Lady Gloria Swenson has lived through eighteen months she can never forget or escape. Can Lord Clare help her to live, when all she wants to do is hide?
When Jeremy Blessing, better known as the Marquess of Clare, discovers a proud young lady wandering his father's lands, he finds himself looking for her angelic smile and golden head at every turn. But Lady Gloria Swenson has lived through eighteen months she'll never forget or escape, no matter how far she's already run.
When Clare insists on her time, then her trust, and finally offers a marriage to protect her, they'll have to confront the thorny issues of all complex relationships one difficult negotiation at a time, even as they flee across the Irish Sea and the through the Scottish borderlands in a futile search for safety.
Money, family, children, and a vindictive, greedy man all collude to separate them, but it is Gloria's reticence that Clare has to conquer more than any other obstacle. Will Gloria overcome her fears and her disillusionment? What will Clare have to sacrifice to bring them together?
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of male masturbation, erotic spanking, steamy oral sex, anal play and intercourse, contraception, and moments of pure male arrogance. In addition, there are infrequent references to a substance-abusing late husband, and the sexual and physical abuse the heroine was forced to endure before his suicide. There are also references to spanking, famous Italian lovers, and love play in the sunshine.
General Release Date: 29th April 2013
Late February 1824
Gloria walked past the front gate, inwardly rejoicing at the sharp cold breeze and the salty tang in the air. She waited as Colman trailed behind her and Matthew drew the gate closed. She knew Matthew would stand watch until they returned, and Colman would trudge along behind her, always watching even in this desolate landscape. Brody Jenson, who she rather suspected was something more than simply her son’s devoted guard and groom, would stare out of the nursery window and worry. Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Pitcher would both fret, being sure to have a supply of hot tea and a change of clothes prepared. Astrid would sigh and shake her head, but peek out of the windows. Even Eynon was just as likely to wake from his nap and want Gloria instead of the tender Mrs Pitcher.
Of all the household, only Mr Pitcher wouldn’t be constantly looking out to the gate or down the road in anticipation of her return. He was in the carriage house, cleaning the carriage and preparing to harness the horses hurriedly if she needed to be rescued.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for their fierce protectiveness and kindness. Somehow, in the last four months, all of these men and women had gathered around her, uplifted her when she had been discouraged and transformed from a random selection of family retainers to her dogged supporters.
Even so, Gloria needed the rare hours of silence and sunshine she found outside Blessing Cottage, walking on the edge of Shore Road. She needed the time apart, time to mourn for lost relationships with her sisters, time to convince herself that March was gone and she was safe from waking up in the middle of the night to sinister laughter and groping, sweaty hands. She needed to let the roaring noise of the sea give her the space to be at peace with herself.
Gloria had never been so separated from her own family. She’d never gone more than a few days without her mother and sisters. The experience of being alone had been alarming at first. Even now she had very little contact with them, for mail was re-routed through her cousin Olivia—her Aunt Betsy’s daughter—in Northumberland, before being directed to Gloria or one of the sisters. Gloria dined, took her tea, played the harpsichord and embroidered without company or companionship.
At first, the solitude had been almost incapacitating. But in the seclusion, Gloria had finally come to understand that she was not the glamorous being that others had cast her as since she’d left the schoolroom. She was not a glitzy, ambitious young matron clawing her way to the highest echelons of society. In fact, she honestly wanted none of it, unless those echelons included people who appreciated her and respected her. She enjoyed fine clothes, fine wine, beautiful homes and the stylish sophistication of a cosmopolitan lady’s maid, but she didn’t need those things and was doing quite well without them. She found more joy in the nursery with Mrs Pitcher than she’d ever known in her London drawing room, so every day she possessed herself again in patience and wondered what the future would hold for her. London seemed a distant place, one she had no wish to even visit, aside from seeing her mother and sisters while shopping for the finest selection of fabrics, modistes, shoes, ribbons, gloves and accessories.
But if, once she was free, she was not to return to London and play hostess to the political players in Lennox’s daily life, what would she do with her days? Could she be content trailing along after her son and managing whichever Lennox residence the duke sent her son to inhabit?
The bitter truth was that Gloria had no choice but to wait, and in the waiting she had finally stopped and for once examined her own mind, instead of listening to what others said of her. What had she found? She might not yet know where she would go or what she would do with her future, but she knew she didn’t want to go back to the life she had been leading. Even surrounded by her peers in the heart of London society, she’d been an outcast. Here, rusticating in a shabby little cottage beside the sea, she finally had a home.
Walking relieved the isolation and broke the monotony, but there had been too few days of sunshine recently. Instead, the wind whipped the house and dense fog accompanied weekly bouts of snow blowing in off the Irish Sea. Inside the harbour entrance, the sea now lapped gently at the stony coastline past her feet. At high tide it would wash over the rocks and at low tide would retreat to display a glorious sandy surface, surely tempting local children into its lap in the summer months. Even Gloria, who knew better, was tempted to throw off her shoes and wade in. She wondered if she would have the opportunity—if she would be here that long.
She stood at the edge of the rocks and breathed in the invigorating air, savouring the scene before her and the scents around her before looking about. In one direction, towards the rapids into Strangford Lough, stood the small hamlet of Kilchet, and beyond that the road to Strangford. Before Mrs Sinclair and her daughter Astrid had come to Blessing Cottage, they had mistakenly hired a local woman as housekeeper. Gloria allowed that any of the other villagers might have been a better choice, but Matthew had been given the commission of hiring someone when he’d arrived at the cottage—before Gloria and her household—and he’d selected a woman who had satisfied every one of Lennox’s requirements—neat, dignified, self-controlled and intelligent.
Mrs Lawson had not stayed long. Sadly, her soul had been too full of judgemental preconceptions and harsh condemnations to make her suitable for the household. After the first day, Gloria had sent Matthew to Lennox’s country seat in Wales for someone more suitable. Mrs Sinclair and her daughter Astrid had arrived a week later, but the damage had been done. Mrs Lawson had returned to Kilchet and spread the word that Blessing Cottage was inhabited by a purported widow, presently rusticating under some financial constraint or scandalous cloud so severe that not even the servants would use the lady’s supposed title. She had mocked to the villagers about the circumstances of the ‘duchess’ in residence, without ever knowing that Gloria had once had every expectation of becoming one in truth.
It hadn’t helped that Gloria had expressionlessly dispensed of her diamond betrothal ring before she’d left London, and vowed never to wear it again. She’d told Lennox to melt it down and sell the diamonds for cash to donate to the poor, but he’d deposited it in the dukedom’s vault, full of jewels fit for the duchess she’d never become.
He suggested her son might someday have a use for it and Gloria had caustically replied that Eynon would do better to purchase a ring that was not dirtied by March’s shame.
Gloria had never had any notion of becoming one of the villagers in Kilchet, but their subsequent suspicion and questioning of her servants had ranged from offensive to ridiculous. On the day Gloria discovered Mrs Pitcher and Colman debating whether County Down still conducted witch trials, Gloria had directed everyone to begin driving into Strangford for market days instead of patronising the little shops in Kilchet. The change might not reduce any gossip, but at least they didn’t have to listen to it.
Elle is an author of erotic romance, or romance that contains erotic content. The romance – the falling in love – is the beautiful part of the story. The erotic content is the interesting part. In Elle's mind, the best books are erotic and romantic at the same time, and these are the sorts of stories she wants to tell. Elle lives in the great state of California with a devoted Mr. Sabine, a golden-haired pup, and a golden-haired daughter. If she had spare time, she'd like to sleep at night, visit museums, and spend more time with the Pacific Ocean.
You can take a look at Elle's Blog and follow her on Twitter.
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