Portrait
of Passion
Idyllwild, Book One
by Lynne Barron
What’s a Viscount to do when a mysterious lady with a secret
past and a reputation frayed around the edges suddenly appears in London in hot
pursuit of his naive young cousin, setting the gossips’ tongues wagging,
stirring his family into pandemonium, and driving him mad with her irreverent
ways?
EXCERPT
Prologue
Chateau De Fontaine
On the outskirts of Paris
March 1827
Beatrice watched him from the shadowy
alcove, half-hidden behind a leafy green fern in a tall gilded planter. The
handsome young man in a peacock-blue waistcoat and fine gray breeches wandered
around the room, stopping to flirt with a pretty young lady here, to chat with
a dissolute poet there. His artfully tousled blond curls gleamed in the soft
light from a hundred candles. His merry blue eyes twinkled when he laughed. He
laughed often.
Just like his father. Everything about him reminded Beatrice
of the father. From his tall, muscular frame to his rich voice with its clipped
upper-crust English accent, he was his father’s son.
Only the eyes were different. The
former Earl of Hastings had possessed the deepest, warmest brown eyes, eyes a
sheltered and naïve girl could not help but trust. The young Earl of Hastings’
eyes were a vibrant blue, as blue as the English sky on a cloudless summer day.
Beatrice waited. She waited for her
rapid heartbeat to slow, she waited for her sluggish brain to speed up, she waited
for her limbs to cease trembling. If there was one thing Miss Beatrice Morgan
excelled at, it was waiting. She had been waiting for nearly a decade for the
chance to reclaim her life, the life that only this young nobleman could return
to her.
Suddenly the earl looked away from
the evening’s hostess with whom he was conversing. He looked up and across the
room. As if he sensed her presence in the shadows, his eyes found her across
the room.
The earl’s eyes widened, drifted over
her face, lingered for a moment on her lips, before dropping to sweep down her
slender form adorned in flowing gold silk. He raised his eyes to hers, the
merest hint of a smile upon his lips, his head tilted slightly, studying her as
if she were an exotic creature, an angel dropped down from heaven or perhaps a
fairy from an enchanted forest come to entertain him. How many times had
Beatrice seen the very same expression on his father’s face?
Beatrice held her breath.
Would he recognize her?
But no. She did not exist in his world.
The Earl of Hastings could no more recognize Beatrice than he could recognize a
hard day’s work, an honest word or a shilling well-earned. Foolish, naïve
aristocrat. Just like his father.
The earl
gave a small shake of his head and straightened. He puffed out his chest and
pulled at his lace cuffs, his eyes fixed on her, his smile an invitation.
And just like that, Beatrice felt a
blanket of calm descend over her. He was just a man. The thought warmed her,
steadied her. He would be easily led, just like any other man. She had only to
lead him where she wished him to go.
Beatrice stepped from the dim alcove
into the soft yellow light of the candles. Her mind was amazingly clear. As she
walked across the long marble floor, sweeping gracefully toward the Earl of
Hastings, a plan was forming, taking shape. It was a plan born of the
desperation and hope she had harbored in her heart for nine long years, born of
the obsession that had colored every facet of her life during those lonely,
lost years.
Beatrice smiled as she approached the
young man, held the smile upon her lips as she dropped into a curtsy so low, so
graceful, so perfectly deferential, she might have been bowing before King
George himself.
BUYLINKS:
Widow’s
Wicked Wish
Idyllwild Series, Book Two
Be
careful what you wish for.
The
Countess of Palmerton has lived her life by Society’s rules, marrying the right
man, bearing the required heir, and guarding her name at all costs. And what
has it gotten her? A loveless union, a cold marriage bed and a reputation for
perfect propriety.
Fleeing
the whispers of her husband’s scandalous demise, Olivia finds a haven at
Idyllwild. Away from the gossip and glitter of London, she dares to cast a
wicked wish to the winter sky.
Jack Bentley has a wish of his
own, one he has no intention of leaving to the fickle fates. He will marry the
stubborn widow, even if it means using her awakening passion to force her to
the altar.
Excerpt
Olivia lay in her bed listening to
the sounds of the house settling, the winter wind buffeting the tree branches
outside her window, and the fire crackling in the hearth across the room.
Her mind was filled with images of
Jack Bentley, most especially the light gleaming in his eyes as he’d wished her
a good night in the dim hallway between their two bed-chambers. He’d hesitated,
his hand on the door knob, casting a speculative look over his shoulder. For
one feverish moment she’d thought he meant to invite her into his room. Instead
he’d arched one dark brow, his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile and she’d
imagined a silent dare in the gesture.
Olivia rolled to her side, pummeled
the pillow beneath her head into submission and let out a sigh of vexation. Her
senses were alive with a humming sort of awareness in her body the like of
which she’d never known. Her breasts tingled, her nipples almost painfully
sensitive to the shift of her nightgown over them. A soft pulse throbbed
between her legs, intensifying as she squeezed her thighs together seeking
relief.
With a huff of mingled laughter and
frustration, she tossed off the covers and scrambled from the bed only to stand
beside it unsure what to do next.
She tried to imagine padding barefoot
across the hall to Jack’s door and found to her surprise that it took little
effort. She could do that much, but what then?
She might knock. Or did a woman bent
on seduction simply open the door and enter?
She laughed at her fanciful
imagination. What she knew about seduction wouldn’t fill a thimble.
She knew only how to lie quietly
beneath her husband, how to submit. But Jack was not her husband and she
couldn’t imagine he would welcome into his bed a shy widow without an ounce of
feminine wiles.
Not for the first time, she wished
Palmerton had desired her, that he’d taken the time to introduce her to the
wonders of the marriage bed. Instead he’d come to her solely to produce an
heir, seeing to his duty much as her mother had predicted on the eve of her
wedding.
Palmerton had come to her wearing a
long robe of the finest burgundy silk, tied loosely at his waist. His chest had
been bare beneath, which surprised Olivia.
Her mother had clearly said that he
would wear his nightshirt when he came to her.
“Come, let’s get rid of your night
clothes,” he’d whispered.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olivia had replied
as she sat up. “My mother said I should…”
“Never mind,” he had interrupted,
pulling her white night gown over her head. “Mothers don’t always know.”
Olivia’s mother may have been
mistaken about the night clothes, but she had been right about everything else.
“He will perhaps kiss you once or
twice.” Palmerton had kissed her twice.
“Do not be startled if he puts his
tongue into your mouth.” Olivia had still been quite startled, but not
unpleasantly so. She rather thought she might like it. Unfortunately, he had
stopped kissing her before she could decide.
“Some men will want to squeeze your
bosom a bit.” Olivia had enjoyed his soft hand on her breast until he pinched
her rather hard right on the sensitive tip. She had not liked the way he
laughed deep in his throat when she yelped in pain.
“He will open your legs. I know it
will be terribly embarrassing, but you must allow it.” It had been a bit
embarrassing but Palmerton was quick to roll between her spread legs so really
it was not as if he saw her most womanly place.
“When he puts his member inside you
it will hurt. Try not to scream, but do not remain silent lest he think you
were not a virgin.” Olivia had expected a bit more pain so she certainly had
not screamed, she did however cry out. She might have said “Oh”, or perhaps
“Ow”.
“As it is your first time and he is a
gentleman, he will be quick about it.” Olivia had barely had time to get used
to the feel of him moving inside her before he had let out a small grunt and
bucked his body against hers. Then he’d rolled off her and lay on his back
beside her, his breath wheezing in his lungs.
That had been the pattern of Olivia’s
nights throughout her marriage. Until her husband had stopped coming to her bed
altogether.
Olivia very much doubted Jack would
be content with hurried fumbling in the dark.
Jack would make love to her. Beatrice
had used the term once and Olivia liked the sound of it, the poetry, the image
it evoked of two people caught up in their passion for one another.
She had only to march across the hall
and make it so. For goodness sake, she’d witnessed men and women traversing
hallways in the darkest hours at various country parties over the years. How
difficult could it be?
Olivia squared her shoulders and drew
in a deep breath. Allowing herself no time to question her decision, she strode
across the room, barely hesitating as she pulled the door open and stepped out
into the hallway.
She had time only to register the
chill in the drafty hall, the cold of the wood floors beneath her feet, before
the door to Jack’s chamber was wrenched open and he came storming out.
They collided in the dark, her head
smacking against his chin and her legs tangling with his. Only his quick
reflexes kept her from falling on her backside.
Hard hands gripped her upper arms,
his fingers shockingly hot on her bare skin.
“Whoa, Livy,” he murmured around a
huff of laughter. “Where are you running off to?”
Olivia tilted her head, her spine
curving with the motion, her belly brushing against the tops of his thighs
where the unmistakable evidence of his arousal was hidden beneath a long, black
silk robe.
“I thought,” she began only to pause
and draw a shuddering breath into her chest, causing her too sensitive nipples
to strain against the fabric of her nightgown. “That is…I hoped…”
“You hoped…” he prompted when her
voice trailed away.
“Do you… Might you want to…”
She waved one hand, gesturing behind
her to the door and her chamber beyond, wishing she could see his expression.
“Are you inviting me to your bed?”
Jack’s voice was little more than a raspy whisper. His fingers clenched on her arms,
tugging her closer until her breasts brushed his chest.
“If you don’t mind,” she answered,
heat rushing over her. “That is…if you want…”
“I want,” he growled just before his
lips found hers.
His kiss was both tender and rough,
reverent and wild. He wasted no time on gentle persuasion but simply plundered,
his lips molding to hers, his tongue delving deep to find hers, to stroke over
and around, to circle and dive, invading her mouth.
Olivia moaned, shocked and not a
little bit embarrassed by the desperate sound. But if Jack found it surprising
or vulgar, he gave no indication. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. He tugged
her against him and wrapped his arms around her, his hands landing on her back,
skimming down to grip her bottom and pull her flush against him.
Olivia found herself surrounded by
him, pressed against him from their joined lips to their bare toes. His scent,
exotic and earthy, enveloped her. The heat of his big body enfolded her. His
member pulsed low on her belly and she rose to her toes, aligning her hips with
his, reveling in the knowledge that he wanted her.
Jack growled low in his throat, his
hands squeezing her bottom, lifting her higher still and Olivia wrapped her
arms around him, her fingers digging into his muscled back beneath the silk of
his robe. Pleasure took hold of her, drawing another dark moan from her.
Then Jack was moving, walking her
backward until she came up against the door, their combined weight pushing it
open to bang against the wall, the sound ricocheting down the hallway.
They broke apart, stared at one
another in the flickering firelight.
“Shh,” she whispered, immediately
feeling ten kinds of fool for admonishing him.
“Ah, Livy,” he huffed out around a
raspy chuckle, “if that’s the only noise coming from this room tonight, I’ll
not have done right by you.”
Olivia blinked in confusion. “Noise?”
“Oh, yes, noise and plenty of it,” he
promised, ushering her into the room ahead of him and closing the door.
BUY
LINKS:
AUTHOR BIO:
Lynne Barron always wanted to be a
writer, if only she could decide what to write. Everyone told her to write what
you know. It wasn’t until she married her extremely romantic and surprisingly
sensual husband that she was able to follow that advice. Lynne lives in Florida
with her husband, son and a menagerie of rescued pets.
AUTHOR CONTACT LINK:
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