Related collections and offers
|Publisher:||Epicenter Press, Incorporated|
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.54(d)|
About the Author
Seattle native Mary Richardson Daheim lives three miles from the house where she was raised. Upon getting her journalism degree from the University of Washington, she went to work for a newspaper in Anacortes, Washington. She married David Daheim and moved to Port Angeles where she became a reporter for the local daily. Both tours of small-town duty gave her the background for the Alpine/Emma Lord series. Mary spent much of her non-fiction career in public relations. She began her career as a novelist with seven historical romances before switching to mysteries in 1991. She has published at least 55 novels. Mary's husband David died in February, 2010; they had been married for more than 43 years. They have three daughters, Barbara, Katherine and Magdalen, and two granddaughters, Maisy and Clara. For more information, go to www.MaryDaheimAuthor.com.
Read an Excerpt
Hood's grip tightened in her hair, causing her to wince. His features tensed and his skin darkened. "Irony," he whispered bitterly, "all is not vanity but irony."
She wanted to ask what he meant, but she held back. For some strange, elusive reason, she feared his answer. Or maybe it was that she knew he had some terrible tale to tell that would arouse her sympathy and blunt her determination to best him in the matter of her dowry. To her relief, he seemed to have regained his aplomb, though he still had his hand entwined in her hair. "The second favor should cause us both less pain," he said, his mouth twisted into the hint of a smile.
She had forgotten about the other request and started to inquire as to what it might be when his kiss stole words--and breath--away. This was not like Tyler Vail's bloodless, pristine kisses but a slow, measured assault on her senses that made Honor dizzy. She felt his other arm go round her, pressing her against his chest, while the hand that had stroked her hair now caressed the nape of her neck.
The proper thing to do, of course, was to struggle, to rain blows upon this importunate fraud, to kick and fight and surely to scream. But Captain Hood seemed to render her will useless. Instead of fending him off, she discovered that her arms had slipped around him, that her mouth was yielding to his probing tongue, that she was utterly helpless in his embrace. The revelation should have been humiliating, but was instead delicious.
He drew away, just far enough to see her face, the shimmering dark eyes under gold-tipped lashes, the flush across her cheekbones, the inviting mouth still slightly open.
"I want you," he said simply in that low voice, which wasn't quite as calm as usual. "But not now, not until you're well." His hand strayed to the opening of her collar, but at last Honor jerked back. Her brain was in chaos. She needed time to order her thoughts. The man was ten times as bold as he had any right to be.
Yet, she thought, as away from his touch the excitement in her blood cooled, his very conceit should play nicely into her hands. "You take advantage of my helplessness," she accused him, but there was no bite in the words. "You also play upon my generous nature. Any other maid would have raised an alarm."
"No, not really." He spoke seriously but then broke into an engaging smile. "Most maids are very kindhearted. I always marvel at their bountiful natures."
Honor's eyes sparked and she had to look away; Captain Hood was on the brink of going too far. "You mock me, sir. You would toy with my affections yet make light of my feelings." Having gotten her temper under control, she risked gazing at him head-on. "For shame, Captain! To think I dared defend you!"