Charles Huntley, Lord Ryevale,
infamous rogue…and government agent.
In unsettled times, with England
at war with France, Ryevale is assigned to covertly protect a
politician’s daughter, Miss Verity Verrinder. To keep Verity under
his watchful eye, Ryevale plots a campaign of seduction that no woman
can resist– except it seems, Miss Verrinder. In order to gain her
trust Ryevale enters Verity’s world of charity meetings and
bookshops…where the unexpected happens and he falls in love with
his charge.
When Lord Ryevale turns his
bone-melting charms on her, Verity questions his lordship’s
motivation. But with her controlling father abroad, Verity wishes to
explore London and reluctantly accepts Ryevale’s companionship. As
the compelling attraction between them strengthens, Verity is
shattered to learn her instincts are correct after all – and
Ryevale is not what he seems. If Lord Ryevale can lie, then so can
she…but with disastrous consequences.
Warning: This title is intended
for readers over the age of 18 as it contains adult sexual situations
and/or adult language, and may be considered offensive to some
readers.
Verity closed the library door and
wilted. With toe-curling embarrassment she recalled her prudish
disapproval and cringed afresh. Why couldn't she have appeared
worldly and calm, instead of behaving like a stuttering, prissy
schoolgirl. And why Lord Ryevale, of all people? If she hadn't been
distracted by plans to confront her father, then she wouldn't have
been caught so off guard. Verity took comfort in that it was
unlikely their paths would cross again.
Clutching Cicero against her chest
like a shield, Verity composed her thoughts before facing her father,
then made for the garden. The root of her discomfort lay in noticing
Lord Ryevale earlier that evening. When he arrived, the atmosphere
had changed tangibly; women became more vivacious and men bristled
defensively. He moved with the self-assurance of a pack leader and,
when he passed close by, a wicked smile quirked across his intriguing
lips—and Verity didn't usually notice mouths. But more alarming
still were his eyes—nut brown and intense—and when he had glanced
in her direction, she felt as if he could read her mind. Shaken, she
wondered if she had inherited her mother's weakness for the opposite
sex, a sobering thought that worried her.
From his wide chest and broad
shoulders, to the square jaw and strong cheekbones, Ryevale filled
her mind; so when she had received her father's note to fetch his
copy of Cicero, she had welcomed the excuse to leave the ball and
calm her wits. That was, until she opened the library door to find
the man she was running from in a compromising position with another
man's wife.
After three laps of the garden,
her cheeks had cooled and her mind felt more ordered.
Tonight she would seize the
moment; before her father left on business, she would appeal for more
freedom. Her speech planned out, she was ready to face him.
Verity hurried along the corridor,
pausing outside the study door to straighten her hair. This was it:
now or never. She knocked and, at a gruff acknowledgment from the
other side, entered.
Between the gloomy room and being
a little nearsighted, it took Verity a moment to assimilate three men
were present: her father, the prime minister and a figure in the
shadows.
“Father. Lord Liverpool.”
She squinted, trying to identify their guest. As Ryevale stepped
forward, her pulse hit a crescendo. Alarm fluttered in her breast,
threatening her ability to breathe. “My lord.” How her voice
held steady, she had no idea.
“Good evening.”
He stood at ease, which irritated
her. Why did her wits scatter like pigeons before a cat when he
smiled in that bone-melting way? Annoyed at herself, she answered
his smile with a glare before turning to her father. “Your book,
Father.”
“Ah, Verity. Thank you.”
Her father took a cursory glance
at the spine then set the Cicero aside.
Verity longed to escape, to be
able to breathe and to release the tension swelling in her chest.
“If that's all, I won't intrude
further.” She felt Ryevale's gaze, hot against her skin, and some
unnamed sensation coiled and tightened inside.
“Ah, Verity, let me introduce my
guest.”
“We've already met,” she
replied tartly.
Grace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. Grace lives near London and is passionate about history, romance and cats! She is housekeeping staff to five cats, two sons, one husband and a bearded dragon (not necessarily listed in order of importance). “Verity’s Lie” is Grace’s fourth novel.
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I just had to read the summary and excerpt again. :-) Every time I do, I feel like clapping. Oh goody...a wonderful romp of an Historical Romance! My very fave genre. Love 'em dearly. Thanks for your post today. I just gotta read this story... jdh2690@gmail.com
ReplyDeletethanks for the giveaway.
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