He chuckled. “About the plot device or me?”
“Both,” said Anna, and then allowed a mischievous smile to curl on her lips. “But it’s you, my dear scamp of Satan, who truly makes my heart soar.”
“Well, it’s taken you a devil of a long time to say so.”
“Then I’ll make up for it…” Her lips touched his and lingered there for a long, long moment, “by saying it again.”
Acknowledgments
Creating a story is, at heart, a solitary endeavor. But creating a book is a real group effort, and I am incredibly lucky to have a fabulous team to work with.
Special thanks go to my wonderful agent, Gail Fortune, who is not only a great brainstorming partner but also a great friend.
And hugs to my amazing editor Lauren Plude, whose passion and perfect feel for romance has helped make me a better writer. We have such fun together working on my books!
Kudos also go to the terrific production and publicity people at Grand Central! Jessica Bromberg, Kallie Shimek, Sylvia Cannizzaro, and Diane Luger and the Art Department—you guys are the best!
About the Author
Cara Elliott started writing Western novels at the age of five. However, she traded in her cowboy boots for Regency high-top Hessians after reading Pride and Prejudice in junior high school and hasn’t looked back. She graduated from Yale University, and she now lives and works in New York City.
You can learn more at:
CaraElliott.com
Twitter, @CaraElliott
Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/cara.elliott.71
The Hellions of High Street series continues with Passionately Yours
Please see the next page for a preview
Chapter One
A slip sent stones skittering down the slope of the narrow country road.
“Watch your step,” cautioned Carolina Sloane, as the rough-edged echo faded into the shadows. “The way turns steeper here, and the ground is very uneven.”
She paused to glance up at the ominous gray clouds and then looked back at her companion, who was struggling to keep pace with her. “We can re
st for a few minutes if you like, but we ought not linger longer than that.”
Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
“The light seems to be dying awfully fast,” she added.
“No, no, I—I shall manage,” answered Isobel Urquehart in between gasps for breath. “I’m so sorry to be lagging—”
“Oh, please, don’t apologize,” said Caro quickly. “It’s my fault—I should have paid more attention to the time.” She squinted into the gloom up ahead, hoping to see some flicker of light from the outskirts of town. But if anything the shadows seemed to deepen and darken as the road wended its way into a copse of trees.
A gust of wind, its bite already sharp with the chill of evening, suddenly rustled through the overhanging branches, stirring a prickling of unease at the back of her neck.
“We haven’t much farther to go.” Repressing an oath, Caro forced herself to sound more cheerful than she felt. “It can’t be more than a mile or so until we reach town.”
“Yes, yes, it must be close, given how long we’ve been walking.” Isobel hitched her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. Her cheeks looked unnaturally pale in the fading flickers of sunlight but she managed a smile. “And if night falls before we get there, we shall just pretend we are having a marvelous adventure.”
Caro was relieved that her companion had such pluck and a sense of humor, for she hadn’t realized that Isobel’s health was so fragile.