Catherine Archer - Summer's Bride

She looked down, breathing deliberately, still infinitely aware of the strength and deftness of his hands, the heat of his body so very near hers. “Nothing could be further from the truth…” she began, then stopped for fear of what this statement might reveal. “My hands are simply tender and you startled me.”

He frowned, looking down at the raw skin. “Forgive me, Genevieve. I will have more care.”

Guilt assaulted her, but she made no effort to reassure him. For it was the tenderness of his touch that brought about her dilemma.

Even now as he stroked the cool cloth gently over her palm did she have to close her eyes to hide the thrill that coursed through her at the contrast between that cool cloth and the warmth of his own flesh…!

Dear Reader,

With the passing of the true millennium, Harlequin Historicals is putting on a fresh face! We hope you enjoyed our special inside front cover art from recent months. We plan to bring this wonderful “extra” to you every month! You may also have noticed our new branding—a maroon stripe that runs along the right side of the front cover. Hopefully, this will help you find our books more easily in the crowded marketplace. And thanks to those of you who participated in our reader survey. We truly appreciate the feedback you provided, which enables us to bring you more of the stories and authors that you like!

We have four terrific books for you this month. The talented Carolyn Davidson returns with a new Western, Maggie’s Beau, a tender tale of love between experienced rancher Beau Jackson—whom you might recognize from The Wedding Promise—and the young woman he finds hiding in his barn. Catherine Archer brings us her third medieval SEASONS’ BRIDES story, Summer’s Bride, an engaging romance about two willful nobles who finally succumb to a love they’ve long denied.

The Sea Nymph by bestselling author Ruth Langan marks the second book in the SIRENS OF THE SEA series. Here, a proper English lady, who is secretly a privateer, falls in love with a highwayman—only to learn he is really an earl and the richest man in Cornwall! And don’t miss Bride on the Run, an awesome new Western by Elizabeth Lane. True to the title, a woman fleeing from crooked lawmen becomes the mail-order bride of a sexy widower with two kids.

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Rose Among Thorns #136

*Velvet Bond #282

*Velvet Touch #322

Lady Thorn #353

Lord Sin #379

Fire Song #426

†Winter’s Bride #477

†The Bride of Spring #514

†Summer’s Bride #544

*Velvet series

†Seasons’ Brides

This book is dedicated to God, with joy

and heartfelt gratitude for all things.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

As his mount crested the last rise in the road, Marcel Ainsworth looked up. His gaze was unconsciously yearning as he watched the tip of the highest tower at Brackenmoore come into sight. Marcel viewed this first glimpse of home with both dread and longing.

Two years.

It seemed such a very long time to be away from home and his three brothers, yet he’d had no immediate plans to return. Or at least not until Benedict had sent for him. Though he did not know the reason for his eldest brother’s summons, Marcel could not ignore it. Not from Benedict.

Leaving the family estate of Brackenmoore had not been easy. Yet when Marcel had done so, he’d felt there was nothing else he could do. What Genevieve had said to him that last day at Brackenmoore had forced him to act.

His chest ached even now at the thought of the longing and despair he had known. The temptation to act upon her words, to give in to the yearning he felt was far stronger than he could have imagined.

He could not give in to it. When he was but fifteen an incident had occurred that made him realize he could never succumb to the enticement Genevieve offered. It had been shortly after Benedict had dismissed Thomas, a young man who had worked as an assistant to Benedict’s steward. Thomas had been Marcel’s friend, but he had also been stealing from Benedict. When Marcel had gone to him and asked him why he would do such a thing, the older boy had looked at him with a contempt that rocked him. Thomas had told Marcel that he had done it in order to buy things for a particular young woman. He loved this damsel, would do anything to win her. And now, on learning of his dismissal, she had turned him away.

In spite of his own pain at the way his friend was treating him, Marcel had said that Thomas’s love should have been enough, that he would now never know if she would have had him for himself alone. Bitterly Thomas had turned away, telling Marcel that he was in no position to make such a statement because he was an Ainsworth. As an Ainsworth Marcel would always get any woman he desired and he need do nothing of worth to achieve this, or anything else for that matter. Marcel had a name but would never know if he was wanted for himself alone. What Thomas said about women was true. Even at fifteen, Marcel noted they were more than eager for his attention, professed him to be witty and handsome when he felt awkward and shy.

Marcel had watched his friend go in silence, but the words had cut deep. They only reinforced what he had felt for most of his life, that he, Marcel, had accomplished nothing, earned nothing.

Benedict was the one who actually earned his position at Brackenmoore by selflessly caring for the lands and folk as their father had. Marcel would have been proud and fulfilled to serve that purpose, yet there could only be one heir.

He wished to hold such a position of responsibility. But he would gain it through his own efforts, not by marrying a woman who would have him for his name.

Surely Genevieve’s feelings toward him had changed. Two years was more than sufficient time for her to see how unsuitable they were for each other, that her wish to be an Ainsworth was not reason enough for them to come together.

Marcel spurred his mount on. Early summer had urged the greenery along the roadside to shades so deep they near hurt the eyes and he could hear the call of crickets in the thick grass. Overhead in the clear blue sky the screech of a seagull reminded him of how, as a boy, he had wandered along the cliffs above the nearby sea and wondered what it would be like to fly.

Well, he had not learned to fly. But he had learned to sail and the sea had given him the freedom to go where and when he would. Still there was a place of longing inside him that had not been filled, a place where the images of a family, his own lands and contented folk dwelled. It was a place he had learned to ignore.