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This
Earl is on Fire
Season's Original #2
Season's Original #2
By: Vivienne Lorret
Releasing
August 2nd, 2016
Avon Impulse
Avon Impulse
Liam Cavanaugh, the scandalous Earl of Wolford, is startled when he awakens in an unfamiliar bed, wrapped in bandages that hinder his eyesight, with no memory of why he was beaten half to death. Although he can't see the witty young woman who tends to his wounds, her alluring voice--and a single stolen kiss from her soft lips--help soothe his pain. But when he is fully healed, Liam is not ready to let go of the one woman who stirs his deepest longings.
Liam will do whatever it takes to see Adeline again, even if it means giving up his rakish ways. But his disreputable past is not so easily forgotten and his secrets are far more dangerous than he-or Adeline-ever imagined.
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Excerpt #1
Liam
Cavanaugh grinned at the corrugated lines marking his cousin’s lifted brows. It
wasn’t often that Northcliff Bromley, the Duke of Vale and renowned genius,
showed astonishment.
Bending
his dark head, Vale peered closer at the marble heads within the crates.
“Remarkable. Even seeing them side by side, I hardly notice a difference.
The fellows will be fascinated when you present this to the
Royal Society at month’s end.”
“It
was pure luck that I had the original as well.” Liam shrugged as if he’d merely
stumbled upon the differences between a genuine article and an imposter.
Vale
turned, and his obsidian eyes sharpened on Liam. “No need to play the simpleton
with me. You forget that I know your secret.”
Liam
cast a hasty glance around the sconce-lit, cluttered ballroom of Wolford House,
ensuring they were alone. Fortunately, the vast space was empty aside from the
two of them and a dozen or more large crates filled with artifacts. “By
definition, a secret is that of which we do not speak. So lower your voice, if
you please.”
No
one needed to know that he actually studied each piece of his collection in
detail—enough that he’d learned how to spot a forgery in an instant.
“Afraid
the servants will tell the ton your collection isn’t merely a
frivolous venture? Or that your housekeeper’s complaints of dusty urns and
statues crowding each room would suddenly fall silent?” Vale flashed a smile
that bracketed his mouth with deep creases.
Liam
pretended to consider his answer, pursing his lips. “It would be cruel of me to
render Mrs. Brasher mute when she finds such enjoyment in haranguing me.”
“She
may have a point,” Vale said, skirting in between two crates when a wayward
nail snagged his coat, issuing a sharp rip of rending fabric.
He stopped to examine the hole and shook his head. “Your collection has grown
by leaps and bounds in the past few months. So much so that you were forced to
purchase another property to house it all.”
“The
curse of immense wealth and boredom, I’m afraid.”
His
cousin’s quick glower revealed that he was not amused by Liam’s insouciant
guise. Then, as if to punish him for it, he issued the foulest epithet known to
man. “You should marry.”
Not
wanting to reveal the discomfort slowly clawing up his spine, Liam chuckled.
“As a cure for boredom?”
Vale
said nothing. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
It
was a standoff now. They were nearly equal in regard to observation skills, but
apparently Vale thought he had the upper hand.
Liam
knew differently. He crossed his arms as well and smirked.
If
anyone were to peer into the room at this moment, they might wonder if they
were staring at matching wax figures. The two of them looked enough alike in
build and coloring to be brothers, but with subtle differences. Vale’s features
were blunter, while Liam’s were angular. And Vale’s dark eyes were full of
intellect, while Liam’s green eyes tended to reveal the streak of mischief
within.
“Marriage
would do you good,” Vale said.
Liam
disagreed. “You’re starting to sound like Thayne, always hinting of ways to
improve my social standing.”
The
Marquess of Thayne was determined to reform Liam into the ton’s
favorite pet—the Season’s Original. In fact, Thayne had been so
confident in success that he’d wagered on the outcome. What a fool.
“I
never hint,” Vale said.
Liam
offered his cousin a nod. “True. You are a forthright, scientific gentleman,
and I appreciate that about you. Therefore, I will give you the courtesy of
answering in kind: No. I should not marry. I like my life just
as it is.” He lifted his hands in a gesture to encompass his collection within
this room. “Besides, I could never respect a woman who would have me.”
Vale
scoffed. “Respect?”
“Very
well. I could never trust a woman who desired to marry me. Not
with my reputation. Such a woman would either be mad or conniving, and I want
neither for a wife.”
He’d
nearly succumbed once, falling for the worst of all deceptions. After that
narrow escape, he’d vowed never to be tricked again.
“Come
now. There are many who care nothing for your reputation.”
That
statement only served to cement his belief. If his despoiled reputation were
the only thing keeping him far afield of the ton’s conniving
matchmakers, then he would make the most of it. And the perfect place to add
the crème de la crème to his list of scandalous exploits would be at Lady
Forester’s masquerade tonight.
After
all, he had a carefully crafted reputation of unrepentant debauchery to uphold.
Liam
squared his shoulders and walked with his cousin to the door. “If the Fates
have it in mind to see me married before I turn sixty, then they will have to
knock me over the head and drag me to the altar.”
Excerpt #2
The moment Adeline
Pimm saw the body slumped against the doorway, she knew that London was a city
full of adventure. Oh . . . and, of course, danger.
A
series of indrawn breaths followed.
Father’s
gasp was more of a wordless exclamation as the man beneath the narrow portico
of their rented townhouse tipped over the threshold and crumbled into his arms.
Mother’s accompanied a jolt of her limbs, an ever-preparedness to manage any
given situation. While Adeline’s stalled in her throat. Tiny grains of
gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her skin tingled. And some strange force clutched
her heart.
Her
own response made little sense to her. After having been shielded from . . .
well . . . everything for her entire life, a more
understandable reaction might have been to faint, perhaps. Yet instead, she
felt compelled to rush across the foyer to offer aid.
Her
body answered this urge. Automatically she took a step forward. Unfortunately,
so did her mother, effectively blocking her path.
Hildebrand
Pimm—Bunny to all those who knew her—clapped a hand over her
daughter’s eyes. “Adeline, hasten to your room. This sight is too troubling
for your eyes.”
Not
just any young woman’s eyes, Adeline noted, but hers and hers alone.
Excerpt 3:
“Your swelling has diminished completely,” she said,
feeling a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Then she gripped the
key tightly as if it were her life’s purpose. “Your flesh is somewhat bruised,
however, and purplish in places. When you arrived, we weren’t even able to see
that you had eyes.”
“And now that you are able?” There was an edge of mockery
to his tone and—yes—to his lips too. Now there were appealing fissures
on both sides of his mouth.
“Are you seeking a compliment? I had not taken you for a
vain peacock,” she chided, feeling comfortable enough to tease him in return.
Yet, that quickly altered when he reached up and closed his hand over hers.
He tugged her closer. “Your expression reveals little. And
there are no mirrors nearby to show me whether I am merely bruised or
disfigured. That pretty blush upon your cheeks could be because you are here in
your nightdress and shy about it, not necessarily because you think I am
handsome.”
Were all the gentlemen in London this bold? She held her
breath, trying not to move and wanting to absorb every sensation caused by her
hand in his grasp. Her skin rejoiced, sending shivers of warmth through her
like sparks from flint and steel. His thumb swept back and forth over the mound
of her thumb. Then his fingers curled casually as if touches such as these were
commonplace. At least, for him...
“I like the look of you,” she confessed, holding his gaze. A man who’d suffered
such a beating deserved that, at least.
Excerpt 4:
“However, perhaps if my pillow were fluffed.”
She looked at him as if he were teasing her, but played
along nonetheless, chafing her hands together. “I must have an innate talent
for pillow fluffing.”
If one could possess a talent for such a thing, she
certainly did not. Not that he would tell her. Because if he did, he already
knew the result. She would leave his side, and he would lose the relief—or
whatever this was—he found in her presence. And he had never been one to deny himself
necessary comforts.
Then, as she had done before, she leaned over him. Her
hands went to either side of his face, pressing into the pillow, the inviting
plumpness of her breasts resting on his chest. Enjoying the moment, he closed
his eyes and drew in a deep breath that hinted at pear blossoms.
She went still. “Why are your hands at my waist?”
Were they? He squeezed his hands and found that, yes, they
most definitely were. He also discovered that the satin gown was warm from the
heat of her body and fine enough that there was little barrier between his
hands and the slender curve of her waist and the slight flare of her hips.
“I’m merely aiding in your efforts by offering stability,”
he said, by way of an excuse. Of course, he hadn’t intended to touch her—gentleman’s
daughter and all that. Given his pleasure-seeking nature, however, he
wasn’t entirely surprised by his wayward hands. Perhaps he should think about
removing them before he found them cupped around her breasts. Inadvertently, of
course.
“Afraid that I will crush you?” she said with a laugh
against his lips. “Well, do not worry, because I have finished. Your pillow is
sufficiently plump.”
More than. And lumpy as well, but he did not mind in the
least. Especially when he felt her lips against his cheek.
“Thank you, Wolford. I had a delightful evening.”
In the next instant,
he didn’t know what came over him. Suddenly, he found his hand at her nape,
pulling her mouth to his.
