She’s intended for his brother. He’s destined for adventure. Then a dangerous mystery throws them together, and all they want is each other.
All that clever, passionate Ravenna Caulfield wants is to stay far away from high society’s mean girls.
All that handsome, heroic Lord Vitor Courtenay wants is to dash from dangerous adventure to adventure.
Now, snowbound in a castle with a bevy of the ton’s scheming maidens all competing for a prince’s hand in marriage, Ravenna’s worst nightmare has come true. Now, playing babysitter to a spoiled prince and his potential brides, Vitor is champing at the bit to be gone.
When a stolen kiss in a stable leads to a corpse in a suit of armor, a canine kidnapping, and any number of scandalous liaisons, Ravenna and Vitor find themselves wrapped in a mystery they’re perfectly paired to solve. But as for the mysteries of love and sex, Vitor’s not about to let Ravenna escape until he’s gotten what he desires…
Excerpt
Ravenna turned her face to the window. The moonlight was a winter moon’s, aloof and chill, and her breaths clouded upon the air. But wrapped in her heavy cloak, she barely felt the cold.
“On nights like this, Beast and I used to wander the park at Shelton Grange searching for hare. We could see everything as though it were day. Sometimes better.”
“But no longer?”
“He left me. I suppose somewhere up there”—she gestured to the heavens—“is a snowy park in which he hunts for hare in the moonlight.”
Lord Vitor did not respond. Then, sleepily: “If he was anything like the monster you deposited upon my pillow, he is probably tearing through pristine angels’ boots at this very moment. I believe I can hear the cherubim and seraphim now groaning in chorus.”
She laughed. Such pleasure warmed her chest, more than she had felt in months. But unlike the peaceful happiness she had known before, an undercurrent of longing swept through her, as though true joy were just on the other side of a door she dare not open.
Her companion was quiet, his eyes closed, the movement of his chest regular as though he dozed.
“I am sorry Gonçalo has caused you to lose sleep,” she said.
Without opening his eyes he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. In repose his face was starkly handsome, and with a day’s whisker shadow seemed too rugged for either monk or nobleman. As she had wanted to touch his back earlier, now her fingers tingled with the desire to stroke the plane of his cheek and hard jaw, and to delve into his dark hair and know its silky texture. She wanted to feel him.
“Do you find something amiss with what you see?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Is this the reason for your long study?”
She laughed. “Are your eyelids transparent?”
“At war, a man learns to hone all his senses.”
“I am glad you honed them so that you returned home alive,” she said
.
“Thank you. At this moment, I am as well.”
Her head was spinning and her heart beat hard. So much feeling swirled inside that it seemed to fill her entirely. She had never had such a friend. And yet as she enjoyed his laughter and companionship, the longing swelled.
“Today,” she began, uncertain of her words, “after Monsieur Sepic announced his conclusions, I wondered if …” What was she saying? “I want to find the murderer, of course. The actual murderer. But … I am afraid of this ending.” She whispered, “Please don’t let it end.”
He turned to her and the lamplight cut across his sober face and shadowed his eyes. He leaned down and slid his hand around her cheek and into her hair. A caress soft as a prayer passed along her jaw, then beneath her lips. It made her shiver with pleasure and fear.
“I thought you were asleep,” she whispered. “Before. When I was staring at you.”
“How, do you imagine, could I sleep when you are near?” His voice was low.
Butterflies danced in her stomach. “Do you intend to kiss me now?”
“I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“You made me promise to never again kiss you in a stable.”
She stared at his lips. “I now relieve you of that promise.” …
A bit about Katherine
She lives in the wonderfully warm Southeast with her beloved husband, son, dog, and a garden she likes to call romantic rather than unkempt. A professor of European History at Duke University, Katharine writes fiction because she thinks modern readers deserve high adventure and breathtaking sensuality too. For more about her books, please visit her at www.KatharineAshe.com.
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