Blurb:
In the
first book of a captivating new series set in Georgian England, a disgraced
woman hides from her marriage—for better or worse…
Sarah Pevensey had hoped her
arranged marriage to St. John Sutliffe, Viscount Fairfax, could become
something more. But almost before it began, it ended in a scandal that shocked
London society. Accused of being a jewel thief, Sarah fled to a small fishing
village to rebuild her life.
The last time St. John saw his new
wife, she was nestled in the lap of a soldier, disheveled, and no longer in
possession of his family’s heirloom sapphire necklace. Now, three years later,
he has located Sarah and is determined she pay for her crimes. But the woman he
finds is far from what he expected. Humble and hardworking, Sarah has nothing
to hide from her husband—or so it appears. Yet as he attempts to woo her to
uncover her secrets, St. John soon realizes that if he’s not careful, she’ll
steal his heart…
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Author
bio:
A love affair with historical romances led Susanna Craig to
a degree (okay, three degrees) in literature and a career as an English
professor. When she’s not teaching or writing academic essays about Jane Austen
and her contemporaries, she enjoys putting her fascination with words and
knowledge of the period to better use: writing Regency-era romances she hopes
readers will find both smart and sexy. She makes her home among the rolling
hills of Kentucky horse country, along with her historian husband, their
unstoppable little girl, and a genuinely grumpy cat.
Author website
and social media:
Website:
http://www.susannacraig.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/susannacraig
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/SusannaMCraig
Excerpt
Just then a rogue wave broke high
against the quay, driving water over its surface and thoroughly wetting them
both. As she belatedly attempted to jump out of its path, Sarah’s feet slipped
out from under her. She began to flail, but St. John pulled her to safety and set
his other hand around her waist to steady her.
She glanced down at the churning foam
and then up at him. “It would be a terrible fall.”
Seizing the opportunity the forces of
nature had provided him, St. John allowed himself to look, really look, at the
woman he had so reluctantly married.
Sarah was not beautiful. At least, not
in any conventional way. Her features were quite unremarkable—nothing striking,
not even singular. But the moonlight leant her skin an ethereal glow. Her
shadowed eyes were dark as pewter, and her hair hung loose, teased and tangled
by the salty wind.
No, she was not beautiful—any more than
the steely waters of the north Atlantic crashing below them could be called
beautiful. Mysterious, yes. Potentially treacherous.
But compelling, nonetheless.
Perhaps it would not prove such an
uncongenial task to pretend to woo her, after all.
Keeping one hand at the small of her
back, he lifted the other to sweep the hair from her face, stroking his
fingertips along her cheek as he did so. He realized he had never seen her hair
unbound before. Even on their wedding night, she had worn it in a long, tight
braid. If he had taken the time to undo that braid, to find out what she hid
beneath its taut twists, how differently their lives might have turned out.
“It occurs to me that the good people of
Haverhythe will begin to suspect something’s amiss if we don’t spent more time
in one another’s company, if we don’t show one another a little—affection,” he
murmured, lowering his mouth to within an inch of hers. “After all, we have
been separated for three long years.”
Whatever warmth the words had held was
quickly cooled by the steely look in Sarah’s eyes.
“The good people of Haverhythe are
either still in the pub or have long since taken to their beds. I’m quite sure
this little display will be lost on them.” She glanced over her shoulder at the
village, as if seeking confirmation of her claim. “In any event, I’m surprised
you care for what they think.”
“I don’t.” With the pressure of his
palm, he tilted her face so she could not avoid his gaze. “But you do. Would
you rather your friends cast our reunion as fairytale or melodrama?”
“What they imagine will depend at least
as much on whether you play the hero or the villain,” she tossed back. “Good
night, my lord.” Slipping free of his embrace, she turned to walk back along
the quay, her damp skirts clinging to her long, slender legs.
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