At long last! If you love an epic romance with lots of suspense and time travel (a jaunt to Regency England), then this is the story for you!
Here is an excerpt from deep in the heart of the story...
She got out of bed and crouched to light the candle in the fireplace. There. That wasn't so hard. But when she stood, she forgot to account for the long hem of her borrowed night gown. She tripped and did a Cirq de Solis worthy balancing act to keep from dropping the candle. Whew! That had been a close call. She could see the demise of what had happened to the great Bramleigh Park in the history books now. An unknown guest set fire to a priceless Aubusson rug and burned down the mansion. Careful to shield the flame, she took tiny steps toward the bookcase. At least no one had witnessed her latest act of clumsiness.
"Are you trying to burn down the house?"
The candle dropped from her nerveless fingers. Behind her, the deep, husky voice she hadn't thought to hear again let out a string of curses. Carrie didn't move as the figment of her wishful thinking brushed by her to bend down and pick up the candle at her feet. Her heart seemed to stop beating for the seconds it took for her mind to catch up. She stared unblinking, slow to accept he stood before her, disheveled in a white shirt that left the bronze column of his throat exposed, the angles of his impossibly beautiful face illuminated in the glow of the candlelight. His angry, exasperated face.
Her poor heart came to life, thumping with such an erratic beat she had to press her hand to her chest. He was here! He'd come back.
"Nick."
"Eric," he corrected softly.
At that moment she didn't care what he called himself. The angry words she'd thought she'd say didn't materialize. She wanted to throw herself at him. Her heart beneath her hand did another jump, as if anticipating the leap. Stop it! Have a little dignity. Don't forget. He left you.
She tilted her chin. "I was under the impression you had no intention of coming back."
"You were correct."
"And yet here you are."
"Here I am."
Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that.
"Your feet must be cold," he said.
She could barely make out his features, but knew he was looking down at her toes peeking out beneath the long hem. He did seem to have a concern for the warmth of her feet. "A little."
"Then get into bed."
She laughed. It bubbled over and kept coming, seemingly without end.
He scowled. "What is so amusing?"
"Nothing. Everything." She looked up at him, shaking her head. What could she say? Tell him how much she'd missed his bossy nature? He'd find that amusing. He probably found every damn thing about her amusing, from getting caught in rose bushes to falling off chairs to sliding down a cave water slide to tripping over her nightgown. Was that why he was here? For his amusement?
"Carrie, stop." He lifted his hand and rested it against the side of her face.
Stop what, she wondered? Stop laughing, stop shaking? Stop being such a fool? What did he want her to stop doing?
His thumb brushed against her cheek. "Stop crying," he whispered.
Her breath caught. Stop crying? She touched her face and felt moisture. Her brow furrowed. She was crying. Of course she was. This wasn't funny. Without him, she'd been lost.
A sob caught in her throat. "Oh, Nick."
He didn't correct her this time. He simply picked her up.
***
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