Raven's Bride

Raven's Bride

Lynn Kerstan

August 2013 $15.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-3-337

She tried to rob him. And then she stole his heart.

Our PriceUS$15.95
Save wishlist

Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt

Back Cover Copy

If a mysterious assassin gets his way, Ashton Cordell, the Earl of Ravensby, will die without leaving an heir. Five years ago, that assassin murdered the Earl’s wife and unborn child, and Ashton has dodged repeated attempts on his life since then. Now reclusive and wary, he takes no chances when two highwaymen attempt to rob him one dark night. Killing one of them, he takes the other prisoner, only to discover a beautiful and sharp-witted young woman beneath a robber’s hood.

Glenys Shea is at his mercy, and she knows it—even more so after her devoted young brother, an apprentice street thief, barges in to save her. Ashton quickly realizes that the pair are good-hearted and loyal despite following in the footsteps of their father—the robber Ashton killed. Glenys wins him over with her kindness, intelligence, and empathy for the tortured life he leads.

Together they concoct a scheme to lure the assassin to light, but as their plan progresses, danger lurks at every turn, and their growing love only serves to make the stakes even higher.



Coming soon!



England, 1822

MIST LAPPED AT the foot of the crags, eerie in the dim light of the swaying lanterns as the coach rumbled into the High Peaks. Menace lurked within each copse of scraggly oak, from behind every lurching outcrop of black rock.

Ashton Cordell, Earl of Ravensby, checked again the small pistol concealed in a sling above his wrist. Oiled, primed, ready to fire. His eyes burned and his neck ached from the strain of watching the road.

With a sigh, he leaned against the padded leather squabs and told himself to relax. But caution had become habitual. Or compulsive, he thought with a humorless smile.

For years, he’d never traveled without at least four armed outriders. Now he was protected only by the coachman and Big Charlie, whose wits were uncertain at best. And stealth, he reminded himself. No one knew he would be on this road tonight, and Ravenrook was less than two hours away.

Ravenrook. Home in the clifftop aerie, he would be safe. His eyes drifted shut. Perhaps he could sleep for a while.

He was dreaming about Ellen when the coach shuddered to a halt.

"Stand and deliver,” yelled a rough voice. A spate of coughing followed the demand.

Groggy, Ash fumbled under the seat for the primed set of pistols concealed there. Before he could reach them, a face appeared at the window.

"Outside, your lordship,” said the highwayman in a raspy voice. "Hands in the air. I got you in my sights, so don’t make any move I don’t like or I’ll plug you.”

Ash stepped to the ground, hands slightly raised. The shifting light revealed only a tall thin man holding two guns. One was leveled at his chest. The other pointed toward the driver’s seat where John Fletcher and Charlie poised, arms uplifted. The highwayman was careful to hold back, keeping all targets in his sights.

Then Ash saw a smaller man some distance away, gripping a pistol between both hands. He waved it back and forth between the two men atop the carriage and the man he had come to kill.

Nervous, Ash decided. The weak link. But why didn’t they shoot? One bullet for him, two in reserve for the driver and Charlie. They must be amateurs. Trained assassins would have finished the job and been gone by now.

"Your money, milord,” said the rough-voiced man. When he bent his head and coughed, the smaller man moved forward as if to protect him. "Toss everything you got on the ground, including rings and watch and whatnots. But no sudden moves or I’ll pull the trigger.”

Ash stared at him, dumbfounded. Could this be a robbery after all? But no highwayman with a jot of intelligence would be waiting on this desolate byway for a victim.

And the man had said "your lordship.” Without question, they were expecting the Earl of Ravensby.

"Don’t try my patience,” the highwayman warned. Again, more coughing and another move forward by his accomplice.

Suddenly Charlie bent over. The robber swung toward him, both pistols raised.

Without conscious thought Ash dropped his right arm and flicked his wrist. The concealed gun fell into his hand, and he fired at the same moment the highwayman did.

The robber groped at his chest and the other pistol went off, sending a bullet harmlessly into the air. He pitched over, hands and feet quivering.

Ash dove for the ground just as the second man fired. A bullet whizzed by his head.

For a moment there was silence. Then Charlie, with a war whoop, swung down from the coach, his gun pointed toward the man who stood frozen with the pistol between both hands, aimed at where Ash had been.

A few yards away, the other man lay still.

"Papa!” cried the accomplice in a high thin voice. Dropping his pistol, he rushed to the limp body and huddled over it. "Oh, Papa.”

Ash came to his feet and moved forward, pausing a short distance from the astonishing tableau.

Two eyes, golden in the dim light, lifted to his. "You k-killed my father.”

Ash felt ice at his fingertips.

"Damn you to hell! You had no right. He never meant to hurt anyone.”

By now Ash was sure it was a boy, not a man. He was smooth-cheeked and painfully slim in ill-fitting trousers and shirt, with a woolen cape over his shoulders and a floppy hat on his head.

Ash glanced briefly at the dead man and at the pistols clutched in his gaunt hands, forefingers still pressing the triggers.

Blood pounded at Ash’s temples. He had been careless. Charlie and the driver might be dead by now, and the bullet from the boy’s gun had nearly cut him down.

Charlie moved toward the boy, but Ash heard sobs and gestured him away. A son should be allowed to mourn his father, even if the man deserved to die.

"Were you hit?” he asked, relieved when Charlie shook his head. "Then stay here, and make sure that one”—he pointed to the boy—"doesn’t get away. We’ll send a wagon to pick you up. Bring him to me when you get to Ravenrook.”

Golden eyes fixed on him. "Killer!” The boy spat in his direction. "Bloody killer!”

Ash turned away. Why should he be held accountable for the death of a man who clearly intended to murder him? But his hands were shaking as he climbed into the coach. He hated violence, although he had lived with it for what seemed like forever.

Whoever was responsible would pay for this night, he vowed to himself. Someone had hired these pathetic highwaymen, and the boy would know his identity.

WHEN HE ARRIVED at Ravenrook, Ash went immediately to the library and poured himself a hefty shot of brandy. He drank it and then another, sensing the onset of a crippling attack.

Now and again drinking helped him to sleep, if he swallowed enough in time. Five years ago, when a bullet creased his scalp in Hyde Park, the headaches began. Since that time, they came often and with little warning, bringing nausea and agony he’d never imagined until it took up shop in his head.

But he always recovered, with only the vague memory of time lost and excruciating pain. Once in a while the brandy was stronger than the headache, and he badly hoped it worked tonight. He needed answers, and at last he had found someone who could supply them.

In spite of the brandy, pain swept over him in waves. Two hours later he could barely see the door when he responded to a thunderous knock.

Big Charlie stepped inside, intelligence shining in his eyes. His wits came and went since Waterloo, when shrapnel had pierced his skull. "There was two horses tethered near to where we was attacked. They’re in the stables now. Sad beasties, in need of a good feeding. We put the body in the icehouse. Will you be wanting to send word to the constable?”

Ash rubbed his temples. "Yes, but not until I’ve questioned the boy. And I can’t do that tonight. Lock him in the cellar.”

"He ain’t what he looks like, milord.” Charlie shuffled uneasily. "Fact is, he’s a girl.”

There was a long silence, and then Ash swore long and loud. "Are you sure?”

"Got tits.” Charlie’s voiced cracked. "Came upon ’em when I searched for weapons.”

A girl! Ash regathered his concentration. "In that case, we can’t use the cellars. Lock her in a room upstairs, make sure a footman is posted outside, and see that she’s fed. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.”

"As you say, milord.” Charlie shambled to the door and turned again, a despondent look on his face. "Mighty upset, she was. He was her father. The man you killed.”

Ash winced. "Yes. I thought he was about to fire at you.”

Charlie stared gloomily at the floor. "I shouldn’t have made a move. It was stupid of me. Sometimes I’m so bloody stupid.”

Ash crossed the room and took his hand. "You were trying to protect me, and chances are they’d have shot us all if we hadn’t fought back. This is a damnable mess, but I will take the consequences.”

Charlie raised his head. "I didn’t mind what happened until I knew it was a girl. She cried all the way here.”

"I should have brought her back in the coach instead of leaving you to deal with her. Well, see that she is made comfortable, Charlie. That’s all we can do for now. And remember, you are not to blame.”

"Nor you, milord.” With a vague wave of his hand, Charlie withdrew.

Ash made his way to a chair, head throbbing. Devil take it, a girl! It was almost absurd. The assassin had scraped the bottom of the barrel when he hired a sickly highwayman and his daughter to keep watch on the isolated road to Ravenrook.

As the room began to spin, he wondered how he would convince the girl to give up her secrets. Dear God, he had killed her father. How she must hate him.




GLENYS SHEA STUDIED the packed dirt beneath her window, recalculating the distance to the ground.

It hadn’t moved any closer.

The rope she had braided from the bedsheets and blankets wouldn’t reach nearly that far. She would have to tear down the curtains. But a servant was apt to notice bare windows, so she could do nothing more until her supper tray was removed.

With luck, the same maid who had served all her meals would come back for the tray. Prudence was young, softhearted, and not terribly bright. When she saw a dejected woman huddled on the bed, begging to be left alone, she’d tell the other servants to keep their distance.

Mad Jack Shea would have been pleased to see his daughter taking action instead of moping, but that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty. Poor Papa. Better if he’d been cut down at Salamanca or Vitoria, remembered as a war hero instead of a criminal.

She wiped a tear from her cheek, angry because she’d promised herself not to cry again until she was free. On tiptoe, she crossed the room and pressed her ear against the door. After a while she heard a man clear his throat. The guard, posted in the hall when she was hustled upstairs, still blocked her way. It was out the window or face the hangman.

At the sound of footsteps in the hall, she hurried to the bed and flung herself on the counterpane. There was a light knock at the door before it opened.

"I’ll be takin’ your tray now, miss. Would you be wantin’ anything else?”

Glenys emitted blubbering noises.

Instead of withdrawing, Prudence came to the side of the bed. "It’s a sad thing, losin’ your da. Would you like me to sit with you for a time?”

Glenys shook her head and heightened the intensity of her sobs.

"Tomorrow we’ll have a better-fittin’ dress for you,” the maid said after a moment. "That’s my old one you are wearin’. Mrs. Beagle, she’s the housekeeper, is putting down the hem on one of her ladyship’s gowns. I’ll bid ye good night, then, and see that no one disturbs you. Well, his lordship might send for you, but he hasn’t said.”

When the maid was gone, Glenys sat cross-legged on the bed for a few minutes, reviewing her predicament. Why were these people so kind to her? She had nearly killed the Earl of Ravensby, for heaven’s sake! Now his wife offered one of her own dresses for the almost-murderess to wear. And last night the man named Charlie had wrapped his arms around her while she wept during the long drive to this secluded house.

He had even apologized for searching her, and seemed astonished to discover a female under the trousers and shirt. Although she was wearing her brother’s clothes, it had not occurred to her that she was in disguise. She could hardly wear skirts to help her father hold up a coach, and had not dared let him go out alone, sick as he was.

She’d have followed him anyway, Glenys admitted to herself, if only because she longed for adventure. Riding through the dark night, robbing an elegant crested coach, plucking a diamond stickpin from a rich earl’s cravat... in her imagination it had appeared vastly exciting and romantic.

The reality was savage and bloody.

A glance at the clock sent her off the bed in a flash. Although dusk came late at this time of year, it was past time to finish her preparations. She retrieved the letter opener she’d found in a drawer of the writing table and set to work on the drapes.

Two hours later the rope was finished. Securely tied at intervals with knots her father had taught her, it looked strong enough to bear her weight. She wouldn’t know for sure until she was dangling thirty feet above the ground.

Concealing the rope under the bed, she returned to the window and gazed longingly at the solid branches of an oak tree growing just beyond her reach. Even if she swung like a monkey from the windowsill, she was certain to miss.

A long sweep of grass lay just past the line of oaks that bordered the house. Once she stepped onto the lawn, there was no place to hide herself for at least a hundred yards. In the distance stretched a thick grove of ash trees, and beyond that she could see nothing.

If she made it to the ash grove undetected, stealth and her own two feet would be her sole assets. With luck, she’d have the whole night to get as far away from this place as she could.

The blue sky darkened to gray, and shadows cast by the trees began to lengthen. Almost time to go. Then she heard voices coming from a point not far from her window.

Ducking, she listened attentively and recognized the earl’s deep voice.

". . . tomorrow, for Derby. I’ll give him a letter for the constable after I’ve questioned the girl.”

"Will you do it tonight, milord?” That was Charlie.

"The maid says she’s overset, and I’m not likely to get what I need from a weepy female. It can wait until morning, but no longer. Keep the guard posted.”

After a few moments of silence, Glenys poked her head above the windowsill and saw the earl striding across the lawn. He wore dark breeches and a white shirt, the full sleeves fluttering in the evening breeze. He was headed directly for the same grove of trees where she intended to go.

She muttered a few of her brother’s favorite oaths. Now what?

For half an hour she kept watch by the window, and when it grew dark, he had not returned. Probably he came back to the house from a different direction, she decided, around the front where she couldn’t see him. In any case, she had no choice. Unless she made her escape, tomorrow she would be summoned to judgment.

Careful to make no sound, she changed into Harry’s clothes, which had been laundered and returned to her for no reason she could imagine. A good omen and a blessing, because it would be nearly impossible to shimmy down the rope in skirts.

In her pockets she stored the apple, dinner roll, and wedge of cheese she’d kept back from her meal trays. With no idea where she was or how far she had to go, she knew the food would be of use. She tugged the floppy hat over her short curls, pulled the rope from under the bed, and secured one end of it to the leg of a heavy armoire near the window.

The lawn looked like a field of quicksilver under the pale half-moon. After a quick check to make sure there was no one in sight, she slowly let out the rope.

She had miscalculated the distance, but the end hung only a few feet above the ground. Not a dangerous drop, if she got that far.

This is it, she told herself as she climbed onto the windowsill. Wrapping her legs around the rope, she took a deep, shuddering breath and let go of the sill. Ghastly visions of her body splattering on the hard ground seized her for a moment, but the knotted sheets and curtains held.

Clinging to her uncertain lifeline, she began the long descent. With every move she made, the rope swung crazily, banging her against the side of the house. She ignored the pain and lowered herself hand over fist until her legs reached empty air. Then she let go.

The fall seemed to take forever. When she landed, her left ankle gave way and she hit the packed-earth walkway with a loud whoof. Immediately she came to her hands and knees and scrambled to the trunk of the oak. There she huddled, listening for any sign that she’d been discovered.

For a long minute, the silence was eerie. Then crickets took up their song. In the distance, an owl hooted.

Using the tree for support, she came erect and moved her foot in circles, wincing as she tested the ankle. Wrenched, she decided, but not badly. She could walk. Hell, she had to walk, and even run the first stretch across that lawn.

When she was certain the ankle could bear her weight, she bent low and made a mad dash for the line of trees.

The lawn stretched for miles, or so it felt until she plunged into the welcome shelter of the ash grove. She paused there to catch her breath and rub her abused ankle. No hue and cry from the house. Everything was quiet.

She hugged herself in relief. So far, so good, but the worst was yet to come. The earl wanted to question her, and instinct warned he was not a man to give up easily. She must be well beyond his reach before morning.

Favoring her ankle, she made her way deeper into the woodlands. Overhead, stars shone through the open canopy of the slender, graceful trees.

With no idea where she was going, Glenys plowed ahead, hoping to stumble across a road or one of the rivers that crisscrossed Derbyshire. Either would lead her to civilization, and at all costs she must make her way to the cottage before her brother came looking for her. Rash and scatterbrained, Harry never failed to get into trouble.

Not that he could fare worse than his father and sister had done, she acknowledged. Right now he was probably stomping around the cottage and swearing as only Harry could swear. He’d be furious that she had taken his horse, and his gun, and his place by Papa’s side.

Lost in thought, she tripped over an outcropping of limestone and landed facedown in the dirt. The fall knocked the breath out of her, and when she struggled to her feet, she was dizzy and uncertain of her direction.

Damn damn damn! Trying to orient herself, she made a slow turn and saw light filtering through the trees. The house? Had she been traveling in a circle, only to wind up where she’d started?

Cautiously, she crept toward the glow. No, she had not passed here before. The trees ended near a small ornamental lake, and on the other side a domed marble building glimmered in the moonlight. Warm light poured from the windows, flickering as if cast by torches from inside.

"Holy hollyhocks,” she said aloud. A temple, in the middle of nowhere! And so very beautiful. Tall cypress trees stood at intervals along the sides of the building, and a Corinthian portico graced the front.

Enthralled, she padded a bit closer, unable to stop her feet although they were moving in the wrong direction. Any sensible criminal would be headed the other way, but she’d been a criminal for only one day. And in all her life, she’d not been sensible even that long.

How could she leave without investigating the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen? True, she had seen very little in her sheltered existence, but that made her all the more determined to peek inside. With any luck, some arcane ritual was going on in there. She had always wanted to witness an arcane ritual.

Since her early schooldays, she had imagined herself the heroine of an ancient legend. As Persephone, Ariadne, or Helen of Troy, she dreamed herself away from the tedium of her own life. In the classroom, she plodded through Latin verb declensions only so she could read about Bacchic revels.

Then one of her classmates revealed that her great-uncle had been a member of the infamous Hell-Fire Club. At midnight gossip sessions Amy had recounted, with a deplorable lack of particulars, Uncle Lester’s tales of virgins dressed as nuns and men in masks who did unspeakable things on marble altars.

Glenys had wondered for years exactly what unspeakable things those were. Now the bizarre temple, a perfect spot for heathen rites, drew her like a Siren’s song.

She circled the lake, holding well within the shelter of the trees until they ended a short distance from the building. On tiptoe she crept around the side to a high window and lifted her head.

Inside, torches were spaced at intervals along the walls, and niches between them held blazing candelabra. Light danced on the walls and ceiling, warm and undulating. After a moment she realized the enormous room held a pool lined with blue tiles. The effect of torchlight reflected by water against the marble was eerie, and she stood mesmerized for a long time before noticing that someone was in the pool.

A dark form swam toward the other side, directly across from her, and lifted itself out.

She stared in amazement at the back of a man’s body, his bare buttocks glimmering in the light. When he shook his head, water sprayed in all directions. Then he raised his arms and stretched broadly.

Suddenly aware her mouth was hanging open, Glenys pressed her lips together. She had seen her father and brother shirtless during the months they’d lived together in the small cottage. Neither man looked anything like this one.

Papa had broad shoulders, but they were bony. Harry was slender, just her own height, with none of the interesting muscles that rippled in the man’s back and legs and arms.

He looks like the statue of a Greek god, she thought, bedazzled.

Then a pair of hands clamped her shoulders. She let out a squeal of surprise.

"Now, now, missie,” Charlie scolded. "What would ye be doing here?”

She struggled in his grip, but he was too strong. In desperation she brought down the heel of her shoe on his toe.

He yelped.

"Let me go, you big ox!” She planted an elbow in his ribs.

He gave a loud oooomph and took a step back, but his hands maintained a firm hold on her shoulders.

Then her gaze caught the man in the temple. He had turned and was looking directly at her.


Although he stared back, she was scarcely aware of his eyes. With a will of its own, her gaze moved lower, to the chest sprinkled with curly dark hair. To the flat stomach, the narrow hips and the... rest of him.

Heat flamed in her cheeks. She forced herself to look up to his face. His expression was unreadable.

He gestured to Charlie, who swung her around, seized her by the back of her shirt, and marched her to the front of the building and up the marble steps.

"His lordship wants to speak with you,” Charlie said, his voice bleak. "I’ll have to search you again.”

"Don’t fret yourself.” She twisted from his grasp and emptied her pockets. "Cheese. Bread. Apple. I am now disarmed.”

Charlie watched the apple roll down the steps. "Not good enough, y’see. Mebbe you have a knife.”

"I did have a letter opener, but forgot to bring it along.” She held out her arms. "Paw away.”

Blushing furiously, he ran his hands down her sides, hardly touching her at all.

He looked so miserable when he stepped back that Glenys put her hand on his forearm. "I have no weapon and would not use it if I did. Word of honor.”

His smile of gratitude touched her heart. He really was sweet, even though he had recaptured her and was about to send her into the lion’s den. Sparing him that responsibility, she pushed open the heavy oak door.

DESPITE THE WARM glow of torches and candles, the pool house was icy cold. The earl gazed at her from shuttered eyes. He had pulled on his breeches, but his shirt hung open, leaving his chest bare.

Taking care not to limp, she sauntered to a marble bench beside the pool. It was like sitting on a glacier. "Congratulations,” she said. "You caught me.”

"How did you get out of that room?” he countered in a soft voice.

"I flew.”

"Or cozened the footman.” He began to button his shirt. "I’ll turn him off.”

"You must not!” She hadn’t considered that the guard would be blamed for her escape. "I expect the poor man is certain I am still locked up. It’s not his fault.”

"Indeed? You have not sprouted wings, young woman, and there is only one door.”

"You’ll find out anyway,” she said in a disgruntled voice. "I braided a rope from the sheets and curtains. It’s dangling out the window.”

A faint, sardonic smile quirked his lips. "Then I must congratulate you. Most enterprising, even for a brigand. How long have you been at your trade?”

"Oh, decades.” She waved a hand. "I am the Scourge of the Great North Road, don’t you know?”

He shook his head impatiently. "Spare me the theatrics. You can’t be above sixteen or seventeen years old. What is your name?”

"I’m one-and-twenty! And my name is Gl—” She bit her tongue. "Gladys. Gladys Knox.”

"Your father was... ?”

"John Knox.”

"Right. And I am Oliver Cromwell.” He picked up a towel. "I don’t enjoy games, Miss whoever-you-are. Your father carried no papers, but the constable will have both your identities soon enough.”

"Perhaps.” She hugged her sides. "Wh-where is Papa?”

"In the icehouse.” There was a long silence. "What happened last night is regrettable,” he said in a somber voice. "I am sorry for it. But I had no choice.”

"I know.”

He looked surprised.

"Everything went wrong,” she said despondently. "We never meant to hurt anyone, and Papa only wanted the money. You have lots of it. If you’d just handed over your purse, we’d have been on our way. But you didn’t, and—”

He made an exasperated noise and applied the towel to his wet hair. "Miss Knox, we both know you are lying, about your name and why you were waiting on a private road for me to come by. Things will go better for you if you give me the truth.”

Whattruth? Didn’t the man recognize a plain robbery when he saw one? She opened her mouth to ask him and clamped it shut again. So long as he imagined she had a secret worth hiding—some piece of information he wanted—she could buy time for another escape. Another try, she reminded herself with an interior sigh. She should have been well away by now.

"What do you care about my name?” she asked instead. "And why do you imagine I’d conceal my identity? As you pointed out, the authorities will uncover it soon enough. I’m astonished you haven’t turned me over to them already.”

"So I shall, when you’ve told me what I want to know.”

She came to her feet. "If you are so anxious for information, Lord Ravensby, why the devil did you confine me in a room for nearly twenty-four hours? Stow my father’s body in an icehouse when he should have a Christian burial? He was—” She turned away, feeling hot tears blister her eyes.

Maybe highwaymen were not entitled to Christian burial. She wasn’t sure.

"It’s up to you,” Ravensby said from close behind her. "Your employer cannot protect you now. I’m ready to listen, if you are ready to tell me who hired you.”

Hired?She swallowed her retort. Sergeant John Shea had been driven to crime only because he couldn’t find a job. Damned if she would betray his identity, whatever the consequences to herself. It was the least she could do for the father she’d scarcely known but had always loved.

"Why is it so cold in here?” Crossing to the edge of the pool, she dropped to one knee and dipped a hand in the water. It was like liquid snow. "You actually swimin this?”

"The pool is fed by an underground spring. Bathing in cold water is good for the health, or so I’m told.”

She grimaced. "Don’t believe everything you hear.”

"Certainly I don’t believe anything I am hearing from you. But as you are chilled, we’ll continue this conversation back at the house.”

Still on one knee, Glenys watched two large bare feet move past her. Soon she heard the door close behind him.

For an instant she thought of escape. Even with her aching ankle, she could outrun Charlie. But she wouldn’t get far, because Ravensby would track her down. She recognized tenacity when she saw it, although she was generally looking in a mirror at the time.

Once again she put her hand into the pool. So cold, like the Earl of Ravensby. Like her father’s body in the icehouse.

For a moment, despair sat on her shoulder. Then she shrugged it away. While she lived, she could hope. And she could love life and what it offered—if only the summer afternoons in the fields near Miss Pipcock’s School where she wove circlets of daisies for the little girls. Taught the village boys to tickle trout.

Ah, well. Best to get on with matters at hand—Ravensby and, quite possibly, the hangman. She stood and smiled at Charlie, who waited at the door with an unhappy look on his face.

"His lordship said as how I was to bring you to the library,” he said.

Moving to his side, she linked her arm through his. "I am partial to libraries, but take care. I’m a hardened criminal, Charlie. Very like, I’ll try to steal a book or two.”



Please review these other products:

A Regency Holiday
Lynn Kerstan, Allison Lane, Rebecca Hagan Lee, Alicia Rasley

October 2011 $15.95

FOUR Favorite Regency Authors
Our Price: US$15.95

click to see more

The Golden Leopard
Lynn Kerstan

July 2012 $14.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-139-5

Lady Jessica's put the past behind her until one night at an auction when Duran shows up. He's back in England, and he has plans that involve her. Can she resist what he has in mind?
Our Price: US$14.95

click to see more

Heart of the Tiger
Lynn Kerstan

September 2012 $14.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-206-4

Book 2 of The Big Cat trilogy

Our Price: US$14.95

click to see more

The Silver Lion

Lynn Kerstan

November 2012 $14.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-2200

Book Three of the Big Cat Trilogy

A deceptively demure beauty. A man of such breathtaking appeal that women compare him to the angels. Can their sensual attraction overcome a veil of secrets that links her to his bitter enemy?

Our Price: US$14.95

click to see more

A Midnight Clear

Lynn Kerstan

March 2013 $12.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-215-6

Will the twelve days of Christmas bring them together or leave his family in ruin?

Our Price: US$12.95

click to see more

Lord Dragoner's Wife

Lynn Kerstan

July 2013 $13.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-296-5

She will risk her own life to prove he is far more heroic than his bittersweet mysteries might reveal and that they do have a marriage of the heart.

Our Price: US$13.95

click to see more

Lady in Blue

Lynn Kerstan

November 2013 $14.95
ISBN: 978-1-61194-340-5

He treasures her innocence. He will woo her like a lover.

But she will be his mistress, bought and well-paid.

Our Price: US$14.95

click to see more