To Taste Temptation (The Legend of the Four Soldiers)
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EVEN THE MOST REFINED LADY
Lady Emeline Gordon is the model of sophistication in London's elite social circles, always fashionable and flawlessly appropriate. As such, she is the perfect chaperone for Rebecca, the young sister of a successful Boston businessman and former Colonial soldier.
CRAVES AN UNTAMED MAN
Samuel Hartley may be wealthy, but his manners are as uncivilized as the American wilderness he was raised in. Who wears moccasins to a grand ball? His arrogant disregard for propriety infuriates Emeline, even as his boldness excites her.
TO RELEASE HER PASSION . . .
But beneath Samuel's rakish manner, he is haunted by tragedy. He has come to London to settle a score, not to fall in love. And as desperately as Emeline longs to feel this shameless man's hands upon her, to taste those same lips he uses to tease her, she must restrain herself. She is not free. But some things are beyond a lady's control . . .
Mr. Bentley showed them into the warehouse. The building soared overhead, dark and cool. She could smell sawdust and damp bricks. Half the space was packed with barrels and crates, but Mr. Bentley led them into a smaller office off the main room. The office was just large enough for a wide desk, some chairs, and a stack of boxes against the wall. In one corner was a small hearth with a kettle already steaming. “Here we are, then,” he said cheerfully as he held a chair for Emeline. “I’ll just get
shaky, and for a moment she simply leaned against her sitting room wall, not even attempting to walk to the settee for fear her legs would collapse beneath her. As she leaned there, she licked her lips and tasted blood. Whether his or hers she could not tell. A CIVILIZED MAN. Sam shouldered past the gawking footmen and out of Emeline’s town house. A civilized man. He ran down the steps and continued running, the familiar feel of his muscles lengthening and warming a comfort. A civilized man.
fall next, their clothes and hair all over mud.” “But surely you can pitch a tent when you stop for the night?” “We can, but the tent will be wet as well by then and the ground underneath a sea of mud, and in the end, one wonders if it would be better to simply sleep in the open.” She was smiling at him, and his heart lightened at the sight. “Poor Samuel! I never dreamed you spent so much time in the mud as a soldier. I always imagined you performing heroic feats.” “My heroic feats mostly
conversation, always a bit hard in the morning. “What are your plans for today? Are you conducting business with Mr. Kitcher? I...I thought if not, that we might go for a drive about London. I hear St. Paul’s Cathedral—” “Damn!” Samuel set his knife down with a clatter. “I forgot to tell you.” Rebecca felt a sinking in the pit of her belly. It’d been a long shot—her brother was so often busy—but she’d hoped nevertheless that he’d have time to spend with her that afternoon. “Tell me what?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Vale said. “Perhaps he was growing weary of all the peas porridge we had to eat on that wretched march.” The viscount seemed to like him. There was something villainous in pretending friendship with a man when you’d just made love to that man’s fiancée. Sam would’ve avoided him, but Vale had sought him out as soon as he’d entered the sitting room. “There’s always money, I suppose,” Vale mused, “but I don’t see how killing an entire regiment would benefit Thornton unless he was