The Seduction of Lord Stone (Dashing Widows 1)

“What was the question?” he asked huskily.

She glowed up at him. “Whatever it was, I think the answer is yes.”

“I love you, Caro,” he said, breath catching on a spike of poignant emotion.

“I love you, Silas.” This time, the words emerged so smoothly that his heart leaped with hope. “So much.”

He pressed his lips to hers once more to conceal his overwhelming relief and thankfulness. Elusive, fascinating, beloved Caroline Beaumont lay in his arms—and he swore by all that was holy, that’s exactly where she’d stay. As his mistress, as his darling, and soon as his wife.

The dashing widow had met her match—and her true love.

THE END

Continue reading for an excerpt from

Tempting Mr. Townsend (the Dashing Widows Book 2)

* * *

Beauty…

Fenella, Lady Deerham, has rejoined society after five years of mourning her beloved husband’s death at Waterloo. Now she’s fêted as a diamond of the first water and London’s perfect lady. But beneath her exquisite exterior, this delicate blond beauty conceals depths of courage and passion nobody has ever suspected. When her son and his school friend go missing, she vows to find them whatever it takes. Including setting off alone in the middle of the night with high-handed bear of a man, Anthony Townsend. Will this tumultuous journey end in more tragedy? Or will the impetuous quest astonish this dashing widow with a breathtaking new love, and life with the last man she ever imagined?

And the Beast?

When Anthony Townsend bursts into Lady Deerham’s fashionable Mayfair mansion demanding the return of his orphaned nephew, the lovely widow’s beauty and spirit turn his world upside down. But surely such a refined and aristocratic creature will scorn a rough, self-made man’s courtship, even if that man is now one of the richest magnates in England. Especially after he’s made such a woeful first impression by barging into her house and accusing her of conniving with the runaways. But when Fenella insists on sharing the desperate search for the boys, fate offers Anthony a chance to play the hero and change her mind about him. Will reluctant proximity convince Fenella that perhaps Mr. Townsend isn’t so beastly after all? Or now that their charges are safe, will Anthony and Fenella remain forever opposites fighting their attraction?

Chapter One

Curzon Street, Mayfair, November 1820

“What the devil have you done with my ward, madam?”

Shocked, Fenella jerked her attention from the embroidery that she’d picked up to while away a rare quiet night at home.

Good heavens. A man the size of a mountain had invaded her drawing room.

An angry mountain.

Astonishment, rather than fear, was her immediate reaction. She slid her tambour frame onto the table beside her and straightened in her chair. “And who on earth are you?”

Greaves, her butler, rushed in with two brawny footmen looming behind him. “My lady, this fellow pushed his way into the house before I could stop him.”

The fellow clenched his huge fists at his sides and shot her servants a narrow-eyed glare. Despite their size, Tom and John faltered back.

Fenella could see why. The mysterious intruder looked ready to commit murder. Ready, and more than capable. His excellent tailoring did nothing to hide his impressive muscles and the breadth of shoulders and chest.

When he focused that searing stare on her, her stomach jumped with nerves. Was this some madman escaped from confinement? Although he didn’t look unhinged. Just furious.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am,” the man said tersely, a northern accent edging his deep, resonant voice. “Just stop all this blasted nonsense and take me to the lad.”

Fenella snatched a shallow breath and rose with an appearance of calm. Nobody needed to know about the quaking knees beneath her frothy lemon skirts.

“It isn’t nonsense to expect a guest in my house to show some manners,” she said evenly. She gestured to a brocade chair, ignoring Greaves’s surprise at the way she faced the man down. She was heartily sick of people treating her as if she was too fragile for this rough world. “Pray calm yourself, sir, and state your business. Preferably without blasting and deviling your way through the explanation.”

She waited for the intruder to explode into a rage, but he sucked in a deep breath and directed a doubtful glance at the chair. She couldn’t blame him. It looked inadequate for his weight. He was all height and brawn, and he turned her airy drawing room into a salon from a doll’s house.

“Tom and John, you may go.”