Tags:
Fiction,
Romance,
Historical,
Regency,
Historical Romance,
romantic suspense,
Women's Fiction,
Regency Romance,
adult fiction,
Historical Mystery,
historical romantic suspense,
Dark Angel,
tasha alexander,
lauren willig,
vienna waltz,
rightfully his,
loretta chase,
imperial scandal,
beneath a silent moon,
deanna raybourn,
the mask of night,
malcom and suzanne rannoch historical mysteries,
josephine,
cheryl bolen,
his spanish bride,
liz carlyle,
melanie and charles fraiser,
m. louisa locke,
elizabeth bailey,
shadows of the heart,
anna wylde,
robyn carr,
daughter of the game,
shores of desire,
carol r. carr,
teresa grant,
the paris affair
called home. She stepped through the narrow doorway and froze, all her worst imaginings brought vividly to life.
A man was standing on the far side of the room, beyond the dying embers of the fire. The light was poor, especially after the brightness outside, and she could tell little about him, save that he was tall and did not seem to be wearing a uniform. Instinctively, Caroline stepped back, shielding Emily from view.
It was only then that the man turned around, though he remained in the shadows. "Mrs. Rawley?" He spoke softly, but the English accent was unmistakable.
At the sound of his voice, a frisson of alarm coursed through her, but it was gone before she understood its cause, drowned by her relief. Caroline reached for the doorframe to steady herself, feeling as if her knees were about to give way. The joy of knowing that rescue might be at hand, coming so soon after her fears of a moment before, was almost more than she could bear. "You're English."
"I am."
There was amusement in his voice this time, but also that hauntingly familiar note which once again sent her heart hammering in her throat. Dear God, no, it was impossible. Caroline's fingers dug into the soft wood of the door frame as Adam Durward stepped into a shaft of gray light from the window and back into her life for the first time in five years.
Shock held her motionless and even her breathing seemed suspended. Coherent thought was impossible, but a wave of longing swept through her, dredged up from the recesses of her memory, from some last remaining fragment of a part of her she had thought long since dead and buried. She wanted to run to him, to fling her arms round his neck and hide her face against his chest, seeking comfort as she had when she was a little girl escaping the torment of her brother and sisters.
But another part of her, which she had thought, if not dead, at least decently submerged, wanted to run to him for very different reasons, to feel his lips against her own and his hands working their magic on her body, blotting out the horrors of the past and the terrors of the future.
Adam stared at Caroline across the barren room. His worst fears had been, allayed when the villagers directed him to her cottage. At least she was alive. Even so, the relief he had felt when he turned and saw her standing in the doorway was overwhelming. For the past four weeks, he had kept his fears at bay, knowing that if he allowed himself to dwell on them he never would be able to complete the journey. Only now could he acknowledge the terror that had gripped him since he learned Caroline had been mad enough to leave the safety of Lisbon and seek her husband in a remote Spanish village behind enemy lines.
But when he stepped forward and looked her full in the face, relief gave way to shock and anger. Anger at himself, for setting in motion the events which had brought her to this; at Jared, for leading her into such a hell; and at Caroline for being foolish enough to follow him. The face that had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember was sun-burned and wind-chapped and pitifully thin. The body he had caressed so often in his memory was thin as well. The loose cuffs of her dress showed that even her wrists were gaunt.
When he last saw her she had been exquisitely gowned and jeweled, her hair soft and silky and finely dressed, the fragrance of hyacinth and roses clinging to her skin. All, Adam reminded himself, in an effort to seduce him for the sake of her husband, the same husband for whom she had risked her life and been brought to the condition in which she now stood before him. "Is your husband well enough to travel, Mrs. Rawley?" Adam asked with careful formality.
Caroline stared blankly at him, as if she could not comprehend the question. His eyes on her face, Adam scarcely noticed the stir of movement beside her until a young voice said softly, "Papa's dead."
A little girl was clinging to Caroline's faded skirts and looking up
Kit Tunstall, R.E. Saxton