The Princess & the Pea

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Preparing to inherit her father's business empire, independent nineteenth-century beauty Cecily White resists money-seeking suitors, until she is tempted by the Earl of Greystone, who she insists must prove his love to her.

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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
Epilogue

ROYAL TREATMENT

"Do you have any idea what could happen to you if I were the kind of man to take advantage of an innocent?" Jared asked.

"I can imagine," she said quickly.
I can more than imagine.

"Can you imagine such a rogue would first put his arms around you like this." Jared wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Her heart thudded in her chest at the unexpected contact.

"He would hold you close and claim he was merely providing needed warmth in the chilling breeze. He would compare your face to the finest marble sculture in the Louvre, eclipsing the beauty of the works of Michelangelo himself. And your eyes...."

"My eyes," she sighed.

His voice was as deep with meaning as his words. "He would say your eyes are like molten pools of midnight. So deep and dark and inviting that a man could forefeit his very soul and be grateful for the loss. And then he would bend his lips to yours." His lips brushed against hers and her breath stopped. "Lightly at first." His lips, firm and warm with promise, met hers again and she fought from sagging against him. "And then, perhaps, he would kiss you fully and thoroughly until you knew you'd been well and truly kissed."

"The fiend." she breamed.

"Indeed." he said softly and his lips claimed hers.

LOVE SPELL

May 1996

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co.. Inc. 276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Copyright © 1996 by Cheryl Griffin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co.. Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

"How pretentious! How terribly rude! Positively insufferable! The man's a cad! A beast! Why he's—" Cece White stopped in midpace, drew herself up to her imposing five-feet-six inches, and stared haughtily down a nose she acknowledged was too annoyingly pert to properly carry off the level of righteous outrage in her tone—"a snob!"

"Oh, he is indeed." Marybeth Anderson sniffed prettily and dabbed at the nonexistent tears at the corners of her watery blue eyes. "They all are."

"I hardly think it's fair to indict an entire country merely because of the actions of one or two of its male inhabitants." Emily White said mildly, glancing up from the embroidery that occupied her hands.

"Emily." Cece said, widening her eyes in astonishment. "I can't believe you would stand up for the man."

"I'm not." Emily cast her sister a quelling glance. "I'm simply pointing out that just because one Englishman's actions have been less than acceptable—"

"He toyed with her affections." Cece said indignantly.

"Broke my heart." Marybeth dabbed once again.

Emily ignored the interruption."—does not mean they are all like that."

"Hah." Cece crossed her arms over her chest and glared. "They're no better than common fortune hunters, the lot of them. They're all only interested in the wealth of young, inexperienced Americans."

Marybeth nodded emphatically. "He as much as admitted it."

"You see, Emily." Cece said with satisfaction. "They don't even have the common courtesy to pretend they're interested in anything but our money."

Emily shrugged and returned her attention to her handiwork. "It's never been a secret. American heiresses have flocked to England for the past twenty years to trade their inheritances for titles. I don't see why you are so irate that this one has deigned to confess what is common knowledge." She glanced at Marybeth. "Since he did have the temerity to admit the truth, why is it you aren't even now planning your wedding to this scoundrel?"

Marybeth sighed dramatically. "It was his mother. She decided I was simply not good enough for her beloved son." A dreamy look glazed her eyes. "I could have forgiven him that. I could have forgiven him anything. He was truly magnificent. Tall, with shoulders that stretched forever and hair the color of midnight. And his eyes ..." she sighed again."... and he had a castle."

"A castle?" Cece snorted in derision. "Unheated. drafty, and no doubt crumbling about his ears. Precisely why he needs the money of an American heiress." She plopped down in an overstuffed armchair, a note of unfashionable discord in the perfectly appointed sitting room the girls shared between their bedchambers, but worn and comfortable and a favorite nonetheless. "What really bothers me is the way they all seem to think they're somehow better than Americans."