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Can she be more than a mistress?
With a tarnished reputation, Mercy
Lyndhurst expected to become the Earl of Rochford's mistress, not his
wife. Immediately abandoned by her husband after their wedding, Mercy
transformed herself from commoner to countess, vowing to protect the
lands and people her husband was forced to leave.
Over the past six years, William has
restored the family fortune all the while tortured by his memories of
Mercy…and the dark night he killed a man. When a threat draws him
home, William learns just how much has changed—including his wife.
While the passion still flares between them, he fears he has wounded
her too badly to regain her trust. But as the danger grows they must
unite to save the estate…and possibly their marriage.
Now enjoy an excerpt:
Unlike the night six years
ago, Gerald opened the door. The old butler looked shockingly
unchanged, as dignified and austere as ever, but William had seen the
brief flash of surprise in his eyes, and joy.
Here was his childhood nemesis and his
old best friend. William blinked, caught in the memories, but this
was real. Not everything changed; not everyone had died. He hadn’t
left a wife to fend for herself in a strange household.
“Lord William!” Gerald said, then
caught himself. “My apologies, sir. Lord Rochford.”
William ducked his head, humbled by the
rare show of discomposure. If William had been born of a different
class, he could have embraced the man who raised him. “Hello,
Gerald.”
An odd light in his eyes, Gerald
examined William from scruffy head to scuffed boots. He lifted an
eyebrow. “We weren’t expecting you, sir.”
Just like that, William was both
chastised and absolved for the years of his absence. “Wrote me off
for dead, I’m sure.”
“You’re too strong for that, my
lord.”
William sucked in a breath, thinking of
his family. They hadn’t been strong, they’d been fragile. He’d
failed his entire family, and Mercy worst of all. “Where is the
countess?”
“In the breakfast room, but—”
“What? Is she sick?”
Gerald raised his eyebrow, surprised.
“No, my lord. She’s…different.”
Different, that was some explanation.
And grave danger another. No one wanted to tell him what the hell was
going on, so he’d have to see for himself. He probably looked like
a wild animal right now, disheveled from travel and feral in his
tiredness. He ought to make himself presentable, if he still
remembered how, but he had to see that she was safe.
And maybe also how she was
different.
His boot struck a discordant note on
the floorboard as he entered the breakfast room. He stopped and
stared at the picture of domestic elegance, as colorful as a painting
and as foreign as a fairy tale.
The words caught in his throat. What’s
wrong? Are you hurt? And then, when he had at least ascertained
visually her relative safety, Did you think of me every night, as
well?
Mercy, the Countess of Rochford, his
wife, took a sip of coffee, her gaze glued to the book she held. Her
black tresses coiled upward into an elaborate coiffure. A pale gold
dress clasped her slim form and a collar of cream pearls graced her
neck.
On her finger, the emerald ring he’d
given her on that night sparkled innocently. His grandfather had
given it to him. A strange gift to a young boy, but he’d hoarded it
all the years since his death. Until that night. His one piece of
wealth in the world, and he’d given it to her.
She looked every inch the lady. Well,
she was one. A countess after all, but in every memory, every
fantasy, he had seen the young waif. He had imagined her roaming the
shadowed halls, like a ghost, but the woman in front of him was so
very physical. Flesh he wanted to touch and blood he longed to heat.
Desires so long repressed bubbled to the surface. Her beauty made him
harden, but her elegance made his heart hurt.
“Don’t sulk, Owen,” she said, her
eyes still on her book. “If you have something to say, then spit
it—” When she looked up, her mouth froze in a pink little O that
made his body come awake.
She looked at him, then at his clothes.
His dingy garb suited a vagrant more than the captain of a ship, much
less an earl. Her gaze returned to his face, lingering on the scar
across his cheek, a souvenir from his first year at sea.
Well, let her look. She had grown into
a beauty, whereas he had always been a monster. Now he looked the
part. Would she condemn him right away? Would she tell him to leave?
She should—no one knew better than her what he was capable of, and
already he was undone.
Her mouth snapped shut and tightened.
Anger? Fear? He wasn’t sure he could bear the last, but he wouldn’t
have to, because her eyes were cool, like the ocean blackened by
night. She wasn’t scared; that was him.
She inclined her head. “My lord.”
Had she fallen into hysterics, he would
have known what to do. He could have tried to comfort her or order
her to stop. That was all he had seen of marriage, but civility was
nowhere inside him.
Yet he found himself straightening and
offering a slight bow, the strings of his upbringing propping him
into place. “My lady.”
Amber Lin writes edgy romance with
damaged hearts, redemptive love, and a steamy ever after. Her debut
novel, Giving It Up, received The Romance Review’s Top Pick, Night
Owl Top Pick, and 5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies. RT Book
Reviews called it “truly extraordinary.” Since then, she has gone
on to write erotic, contemporary, and historical romances.
You can also follow her:
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Wise Up Ghost is EC with The Roots. I've always liked Fallon's band, but for some reason I was always reluctant to buy this album.
