My charming second chance Regency novella, Stand & Deliver, brings together a hero and heroine who were always meant to be. It's based on the far older story of Lady Katharine Ferrers (aka The Wicked Lady, after whom the pub below is named).
No one ever said love was easy:
Elliot Brock hides his disappointment when Olivia, the woman he loves, marries his best friend, who happens to be the son of an earl. Still, he remains close to them both. Who could be more deserving of such a match than his best friend and the woman he's always set above all others?
The two men are sent to war in 1812, but only Elliot returns. The earl's dying wish is to unite his friend with his widow but by the time Elliot returns to England, the countess is courting more than scandal. She's risking her neck – and her life – to preserve a legacy for her young son.
To find a way round the family trustee with nefarious designs, Countess Olivia Essex takes on the persona of Black Peter, a notorious highwayman. With a singularly accomplice no one suspects, she keeps the estate running with a minimum of staff and supplies, but the legend of Black Peter grows daily, and Olivia is running out of time. Soon, she must re-enter society and her midnight rides will be noticed.
When Colonel Brock finally returns from war, Olivia is both relieved and alarmed. Brock is too clever not to guess what's going on – and too attractive not to kiss. More than kiss…
She'd better hold her nerve - because the man who's after Black Peter might also be the man she loves.
Here's the beginning of your free extract:
“I don’t like it, Olivia,” Elliot whispered urgently, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “I don’t want you hurt.”
“Nor do I.” Was that her voice, speaking so firmly? If so, then this is my hand reaching to pull this man’s lips to mine.
His mouth over hers sent a jolt of lightning along each nerve ending. His hands found her waist, pressing her into the warmth of his large, firm body. Olivia made a small sound, drawing back to study Elliot’s darkly intense gaze. Uncertainty warred with longing in his eyes.
“I want you, Olivia.” His voice echoed off stone, deep with desire, tight with restraint. “I love you.” His face flushed.
“Oh, Elliot.” She kissed him again, delighting in his heat as her hands combed their way inside his coat, working away at his jacket buttons with a sluggishness that had him draw away. “Elliot,” she gasped, frustration in her voice.
“A moment, my love.” He built up a small pile of straw and sticks. Ringing his creation with leftover chalk stone, her colonel drew off his caped coat and spread it over the ground. Olivia caught on quickly, rummaging in her trunk for her tinder box.
“How did you know I’d have flint?” she asked, standing beside their makeshift hearth.
“Your father taught his troops to be prepared.” Elliot took her box, lit the straw and sat back on his heels, watching the flames catch.
Olivia moved closer to the fire, the sheen of flames turning this man’s face a burnished pink.
He looked up, his dark eyes unreadable. “Is that better?”
"Very nearly.” She leaned down, stroking an unsteady palm over his jaw. Not as warm as your kisses, Colonel.
Read the rest here.
