Betina Krahn - Make Me Yours

“Ms. Krahn is truly ingenious…. You have to read her books!”

—The Literary Times

“One of the genre’s most creative writers. Her ingenious romances always entertain and leave readers with a warm glow.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Wonderfully romantic…brilliantly written and a joy to read…humorous, witty, and original…Betina Krahn is talented and gifted. Her writing is superb…perfectly charming.”

—The Literary Times

“Merry, heart-charming…Betina Krahn is a treasure among historical writers, and The Husband Test is a story to savor.”

—BookPage

“Witty, rollicking romance…Krahn’s amusing follow-up to The Husband Test quickly blossoms into a bright, exciting adventure.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Wife Test

“With The Marriage Test, Krahn has perfected her unique recipe for highly amusing historical romances as she deftly brings together two perfectly matched protagonists to create a delectable romance most readers will find impossible to resist.”

—Booklist (starred review)

Dear Reader,

Welcome to my Harlequin Blaze debut! The minute I heard about Blaze Historicals, I was intrigued. Now, after writing my first book, Harlequin’s vision for “big, sexy books in a smaller format” has me totally hooked. Some friends joked that I usually take 60,000 words to say hello! Well, eat those words, my friends; after writing 120,000-word books forever, I found this shorter format for a historical a dream come true!

Writing Make Me Yours was the most fun I’d had at the keyboard in years. The characters were so compelling, the story came so naturally and the tighter focus on “pure romance” was so freeing! My favorite heroines have always been gals with the gumption to go after what they want and a plan to get it. My favorite heroes are strong, stubborn men who think they know best, but get “taken to school” by a smart, sexy woman. I think I’ve been writing a Harlequin Blaze heroine for years without knowing it!

I’m hoping you enjoy Jack and Mariah and the Prince and Mercy. Come by my Web site afterward (BetinaKrahn.com) and let me know how you liked the way we’re setting history a-BLAZE!

Happy reading!

Betina Krahn

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New York Times Bestselling Author

BETINA KRAHN

Make Me Yours

New York Times bestselling author Betina Krahn, mother of two and owner of two (humans and canines, respectively), shares the Florida sunshine with her fiancé and a fun and crazy sister. Her historical romances have received reviewer’s choice and lifetime achievement awards and appear regularly on bestseller lists…including the coveted USA TODAY and New York Times lists.

Her books have been called “sexy,” “warm,” “witty” and even “wise.” But the description that pleases her most is “funny”—because she believes the only thing the world needs as much as it needs love is laughter.

You can learn more about her books and contact her through her Web site, BetinaKrahn.com.

For Rex,

who always believes in me.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Author’s Note

England’s Lake Country, 1887

“ALL I WANT is to be left alone to run my own life and tend my business in peace. Is that too bloody much to ask?” Mariah Eller muttered as she pulled her cloak tighter against the wind-whipped rain and squinted, trying to make out the lights from the Eller-Stapleton Inn. There were at least a dozen things she’d rather be doing at nine o’clock on a rainy October evening…most involving a glowing fire and toasty slippers.

“Hurry, miz!” The boy with the lantern looked back anxiously and halted for her to catch up. “Pa said they wus about to blow the winders out.”

“They’d better not touch my blessed windows,” she declared, wishing the threat didn’t sound so thin in her own ears. She motioned the boy forward on the darkened gravel path that led from her house to her inn. “That glazing cost me a fortune. I’m in hock up to my—” She pulled her icy hands inside her cloak. “If they lay one finger on that glass—”

She’d do what? Scold them? Send them to bed without supper? What could she possibly do to a group of men who were drinking, out of control and bent on destruction?

The sprawling Eller-Stapleton Inn, a coaching stop for travelers on the way north, was miles from the nearest town and constable. Ordinarily she and her staff took care of their own problems. Her capable innkeeper, Mr. Carson, maintained order with his razor-like glare, beefy arms and redoubtable old musket.

But something about this situation exceeded his unflappable grasp.

It must be bad indeed.

Taking a deep breath, she dashed the last few yards through the puddles in the backyard and through the open kitchen door. She stood for a moment taking her bearings, her long cloak dripping water on the worn flagstone floor. The inn’s staff was collected around the glowing stone hearth at the far end of the kitchen. They greeted her with “Thank the Lord, yer here”…all but Carson, who seemed little relieved by her presence.

“Since when do you need help to deal with a few drunk gentlemen?” she said, lowering her hood and wiping rain from her face.

“The wretches grabbed Nell,” Carson said, pointing to the inn’s cook and one of the serving women, who were huddled with their arms around young Nell Jacoby. The little chambermaid’s face was as white as her eyes were red. “Kissed an’ groped her—acted like they meant to have her right on the damned tabletop, fergive th’ French.”

His square, usually pleasant face burned dull crimson and his blocky shoulders were thick with tension.

“Wild as March hares an’ gettin’ wilder. I’d ’ave bounced the lot, except—” it clearly pained him to say “—I seen a crest on one gent’s snuffbox. And my boy says there be a coat o’ arms on the chase coach that brought their guns an’ baggage.”

Noblemen. Mariah groaned. It would be.

“Who are they? Did they not give names?” she asked, hoping they had refused. By law, an inn’s patrons had to identify themselves and sign a register to obtain lodgings.

“They give names, all right.” Carson glowered, reaching for his big leather register and opening it to the current page. “Jus’ not their own.”

“Jack Sprat and Jack B. Nimble,” she read aloud. “Union Jack. Jack A. Dandy. Jack Ketch. Jack O. Lantern.” She swallowed hard against the lump those names left in her throat. “Clever boys.”