An exclusive excerpt of a selected scene from Celeste Bradley's With This Ring (July 1, 2014) is available on Heroes and Heartbreakers to members. Please log in or register to read the full excerpt...
THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
Elektra Worthington is the lovely middle daughter of the eccentric, impoverished Worthington family. Her beauty means nothing to her except as her currency to return the Worthington name to its former glory of status, riches, and dominance in the ballrooms of Regency England. To this end, she will stop at nothing—even if she must kidnap a rich lord in the process. If this lucky gentleman is just returning from a long absence and knows nothing of the Worthington reputation, well, a girl shouldn’t look a gift lord in the mouth…right?
THE PRICE OF PASSION
Lord Aaron Arbogast, returning to England after a decade-old scandal—of which he was not truly guilty, but instead took the blame out of loyalty to a good friend—is the last of his line. He will someday become the Earl of Arbodean and inherit the estate…if, that is, he can prove to his ailing grandfather that he is a reformed man. Falling for a woman like Miss Worthington could cost him everything. But his desire for her? Priceless…
Lord Aaron Arbogast had seen a bad morning after or two in his wayward youth. A decade of scrupulously clean living had not dimmed the memory of a dry mouth, a pounding head, and eyelids of sand. He held very still and waited for the swirling nausea that was surely on the heels of such a hangover. He had drunk—
Nothing. Not a damned thing. Not a drop of brandy, not a whiff of whiskey.
Furthermore, he was not in a bed, nor even in the hayloft of the inn. No, he was sitting in a chair, entirely unable to move. Without opening his eyes or making a sound, he carefully flexed the muscles in his arms and legs against his prison. Ropes?
Keeping his breathing calm even in his alarm, he inhaled slowly, trying to sift clues from the scents about him. Fire smoke, real fire made from wood, not coal. Candle wax. A draft crossed his face—no, it smelled of fresh, damp nature. A breeze? Yet he didn’t have the sense that he was out of doors. He smelled moldy furniture . . . and damp plaster . . . and jasmine.
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