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Karen Ranney wanted to be a writer from the time she was five years old and filled her Big Chief tablet with stories. People in stories did amazing things and she was too shy to do anything amazing. Years spent in Japan, Paris, and Italy, however, not only fueled her imagination but proved she wasn't that shy after all.

Now a New York Times and USA Today bestseller, she prefers to keep her adventures between the covers of her books. Karen lives in San Antonio, Texas.

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Karen Ranney brings us another emotionally intense and passionate story in the fifth book of the nationally bestselling Highland Lord series, in which Douglas MacRae must overcome a dark betrayal in order to regain a love once lost.

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So in Love

Avon Books

Chapter One

June 1792
Edinburgh, Scotland

Douglas MacRae had no idea, when he prepared forthe evening, that in one moment ten years would beswept awayand he would feel as lost and distraught as ayoung man. He had no intimation and no foreboding,when leaving his house a few hours earlier, that he mightsee her.

He stared at the woman standing in the doorway, limnedby the light. An icy coldness encapsulated him, as well as asensation of being instantly catapulted into some otherworldlyplace.

She was supposed to be dead.

Attired in a dark blue dress with only a hint of white atthe collar and cuffs to soften the severe hue, she stood immobile,her face expressionless, holding on to the hand ofa little boy. The child, his hair curling in brown ringlets,wore a suit of clothes identical to his father's down to thelace at his neck and wrists.

Douglas had two immediate thoughts -- that Hartley'swife was a ghost from his past, and that she wasn't, evidently,still bedridden as the man had said.

The little boy rubbed at his eyes and the woman spoke tohim in hushed tones. A gentle smile changed her face, lither eyes, and softened her lips.

Suddenly it was two years ago and he was standing inthe captain's cabin of his brother's ship, a scrap of a handwrittennotice in his hand. Hamish had brought the newsfrom France and he'd read it three times before makingsense of the words.

"The Comte du Marchand is dead," he said aloud, thewords not having the weight he expected. "And Vallans isdestroyed."

"What about his daughter?" his brother had asked.

"It doesn't say." He'd laid the notice down on the tablein his brother's cabin, stunned and disagreeably affectedby the realization that Jeanne du Marchand must be deadas well. But it seemed that she wasn't, was she?

"Bid your father goodnight," she said tenderly to thelittle boy. At the sound of her voice, Douglas was immediately remindedof Paris, a shadowed garden, and thesound of summer.

The child looked timorously at the man seated next toDouglas.

"Goodnight, Papa," he said, not relinquishing Jeanne'shand. The child didn't move from his stance by the door.Nor did his host bid him come closer.

"Goodnight, Davis," Hartley said, smiling absently athis son. He managed a longer look at Jeanne.

Her auburn hair was held at the back of her head in a serviceablebun. Over it she wore an arrangement of lace anddark blue ribbon. But it was her face Douglas studied asshe stood with eyes downcast, her gaze fixed on the floor.

A lovely face, one he'd kissed enough times to know the texture of her skin, to measure the distance from the cornerof her full lips across her high cheekbones to flutteringeyelashes. He'd traced the line of each winged brow withhis fingertips. He'd seen a Roman coin once and the perfectionof the profile had reminded him of her.

Thick spectacles now shielded her soft gray eyes, ashade that reminded him of fog and storms, and smokefrom a peak fire. A voice from his memory, a laughingteasing taunt, whispered in his ear.

"I fear that I'm vain, Douglas. I could see you better if Iwore them, but they are so ugly."

"Nothing you could do," he'd said, "could ever make youless beautiful in my eyes, Jeanne." His own voice had beenladen with lust and youthful exuberance. But he had been inlove, so desperately in love that he didn't see her as lessthan perfect.

She'd linked her arms around his neck and kissed himsweetly, gently.

"Then I shall always think myself beautiful, my dearestDouglas. Even if I must squint at you."

Now Jeanne's gaze traveled over him disinterestedly.Abruptly, her eyes widened as she seemed to still, herfaint smile freezing in place, one hand splayed at herside.

The least she could do was appear afraid.

But perhaps she no longer had the ability to glean histhoughts as she once had. If so, she would have run fromthe room or begged for his forgiveness.

He would never give it.

His host flicked a finger in the child's direction and instantlythe woman turned and gently pulled the boythrough the doorway. Neither of them looked back, butDouglas could not stop staring in Jeanne's direction evenas the door closed.

"I see you're struck dumb at the sight of my governess," Robert Hartley said, grinning. "I, too, feel the same whenlooking at Jeanne. If you discount that ugly eyewear, she'sa fine morsel. Did you see those breasts?"

Douglas's hand reached out to grasp the etched crystaltumbler he was being offered, and he noted with detachmentthat it sparkled in the gleam of the branch of candlesonly a few feet from him. Warmth was curiously absentfrom the room, the chill so pervasive that he wonderedwhy he'd not noticed it earlier.

Governess?

Slowly, Douglas turned his head and look ed at his host.With some difficulty he managed a small smile. "Yourgoverness is, indeed, a lovely woman."

Hartley grinned. "She'll be more than that in a few days.My wife is still abed from our youngest child's birth and aman has needs."

"And is your governess amenable to your suggestions?"How odd that Douglas's voice didn't reveal the tumult ofhis thoughts. Instead, it sounded steady and he appearedonly barely interested in the topic at hand.

"What choice does she have? She's only a governess, afterall. They may carry themselves as high and mighty, butin the end she'll do what's necessaryto keep her position."

Douglas placed the glass carefully on the brass coasterbeside him ...

Excerpted from So in Loveby Ranney, Karen Excerpted by permission.
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