In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Sisters Trilogy)
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Arguably Regency England’s most scandalous family of misbehaving rogues and ladies, the Cynsters are back! New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens continues her delectable new historical romance series with In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster, focusing on the first of three Cynster sisters, each on a determined quest to find a hero who’s her match in every way possible. When Eliza is kidnapped from her sister’s engagement ball, the plucky miss refuses to be daunted—and her escape leads her straight into the arms of a most unlikely champion. Devoted Laurens and Cynster fans, as well as readers of the acclaimed romance fiction of Lisa Kleypas, will find pursuing Eliza Cynster to be an exceptional delight!
a step and staggered. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he pulled her up and on. Their feet seemed heavy as they covered the last yards. “Once we’re through and can get going down the other side,” he told her, “we should reach Clennell Street and be heading down into England before Scrope—” “Halt! Stop!” They swung around. On the ridge they’d left, Scrope stood, feet spread wide, swaying a little as he fought to train a pistol on them. Slowly, Jeremy and Eliza straightened. The options they
hitched, quavered, under the sudden onslaught of the deliciously pleasurable, intensely erotic sensations that sparked as their bodies met, skin to skin, hardness to softness, and her senses swam. Despite the passionate desire smoldering hot and urgent in his eyes—despite the telltale tension she now recognized, rejoiced in, that held him—despite the heated desperation in his grip, he captured her gaze, murmured, even as his gaze drifted to her lips, “We’ll need to talk about our betrothal, and
notes, Eliza reached for the folded parchment resting on the salver. “Thank you, Cameron.” The footman was from her parents’ household, seconded to the St. Ives’ household to assist with the massive ball. “Who was it, do you know?” “No, miss. It wasn’t handed to me but to one of the others. They passed it on.” “Thank you.” Eliza nodded a dismissal. With a brief bow, Cameron withdrew. With no great expectations, Eliza unfolded the note. The writing was bold, a series of brash, black strokes
them; they were presently traversing the slowly rising land, the foothills of the hills, as it were. Eliza strode along, feeling intensely, and utterly unexpectedly, light of heart. That was the only way she could describe the inner sense of buoyancy, the near effervescence that showed in the brisk spring in her step. She looked about as she walked, drinking in the wide vistas that every now and again opened up between the enclosing low hills. Even the air seemed to taste fresher and better up
through her. The event had been more, much more, than she’d expected. More earthy, more physical, more intimate. More absorbing. More fascinating, more exciting, more enthralling, and definitely more tempting—the sort of experience that, once experienced, made one want to do it again. Which left her wondering . . . Taking stock, she tensed this muscle, then that, and discovered that other than a twinge or two, she’d weathered her deflowering in excellent shape. Better than excellent if one