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Pleasured (Volume 2) (Secrets of the Loch, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 3: Secrets of the Loch

Camp, Candace

 
9781476741093: Pleasured (Volume 2) (Secrets of the Loch, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1476741093 ISBN 13: 9781476741093
Verlag: Pocket Books, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

From New York Times bestselling author Candace Camp comes the second delicious novel in her trilogy of Scottish historical romances, Secrets of the Loch.

Damon, the earl of Mardoun, is smitten the moment he meets Meg, the village healer—but she rejects every advance from the earl, and will have none of him, even if he is the most handsome man she’s ever laid eyes on. But when unforeseen circumstances bring them together, her conviction begins to fade…

Damon’s daughter falls gravely ill, and distraught, he turns to Meg for help. During the course of nursing his beloved daughter back to health, Meg and Damon fall madly in love, but they both know an earl must wed a noble bride. And Meg will be no man’s mistress.

Will the two lovers overcome the seemingly insurmountable odds and be together at last? Find out in this sweeping, romantic novel in which love is the greatest treasure of all.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Candace Camp is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than sixty novels of contemporary and historical romance, including the bestselling Regency romances Enraptured, Treasured, and The Marrying Season. She is also the author of The Mad Morelands series, Before the Dawn, and Heartwood. She grew up in Texas in a newspaper family, which explains her love of writing, but she earned a law degree and practiced law before making the decision to write full time. She has received several writing awards, including the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. Visit her at Candace-Camp.com.

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Pleasured

1

August 1807

The wheel of the carriage hit yet another rut in the road, jerking the Earl of Mardoun awake. He glanced across at the opposite seat, where his daughter sat with her governess. Miss Pettigrew was awake, and she cast her eyes down quickly, doing her best, as always, to blend into the upholstery. Lynette, however, had obviously been dozing, for she straightened up, running her hands over her face and yawning. Reaching out, she pushed aside the curtains.

“Look! It’s beautiful!” Lynette cried, sticking her head out the window. “Papa! It’s like a carpet of flowers.”

“Miss Lynnette, be careful,” the governess fussed. “You might catch a chill.” She hastened to spread a carriage rug over the girl’s lap.

“’Tis nearly August,” Damon commented drily. “I think Lynette is unlikely to catch cold.” The woman’s constant caution and fussing wore on his nerves. He was beginning to wish he had sent her ahead to Duncally with the servants.

He glanced at his daughter and saw that her dark eyes, so like his own, were lit with laughter. “It’s good to see you smile.”

“Yes, poor dear,” Miss Pettigrew agreed, tucking in the robe more securely. “It has been hard, losing her mother. Such a saint as Lady Mardoun was. And, of course, Miss Lynette is a very sensitive child.”

“Mm.” Damon had no idea how to respond to that statement, given that he had felt more relief than sorrow upon hearing of his wife’s demise. But then, he was neither sensitive nor saintly. He cast a glance at his daughter and saw that the smile had vanished from her face. Blast the woman—­Lynette’s governess seemed to have a perfect knack for casting gloom on every situation.

He pushed aside the window curtain on his side of the carriage. “Your ‘carpet of flowers’ is heather. It was not out when I was here before, though one and all, they assured us it was too bad we missed it. It seems they were right, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes! I am so glad we came to Scotland. Are we getting close? I see some buildings ahead. Is that part of Duncally?”

Damon craned his neck in the direction Lynette was looking and chuckled. “No, that’s not Duncally, not even the gatehouse. You’ll know Duncally when you see it.”

“But how? I’ve never been there before.” Lynette spoke with a shyness that never failed to send a pang of regret and guilt through him.

He smiled at her. “You will see.”

“Is it like Edinburgh Castle?”

“No, it’s not grim. It looks—oh, like a castle on the Rhine, I suppose. Or a drawing in a book. My grandfather apparently had a sense of the dramatic. Those buildings you see ahead are, I suspect, the village nearest the castle. Kincannon, Kenkilling, something like that.”

“Kinclannoch,” Lynette corrected him, then looked a trifle abashed. “I looked it up when I learned we were coming here.”

“Yes, you are right. Kinclannoch. Not a very prepossessing village.”

“No. But look at the thatched roofs. They’re quaint, aren’t they?”

“Yes. I can see you are prepared to like the place.”

“Yes, I am.” His daughter blushed faintly. “Are we Scots, then?”

“I suppose. Partly. My grandmother, your great-grandmother, was Scottish, the last of her line. The Countess of Mardoun in her own right, so when she married, the title came to her husband, Lord Rutherford, and then to their son. But Grandfather was English, of course, and my mother, as well.”

“And mine.” Lynette sighed. “So I am only . . . an eighth Scottish?”

He nodded. “You sound disappointed.”

“A little.” Color tinged her cheeks. “It seems very romantic. Tragic Queen Mary, fleeing with Bothwell and riding through the night. Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“Also fleeing. Not exactly comfortable fates.”

“No. I suppose not.”

“But decidedly exciting.”

Damon was rewarded by the way her delicate face lit up again. “But, look, we are stopping. Is this an inn? Will we not reach Duncally today?”

“No, it’s not far. I suspect the coachman’s gone to ask directions. The roads are rather ill marked.” He leaned across to look out the curtains on the opposite side of the carriage. His hand stilled on the drapery.

A woman stood across the narrow street, chatting with a young gentleman. She was attired in a simple blue cotton dress, a little too low-waisted to be fashionable, and not even a ruffle around the skirt for adornment—but then, that sweetly curved body needed no adornment. Her arms below the short cap sleeves were bare—white and soft and shapely—and she wore no gloves. Her head, too, was bare and, in the glint of the afternoon sun, was a riot of thick, red curls. Her face was heart-shaped, with rounded cheeks and a firm little chin.

She turned and looked toward the carriage and her eyes met Damon’s. For an instant it seemed as if his heart stopped. Her eyes were glorious—large and wide set and rimmed with thick, dark lashes, and their color was stunning, a brown so light, so clear, they appeared golden.

“Oh, Papa, look at that lady,” his daughter said in a hushed tone. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice a trifle husky. “Yes, she is.”



Meg Munro turned toward the noise of horses’ hooves, and her eyebrows rose at the sight of the elegant black vehicle and matched team of four coal-black horses. “Look at that.”

Beside her, Gregory Rose looked in the same direction. “Well, well.”

“The Earl of Mardoun, do you think?”

“I’d guess. All of Kinclannoch has been buzzing ever since his staff arrived last week. Still, I never thought he would actually come. Ah, look, the lord is surveying the peasants.”

A man’s face appeared in the carriage window. Thick, black hair swept back from a square-jawed face, his skin as fair as his hair was dark, his eyes under the prominent ridge of his brow echoing the jet black of his hair. Arrogance and boredom colored his expression in equal measure, but neither could detract from the handsomeness of his face.

He stared straight at Meg. She was accustomed to men’s stares. What was unfamiliar to her was the visceral pull she felt in return. She was suddenly, acutely aware of the sun’s warmth on her arms, the touch of the air on her face, as if her senses had awakened from a deep slumber. Even the scents carried on the breeze were suddenly sharper, the sounds brighter. Yet at the same time the world around her seemed to retreat, her focus narrowing to the carriage window.

“Meg? Are you all right?” Gregory’s voice pulled her from her trance.

“What?” She pulled her gaze away and looked up at the man she had known since childhood. “I’m sorry . . . what did you say?”

“Nothing important. Just wondering how long the earl would last this...

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Verlag
Pocket Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2015
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1476741093
ISBN 13 
9781476741093
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Buchpark GmbH
gpsr@buchpark.de

Krügerweg 1
Trebbin
Brandenburg
14959
Deutschland