Untie My Heart
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"Stuart Aysgarth, the new Viscount Mount Villiars, doesn't know he's playing with fire when he inadvertently runs afoul of Emma Hotchkiss. True, the exquisite Yorkshire lady is a mere sheep farmer, but she also guards a most colorful past that makes her only more appealing to the handsome, haunted lord. Emma has come to him seeking justice -- and Stuart is determined that she will not leave until she has shared her secrets ... and his bed. Her clever revenge scheme *must* fail in the face of his soft words and tender caress -- and then he turns the tables on his bewitching adversary, seducing her into a daring deception of his own ...
admire you most heartily, Lady Hart-i-ley.” He added the extra syllable, a bad pun. Emma managed a half smile. “My dear,” he told her, “I take my responsibility toward you very seriously. I worry”—he drew himself—“that Stuart could get cold feet or say the wrong thing to the wrong people. He even suggested briefly he might discuss our business with other MPs at his club.” As if it were headline news, he said, “You know, he actually goes to the House of Lords? Regularly. He cultivates
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before the shot. Then you break the bladder with your teeth and bleed all over him.” Stuart laughed, startled. “My goodness. Oh, let me bleed on Leonard. Then how does he not find out? I mean, I’m a member of the Legislative Council. I’ll have to be there the next vote.” “Leonard won’t be. If all goes well, if he’s scared enough, we send him to some far corner of the world to hide out forever. Timbuktu.” “Goodness, this sounds rather like a lot of fun.” Stuart was delighted. “Not only do I get
were no less affecting. First one cheek, then the other lay on the fresh pillowcase, her nose pushed against fabric made steamy-smooth with lilac-scented linen water. Luxuries. Particular to Stuart. While, equally daunting, they seemed like mileposts back into an old and dangerous life. Seductions. Ultimately, she sat up in the bed amidst a heap of pillows and covers—higher than she was in some places, piles of encased down and eiderdown, soft and warm and light as air. It was hopeless.
build—long-fingered, long-limbed, a deep brow with a wide jaw and cleft chin—that characterized the men of his family. His dark hair and dark eyes had not missed an Aysgarth in generations, the family joke: Even the Aysgarth genes were dominant. Here, though, was fairly much where any similarity to his nephew ended. His long, lanky body had developed enough of a sagging paunch that, when his frock coat was open, a strip of shirtfront showed between his waistcoat and trousers—alas, he saw the