arts section.

Glancing around the library, he noted that nothing much had changed in twenty years. Same taupe walls, same signs over the reference desk, same green-shaded banker’s lamps on each long table. Only the posters displaying the covers of the latest bestselling books were different. Wryly, he noted that his own book wasn’t represented. Theodore Grayson, better known as T. R. Grayson—Star Harbor’s native son, bad boy made good.

But perhaps not good enough to warrant a place on the hallowed walls of the library.

No one met his eyes as he glanced around, so he sighed and slouched back down into his seat, pulling it forward until his fingers were once again aligned with the keyboard of his laptop. Then he took off his glasses—the stylish frames had been a gift from his publicist—and rubbed his eyes, willing the thoughts, phrases, and sentences to come.

They didn’t.

What the hell was wrong with him? In a few short months he’d gone from literary darling to feeling like a hack. He was in a funk, unable to make the stubborn words emerge from wherever they were hiding in his brain. A change of scenery—more accurately, a change of coast—hadn’t made a whit of difference. Trying to plot and write his latest book was just as slow-going here as it had been in San Francisco.

Worse yet, it wasn’t just the writing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but it was obvious he was in some sort of a slump.

Over Labor Day weekend, Cole had mentioned that he might be able to find renewed inspiration in Star Harbor. At the time, he’d thought his brother’s idea was brilliant. Ditch his bohemian, intellectual lifestyle in San Francisco and reconnect with his roots by spending the fall in Star Harbor. It was the most beautiful time of year in his hometown, and he’d been certain it would give him the fuel he needed to write his book. Plenty of stimulation, ideas, and solitude.

But he hadn’t made it to town until just before Thanksgiving. Now it was December, Star Harbor was freezing, he hadn’t written a word, and the quiet was beginning to weigh on him like a millstone around his neck. Plus, he was bunking down with his brothers Val and Cole on Val’s small houseboat, which didn’t help matters at all. He’d known it would be a far cry from his spacious artist’s loft in San Francisco’s Mission district, but he hadn’t realized quite how bad it would be. How was he supposed to think, let alone write, when he couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep in that tiny berth? The two months he’d planned to stay in town suddenly seemed like a life sentence.