Soon to be
released by California Times Publishing
Hope’s Betrayal
Regency
romance
By
Grace Elliot
One wild, winter's night two worlds collide.
Known for his ruthless efficiency, Captain George Huntley is sent to
stamp out smuggling on the south coast of England. On a night raid, the Captain
captures a smuggler, but finds his troubles are just beginning when the lad
turns out to be a lass, Hope Tyler.
With Hope as bait, the Captain sets a trap to catch the rest of the
gang. But in a battle of wills, with his reputation at stake, George Huntley
starts to respect feisty, independent Hope. Challenged by her sea-green eyes
and stubborn loyalty Huntley now faces a new threat - his growing attraction to
a sworn enemy. But a love where either Hope betrays her own kind, or Captain
Huntley is court-marshaled, is not an easy destiny to follow.
Excerpt: Where Captain
Huntley makes a startling discovery about his prisoner.
Alone
with his prisoner the Captain set to work, his face all harsh angles in the
lamplight. First to stem the bleeding. Working with deft hands, he pulled the
bloodstained scarf from the felon's head. Surprise registered, as he noted the
delicate ears and elegant neck. The boy’s hair gleamed like polished-coal in
the lamplight; tied back in a pony tail, black-as-the-devil’s heart.
Huntley
reached for a rag to wipe blood from the boy's eyes and cheek. Soft skin
emerged from beneath the clotted mess. The boy was young…a round face with
pointed chin, a tipped nose …and lips, softly parted and provocatively
plump….just ripe for kissing. A flush of heat warmed Huntley's cheeks. What was
he thinking?
Wiping
his sleeve across his eyes he forced himself to continue. He bathed the
laceration, cleaning away sand and blood. Something about this lad had stirred
deep emotions and the captain didn’t like it one little bit. He glanced toward
the door, not wanting to be alone with the smuggler and these strange feelings
he stirred.
“What
the devil's taking that wench so long?”
The
fire was crackling nicely now, steam rising from the lad's clothes. But it
wasn’t warm enough; cold could kill every bit as much as blood loss.
”Hell's
teeth, do I have to do everything myself?”
With
rising irritation, Huntley set to stripping the lad of his wet clothes.
He
peeled back the patched jacket, twice its weight with water, and dropped it to
the floor. A patched and frayed shirt, sticky with blood, clung to the lad’s
lean frame. Huntley tugged the shirt-tail free of the lad’s sodden breeches and
off over his head, with the result that the Captain's pulse raced alarmingly.
“Get
a grip, man.” Huntley muttered.
The
lad had unexpectedly slim shoulders, a silver stiletto strapped to his thin
upper arm.
“Naughty.”
Unsheathing
the knife he held the elegant blade toward the firelight; a finely crafted
weapon of silver filigree over an ivory handle— a lady’s weapon, and obviously
expensive.
“Who
did you steal this from, then?”
Placing
the stiletto safely out of reach, he turned back to the table. Stripped of his
shirt, it seemed the lad had broken ribs, for his chest was strapped. The
bindings were soaked and must come off. Shifting the unconscious lad into a
sitting position, balancing him against his shoulder, Huntley unwound the
bandages.
As
he lay the lad back down on the table, Huntley was suddenly struck by the
peculiar shadows playing across the boy’s chest. A flush of blood heated his
cheeks. That explained a lot! Huntley’s
mouth dropped open; he threw back his head and laughed aloud with relief.
“Tis
not a lad….but a lass!"
Alone
in the scullery with a half-naked girl…no, not a girl, for she had the soft
curves of a woman. Huntley took a step back. The sense of relief was
overwhelming, that it was a woman who had excited his body so. He looked around
for someone to share his astonishment, but the maid had not yet returned.
In
his experience women were tiresome, wearisome creatures that sapped the spirit
and drained the mind, but he studied this one with interest. Dark lashes lay
brushed against her cheek, an almost catlike tilt to her closed eyes. Her skin
was clear, fresh, and unblemished. Her face was wide, round even, but with a
pointed chin and a nose turned up at the end. In all he decided, she was
beautiful with the stubbornness of a mule and fragility of a china doll. She
had been a worthy advisory on the dunes; agile, brave and resourceful and it
thrilled him to the core. Lost in thought, Huntley shrugged off his outer coat
and covered her over, then removed himself to a respectable distance.
Nothing
had changed, he told himself. She was a felon and would pay the penalty
demanded by law. And if Huntley felt uneasy at the prospect he suppressed the
emotion, it was just that he had to get used to the notion of interrogating a
woman.
