By Cecilia Grant
In Cecilia Grant’s emotionally wealthy and deeply passionate Regency romance debut, a care for a rumored rogue turns a formal younger lady into . . . A woman Awakened.
Newly widowed and desirous to defend her property and cherished servants from her malevolent brother-in-law, Martha Russell conceives a bold plan. Or really, a bold plan to conceive. in the end, if she has an inheritor at the manner, her destiny might be secured. leaving behind all she is familiar with of propriety, Martha ways her neighbor, a London exile with a depraved attractiveness, and provides a strictly enterprise proposition: a month of illicit interludes . . . for a fee.
Theophilus Mirkwood needs to be insulted. will be appalled. yet how can he withstand this siren in widow’s weeds, whose supply is just too outrageously tempting to say no? decided she’ll get her money’s worthy, Theo endeavors to rouse this shamefully overlooked good looks to the pleasures of the flesh—only to discover her lifeless set opposed to taking any entertainment within the scandalous cut price. definitely she can’t face up to him ceaselessly. yet may perhaps a lady’s candy quit open their hearts to the main unforeseen arrival of all . . . love?
From the Paperback edition.
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Additional resources for A Lady Awakened (Blackshear Family, Book 1)
This was the man with whom she must travel the length of the country. And she trembled at the thought. Lord save me, she pled a silent prayer, from Evedon…and from Wolf. Chapter Three Wolf woke at dawn to the sweet scent of a woman. He smiled and, still drowsy with sleep, reached a hand out to curl her soft body into his. His fingers contacted the thick fur lining of a cloak, a covering, but no woman. He cracked his eyes open and all of it came flooding back, Evedon, the job, Rosalind Meadowfield.
She sat there, listening to Lady Evedon’s quiet snores, her palms clammy even while her fingers were stiff with cold. Her mind raced with thoughts, with fears, with worried speculation. Once the constable arrived, it was only a matter of time before they discovered the truth: that Rosalind Meadowfield did not exist at all, that she had lied. Theft of this magnitude from an employer was a capital offence, and when they knew her real family name, there was no court in the land that would deal with her leniently.
The shock of it made her rapidly avert her gaze, and when she glanced again, his face was looking forward and in shadow once more. She wondered if she had been mistaken. And the thought occurred to her that perhaps he knew that she was lying to Mr Stewart and that she had come from Evedon House. Perhaps he even knew her real identity. It was impossible, of course. They had hanged her father twenty years ago. And as for the rest—Evedon and his accusations—she had been careful: writing her application from Louisa’s in Edinburgh, lying about what she had been doing for the last years, erasing any hint of a connection with the dowager Lady Evedon.