By Lisa Kleypas

"""LOVE, BE STILL,"" HE WHISPERED, AND SLIPPED ONE ARM round her again AS HE WONDERINGLY STROKED HER YIELDING FLESH, AROUSING HER WITH THE delicate BRUSH OF HIS hands. ""YOU'RE excellent ...""

Beautiful younger Rosalie Belleau used to be swept up into an aristocratic international of luxurious, license and complicated intrigue whilst the main infamous and good-looking rake in London, Lord Randall Berkeley, kidnapped her within the trust that she was once any man's for the taking. sooner than he discovered his mistake, he had branded her along with his hope --- and misplaced his center to this woman so not like any he had ever recognized. either Rosalie, waking to womanhood, and Sir Randall, studying the facility of affection, have been in the dead of night approximately one another --- until eventually the flames of ardour lit their approach via a labyrinth of possibility ... to the stunning heights of ecstasy ...
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Extra info for Where Passion Leads (Berkeley-Faulkner, Book 1)

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What precisely do you recommend? " she inquired warily. "What might you are saying to calling a truce? " A truce. Rosalie toyed with the sleek textile of her new costume as a debate raged in her brain. A truce, a cessation of hostility. however it will be cheating to conform to anything like that whereas she nonetheless felt adverse towards him. It could not be replaced simply. now and then she only needed to examine him to suppose a similar anger and helplessness  that  had  crammed  her  as  he  had  stripped  off  her outfits and brought her. He was once the single guy who had ever had intimate wisdom of her, and she or he hated the truth that whereas there will be others sooner or later, he could consistently be the 1st. She might by no means be capable to fail to remember that sunlit room at Berkeley sq. and what had  occurred  there,  and  that  by myself  used to be  cause  to despise him. in all probability he observed her now as an individual with emotions, yet as soon as lie had seemed on her as just a physique from which he used to be entitled to scouse borrow his excitement. "It will be unnecessary to try," she acknowledged in a low voice, looking on the rows of soiled homes they handed. She felt a weight choose her shoulders, and she or he persisted whereas feeling horribly responsible at refusing his overture. "I want  I  had  a  extra  forgiving  nature,  yet  I  do not. It would not paintings. " Rand nodded a bit of, his face implacable, his mouth grim as he clicked to the pony and elevated their speed. evidently the concept had no longer happened to her that the location  used to be  glued  jointly  in simple terms  via  his  oftenneglected feel of honor—he may possibly depart her on any highway nook and not be with the sight of her back! Then he discarded the idea of pointing that   out,   disgusted   with   himself. Frightening   a defenseless girl gave him no excitement. within the resulting moments of silence he was once unfastened to research his bizarre mix of reactions to her phrases. He used to be indignant at her refusal to cry truce. The worst a part of him recommended quite snidely that, contemplating who used to be who and what was once what, she had no correct to refuse his tentative provide of friendship. one other a part of him used to be vaguely damage, as though he had prolonged a hand to a fluffy kitten and bought a scratch for his hassle. And but total his regard for her had elevated, for she had made it transparent that she might play neither the saint nor the martyr by way of mouthing phrases of forgiveness that she didn't think. He questioned how you can take care of her. the one approach to the matter appeared to lie in staying as distant from her as attainable. From then on it appeared that the strains have been drawn, for Rand made not more methods and Rosalie made no concessions. an afternoon handed, after which one other, and their development used to be repeated till per week was once at the back of them. regardless of the short snaps and arguments, the lengthy silences and oddly annoying, watchful conversations, Rosalie knew that she may bear in mind these days on the Lothaire as being idyllic. She slipped into the French language as though it have been a geared up glove, the lilting accents usually reminding her of Amille. Rand left her on my own a wide a part of the time as he went both to the docks or to ascertain on homes that the Berkeleys owned, and she or he nestled within the comfortable haven of the hotel with contentment.

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