Both have secrets. Both have reputations. Both fear falling in love.
London, 1727. When Miss Eden Lowther catches the eye of Lord Percival Falloure, Marquess of Tavistoke, she’s delighted, for his wicked lordship is anything but boring. The canny coquette who declined five suitors the season prior sets out to capture the infamous “Terror of the Ton” for keeps, but the man she finds behind the façade isn’t at all what she expects.
Having suffered heartbreak and humiliation two years ago, Lord Tavistoke is wary of love. But once on the market, always on the market until wed or dead. Desperate to throw London’s single ladies off the scent, Percy looks to reestablish his rotten reputation with a rousing scandal. His mark: Miss Eden Lowther, a tearing beauty reported to have left devastation in her wake last Season. If anyone has asked for ruination, it is the heartless “Hellion of Holker Hall” . . .
Eden and Percy soon find themselves falling dangerously in love, despite their fears and her family’s objections. But love alone save them when a ruthless rival forces her hand.
His roughened voice was a lion’s purr, both dangerous and seductive. Swaying toward him, she met his lips without care for caution or propriety.
Skin, bone, and sinew—all resonated to the touch of his mouth against hers. With every moment that passed, it intensified until the thrumming in her ears grew deafening.
As a butterfly sips at a flower, he withdrew from her lips only to revisit them again.
He stole the sigh of want from her and pulled her closer.
When had his hands left her face? The fleeting thought was gone as the liquid heat pooling at the base of her spine spilled over and gathered at the juncture of her thighs to sweep down the backs of her legs. A desperate, unspeakable longing to press herself against him overtook her.
A tremor shook him as she did so. Remotely, she registered an uncomfortable lump against her belly, but chose to ignore it in favor of the sensations running riot through her. A dull ache had begun to throb down low, accompanied by a strange sense of emptiness. It was like hunger, only more acute and infinitely more difficult to assuage.
Obeying her body’s demands, her hands rose from where she braced them on his chest to draw his head down and deepen the contact between them at every point possible.
Her breath caught as her breasts were crushed against the hardness of his chest, as something that wasn’t quite pain streaked down to settle in the secret place between her legs. She wriggled, stretching upward and resettling herself against the hard lump below.
With an agonized groan, he molded her body against his own and buried his face in the curve of her neck.
All the air in her lungs seemed to vanish. Head spinning, she closed her eyes and steadied herself for a moment, clinging to him in shuddering stillness, never wanting it to end.
It wasn’t enough.
“I consent,” the words tumbled out. Clutching his hair, she reunited their lips again, giving back in full measure what she’d taken. Nothing mattered but this, this heady rush of pleasure. “I consent,” she again whispered against his mouth.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Liana loves to weave incendiary tales that capture the heart and the imagination, taking the reader out of the now and into another world. The glory and splendor of the 18th Century provides a lush, glittering backdrop for her fairy tale romances. It’s a time of sensuous lovers, passionate music, lavish royal courts and deadly intrigues.
Liana lives in Texas with her own dashing hero of nearly twenty years, their delightful progeny, one spoiled-rotten feline overlord, and several tanks of tropical fish. She’s been devouring historical romances since her early teens and is now delighted to be writing them for fellow enthusiasts.