Ambersley (Lords of London)
Read Ambersley (Lords of London) Online
Authors: Amy Atwell
Excerpt from
Lying Eyes
, available now from Carina Press
“
AMBERSLEY
shares rich storytelling treats that go beyond the traditional romance; it's reminiscent of classic Judith McNaught works.
”
—RITA-nominated author, Therese Walsh,
The Last Will of Moira Leahy
A passion too long denied...
“
All I ask is the freedom to choose my own husband. Do you think me incapable of that?”
Sunlight from the window cast a gleam in his blue eyes. “No. You’re wise enough to know your money makes you very attractive. And that bothers you, doesn’t it?”
With a frown, she looked away, but he tilted her chin back to face him.
“
You want a man to fall in love with you, not for your wealth or even your beauty, but for whom you are inside. Perhaps one day a man will come along who steals your heart, and it will never beat the same again.”
She became conscious of the pounding of her heart as his arms enfolded her.
“
Perhaps one day, he’ll take you into his arms, and with one kiss he’ll change your destiny.”
Before Johanna could protest, Derek's mouth swooped down and hungrily claimed her lips. She stiffened, shocked by the sudden display of such intense emotion. Almost immediately, his kiss became less insistent but more tempting. The coaxing caress of his sensual lips across hers was impossible to withstand. Her arms crept up to his shoulders, and she returned the kiss with an awakening hunger of her own, unwilling to allow this moment to end.
His whisper penetrated her fogged brain. “We were made for each other, Johanna. End this mad quest, for your suitors may profess deep, undying affection, but they desire only your fortune. I, at least, won’t play you false.”
Discover these additional titles by Amy Atwell:
The Daughters of Cosmo Fortune,
contemporary romantic capers set in Las Vegas:
Book 1, now available:
Lying Eyes
Book 2, coming soon:
Cheating Hearts
Book 3, coming soon:
Stealing Kisses
AMBERSLEY
Amy Atwell
Copyright ©2011 by Amy Atwell
Published by Amy Atwell
All rights reserved.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Ambersley
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Bringing this book to publication has been a twenty-year journey. Really. I began jotting random scenes for what became
Ambersley
in the early 1990s. My heartfelt thanks to the talented and tenacious Debbi Michiko Florence, a fellow author whose friendship and support encouraged me to finish the first draft back in 2000. More thanks are owed to authors P.J. Alderman, Dale Mayer and Therese Walsh, all of whom slogged through the massive revision (and cutting of 20,000 words) in 2008.
To my writing groups—Writing GIAM, Pixie Chicks, LaLaLa Sisters—you've been there for me during the dark times when I might have abandoned my writing. Thanks for all the encouragement and support.
A note of thanks to literary agent Kevan Lyon, who championed this book to the New York publishers. I owe thanks for your conviction in my writing and your prodding me to dig more deeply into my hero. It's a better book because of your input.
To the terrific ladies of the Publishing Underground, thanks for all the guidance and advice in bringing this story to readers. Special thanks to Laura Morrigan for the breathtaking cover art. It's just what I wanted.
I'm grateful to my family for bearing with my unyielding desire to write and to my husband who always encourages me to follow my dreams.
Dedication
In loving memory of my mother, who shared her passion for reading with everyone—especially me. The wait is over, Mom. I know you're smiling.
Ambersley
Book 1
Johnny
Chapter 1
Ambersley, June 1801
He’d simply done what any good man would do.
Thomas Bendicks repeated that to himself as he carried the small child along the forest path. Overhead, birdsong heralded the approaching dawn. He swore silently, afraid the bright light of day would bring regrets. Best not to think too closely upon the previous night’s tragic events or the possible repercussions of his actions.
He adjusted his burden to gently shoulder his way into the cottage. “Martha?” She would know what to do next.
His wife bent over the stove in the dim light. “Is that you, dear? Go out and wash up. Eat something, then you can sleep your fill. You must be tired after last night.” She turned toward the door and promptly dropped the loaf of bread she carried. “Tom, what’s that you’ve got?”
He craned his neck and managed to whisper past the child’s chokehold. “I found her just this side of the stream. I heard whimpering and there she was, all curled up under a rhododendron. When I pulled her out, she climbed into my arms. Now she won’t let go.” Awe tinged his voice, for he still couldn’t believe this little being had trusted him. She clung to him like a vine to a sturdy oak.
He lowered himself into a chair as Martha approached to peer at the child. The little girl could be no more than four years old. Cuts and scrapes reddened her chubby arms and legs beneath the torn and filthy nightdress. Sooty smudges marred a pale round face framed by a disheveled mass of long dark curls knotted with brambles. Her blue-green eyes overflowed with unspoken terror.
“
Tom, why did you bring her here? You know she must be His Grace’s daughter. Everyone will be searching for her.”
He pulled the child from his shoulder and adjusted her across his lap. She nuzzled her head against his chest and closed her eyes, one tiny hand clutching his sweat-stained shirt. The smell of ash bound them as one.
“
I was almost home when I found her.” A poor excuse, he knew. “Besides, it’s a right mess up at the Hall—the fire destroyed half the roof, the west wing is gutted, and I hear most of the inside is damaged.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The duke and duchess are dead, as is half the house staff.”
Martha’s eyes filled with tears, and she swept away the moisture with hasty fingers.
“
I was told the child was dead, too,” Tom continued. “Some daft story about her ghost sailing through the smoke last night. Nobody seems to know who’s in charge or what to do next.” His arm tightened about the child. “Look at her. She’s so scared, I thought it better to bring her here for a day or two. I don’t think she should see the Hall like it is now.”
The little girl had fallen asleep against his chest. Gingerly, Martha reached over to smooth a stray curl from her face, bracing against old memories that swamped her. Poor little orphan, what was to become of her now? The title and the property would go to some male relative. Maybe he’d have a family—that would be best. It might be days before he arrived, and meanwhile...
She smiled. “Tom, you did the right thing. She needs peace, and she won’t get it at the Hall. We’ll keep her here with us until her relatives arrive. That shouldn’t be nigh long, right?”
When he didn’t answer, she realized he’d drifted to sleep, his grizzled cheek slumped upon the child’s head.
