Brenda Joyce - The Prize

The Prize

“Joyce writes lush stories with larger-than-life characters and a depth of sensuality and emotion that touches chords within the reader and keeps them coming back for more.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Masquerade

“Jane Austen aficionados will delve happily into heroine Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Fitzgerald’s family…. Joyce’s tale of the dangers and delights of passion fulfilled will enchant those who like their reads long and rich.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A passionate tale of two lovers caught up in a web of secrets, deceptions, and lies. Readers who love the bold historicals by Rosemary Rogers and Kathleen Woodiwiss will find much to savor here.”

—Booklist

“An intensely emotional and engrossing romance where love overcomes deceit, scandal and pride…an intelligent love story with smart, appealing and strong characters. Readers will savor this latest from a grand mistress of the genre.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Stolen Bride

“Joyce’s characters carry considerable emotional weight, which keeps this hefty entry absorbing, and her fast-paced story keeps the pages turning.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A powerfully executed romance overflowing with the strength of prose, high degree of sensuality and emotional intensity we expect from Joyce. A ‘keeper’ for sure.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A Lady at Last

“Romance veteran Joyce brings her keen sense of humor and storytelling prowess to bear on her witty, fully formed characters.”

—Publishers Weekly

A “classic Pygmalion tale with an extra soupçon of eroticism.”

—Booklist

“A warm, wonderfully sensual feast about the joys and pains of falling in love. Joyce breathes life into extraordinary characters—from her sprightly Cinderella heroine and roguish hero to everyone in between—then sets them in the glittering Regency, where anything can happen.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Perfect Bride

“Another first-rate Regency, featuring multidimensional protagonists and sweeping drama…. Entirely fluff-free, Joyce’s tight plot and vivid cast combine for a romance that’s just about perfect.”

—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Truly a stirring story with wonderfully etched characters, Joyce’s latest is Regency romance at its best.”

—Booklist

“Joyce’s latest is a piece of perfection as she meticulously crafts a tender and emotionally powerful love story. Passion and pain erupt from the pages and flow straight into your heart. You won’t forget this beautifully rendered love story of lost souls and redemption.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A Dangerous Love

“The latest de Warenne novel is pure Joyce with its trademark blend of searing sensuality, wild escapades and unforgettable characters. You’ll find warmth and romance alongside intense emotions and powerful relationships. It’s a story you won’t easily forget.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

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This one’s for Aaron Priest and Lucy Childs

The best team in town! Thanks for getting me back

on track and where I belong—writing about bygone

times, alpha men and the women who dare to brave

all to love them….

PROLOGUE

PART ONE: THE CAPTIVE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART TWO: THE BARGAIN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PART THREE: THE BRIDE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

July 5, 1798

The south of Ireland near Askeaton Castle

GERALD O’NEILL RUSHED INTO the manor house, his once-white shirt crimson, his tan britches and navy coat equally stained. Blood marred his cheek, matted his whiskers. An open gash on his head was bleeding and so were the cuts on his knuckles. His heart beat with alarming force and even now the sounds of battle, the cries of imminent death, rang in his eardrums. “Mary! Mary! Get into the cellar now!” he roared.

Devlin O’Neill could not move, stunned. His father had been gone for more than a month—since the middle of May. He had sent word, though, every few weeks, and while Devlin was only ten years old, he was acutely aware of the war at hand. Farmer and priest, shepherd and squire, peasant and gentry alike had risen up to fight the English devils once and for all, to take back all that was truly theirs—the rich Irish land that had been stolen from them a century ago. There was so much hope—and there was so much fear.

Now his heart seemed to simply stop and he stared at his father, relieved to finally see him again and terribly afraid. He was afraid that Gerald was hurt—and he was afraid of far worse. He started forward with a small cry, but Gerald did not stop moving, going to the bottom of the stairs and bellowing for his wife again. His hand never left the scabbard that sheathed his cutlass, and he carried a musket as well.

Devlin had never seen his eyes so wild. Dear God.

“Is Father hurt?” a tiny voice whispered beside him, a small hand plucking at his torn linen sleeve.

Devlin didn’t even look at his dark-haired younger brother. He could not take his eyes from his father, his mind spinning, racing. The rebels had taken Wexford town early in the rebellion and the entire county had rejoiced. Well, the papist part of it, at least. Other victories had followed—but so had other defeats. Now redcoats were everywhere; Devlin had spied thousands from a ridge just that morning, the most ominous sight he’d ever seen. He’d heard that Wexford had fallen, and a maid had said thousands had died at New Ross. He’d refused to believe it—until now. Now he thought that maybe the whispers of defeat and death were true. Because he saw fear in his father’s eyes for the first time in his young life.

“Is Father hurt?” Sean asked again, a tremor in his tone.

Instantly Devlin turned to him. “I don’t think so,” he said, knowing he had to be brave, at least for Sean. But fear gripped him in a clawlike vise. And then his mother came rushing down the stairs, her infant daughter in her arms.

“Gerald! Thank God, I’ve been so worried about you,” she cried, as pale as any ghost.

He seized her arm, releasing the scabbard of his sword to do so. “Take the boys and go down to the cellar,” Gerald said harshly. “Now, Mary.”