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Eppies finalist in Historical Romance
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Wayward Sun by Katherine Smith A
sense of honor, no matter how tattered, can be an inconvenient nemesis
… WisRWA
Write Touch Reader's Choice Awards finalist Available for purchase at Whiskey Creek Press Genre:
Romance Western |
EXCERPT: Boston, August 1861 Somewhere in the darkness a dog howled, a lonely distant sound. For an instant the moment and setting might have been entirely different in his mind; majestic mountains rising in the distance, cool crisp air, soaring midnight skies, the ghostly shadows of wild horses grazing in vast pastures... Ross Braden quickly shook himself, staring out into the darkened but distinctly sculpted and trimmed silhouettes of his mother’s Rose garden as he reminded himself of the truth. There were no mountains, no columbines scenting the night
air, no stars scattered until the imagination could handle no more. No, not Colorado in all her captivating, fierce beauty. Not by a long shot. “I thought I’d find you hiding here,” a calm voice said from behind his back. Ross did not even turn around. He had only too easily recognized the telltale tread approaching; the laborious left step, followed by the quick healthy right one. He might have known that Robert would come for him. “Hardly hiding. I needed a breath of fresh air,” he said coolly into the black night air. “And you are hating every minute of the party,” his companion rejoined from behind him, continuing his slow advance, “so you keep ducking out here.” “Every last excruciating minute,” he confirmed, and then lifted his drink to his mouth. The liquor tore a welcome fiery path down his throat. Leaning one shoulder against an ornate pillar, he studied the garden with heavy-lidded eyes, blocking out the sound of music and laughter that drifted into the warm air behind him. The vague throb of a headache lurked behind his temples. “How do you stand this, Robert?” His older brother edged into view, taking up a place against the balustrade, gripping the support while he leaned his cane aside. Even his carefully tailored evening clothes could not hide the ugly brace that bulged from knee to ankle. “I assume you mean the dinner party?”
“It was your life once, too.” “The life I left behind,” Ross said almost savagely. “Give me a cold night on a wild mountain, the depth and smell of an ancient pine forest, or even the clamor of a tiny, dirty mining town. Anything but this...this facade of gaiety while everybody verbally stabs each other in the back and genteelly robs their neighbor’s pockets.” Silence. Eventually, Robert said quietly, “That’s not an entirely fair assessment and I’m afraid I haven’t your aversion to society. These people here tonight are my friends. I find these gatherings to be...pleasant.” “Pleasantly helpful to your aspirations to political office, you mean.” Ross found it impossible to keep the edge of cynicism out of his voice. Robert said agreeably, “Perhaps. I can’t see that arguing the point will change either of our minds. In any case, you are being missed inside.” Ross turned and lifted a brow. “Missed? If you are referring to the Whitfield girl, she’s part of the reason I slunk out here like a beaten Indian dog. She’s quite relentless. I might even say brazen. You would think my lack of prospects would put her off.” With a short laugh, Robert said, “No indeed. Her father has money enough for both of you.” In the moonlight, his thin features were washed to bone and angle. “My black reputation then.” Ross muttered the words darkly. “That should scare her away.” A faint ironic smile curved his brother’s mouth. “How little you know your appeal. Some women find such traits exciting. You’re a romantic figure, Ross, if a somewhat notorious one. Surely you realize that by now with the way the genteel ladies fawn at your feet whenever you are home.” A light laugh, not quite amused. “The rebel Braden son, gone to drink, violence, and wild women. I think Leticia Whitfield wants to be the one to tame you, to reform you.” “You must be joking.” “I’m afraid not. Do you think Mother wouldn’t know all the latest gossip?” “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ross delved into his drink again. The eager Miss Whitfield, with her ample cleavage and obvious simpers set his teeth on edge. He said in disgust, “Surely her family wouldn’t want me as a prospective son-in-law. Some of the rumors surprise even me.” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Don’t underestimate the power of the Braden name. Despite your somewhat checkered past, they would welcome you with open arms if you changed your ways and became a respectable banker.” “Perish the thought. On both counts.” It was a tight comment. A pause. Robert’s hand had tightened slightly on the balustrade, the knuckles whitening visibly. His voice was measured and slow. “Maybe you are being hasty, Ross. You still could be involved in the business, of course. It isn’t too late.” “If I chose to be, which I would not.” “I beg you to change your mind.” Something in his brother’s tone made Ross straighten and look over. The expression on Robert’s face was grave and shuttered, with a familiar set of stubbornness around the mouth. His aristocratic features were as austere as his clothing. Ross said sharply, “You aren’t serious, I hope.” “I might be.” His brother’s mouth twisted in emotion. “Ross, think about it...what could be...you and I together running the business our grandfather founded, continuing the Braden empire...” Ross felt his aversion to that idea rise up like bile in his throat. He interrupted fiercely, “We’ve been through this, Robert, time and again. I could care less about the damned Braden empire, you know that. Did Father send you out here? Feel free to remind him that I would rather go back to being a grub-line riding cowboy without a dime to my name. My life now is that ranch in Colorado...” “I could make it well worth your while.” “Dammit, the money doesn’t matter!” “All right, enough.” Robert’s left hand flew up in supplication. “It was worth a try,” his lips curved in an open grimace, “or at least I thought so. And no, Father did not send me. He gave up on you long ago. I did this on my own. The business is growing and my campaign is time-consuming. I can’t even imagine what I’m going to do if I get elected. We need someone I can trust—preferably a Braden, and...oh hell, like I said, it was worth a try.” His bad foot scraped the stone of the terrace as he shifted away in gesture of frustration. He gave up on you long ago... Odd, how the words stung. Ross thought he was long past any desire to have approval from his father. His brother, however, was another matter. He did value Robert’s regard. “Robert,” he said, then with effort summoned the ghost of a smile. “Don’t mistake me. I appreciate your offer and your concern.” A resigned sigh escaped his brother’s lips. “But you aren’t interested in a boring, respectable life as a Boston banker, despite the security and respect it would bring you. No pretty young wife, no parties, no servants. You would rather live wild in your lawless world.” Ross felt himself stiffen. “Don’t believe everything you hear, brother. Perhaps I don’t enjoy the strictures of Boston society, but neither am I lazy or shiftless. I work like a dog most days and everything I have I built myself with my own hands. I value my freedom more than any fancy house or bowing servants.” Robert smiled, a rueful curve of his mouth. “I have told myself for years that your rebellious nature would soften as you got older, Ross. Instead you seem to have grown harder, more implacable and distant. I hate to be wrong, you know that, especially about this. I worry about you.” “Well,” Ross’s answering smile was tight-lipped, his face feeling like it could crack, “don’t bother. I don’t need it. I can take care of myself.” His older brother turned in the uncertain light and stared at him, dark eyes expressionless. He said softly, “Maybe that’s our problem, Ross...the huge difference between us, why we don’t quite understand each other. I cannot fathom a life in which I don’t need anyone.” · * * * Her quarry was back in sight. Keeping her gaze fixed firmly in his direction, Arianne Brooke let a false smile play on her lips, barely listening to the elderly gentleman next to her so carefully expounding his views on President Lincoln’s war policies. The entire room hummed with the energy of opinions being tossed around like so much flotsam. Between the growing tensions of secession and the new telegraph being built out West, tongues could not wag quite fast enough. She had learned quite more about American politics than she cared to know. She felt a twist of ironic amusement as she covertly watched the tall, dark man across the room. It was odd how an ocean and several thousand miles did not make much of a difference. Apparently these gatherings were all the same. Passionate politics, rich food gone cold on a littered buffet table, bold flirtations, and avarice thinly disguised as friendship. It was a world she knew well. She wouldn’t miss it a bit, she assured herself. She edged past a group of plump dowagers, pointedly ignoring their curious covert stares, her skirts gathered in damp palms. The music swelled around her, lifting a sea of bodies in its roiling wake, the air reeking of perfume, tobacco, and rum punch. The ballroom seemed close and cloying as a sickroom, making her want to bolt for the open doors that led to a flagstone terrace and sweeter air. Ross Braden obviously had the same idea. He’d slipped out several times already during the evening. This time she was determined to follow. Thank goodness he was so tall, as it made it much easier to observe his movements. She had a glimpse of his dark head ducking between the elaborately carved doors to disappear from view. With all the people crushed together in the name of social pleasure, it was difficult to shove through the crowd, though she finally did manage. Gaining the doors, she slid outside a minute behind him. God help her. He was standing by the ornate stone balustrade and staring out over the moon-washed gardens, a full glass of some pale gold liquid in his hand. As she hesitated, debating her approach, he lifted the glass to his mouth in a lazy, graceful gesture. It was a reassuring gentlemanly mannerism, one that made her take another breath and step forward. Squaring her shoulders, she spoke firmly. “Mr. Braden?” “Mr. Ross Braden?” she said a bit louder, certain he’d heard her the first time, but... “Who wants to know?” The question was idle and rude, the glass lifting lazily again. He didn’t even glance in her direction. Moonlight illuminated his profile; clear, aristocratic, and cold. Taken aback, Arianne murmured, “I do, sir.” “Really? And who, pray tell, are you?” The tone was cool, cultured, and a little disinterested. Actually, he sounded very disinterested. Fighting the ingrained urge to drop a graceful curtsey, Arianne said abruptly, “Arianne Brooke.” “Ah.” “Lady Arianne Brooke,” she elaborated with emphasis. It didn’t happen. There was no swift turning in surprise, no rush of recognition, no welcoming smile. He said merely, “I see.” Feeling the bite of irritation, Arianne stared at the broad back of the man pointed out to her as Ross Braden. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but indifference was not it. She felt a rush of heat climb into her face and swallowed hard in embarrassed chagrin. Surely, she had not misinterpreted William’s letters? He’d written of Ross Braden in such a way to give the impression of a bond that extended well beyond their partnership in that distant ranch. If she’d assumed wrongly, it was the equivalent to disaster. After all she’d done and how far she had come, she could afford not a single mishap and Ross Braden was very much a part of her plan. Of course, what did she know of this man besides what William had written? Just the whispers and rumors that had come to her ears since she arrived in Boston. That he was a wild cowboy, an outcast of society, a reputed killer, causing scandal wherever he went. A small rush of panic crept up and tugged at her throat. No, she would not believe all of it, would not allow fear to paralyze her at this crucial moment. For months she had assured herself that surely he would cooperate when she needed it, out of friendship to her brother. To let her faith flag now was the ultimate in self-betrayal. The rumors must be nonsense anyway, she thought, studying the classic line of his averted profile. Here he was, handsome and just as polished as anyone attending the gathering, wearing the same kind of tailored clothes, with the same smooth manners. Women had flirted shamelessly with the man all evening, so surely his reputation couldn’t be that bad, could it? But he wouldn’t even turn around and acknowledge that she was standing there. Incredible boorishness, especially considering their civilized surroundings. He was being deliberately rude keeping his back to her. Clearing her throat, she spoke again clearly, “You are Ross Braden, are you not, sir?” A pause. Night air, sweet music and laughter drifting from the ballroom, the whisper of a breeze that brushed her face. Her cheeks grew warmer with every passing second but she refused to leave. Not yet. “Yes.” The admission—when it came—was tinged with sardonic humor. “Guilty as charged. At least of that.” He lifted his drink, took a solid swallow, and finally straightened away from his repose against the balustrade and turned to look at her. Up close, she suddenly knew why all the women put aside the rumors and flocked to his side. Ross Braden possessed the kind of pure masculine beauty that could seduce a nun away from her vows. Thick dark hair waved back from his forehead, fine dark brows arched like wings above his long-lashed eyes, and he had a straight arrogant nose above a thin but well-shaped mouth. It was a face that would have done grace to the fallen angel himself, especially with his dark coloring. He was tall, well muscled and lean in formal evening clothes, his careless repose every bit the essence of a well-to-do young man of society. Except his eyes. There was nothing the least careless or nonchalant about the dark, watchful gaze, which fastened on Arianne with a burning intensity that made her swallow hard. A small shock rocked her body as he stared at her. Suddenly she did not discount the whispers she’d heard in the week she’d been in Boston. Those whispers about an unsavory past, despite his family’s money and connections. Whispers about dead men and places he couldn’t go because there was a price on his head. He simply looked dangerous. The dark eyes narrowed and Ross Braden lifted a brow. He said blandly, “Will’s little sister is supposed to be a child, still in braids back Yorkshire.” So he had recognized her name. Relief at war with affront, Arianne found her voice and said defensively, “Will’s little sister may have grown up and taken a ship over to America, just as he did.” “Is that so?” He looked amused at her tart reply but his direct stare was just as unsettling. “Doesn’t my presence here confirm it?” She shifted a little under that penetrating gaze, lifting her chin “I suppose. You are in Boston and you are,” a slight pause as he raked her body with an insulting and dispassionate look, lingering for just a second too long where her breasts swelled above the bodice of her gown, “grown up. When did you arrive, Miss Brooke?” “Saturday last.” She suppressed a slight shudder. Leaving the ship had been such a revelation; she’d been seasick the entire journey. As if she needed another reason to vow to never return to England, the sea journey alone would suffice. No, there was no going back; she was free of her old life. That is, almost. To be truly free, she needed this man and his cooperation. He had to help her. “Saturday,” he murmured, lifting his glass. “Yes.” “And how did you end up at my mother’s little party, if I may ask? She never mentioned you once and she prides herself on having the most exclusive guest lists in all of New England. The daughter of an English earl would have garnered comment, I assure you, and in all her babbling about visitors and menus I haven’t heard your name mentioned once.” The night air felt soothing on her heated face. The clouds moved overhead, softly floating past in a liquid stream. She could hardly explain that anonymity had been her goal all along, as essential as breathing. At her request, she’d been introduced to the hostess as plain Arianne Brooke, no earls involved. Don’t lose courage now, Arianne admonished herself, meeting his direct, compelling stare with a small quiver of apprehension. You knew you would have to explain, to plead your case. But, of course, this man was nothing like what she had expected. Will had left out Mr. Braden’s notorious reputation when he wrote to her. Courage, girl. She rubbed her hands lightly on her dress and confessed, “I came with the Martins. Do you know them? Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Martin. Their daughter and I met at school in France several years ago. I have been staying with them since my arrival and they’ve been...very kind and generous to me.” He said nothing. It was slightly irritating. Arianne expounded haltingly, “I persuaded them to bring me as a guest.” It had been the only way to have an audience with Ross Braden without explaining to the obliging but nosy Martins why she wanted to call on him. That she could not do. It was essential that her plan remain a secret. Besides, they would have been appalled. “Is that so?” he asked indifferently, sipping his drink. “I admit I had an ulterior motive. I...I persuaded them because I needed to talk to you and knew you would be here.” His expression did not appreciably change but the dark eyes grew wary. “To me?” “Yes, it is terribly important.” “Why?” he asked, flatly. His question hung in the air. She was breathing very quickly, like a cornered animal. Ross narrowed his gaze on Arianne Brooke’s pale face, noting the swift rise and fall of her breasts under the pale rose silk of her fashionable gown. The meager light on the terrace lit her fine features with porcelain purity: high cheekbones in an oval face, lovely full lips, and dark long-lashed eyes that stared upward with unmistakable nervousness. He hadn’t mentioned to her that speculation was rife in the ballroom over her identity. Everyone had been whispering over the beautiful blond in the rose silk. He, however, had recognized her at once, well before she had sought him out, hours ago when she had first arrived. He may have never met her before, but Will kept a miniature of his younger sister on the desk where they sat to do the ranch accounts, and the delicate features and beauty of the subject had a tendency to draw the eye. He’d spent a lot of time looking at her lovely image. Even with the changes wrought by maturity, the likeness was too much to miss and he was a man with an eye for faces. He couldn’t afford not to be. Lady Arianne, it seemed, had grown into a remarkable beauty. He had to wonder why Will hadn’t said one word about her leaving England, much less showing up in Boston. She swallowed, her slender throat working. Her voice was low, throaty, musical and as lovely as the rest of her. “William wrote to me and mentioned that you were coming to Boston to visit your family this September. That your mother insists you come home every so often.” “My penance, you might say,” he confirmed
coolly. “For being the blackguard of the family.” Perhaps she was shocked by his utter frankness. Women often were. So much the better. His reputation kept all but the most determined away. William wrote to me, she’d said... With a twinge of grim comprehension, Ross said, “As William never mentioned your possible arrival, I have to assume that unknown to him you arranged your visit to America accordingly?” A slight nod. Her eyes were very wide, very dark. Blond curls moved against the smooth ivory column of her throat. She really was a disturbingly lovely young woman. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid to ask why you would do such a thing, Miss Brooke.” “This isn’t exactly a visit.” The admission was soft. “Then what is it?” She glanced away. The moonlight cast faint sliding shadows on her smooth skin. “The story is rather complicated, Mr. Braden.” “I have an uneasy feeling that’s true,” he observed dryly. That was only too accurate. For a man who often relied on instincts to give lightning judgments that could sacrifice or save his life, he could feel the tremors of warning thrumming through his brain. Trouble. Standing right in front of him in the form of one beautiful young girl. A couple strolled out through the open doors on to the
terrace, laughing and close together, both slightly drunk by their unsteady
footsteps. Unaware of their audience, the woman pressed her full breasts
so close to the man’s arm that their generous abundance threatened
to fairly spill from her dress at any moment. Her gallant escort, intent
on that riveting possibility, stumbled toward the steps with his avid gaze
glued to her ample cleavage, still unmindful of the two people standing
in the gathered shadows. He’d guessed that already, with another one of those uncomfortable warning twinges. “No,” he said simply, and drained his glass. · * * * “What on earth are you going to do now?” Laura Martin sat on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, her arms wrapped around her knees, her brown eyes enormous and wide in her round face. “Ross Braden was a gamble, I told you that. His manners are as changeable as his moods. He’s attractive enough in a dark dangerous sort of way, but not someone to count on to politely kiss your hand, much less transport you across the country. The only reason he’s even received by most of the decent families in town is because of his family and their influence. Being alone with him for any length of time would ruin your reputation. The man is a womanizer as well as a killer.” A prim sniff accompanied that observation. “I don’t care about my reputation,” Arianne said bluntly. It was the weary truth. “And he isn’t interested in me in that way in the least, believe me. He barely even looked at me. He was practically rude.” Laura narrowed her eyes, looking shrewd. “I’m sure you’re wrong, you know. Most men fall over their tongues when you’re around, Arianne.” Gloomily, Arianne shook her head. “It hardly matters since he refused outright my request. But I’ve got to get to Colorado somehow.” “You can’t go all the way out West by yourself. So what now?” It was the question that had been plaguing Arianne ever since she’d been left standing alone on that terrace at the Braden house. Damn Ross Braden and his black uncooperative soul. She’d never even gotten the chance to fully explain the urgency of her request. He’d simply walked away from her and then vanished for the rest of the evening. Short of exploring the entire mansion, she couldn’t find him. Pacing by the fireplace, Arianne picked up the iron poker and jabbed at the sizzling logs, her restlessness born of frustration. She said curtly, “I made it to Boston from England, didn’t I?” “That’s quite different.” Her friend looked horrified. “I don’t see how.” “You were on a ship, sequestered in your cabin and able to stay away from everyone. There was really no danger.” Laura shook her head, and commented primly, “If my mother knew you’d journeyed here without a chaperone, disguised as a widow in mourning...” Arianne sent a shower of sparks flying in a red, glowing waterfall. “If she knew I intended to travel west, she’d be even more outraged. Besides, that disguise worked well, I’ll have you know. No one even thought to bother me. I rather miss the convenience of a black veil.” “Clever girl, aren’t you? However did you dream up such a scheme? You always did have a little more imagination than the rest of us girls, even in school.” A laugh. Too much imagination, Arianne thought darkly. Even now, if she allowed herself to think of it, she could conjure up images of the chaos she’d left behind in London. The poker suddenly felt hot and heavy in her hand. Laura gave a little shiver, rocking the big bed. “There are Indians out West, you know. Utter savages. You hear such awful stories.” Indians. Arianne suppressed a shiver of her own. She’d heard the stories too, some of them undoubtedly exaggerated, but even if half of it were true... “Settlers are pouring into Texas, Colorado and New Mexico,” she pointed out firmly, leaning the poker against the marble mantle and whirling back to pace toward the window. “I heard a dozen people at the ball babbling about it just tonight. And the Indians have been moved, haven’t they? Relocated to territory where they are supposed to have their own land.” “I suppose so.” Laura stifled a yawn with a well-manicured hand. It was plain that safe and secure in her lovely Boston home, she hadn’t given much thought to where the Indians might have gone. She said with practicality, “But it isn’t like you can summon your carriage and simply go there, my dear, stopping at lovely little inns to sleep and eat, with a convenient change of horses whenever you need them. This is the West.” “Other people get there. There must be a way.” “Not unmarried women alone.” “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I need time to think.” Arianne bit her lip and reached for the silk drapery, pulling it aside to stare blindly out into the night. Lord, she was suddenly tired and emotionally drained. Not to mention, a little voice clawed at her brain, stranded in a foreign country at the mercy of people who owed her nothing. Her gracious welcome would wear off sooner or later and then what would she do? Her perfect plans had definitely gone awry. And Ross Braden was to blame. Laura persisted, her soft mouth working. “What about outlaws? And the war? Colorado might not be the safest place, even if you do manage to make it there it one piece.” “William is there,” Arianne said with a wistful smile. “My brother is all I have now, Laura. I don’t have a choice; don’t you see? If I stay here in Boston, I might as well board the next ship for home.” There was a small silence. “Do you really think he’ll come after you?” Laura asked in hushed tones. A sudden vision flooded into Arianne’s mind. She could imagine the cold, chiseled features of Jared Carlisle as he opened the door to the bedchamber where she’d been supposedly readying herself for their wedding night. She could almost see the furious contortion of that well-modeled mouth as he registered her absence, feel the searing anger in those ice-blue eyes and the clench of fists against the rich material of his dressing gown... Arianne flexed her own hand convulsively, scraping her nails against the drapery she still held. Hoarsely, she said, “I’m very afraid he might.” “You jilted him. Why would he run after you, a man like him?” Laura frowned, rocking slightly, still hugging her knees. “He has everything, if what you say is true. Money, looks, power. Why go after a woman that so patently does not want him?” “I smote at his arrogance. He’d not forgive it or forget it.” A swallow. It was a gross simplification. “All the way from England?” Arianne’s smile was bleak. “He’d probably follow me to hell, if he knew I was there.” |
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REVIEWS: As her Grace, quickly, and as quietly as she can, sneaks away from her own wedding reception, her heart is pounding out of her chest with the fear of getting caught. She knows only too well, what the consequences will be if his Grace finds her in mid flight. But staying is simply too horrible to contemplate, so bolting out the bedroom window is essential for her own personal survival. Arianne is ecstatic with her successful escape from England and her life there. Making her way to Boston was easier than she had anticipated. The next leg of her journey, to her brother's ranch out in the wilds of Colorado, is proving to be a much harder task. The man that she has chosen to guide her across the formidable frontier is Ross Braden, her brother's partner and best friend. What she isn't expecting, is the fact that he looks nothing like the men she was use to back in London. He is too big, too hard, too handsome, and too arrogant. Moreover, he refuses to help her. Ross only makes his trip home to his family once a year or so, and for good reason. The parties, snobbery, and phoniness of Boston high society is definitely not for him, even though he was raised among them. He much prefers his new life, and home in Colorado. When he finds himself being approached by the delectable, and very proper Lady Arianne Brooke, begging him for his help, he is stunned by her request. No one knows the rigors of trail life better than him, and a delicate English rose like her won't last a day on the back of a horse, much less travel across country amid wild animals, Indians, and flash floods. Plus the fact, the country is on the brink of a civil war, making travel much more dangerous. If only she wasn't so vulnerable and sincere. What is a heartless cad like him to do? WAYWARD SUN is an extremely well written novel by the very talented Katherine Smith. I found this novel to be fast-paced and very exciting from start to finish. Once I started, I literally didn't want to stop until it was done. I love how she combined English society with the lawless west. This was honestly, the best ebook that I have read to date and I strongly urge everyone who loves a dynamic historical, to purchase WAYWARD SUN. reviewed by Nadine St. Denis, Romance Junkies Lady Arianne Brooke has two choices—either stay in England and marry the evil and unscrupulous Duke to save her older brother and his family from financial ruin or take a leap of faith and stow away in a ship headed for the New World in search of her brother Will. When she chooses the latter, more daring choice, she finds herself at the mercy of another man whose reputation is far more dangerous that the Duke’s—Ross Braden. He alone is the key to her salvation. He alone can take her through the Wild West—Colorado to be exact—to reunite her with her brother, Will. He alone has the brutish charm and rugged good looks that can sway any woman from her virtues. As they set out on their quest, neither one of them expects the harshness of the West to be the least of their worries. Ross’ honor to Arianne’s brother and the Lady’s past will both come to haunt them on this voyage, but the attraction they both hold for one another is potent and will become the biggest obstacle they will have to overcome. Katherine Smith has created a masterpiece of romance. Her characters are so real and compelling that the reader will be totally enthralled. The tapestry of words she has interwoven into this story will just blow you away. If ever there were a true page-turner, this is definitely it! I give it 5 stars. Reviewed by Giovanna Lagana, author of The Battle Of Armageddon. |
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