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MY LORD DESTINY by Eve Byron
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******* "Eve Byron, a name to remember! With skill and sensitivity, Bryon spins love stories that are pure gold. MY LORD DESTINY is a sensual, emotion-packed, and fast-moving story about two disillusioned people who discover that the most powerful magic of all is that of love itself. A pleasure to read, MY LORD DESTINY will entertain you, make you laugh and cry, and remain in your thoughts long after the last page is turned." —Catherine Anderson, author of BABY LOVE and CHERISH******* "4–1/2 Stars, Top Pick. Ms. Byron's talented hand at humor hooks readers from the start. A crazed cleric, a legend that comes full circle and the magic of love make MY LORD DESTINY a warm and highly enjoyable read." —Joan Hammond for Romantic Times Magazine
******* "It's difficult to pen a review while ogling the cover art. (Oh, my!) But make no mistake, dear reader, that MY LORD DESTINY has MUCH to recommend it beyond a deliciously sculpted chest, and brooding come-hither eyes. There's an ancient legend, a lost book, and the magic of an old Welsh castle. Eve Byron has crafted an entertaining, legend-enriched tale, rife with adventure, romance, and tender mysticism. Highly recommended! Now go out, and buy yourself a copy!!" —Cheryl Jeffries
******* "5 Stars. MY LORD DESTINY combines humor with suspense in a well-written Regency romance. The odd traits of the lead cast make for amusing interplay even as danger mounts. The addition of a Welsh legend provides a feel of mysticism to the overall plot. The secondary coupling of the lead characters' siblings add warmth and jocularity to the tale. Still, what makes Eve Byron's novel so delightful is the entertaining relationship between Gavan and Priscilla." —Harriet Klausner
| Excerpt from MY LORD DESTINY: |
The earth shook. The air exploded with sound. Hoof beats thundered on the main road outside her property. Galloping hoof beats. Wheels rumbled and squeaked and shouts rose above the clatter.
She pushed George away and ran to the window.
A huge coach coated with mud swerved off the main road and careened toward the house...directly toward her.
Panic froze her in place as horses squealed and the driver stood in his box, hauling back on the reins. She opened her
mouth to scream, yet no sound escaped as the team of six reared to an abrupt halt bare inches away from the mullioned panes of glass.
From the corner of her eye, she dimly saw George grab the fireplace poker and raise it high as men tumbled out of the vehicle and ran toward the house.
Her maid ran into the room and screamed as the door crashed open.
Fear clawed up into Priss's throat as a greyhound charged inside, barking frantically. A man appeared in the threshold, tall and broad, a shadow backlit by the twilight outside, his dark traveling cloak caught by a sudden gust and billowing out behind him, showing a form as powerful and sleek as the dog standing between her and the door.
She couldn't seem to move as she stared at him, at the face obscured by shadow, at his utter stillness as he stared back at her, casting some sort of spell over her with his presence.
"You will move aside," he ordered.
She stepped aside, unable to do anything but obey that dangerously soft voice. And then she gasped at the sudden realization that he supported the sagging body of another man.
"Willie!" she cried in alarm as she ran to her brother, the spell shattered and dispersed in fragments of impressions as she bent to examine her brother's battered face.
"Hullo, Priss," he slurred through a cut and bleeding mouth. "I'm here."
With a curse, the man holding him up brushed past her and lowered Willie into the chair George had occupied. "You," he called to Jenny, "get hot water and soap and bandages. And you"—he pointed at Priscilla—"see to your brother."
A woman dashed to Willie's side and sank to her knees, her gaze only for him. "Do not faint," she ordered. "I forbid it."
Willie grinned and winced in pain. "Men don't faint; we
keel over."
Priss let out a breath of relief. Bruises and cuts aside, Willie was all right. He always jested when he was all right. Still, she leaned over the woman to get a better look.
" 'S all right, Priss," he said. "I wouldn't lie to you."
Incredibly, the woman kneeling at Willie's feet stared up at her with the most piercing scrutiny Priss had ever experienced.
The woman nodded and smiled brilliantly. "I am Gwyneth," she said as if that explained everything. "Please do allow me to tend to William. I believe you might be of immense help to my brother, Gavan."
The wording seemed odd to Priscilla, as if it meant something she did not comprehend. Dazed, she glanced at the other man, seeing no injury unless one counted his disheveled hair.
Dark hair, like midnight gleaming with blue lights, like stars in the ether.
She shook off the thought, chastising herself for entertaining nonsense when clearly trouble was afoot. Opening her mouth to ask a thousand questions, she snapped it shut again. Everyone was safe. There appeared to be no urgency other than seeing Willie taken care of. Later, she would ask
questions, when she had a better idea of what to ask first.
"I am unhurt," the stranger said, breaking the spell cast by his commanding air and wholly male countenance.
Her gaze swept over him and settled on the arm he held stiffly to his side. "You are not unhurt," she said hoarsely through suddenly dry lips, and stepped close to him, reaching up to slip his coat off wide shoulders and muscular arms. "Your breathing is quite shallow. Your ribs must pain you."
"Get away from him, Priscilla," George commanded from the
far end of the room.
The stranger's gaze abruptly shot over Priss's head to the source. The woman—Gwyneth—continued to dab at Willie's face as if nothing had occurred.
Priss glanced over her shoulder and stared...she'd forgotten about George.
He stood backed into the corner holding her fireplace poker high, his face bleached of color and beaded with perspiration as his gaze skipped from her to the dog standing in front of him, teeth bared.
Willie snickered and grimaced.
Priss shook her head in disbelief at the man she had only a few moments past thought to be tolerable. "It's all right, George. No one here will hurt me." For some reason she cast a quick glance at the tall stranger. "I would be most grateful if you went home now," she said firmly.
"Yes, do go home, George," Willie slurred. "I can take care of m'sister."
George's chest puffed out. "I would be neglect in my duty to Priscilla if I did not remain until order is restored. Your manner of arrival indicates—"
"Out," a deep baritone said from behind Priss, so deep and so smooth that it seemed a caress in the air.
George's gaze skittered nervously from the stranger to the Greyhound.
"Daisy, back," the voice commanded. Immediately, the dog backed away and sat, her gaze never leaving George.
Fascinated, Priss watched the stranger step toward George with a languid gait that seemed more dangerous than a full-out charge.
George inched toward the door, keeping his back to the wall at all times, and disappeared into the gathering shadows outside.
The stranger—Gavan—halted, his back straight and stiff as he slowly exhaled.
"We must see to your ribs, sir," Priscilla said, and again reached for his coat. "Your coat and shirt must come off."
He removed her hand and scowled at her down the length of
his clearly aristocratic nose. "I will take care of it."
The dog made a grumbling sound in her throat, as if peeved with her master.
"Priscilla is right, Gavan," Gwyneth said without looking up from her task. "That beastly man kicked you in the ribs. Do be a good boy and allow her to investigate."
Willie snorted in a mangled attempt to laugh.
Priss stared up at Gavan and was immediately caught up in
the spell of him, in his unique handsomeness so harsh and dangerous and full of secrets. Untouchable, she thought, as if he had only recently fallen to earth and had not yet become a part of it. He stood still and watchful, his lean, muscular
body obviously honed by physical labor and carried tall and straight with assured power. Enough power to hold the world at bay while he chose which elements to reject and which to devour...
Like a predator who shared his lair with no one.
Unfortunately for him, he was in her lair now.
Taken aback that she had entertained what seemed to be a threatening thought, Priss struggled to present her company with a genial smile.
"Willie, perhaps you should properly introduce us before I nurse your friend back to health," she said, hoping to restore some order to her disheveled mind. There, that hadn't sounded too inane.
"Gavan St. Aldan, Earl of St. Aldan," the stranger said with a short bow, then winced as he waved a hand toward Gwyneth. "My sister, Lady Gwyneth."
"Thank you, sir," she said politely. "I am Priscilla Whitmore. Now that we have been introduced, though not quite properly, I must insist that you allow me to bind your ribs." She swallowed down the sudden mortification at speaking so to a complete stranger, much less an earl.
Again his eyes darkened with a turbulence that might have frightened her if she had not known he was injured and likely incapable of inflicting too much damage. "My indulgence of impropriety does not extend to removing my shirt in public," the earl said stiffly.
"And if a rib pierces one of your lungs, I suppose you would die happy, knowing you did so in all propriety," Priss blurted, unable to stop the flow of words. "Now, you have the choice of removing your coat and shirt or suffering in arrogant silence just to prove you can." Heat climbed from her toes to her face as she continued to glare at him, too rattled to summon up a
shred of apology for her temerity.
Silence fell in her workroom as all gazes fastened on the earl.
Copyright © 1999 Connie Rinehold
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MY LORD STRANGER by Eve Byron
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******* "For wit, style, vibrant characters, and romance at its very best, read Eve Byron! MY LORD STRANGER is the reason we read and love romance novels. I can't remember when I enjoyed a book more." —Maggie Osborne, author of THE PROMISE OF JENNY JONES******* "A marvelous story that is absolutely enchanting." —Annie Oakley for the Rocky Mountain News
******* "Fans of Eve Byron take note. MY LORD STRANGER is an emotional stunner about love rediscovered and family reunited. It's filled with humor, insight and pathos. A treasure!" —Brenda Meyer at Barnes & Noble, Aurora, Colorado
******* "Five stars...Remarkable Regency romance will rouse readers' interest...MY LORD STRANGER is a warm Regency romance that is worth reading...Harriet is a delightful, strong female, while Drew is the hunk that seems to appear only in our dreams or novels by the energizing Eve Byron." —Harriet Klausner
******* "Readers will be enchanted by this tender love story. Ms. Byron writes with a nice touch, especially with the entrance of Beau Brummel and his charming, subtle wit." —Romantic Times Magazine
| Excerpt from MY LORD STRANGER: |
"I waited for you," she said, her chest heaving. "No matter what you said in your letters, no matter how many times you told me to secure my freedom from you. I believed you'd be back because you promised you would. And then your shipments continued to arrive even after your letters stopped. And then the letter saying you were dead and everyone thinking I was mad to believe otherwise." Her struggles ceased suddenly; her eyes flashed with fury. "What if I had believed it, Drew? You were supposed to return home two years ago. What if I had believed you dead for all that time?" Her eyes narrowed and her expression smoothed out, showing nothing. "What if I had gone on and married again?"
The idea of it ignited his temper. Harry going on without him after she had convinced him that she would wait for him. Yet she said it as if it were nothing unusual, nothing significant. One husband dead and quickly replaced. It was irrational for him to feel such fury and pain under the circumstances. It stunned him to know he could feel such fury and pain. "I made it a point not to die, madam," he said stiffly, "because I had promised to return."
For the barest moment, she seemed to waver, to lean into
him. And then she straightened even more, her chest heaving and her hands clenched tightly, as if she were containing the urge to strike him. "You seek your wife, sir? She no longer exists," she said with a calm that chilled him.
His thumb caressed the bracelet beneath her silk sleeve.
"If she did not exist, she would not be wearing this—"
"And she will not wear it again." She jerked her arm from his hold. "It obviously belongs to you and will be returned in the morning." She turned her head and summoned the footmen flanking the doors so unobtrusively that Drew hadn't noticed them until now. "Please show Mr. Sinclair to a guest room."
"Mr. Sinclair-Saxon," he corrected, needing to remind her of their rather odd arrangement, that he had married her and taken her name because he'd had none of his own, because he'd acceded to the wishes of his foster father and the pleas of her father. Because he had never once deceived her regarding his intentions and she had agreed.
Drew arched his brows as the men took positions on either side of him, close enough, it seemed, to hold him if necessary. They stepped away as he met each gaze in turn. Satisfied, he again focused on Harriet. "A guest room, Harry?" he asked, deliberately baiting her. Some habits never died. "If I am
not mistaken I already have a chamber in the master suite."
She smiled, the artless, engaging smile he remembered so well through years of wandering and searching and then being lost in a winter wilderness that froze all but a drop of life from him. "The second chamber in my suite is for the use of another."
He felt it then, the cold creeping up from his feet and hands, freezing him again, waiting to claim him completely. He bowed formally and straightened. "Then I shall take a guest room...for now. I suggest that you make certain my bedchamber is vacated and the linens burned and replaced before I take
possession tomorrow." He swept his gaze over her from head to foot and back again, then turned and strode across the terrace, toward the stone steps leading to the lower floor. He shot a narrow-eyed glance at the footmen on either side of him. "I know where the guest chambers are. You will remain with my lady," he said, the words as stiff and cold as he was.
The footmen withdrew as Drew continued on without looking back.
Copyright © 1999 Connie Rinehold
Order MY LORD STRANGER – In Association with Amazon.com
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