Ana Seymour - Lady Of Lyonsbridge

“Are you always proper?”

he whispered close to her ear.

“Aye,” she whispered back, licking suddenly dry lips.

“Now there’s another pity.”

In the dim light, his eyes had narrowed and his expression had changed from the teasing charmer to something more predatory. She tried to turn away, but he pressed closer, and she could feel the warmth of his body from her knees to her chest.

“I must go—” she began as he lowered his head and kissed her.

The kiss was brief, but the feel of it tingled on her lips long after he pulled away.

Neither spoke for several moments, then he gave a rueful smile and said, “You can slap me if you like, mistress, but ’twould be worth it. I’ve tasted nothing that sweet on the long road to Damascus and back.”

Alyce sagged back against the wall, uncertain her knees would hold her.…

Dear Reader,

The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!

We are delighted with the return of Ana Seymour, who has written a wonderfully emotional medieval romance, Lady of Lyonsbridge, the sequel to Lord of Lyonsbridge. Ana has penned fourteen books for Harlequin Historical, and they just keep getting better! In her latest novel, an heiress, fearing a forced marriage to an abusive man by the new king, hopes to purchase her freedom. Things change, however, when a handsome knight arrives at her castle en route to ransom the true king of England. A forced marriage does ensue—but will it be to the right man?

Judith Stacy brings us a darling new Western, The Blushing Bride, about a young lady who travels to a male-dominated logging camp to play matchmaker for a bevy of potential brides—only to find herself unexpectedly drawn to a certain mountain man of her own! And in Jake’s Angel by newcomer Nicole Foster, an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow with two sons.

And don’t miss Malcolm’s Honor, a medieval romance by Jillian Hart, whom you might remember from her heartwarming Westerns. in this tender tale, a ruthless knight falls in love with the feisty noblewoman he must marry for convenience.

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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Available from Harlequin Historicals and ANA SEYMOUR

The Bandit’s Bride #116

Angel of the Lake #173

Brides for Sale #238

Moonrise #290

Frontier Bride #318

Gabriel’s Lady #337

Lucky Bride #350

Outlaw Wife #377

Jeb Hunter’s Bride #412

A Family for Carter Jones #433

Father for Keeps #458

†Lord of Lyonsbridge #472

*The Rogue #499

†Lady of Lyonsbridge #520

For my favorite English Lady…

Joy Hendry

Friend, scholar, professor, tour guide

and tea-maker extraordinaire!

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

England, 1193

“Whose standard do they fly? Can you make it out, Lettie? Has the baron finally come this time?” Alyce Rose leaned precariously out from the stone casement of her bedchamber on the upper story of Sherborne Castle.

The old servant put a hand on the stiff collar of Alyce’s dress and hauled her back inside with surprising strength. “They’ll be here soon enough, lass. ’Twill serve no purpose for ye to go tumbling out the window and land at their feet.”

Alyce’s pretty features screwed into a scowl. “Nothing I can do will serve a purpose—that’s the problem.” But she let Lettie pull her away from the window and back into her tiny room. Though her father had been dead these past eleven months, she’d not moved to the spacious master’s quarters. In her mind, the sunny chambers at the opposite end of the hall were still filled with the presence of her irascible old sire. It was there she liked to think of him, not cold and buried behind St. Anne’s Church beside her mother.

Lettie was watching her, hands on her ample hips. “’Tis not like ye to be so downhearted, Allie luv. The baron’s men will think the mistress of Sherborne Castle is a sour-faced puss, indeed.”

“They can think me an ugly witch, for all I care. And report as much to my future bridegroom.”

Lettie chuckled. “’Tis likely the baron Dunstan was apprised of yer appearance before he convinced Prince John to give ye to him. They say he saved the prince’s life and could have had any reward he chose.”

Alyce sat gloomily on her narrow pallet. “He’s older than my father, Lettie.”

The servant sighed. “Aye. I can’t help thinking that our true king would never force ye to such a match.”

“If Richard were in England, he’d likely pick another just as gruesome. ’Tis an unfair world where a woman can be awarded to the highest bidder, as if she were prime horseflesh.”

Outside the window they heard the castle gate cranking open, followed by sounds of men and horses in general confusion. “Shall ye go down to welcome them, milady?” Lettie asked, reverting to the formality she had occasionally adopted since Lord Sherborne’s death. The title still struck Alyce as absurd when coming from the woman who had cared for her for every single day of the twenty years since Alyce’s birth.

“Nay, let Alfred see them settled. I’ll not march willingly into their hands like a meek little rabbit waiting for the skewer.”

“But if the baron is among them, he will expect—”

“If the baron is among them, then I have even less desire to be cooperative,” Alyce interrupted. “Mayhap if he thinks his future wife is discourteous and difficult, he’ll change his mind and ask the prince for someone else.”

Lettie’s soft brown eyes were worried. “Allie, they say the man has a fearsome temper. He’s been known to beat a stable boy to the ground for not being quick enough to catch his horse.”

Alyce shuddered, but her chin went up as she answered, “I’ll not be afraid of him, Lettie. My father had no son, but he always said that he was consoled by knowing he’d bred a daughter with the spirit of half a dozen knights.”

The old servant shook her head. “Ye’ve spent yer childhood trying to prove yerself a man, Allie. ’Tis time ye put yer thoughts into being a woman who will marry and bear strong sons.”

Alyce turned her face toward the window. “I’ll bear no son of Dunstan lineage,” she said softly.

Lettie sighed. “I’ll go down meself, and tell the baron that ye’ve taken sick. But I trow he’ll be eager to see ye.”