Potent Charms

"To be my mistress." Stephen said.

"I see." Actually Phoebe saw nothing at all but a man she
thought handsome and charming enough to seduce a stable
filled with women, a man who looked overly proud of
himself with his chin lifted and a cocky grin plastered on his
face. Goodness, he infuriated and intrigued her. However
had he come to the conclusion she would be willing to agree
to such a proposal? She tapped the toes on her left foot and
twisted the reins into a tight knot about her fingers. "We
hardly know one another. What makes you think such a
relationship even possible?"

"Quite simply, 1 want you."

She knew he intended to kiss her. And no tree blocked her
escape this time. Truth be told, wanton or not, she'd been
waiting, even hoping, for this very moment. She watched his
fingers, long and elegant, slide about her waist, and she
trembled. His other hand gripped her chin. As his lips
descended, she met him halfway.

DUCHESS FOR A DAY

For Kevin, Dakota, Jordan and Alex.
I love you all.

This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version
has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.

Penrith, England, 1723

Lightning flashed across the sky. A clap of thunder shook
the ground. The wind howled. The trees and shadows
swayed as partners in an eerie dance to mother nature's
music. Soon rain would pummel the ground. It was not a
good night to be out. Yet, from beneath the canopy of his
tent, Lord Badrick watched a shriveled old crone hover
outside the circle of light cast by his fire.

"Duke," she called. "Dare you face me?"

She emerged from the mist, a creature of the night, one
with the forest. Lord Badrick's two companions bounded
to their feet, their hands gripping the hilts of their swords.
One wave of the Duke's arm stalled their action. "What is
the meaning of this?"

"I see you do not recognize me," she said. Three small
steps brought her closer. Gold coin earrings glittered in the firelight. Her multi-colored skirt flared about her ankles as
she walked.

"You are a gypsy."

"More than that, I am Juliana Romov, mother of Rosala."