As promised, here’s another excerpt from Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series).
I’ll let you in on a little secret: The second book, Virtue and Valor is almost finished, and the third book, Heartbreak and Honor will feature The Duke of Harcourt as the hero.
Harcourt appeared regularly in the Castle Brides Series and has been a most annoying character in the Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series.
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TRIUMPH AND TREASURE
The marquis placed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head until she reluctantly met his eyes once more. He grazed his thumb across her lower lip, taking her breath away.
“I’d be honored to make you my marchioness as soon as possible.”
Tears blurred Angelina’s eyes and burned her throat.
Why couldn’t she have met this decent man before Charles? When she didn’t fear love? When her heart beat whole and healthy, without wounds or scars? Or, when the ability to ever completely trust another man hadn’t been stolen from her?
She swiped at an eye, dashing away a tear. “Thank you, my lord.”
Dread choked her. Did she trade one unpleasant kettle of fish for another?
“Here now, none of that.” Lord Bretheridge caught another tear with his bent
forefinger. He brushed her cheek softly with the back of his hand. “Won’t you call me
Flynn?”
Uncharacteristic shyness swept her. Closing her eyes, she tucked her chin to her chest, lest his see the blush on her cheeks and the pathetic gratitude that assuredly simmered in her gaze.
Or the tears that determinedly seeped from between her lashes.
Angelina blamed the weepiness on her pregnancy too. Though unaccustomed to such reverent tenderness from the males in her life, she didn’t need to act a sniveling fool.
Perhaps she should make that a rule.
Compassion in a male is to be desired, but keep your distance from men who make you cry.
“Come here.” Flynn gathered her in his strong, comforting embrace, one large hand cuddling her head against his broad chest. “You have every right to a good cry.”
That did it.
She lost the tenuous grip on her self-control. The walls she’d erected against her pain and humiliation crumbled like week-old biscuits.
Wrapping her arms around his trim waist, she pressed her face to his jacket and bawled like an infant. And she wasn’t a dainty weeper either. Great gasping sobs, wrenched from the bowels of her anguish, spewed forth harsh and loud, saturating the front of his coat.
“That’s it. Let it all out, darling.” He made soothing noises and whispered calming words into her hair as his hands gently caressed her back and shoulders. Several times, he pressed soft kisses onto the crown of her head.
To be entered in the December 3rd gift card drawing, answer this question in the comments below:
What does Angelina blame her weepiness on?
Copyright © 2014 Collette Cameron
