Charlotte Featherstone - Seduction & Scandal

Praise for the work of Charlotte Featherstone

ADDICTED“A wonderful old-fashioned love story is at the very heart of this novel. Agreeably outside of the norm with its damaged hero, it also has plenty of sizzle and emotional clout.” —RT Book Reviews

“Ms Featherstone, will you be writing about any of the other characters in future novels? I hope so; the characters you’ve built in Addicted have very likeable, very human personalities … Your novel was an easy and an especially enjoyable read.” —Night Owl Reviews Top Pick!

SINFUL“Pairing a tortured hero and a strong-minded heroine creates a dynamic conflict and off-the-charts sexual tension. Throw in lots of witty dialogue and a non-traditional happy ending, and you’ve got a keeper.” —RT Book Reviews Top Pick!

“[Featherstone] manages to weave an interesting tale, combining sizzling sex scenes with characters deeply rooted within their sexual identities … I’m impressed with what [Featherstone] has to offer in the romance world.”

—Dear Author

LUST“Featherstone knows how to write sexy in this unusual tale of the fey. Thane’s seduction of Chastity is titillating and is complemented by the other well-written characters and their relationships.” —RT Book Reviews

“This was the first time I have read a Charlotte Featherstone book; I can safely say that it will not be the last … Now I just have to be patient and wait for the next Sin to find his Virtue …”

—Forbidden Reviews

Don’t miss The Brethren Guardians series!

Seduction & Scandal August 2012

Pride & Passion September 2012

Temptation & Twilight October 2012

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This book is dedicated to my granny MacAlpine, and all the ancient Scots who weaved their stories and shared them, passing them down for the next generation to enjoy and share.

Had it not been for Janet and Death’s story, told to me when I was a child, this book would never have been written! I made it my own, Gran, and hope you won’t mind that Janet is Isabella, and that instead of moving Death to tears with her song, she does so with her words.

Till we meet again….

And to Beth, from the Pussycat Parlor, for that oh so inspiring picture of Lord Black! You’re the best!

I am the fog, mist and rain, the shadows that creep across your windowpane .

I am darkness and disease, the entity whom all fear to see .

I am hate, dread, rage, all humans pray to keep me at bay .

I am sorrow and loneliness. Emptiness and despair .

I am, and will be, your last breath of air .

In the end it is you and me, and our walk of darkness where I will set you free .

Side by side we will go, we’ll touch hands, mine will be cold .

You will look at me, and say, “Please, Lord Death, don’t take me away.” And I will reply, as I always do, “Nothing can sway me, pray do not try, for I have seen millions cry. Their tears, while soft, cannot break through this iron heart.”

I am Lord Death, bound by command, to steal life from those souls who have reached their end. I am Lord Death, a shadow of fear, a man say some, a demon cry most .

I am Lord Death, and this I will say, one day you and I shall walk the path of eternal darkness .

London, 1875

The first time I met death, it was at a ball and we danced a waltz. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, and amidst the swirls of ball gowns, their silk trains decorated with pearls and lace, Death guided me in sweeping circles until I was dizzy and breathless and all the other dancers had seemed to melt away, leaving only Death and myself whirling on the dance floor .

I should have feared him and his steely embrace, but I did not. Death had been by my side for so many years that I felt a kindred spirit in him. I have seen Death. He is beautiful in his severity, heartrending in his coldness. A dark, shadowy specter whose web draped like an ethereal veil over the mortals he would one day lay claim to .

A man in every appearance, whose isolation and loneliness he could not hide. It shone in his eyes, which were a mesmerizing dichotomy of coldness and warmth. His irises were a light shade of blue with the faintest chips of pale green, reminding me of the turbulent, chilly waters of the North Sea. But his lashes, thick and luxurious, and black as a raven’s feathers, put me in mind of a sable wrap, warm and comforting and soft—so supple and inviting. His hair was just as dark, inky and shining as it hung to his shoulders, like a pelt of fur. I yearned to run my fingers through the long strands, burying them in the thick suppleness and warmth .

“Do you know who I am?” he asked me, his voice deep and velvety. It slithered along my pores, awakening a deep feeling inside me—not fear, but something else. Something that made me warm and languorous, and as though my will were no longer my own .

“Lord Death,” I replied in a breathless whisper .

“And do you not fear me?”

I looked up, held his icy blue gaze steady. “No. I do not.”

He pulled me closer, till our chests meshed and our bodies danced, pressing and moving as if as one. It was indecent. Hedonistic. Exhilarating. My pulse raced, heating my skin. He found the frantic beating in my throat, his gaze lingered there and I knew then that he could snuff the warmth that was climbing steadily inside me .

“Have you come to claim me, Lord Death?”

His gaze slowly lifted to mine, and the thick, onyx lashes lowered, casting a hood over his eyes. “I have. Will you come with me now?”

We finished the turn and he took me by the hand, threading his fingers through mine, guiding me toward the French doors and the velvet blackness beyond .

I followed him willingly, his beauty beckoning me, and like a sleepwalker, I trailed beside him, compelled by something I could not name .

“Am I to die?” I asked, and he stopped, raised our joined hands to his mouth and gently kissed my knuckles .

“You are, my love, and in your sleep, you will become Death’s bride.”

“And that is it?” cried Lucy as she threw a pillow at Isabella. “You fiend!”

Lucy rushed to the dressing table where Isabella sat and pulled the black leather journal from her hand. Flipping through the pages, Lucy searched frantically for more.

“I told you, Luce, that I had only just begun the story.”