Virginia Traylor, Countess of Barrett, is in dire straights... Lawrence Traylor's death left his family in a desperate situation. He'd spent his wife's fortune on property that became entailed, passing to his cousin. If Virginia could have an heir before the allotted time was up, the title would remain in the family, but more important they'd have the income from the farms belonging to the estate. Only one problem: Lawrence had never wanted to bed his wife. Who would play surrogate husband?
Enter Macrath Sinclair, the self-made Scottish millionaire and the man with whom Virginia had fallen in love before her father chose Lawrence as her husband. Virginia travels to Scotland, becomes pregnant, and gives birth to a boy - who is promptly stolen by Macrath when he realizes he's become a father.
Virginia travels to Scotland in a desperate attempt to get Macrath to see reason. He must relinquish his son. The world sees the child as the 11th Earl of Barrett.
Another problem: Macrath isn't going to give up his son, and he wasn't all that happy about letting Virginia go, either.
Can they put asside their differences and make their new family work?"
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“Do you want this, Virginia?”
She pulled back and gazed up at him. “Yes. For the last year, I haven’t been able to forget you. Yours is the face I saw before I slept. I prayed for you when I should have been praying for my own husband. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Then we’ll go to perdition together,” he said, “because I can’t be sorry for your husband’s death.”
He pulled her inside his suite, closing the door firmly behind him, striding through the sitting room and into the bedroom to stand beside his bed.
He’d left the lamp on in the sitting room and considered lighting the one on the table beside the bed, dismissing the thought instantly. That would take too long, and he was impatient enough as it was.
He removed her garments one by one, gently set them aside, revealing her like she was a present lovingly wrapped for his delectation. The bow was, perhaps, her bodice with its jet buttons and full sleeves. The paper was her corset cover and the corset he unlaced with deft fingers.
The package was her skirt, shift, and pantaloons, until she stood in front of him naked with only her shoes and black garters holding up her silk stockings.
The contrast of her black stockings against her white skin was yet another present.
He held out his hand and she placed hers on it for balance. Bending, he removed her shoes then her stockings with such speed he was amazed at his own dexterity.
He stood studying her like she was one of his ice machines. He expected her to cover her breasts with her arms. Or shield the curls at the juncture of her thighs. She did neither, merely stood with her hands at her sides, letting him look his fill.
Now he wished he’d lit another lamp.
“You’re as beautiful as I always thought you’d be,” he said.
“You imagined me naked?” Her voice sounded surprised.
He smiled. “Endlessly.”
He had never touched her breasts, never stroked her skin with fingertips that were rough and tender at once. Yet it felt like he had, as if he knew her like he knew himself.
Still, some innate caution whispered at him to pay attention; there was more here than he could see. She trembled, but was it from fear or eagerness?
Karen Ranney began writing when she was five. Her first published work was The Maple Leaf, read over the school intercom when she was in the first grade. In addition to wanting to be a violinist (her parents had a special violin crafted for her when she was seven), she wanted to be a lawyer, a teacher, and most of all, a writer. Though the violin was discarded early, she still admits to a fascination with the law, and she volunteers as a teacher whenever needed. Writing, however, has remained an overwhelming love of her life.
Visit Karen HERE!
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