• Shop
My Account
  • Register
  • Login
Header Logo
You are here: Products Dealing with the Viscount by Clair Brett

Dealing with the Viscount by Clair Brett

The last person Viscount Devon Renwick would expect to meet in Scotland is his estranged wife, because he was under the impression, he had buried her.
The agreement set four years ago was fulfilled. He never wanted a wife or family, but does he know, enough to prove he can be the husband and father he would want to be?
Will Ella, after having a taste of independence be interested in a new deal struck? Ella doesn’t have time for Devon’s matchmaking, between keeping her bakery running smoothly while, fending off blackmailers claiming to know something, but what?
Ignoring Devon’s advances is impossible. The last thing she needs in her life is a man to take care of.
Between blackmailers and unfortunate news of his wife’s lineage, the question is do either of them deserve a love to last a lifetime?

SKU: B01M8QJIMS Category: Historical Romance Tags: Clair Brett, faked death, Regency Historical, Scotland, secret baby
360 product view

    Warning: count(): Parameter must be an array or an object that implements Countable in /home/102028-77823.cloudwaysapps.com/jqxysxqutc/public_html/wp-content/themes/megashopNEW/inc/theme-functions.php on line 1233
0%
  • Description
  • Reviews (0)

Description

Find more from this author on:

Buy this book on AmazonAmazon
Buy this book on Barnes&NobleBarnes&Noble

Author's websiteAuthor Site

Find this author on GoodReadsGoodReads

Find this author on FacebookFacebook

Find this author on TwitterTwitter


About the author:

Almost empty nester, Clair Brett, lives in NH (until she can buy a seaside escape somewhere warm) with her hardworking husband, two cats who take turns holding her down in her office chair daily to make sure Clair gets her word count in, a white spotted boxer/beagle (THE empty nest plan), and for right now the youngest Tenacious Teenager as she finds herself. Her other Fearless Firstborn daughter is serving our great country as a NH Air Guard medic and planning her college career for her RN. (nope Clair isn't proud at all)
When not writing sexy, witty, independent historical heroines, Clair enjoys watching the Red Sox on NESN (it isn't the same when they switch to a network game), cooking, pinning–everything on Pinterest, and planning vacations she may never get to go on until someone leaves her a fortune.
A former middle and high school English teacher, Clair has had a lifetime love affair with reading. Once she read Pride and Prejudice as an extra read in high school, she was hooked. Clair began pursuit of publication when she was a new mother in need of a world that didn't consist of diapers and sleepless nights.
Clair is a firm believer that a reader finds a piece of who they are or learns something about the world with every book they read. She wants her readers to be empowered and to have a refreshed belief in the goodness of people and the power of love after reading her work.

What inspired you to write your book?

I started writing because I would often think a book should have ended differently. I decided if I felt that way, then I should give it a try, and I was hooked. This book comes from being a young mother of two babies, a full-time school teacher, and a wife in a place far from my family who would daydream about what her life would be like if she just ran away. It sounds horrible now, but this was how I made that escape and was still home in time to make dinner and snuggle. You will see, in the end, my heroine isn't so sure running away was her best option either.

Here is a short sample from the book:

"Why, might I ask, am I sitting dripping wet in this cavern you call a library, when I should be back in London, rewriting my speech to Parliament about the tax on wheat?" Devon looked, he was sure, as bedraggled as he felt. He did not care to be in Scotland any time during the year, but when Parliament was in session was an especially poor time.
Glaring at his long-time friend, he waited for an answer. "Well?" he demanded. The note Devon, Lord Renwick, received, was cryptic at best, and he had expected to find his oldest friend on his deathbed.
"I was asking myself the same thing," quipped Lord Breakerton. "I should think a proper guest would retire and make themselves more presentable before being availed to their host." God, he's enjoying this, thought Renwick. "As for being here instead of London, I sent you a note." His friend waved a hand toward the desk in a haphazard manner.
"A proper guest would no doubt be pleased about being here all together, so let us just assume I am not a proper guest," Renwick bit out, dripping from the drenching rain of the Scottish night. Devon hated Scotland and all it took from him on a good day, not to mention the memories his trek into the hills conjured. Memories he thought buried. The fire burned, illuminating the hearth. Even in the warmer months, a Scottish castle was cold and drafty. Still in his greatcoat, he turned to warm his thighs and legs, which were as wet as everything else on his person. "Why am I here, and do not refer to the cryptic mess you called a note? It did nothing, but cause me to fear for your sanity."
Clive smiled. The library, if one could call it that, looked at one time to be the great hall. It now stood with shelves from floor to ceiling. Not all the shelves were full, giving it the feel of a work in progress. Overall, the atmosphere was comfortable which strangely enough, fit his libertine, rakehell friend.
"Why don't you take those wet things off? We need to talk."
Devon did as he was bid. All the while, a knot began to tie
itself in his stomach. Clive, though perfectly able to have serious discord, avoided it whenever possible. Devon's mind raced, listing all that could be wrong. First in his mind was illness, second, money. The latter was discarded immediately. Clive might play the ne'er-do-well, but Devon knew the head for business this man had, not to mention his feelings of responsibility. No, it must be illness.
Devon sat again, but this time in the opposite chair facing Clive. His friend looked grim as he made his way with a brandy for Devon. This was all Devon had left. This one man. Once he was gone, Devon would truly be alone. The only other one, Flick, he could not claim in society's circles.
"What do you know of your wife's death?" The question, abrupt as cannon fire, took Devon by surprise. A long, dormant pain tightened his chest. Damn, he hated Scotland.
"She died. What more do I need to know?" Devon's answer was clipped and bitter.
"How?" Clive pierced Devon with determined eyes.
"Highwaymen. Why are we having this discussion? You know I prefer–"
"Did you see her body?"
"No!" Devon spat out with disgust "I saw her father's body. Again, tell me why, before I leave the way I came." Devon's voice had risen by degrees to match his anger. Swallowing what was left of his brandy, Devon stalked to the mantel. This fortnight had already been hell and he had no care to continue the descent. He didn't think of Ella at all, because if he did, it would remind him of how close he had come to falling into a trap from which his father never was freed. Devon also didn't care to relive the pain of knowing her light would never shine on the world. When she left, Devon had been furious, but just knowing she was still alive would have been a comfort. Finding out she was dead and there was no going back, well that was almost too much for him to bear at the time.
With a calm that grated on Devon's nerves, Clive went on, breaking the silence. "I was out of town when you finally got married, if you will. I never knew any of the particulars of the agreement the two of you struck, save for your first meeting. I was not even present at the ceremony, though I heard it was an elegant affair."
"Yes, it was," Devon agreed, but grudgingly. He tried every day not to think about the one lapse in his otherwise impeccable judgment. One slip and where did it get a man? One would think one would be allotted one mistake in a lifetime. "It was elegant and refined, just as the Ton expected. It looked like a love match." Devon's voice came out as hollow and emotionless. He spoke as though it were the most recent balloon ascension in the park. As if, he was speaking of leaving his mistress. A business deal done, finished. After all, that was what it was. "The agreement was as you knew. We would marry. I would take from her dowry, what her father owed me. Then after a determined amount of time, she would go to Scotland to visit relatives, and once there, she would send word of her death and be out of my life forever." Now, four years later, the deal seemed very foolish. Fleetingly, Devon wondered if they might have made a go of it had she not left unexpectedly before their agreed upon date.
"How did the two of you get on? Were you amicable?"
"Clive, you are my most trusted friend. Do you not think if I were want of discussing this with someone, I would have come to you before now? You were there from the inception. You know well that it was a business agreement. Her idea. I wanted no wife. It was foisted upon us both. Because of her, I was able to fulfill the strictures of my father's will, marry before I was five and twenty and gain his personal fortune. She was able to get out from under the tyranny of her father and all his gambling debts, not to mention, no longer live under the fear of being thrown into debtor's prison with him, her only guardian." It was true that he had not wanted a wife, not even considering his father's will. That is where his good sense failed him. He, now a widower, was left to deal with the memory of a woman he never wanted to know. He couldn't help but think how his own adult life seemed to be mirroring his father's.
"Well, what I am really asking is– well, did you actually consummate?" Stunned silence met this question. The two men stared off. Devon refused to give away any sign of the emotion boiling over within him, but at the same time, he let his friend know he had crossed the line.
Devon looked into his empty snifter. "You know, I came all this way because I feared you had taken ill. I never suspected dementia was the illness."
Either Clive did not hear, or he did not care to jump at the barb. Instead, he pressed on mercilessly. "I will take that as a yes. Did you talk about children?"
Devon must have looked befuddled, because his interrogator rephrased the question. As if, it was not bad enough the first time. "Did you and Ella discuss what would happen if she became with child, Devon?"
"I will be in my room. Please have your servants rouse me at first light. I would like to gather my staff at the inn we were forced to take shelter in and have them back on the road to England by noon." He turned, heading for the door. The huge empty room closed in around him. His inner being screamed for fresh air. Colors blurred the light, which seemed to temporarily dim. The door was his beacon. In the din, Devon thought he could hear Clive calling him back. The door was more important. Just as his hand grabbed for the knob, his hearing came rushing back in a relentless roar.
"Your wife is alive and I believe you are a father. Did you hear me, Devon? Your wife is alive. You are a father, old man. I swear it."
For a stunned moment, Devon's feet froze, unable to move. His breath came in grunt-like gasps. Amazed he could find his voice, he muttered, "That's impossible." Then he left.
♥♥♥
Once in his room, Devon tugged off the wet clothes and hung them by the fire. On the bed was a robe laid out, waiting, and on the table by the fire was a large decanter of brandy with one glass. Clive must have thought it a kindness. Devon didn't particularly care for his friend's good hospitality at present, but he wasn't about to let the brandy go to waste. Slumping in the chair naked, forgoing the robe for the time being, he grabbed the decanter and poured a generous amount into the glass.
How long he watched the flames dance in the hearth, he wasn't sure, but the candles had burned down quite a bit. Of all the reasons for being called, his wife being alive and he being a father, were not on his list. Looking at the brandy still sitting patiently in the glass, he took a long drink. Was it possible? Could she be alive? His whole body seemed to cry out at the thought. He thought back to the day he got the news of her death.
Upon her departure, Devon had taken to sulking, which was not like him, but he had also decided their arrangement was working out better than he expected and he had been toying with the idea of suggesting that she stay. Unfortunately, she left before he could discuss it with her. Needless to say, his temper was in rare form and well fed by his stewing. When the messenger was announced, he received him, along with a letter from the local magistrate expressing his condolences for the loss of his beloved wife. Devon's temper was pricked even more, knowing that she did follow through with their agreement and obviously had no emotions engaged during their short arrangement. It wasn't, however, enough to prepare him for the courier's next statement.
Looking deeply into the fire, the scene replayed within the dancing flames:
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your speed in getting word to me. Please, go to the kitchen and they will see that you are fed well and given at least one meal for your travel back." Setting the letter aside, Devon bent to the correspondence he dearly needed to attend to, but knew it was a useless employment. How was she able to leave without having any feelings for him? The courier's voice gave him a start, being that he had been dismissed.
"Pardon, My Lord, but…"
"What man? Spit it out." Devon was in no mood to deal with drivel.
"Well, My Lord, where you be wantin' me to leave the bodies?"
Cold dread seeped into his bones, replacing the petty hurt he had been nursing.
A coal snapped, drawing Devon back to his nearly dark room. He rubbed a hand over his face to dry his cheeks from the emotion of it. Dead, she was actually dead. He remembered that the next several hours went by in a numbness he had never experienced before. That is, until tonight. How could finding out that someone was dead, and then finding out he or she was alive cause a person to feel the same all-consuming numbness? It felt as if he were falling. His head swam with sensations more than memories, each one causing a roaring in his ears. Taking another drink, sniffing the strong crisp aroma of the now warmed brandy made him realize he was not dreaming.
Shivering, Devon remembered he never donned the robe left for him. He rose, adding a few sticks of wood to the now low burning fire and padded to the bed. He knew there was not much darkness left to him, but exhaustion and emotion pulled at his conscious self. Dropping into the huge bed and pulling the covers over his head, he hoped to let oblivion take him. Clive, no doubt, expected him to react badly, so he was not worried about his friend's wounded pride, but the question swirling around his very soul was. If his wife was alive, did she want to be found, and even more importantly, did he want to find her? He let sleep take him, but he knew it would not be restorative, not this night.
Devon woke with a start, drenched in sweat and tangled in a knot of sheet and blanket. Where was he? It took him a long moment before he was able to order his thoughts enough to remember last night. Falling back onto the pillows that had not been thrown on the floor from his thrashing, he let out a frustrated sigh. He was in Scotland. The memory of his conversation with Clive rushed back. What was he to do? Nothing had come to him before he fell asleep early this morning, and unfortunately, he still had no ideas.
One thing he was certain of was the dream that had just awakened him. The same dream had haunted him for the past three years. Ella came to him, as she had that one night. She made love to his body, but the moment he tried to reach out to her, she was gone in a swirl of mist. It was a dream, which always left him aching, painful with physical need for her and another pain he didn't care to put a name to. The dream had been gone for some time. Devon assumed the absence of it proved he was well healed. "Now what, you fool?" he snapped. "Do you grab onto a far-fetched tale from a well-meaning friend and grasp the chance she might be alive? It is more likely Clive has finally fallen to the dregs of his wild life and begun seeing visions." Talking to himself was not proving productive, so Devon untangled the sheets from his long legs and swung them to the floor.
His plan would be simple. He would spend a few days with Clive and play out this fantasy of his. When Ella was nowhere to be found, then he would leave and head back to London. Clive's sister, Margaret, would need to be made aware of her brother's delusions, however. He would make a detour before London and stop at the country home. Margaret and her husband were currently in the country enjoying their newest child, or so the social pages said.
Devon padded across the room, donning the dressing robe left for him last night and pulled the bell. He would have a bath before he met Clive for breakfast, as the road dust from his journey was still evident, but the sooner he got this over with, the better.
The morning rose bright with no signs of rain. Once bathed and dressed, Devon made his way along the winding hallways and narrow staircase typical of ancient castles. Even with his questions about Clive's propensity for drama, he still found the idea of his longtime cohort thriving in such a setting hard to accept. Yet, last evening, Clive looked more content than he had for many years. Devon made his way past the great doors leading into the library and wended his way toward the sound of voices.
Once Devon emerged from the maze of stone, he found himself standing on a long stone terrace. Squinting from the glare of morning sun, Devon was able to see an outstanding garden, where even in spring the riot of color was awe-inspiring. A noise to his left drew his attention. Sitting at a small, but well-set table was Clive.
"Good morning, old chap. I was hoping you would sleep in a trifle more, but Charles informed me that he gave you assistance." Clive attempted to sound genial, but Devon noted the cautious tone in his voice.
"Yes, I hope you don't mind." Devon took the only other place set at the table and allowed a footman to fill his cup. "Since my valet is still holed up at the Inn, I was in need of his services."
"I have taken the liberty of sending a message to the Inn. I am sure the roads will be passable by later today, if the sun shines as bright for the rest of the day." Clive put down his newssheet and sat back watching Devon with concern clear for him to see. "I do want to apologize for last night. I had hoped to break the news in a better manner, but then, well, at any rate, I apologize." "Thank you."
"For getting your servants or for apologizing?"
"Both, I suppose."
"You still don't believe me." Not a question, Clive sat looking at Devon with a strange mix of humor and sadness.
Just then, two footmen emerged with large trays laden with an assortment of breakfast meats, breads, cheese and fruit. The two men sat in silence drinking their coffee and enjoying the splendor of the gardens. Once the footmen filled both plates, leaving the remainder of the food on a nearby table, they left, and Clive continued.
"Do you think me cruel enough to toy with your obvious pain, or are you erring on the side of madness?"
Devon couldn't help but smile at his friend's close estimation of his thoughts. It spoke volumes about their closeness for so long.
"I had chosen madness. I've never known you to be cruel."
"Ah," Clive smiled and chuckled over his cup, "I can assure you my family has a history of many sins, but madness isn't one of them. With such a sad tendency to having female children, one would assume otherwise, I know," he joked, kidding about his overabundance of sisters and female relatives. One trait Devon found intriguing since female relations were non-existent in his family.
"Well, you do realize the talk of late, with you fleeing to this barbaric wilderness and all. I have even heard your dear mama mention the term 'mental ailment' more than once when discussing your current state," Devon quipped while partaking in a well-stuffed piece of sausage. One thing was sure, he wouldn't starve while visiting.
"Yes, well any lack of wit can certainly be traced back to my dear mother, but–" Clive's expression turned solemn. "I know what I saw, man. Who could mistake Ella?"
Devon placed his fork on his plate and sat back. Emotions raw and exposed churned. Placing his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers in front of him. Ella, he had not used her name for four years. What he wanted to do was beat his friend bloody for bringing feelings he had well and buried back to the surface. Instead, he searched his friend's face, for what, he wasn't sure. After several tense moments of silence, Devon's heavy sigh broke through.
"Are you that certain? You did not spend so much time in London that year. The two of you met but a handful of times. Her beauty was evident, but no more so than any other English beauty. I am sure there are many women in Scotland who could rival her."
Clive sat with a calm expression on his face, too calm for Devon's liking, and listened to his friend dispute the possibility. "You said yourself you didn't look at her body. Isn't it possible it wasn't her? Mayhap, they took on a passenger, or even a passerby who witnessed the shooting."
Raking a hand through his hair, Devon fought an uncontrollable urge to flee. Every muscle in his body was prone to take flight. Why was he having to relive this again? Why couldn't he be left alone? Through gritted teeth, Devon measured his words with care. This was his friend after all, and he didn't want to say or do something he would regret later.
"How might, I ask, would Ella have been spared?" He had thought of these things in the early days after the tragedy. The answer to this question was by far the most agonizing of all the possibilities he pondered. "There is only one reason a highwayman would choose not to kill a female hostage, if they have already disposed of all the others. I personally do not care to think on those possibilities."
Clive winced at Devon's implication, but remained still and smug. "I am fairly certain she was not kept as a concubine if that is what you are suggesting. I think the better possibility is that she was away from the carriage when it was taken upon. Is that not a possibility?"
Devon had to admit that scenario was one he preferred to consider during his darker days. He would sit in his warm, almost comforting study, thanks to Ella, drinking large quantities of brandy while thinking of ways she might still be alive. She never felt dead to him. When his father died, he felt a finality, but with Ella, it never came. He suspected it was because their agreement had left many loose ends.
"Fine, let's imagine for the moment that she was in the bushes at the time. How would she have ended up here? Isn't that a bit too much of a coincidence?" Devon surely didn't believe in fate.
"Actually, it is entirely possible. You see, Ella's father and I are connected through the Scottish line. I never mentioned it because it is such a weak connection it hardly garnishes merit, but it does exist. Ella, no doubt, was planning on reuniting with some of our poorer connections here in Scotland."
Devon sat in utter silence. It was true. If one wanted to look back far enough, most English families had familial ties and Devon could well understand why Clive would keep such a connection quiet, considering the Baronet's tendencies to gambling. If word were to have gotten into the rumor mill, Clive would have had every man and moneylender in greater London banging down his doors.
"Why not tell me?"
"I don't know. It never seemed like it needed to be mentioned. I also knew the reason for the marriage and didn't feel you would want the waters muddied with any extraneous information. You two had made it cut and dried." Clive relaxed back into his seat. Taking his cup, he motioned for the footman to refresh it.
"You're serious, aren't you? You truly think she is alive." Devon heard the astonishment in his own voice. Could he believe? Should he believe? Moreover, if it was true, where did that leave him? There was still the agreement. He would be breaking it by seeking her out. The bigger question was whether he wanted to see her again.

Reviews

There are no reviews yet.

Be the first to review “Dealing with the Viscount by Clair Brett” Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Related products

Prev Next
  • Cover image of the book

    Ring of Desire by Ryshia Kennie

    0 out of 5

    Whispers of an ancient magic draw them together …

    In the medieval land of Hafne, a curse has swept through the land leaving it barren and without hope. As one of the chosen, Vala watches for signs of the prophecy and with it, the owner of a ring who is destined to fight by her side and drive away the darkness. The newly arrived Norman enemy is an unnecessary complication in Hafne—and in beautiful Vala’s heart.

    … An unspeakable evil fights to keep them apart.

    Giles arrives with his Norman men in time to rescue a mysterious woman from a watery death. Holding Vala in his arms, the stirrings of destiny and desire begin, binding him to a prophecy of which he surely wants no part—binding him to a search for his true origins and a fight to save his soul and hers.

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • Cover image of the book

    Kydona by Thomas Krug

    0 out of 5

    Named for heaven, the kingdom of Elessia once served as a beacon to the world. Now its name has become a byword for decadence. When Lord Prince Marcus hears the beginnings of a vast conspiracy from the lips of his dying mother, he sets out to uncover the motives lurking behind the war his father waged. With the help of Kaelyn—a sharp-tongued courtesan nursing a long-hidden desire—and Vernon de Gauthier—a near-disturbingly prolific womanizer with a weakness for apples—Marcus slowly unearths the truth: his country lies on the brink of collapse. And soon, the vanquished nation of Kydona will rise to settle a generation-old score.

    In Elessia’s debauched court, the threat goes unheeded. Marcus’s romances bloom and just as quickly wither. Blood is shed, lives extinguished. It matters little. Quarrel and murder, lust and love, right and wrong—the lines that separate these are hopelessly blurred in the throes of court intrigue. And the difference between each rests on a knife edge so sharp that even a hero cannot tell them apart.

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • JonnetCarmichael-Chieftain-Needs-Heir

    The Chieftain Needs an Heir – a Highland ménage novella by Jonnet Carmichael

    0 out of 5

    Clan MacKrannan is rumoured to have many strange and secret traditions from centuries past. The chieftain Niall and his wife Sorcha discover just how peculiar they are when the Heir’s Cradle is still empty after many moons. A special fertility ritual is called for – the ‘REMEDIE FOR WYFES TOO TALLE’. Niall knows his heart belongs to Sorcha, despite his absences to go wenching. He must accept the hard life lesson that believing is never quite as beneficial as seeing. Sorcha knows that all the clan’s enacted Traditions are witnessed. What she must accept is that witnesses sometimes join in…

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • WilliamNewell-ReturnToScotland

    Return to Scotland by William Newell

    0 out of 5

    It’s been three years since John and Katie visited Glasgow and vanished into ancient Scotland. Their marriage, once on the rocks, is much stronger than ever before. Katie has decided she’d like to go back and write the story of what had happened to them. As part of her research, she visits the place her family the Cathcarts come from – Cathcart, Glasgow. When they visit the graves of Katie’s most ancient ancestor, a strange haze comes over both, bringing them to a time and place neither had suspected. The Highland Clearances (1820) finds both Katie and John lost and separated. They discover Katie’s ancestors were oppressive Lowlands landlords whose task was to clear off the lands, while John is whisked away to the actual Highlands. Katie’s task is to help her father in the clearances themselves to coordinate the movement of families away from their traditional lands to the Scottish coast. Naturally, John’s family doesn’t want to move and Katie is horrified by what she sees when she gets there. What happens to these two lovers turned opposing parties? Will they come together and break through the oppressive nature of Katie’s historic parents? What happens when they are reunited and how will they ever make it back to present day? Find out in this heartwarming Sequel of this Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance series.

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • Cover image of the book

    Margaret of the North by EJourney @eholychair

    0 out of 5

    Margaret is intelligent, independent-minded, and passionate about her own concerns. But how does she carve a niche and an identity for herself within the repressive constraints of Victorian society? This sequel to Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South takes off from the concluding scene in its retelling on the BBC miniseries. It is a Victorian feminist bildungsroman (coming-of-age novel) couched in romance.

    Gaskell wrote Margaret Hale as a character blossoming into one who did not fit the mold of the typical woman of her time. She exudes a natural self-assurance and a brooding intelligence that butts itself against John Thornton, the virile alpha male who is, nevertheless, vulnerable.

    Margaret of the North focuses on how Margaret whittles away at Victorian repression—both self-imposed or socially-dictated. She marries John Thornton and confronts not only her place in a rapidly changing society but also her growing awareness of her persona as a woman with compelling sexual, familial, and self-actualizing needs. One who wants a voice and makes a mark.

    The romance is not only in the love between John and Margaret but also in the adventure and excitement Margaret undergoes as she discovers herself, a journey that happens quietly and mostly internally.

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • Cover image of the book

    Threads of Betrayal by Monica Koldyke Miller

    0 out of 5

    Reagan Burnsfield has no interest in finding himself a wife. But that’s exactly what he must do when a lumber contract falls through and threatens the family business. Marrying the beautiful debutante Amanda Bruester for her dowry will solve his short term need as well as give him the wife of his dreams.

    His courtship is hindered until they are arrested after stumbling upon bounty hunters hotly pursuing runaway slaves. In the ensuing scandal, Amanda chooses marriage over betraying her Aunt Gabriella’s illegal activities in the Underground Railroad.

    Yet, despite being properly wed, another suitor, Derrick Banning, is determined to break apart their hasty marriage. He fancies it is he, not “that arrogant lumberman,” who should be enjoying Amanda’s wealth. While snowed in at his lumber camp, Amanda discovers papers that imply Reagan’s offer of marriage wasn’t the sacrifice she thought it to be. Despite his assurances that he acted to protect her, Amanda begins to doubt everything about him.

    To complicate matters, mysterious scratches on Reagan’s back seem to point to infidelity, further proving he’s the untrustworthy knave Derrick claims him to be. When a prostitute’s body is found in his office and Reagan is arrested for murder, Amanda flees to her aunt’s house until the mystery can be solved.

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • AmyIsan-HighlandersKiss

    Highlander’s Kiss by Amy Isan

    0 out of 5

    “A dark fog settles on the Highlands…

    With Scotland still reeling from the reveal of the Maxwell conspiracy, Gavin MacKenzie and Elyn MacDonald are finally ready to satisfy their racing hearts and wed. But, when a missive from the King arrives and demands the MacKenzies pay for their treason, Gavin must leave the warmth of Elyn’s embrace to cross the desolate highlands and correct his past mistakes.

    Elyn MacDonald fears the worst. The chilling anxiety that runs through her veins isn’t just for Gavin’s safety, but for her own. As she steals off into the night for a breath of fresh air, hands reach from the darkness and pull her away from her home. She soon finds herself trapped in the sorrowful and dilapidated dungeon in the heart of Maxwell Land. As she grips the iron bars that hold her prisoner, she only hopes that Gavin has escaped a similar fate…

    As Gavin and Elyn are torn from each other, their love is put to the ultimate test in Highlander’s Kiss, book two of Misty Highlands.”

    Purchase
    Quick View
  • Cover image of the book

    Love Underground by Vanessa

    0 out of 5

    Elaine is a college sophomore who is dragged off by her friends to a Native American burial mound on Halloween. They perform an ancient ritual to speak with the dead, but Elaine ends up meeting someone or something who is still very much alive.

    Love Underground is a hot, sweet, and spooky paranormal romance that is perfect for the Halloween season.

    Purchase
    Quick View

Book Categories

  • Collections & Anthologies
  • Contemporary
  • Erotica
  • Fantasy
  • Gothic
  • Historical Romance
  • Multicultural & Interracial
  • Mystery & Suspense
  • Paranormal
  • Romantic Comedy
  • Science Fiction
  • Time Travel
  • Westerns
  • Romance
  • Author Interviews
banner-01testtesttesttest
banner-01testtesttesttest
banner-01testtesttesttest

Top Rated Products

  • Driving the Billionaire Boss (An MFMM Menage) by Sienna Crane
    5.00 out of 5
  • More Than Everything by Delphie Gray
    5.00 out of 5
  • Her Majesty's Harem by N.J. Adel
    5.00 out of 5
  • Crashing Into Me by R.L JACKSON
    5.00 out of 5
  • Captured by Conner Kincaid
    5.00 out of 5

Author Marketing Club

WantonReads.com supports indie authors!

for Authors

  • Submit Your Book
  • Submit an Author Interview
  • Get Featured Placement

for Readers

  • Discover New Books
  • Meet the Authors
  • About WantonReads

Thanks for visiting!

  • Contact Us
  • Privacy Policy
© 2022 - WantonReads.com
View Cart Checkout Continue Shopping