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Robert Campbell, Marquess of Argyll, heir to the Duke of Inverary, has no idea who Angelica truly is. He just wants to watch over her and make her his mistress.
Angelica thinks Robert is simply a dashing rogue who is far too dangerous for her peace of mind. Robert thinks Angelica is an angel except when she’s being a pain in the behind.
When Robert finds out that his own father may have been one of the men who ruined Angelica’s family, he vows to keep a careful eye on her. When Angelica finds out that Robert’s father may have been one of the men responsible, she vows to stay as far away from Robert as possible. But when danger threatens, both Robert and Angelica must face the truth and let fate take the upper hand.
Enjoy an excerpt:
“Why are you walking, angel?”
Startled by the voice, Angelica whirled around to see Robert on horseback. Her heart beat faster at the sight of him. Had she conjured the man up by thinking of him? Such happenings were possible.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“I asked why you were walking instead of riding,” Robert replied.
“I forgot my wings at home,” Angelica told him.
“Would you care for a ride?”
Angelica smiled politely and refused, saying, “I never travel with strangers.”
“We aren’t strangers.” Robert gave her a boyish grin and added, “You’ve just stolen—I mean, won—a small fortune from me. The least you can do is allow me to escort you home.”
Angelica wanted desperately to ride with him. She wanted to keep company with a gentleman and live a normal life. Sacred sevens, she wanted her old life back
Duty defeated desire.
“Making your acquaintance has been a pleasure,” Angelica said, turning away.
“Several people saw you pocket that money,” Robert reminded her.
Angelica saw the sense in what he was saying. Yet, she suffered the uncanny feeling that accepting his offer would change her life forever. Would that be a bad thing? She certainly wasn’t happy with her present life.
“I live on the far side of Primrose Hill,” Angelica said, turning toward him with a smile lighting her face.
Robert dismounted in order to help her up. The sound of a galloping horse broke the silence around them, and they turned in time to see a man on horseback aim a pistol at them.
Robert dove for the ground as the shot rang out and took Angelica with him. She heard their attacker’s horse galloping away.
Robert lay on top of her and stared into her eyes. Caught by his dark gaze, Angelica felt her cheeks heating with an embarrassed blush.
“The danger has passed,” she managed to whisper, feeling the warmth of his body seeping through her light clothing.
Robert seemed in no hurry to release her. “You’ve lost your crown of flowers,” he said.
My first brush with the romance genre happened in my high school junior year. I discovered Gone With the Wind and hid it behind my American history book to read during class. (The Civil War is American history.) The ambiguous ending left me dissatisfied, though. Rhett and Scarlet needed a happily-ever-after. Believing in happily-ever-afters positively screams romantic-at-heart.
On the other hand, I love murder and mayhem as much as happily-ever-after. My usual television fare is fiction and nonfiction crime shows, not love stories. Which accounts for the mysteries I sneaked into my historical romances. Now I'm trying my hand at writing a humorous mystery, sans historical and sans emphasis on the love interest. I even prepared for my mystery-in-progress by attending the local NRA's Pistol School. Shooting pistols is great fun. I adore the .22 semiautomatics.
After graduating from high school without distinction, I earned both Bachelor and Master degrees at a state college. Again, without distinction. I held several part-time jobs during my college days: file clerk in an insurance company, long-distance telephone operator, kimono-wearing waitress in a Japanese restaurant.
And then I began my teaching career, eighteen years in the eighth grade and thirteen years at the high school. Weary with the same old routine, I decided I needed a creative outlet. So I decided to write a romance novel but only managed to talk about writing one. After five years of listening to me, a friend said to stop talking and start writing.
So I did.
I made every mistake known to man. Blunder would be a more appropriate word, but I did learn using the trial and error method. As well as studying the works of authors I admired.
After five years of writing for nothing but love, I sold my first novel. Since then, I've sold eighteen novels and won several awards--- National Readers' Choice Award New England Readers' Choice Award, Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice and KISS Awards, B. Dalton and Bookrak Awards for best-selling author. My novels have been translated into fifteen languages and sold in twenty countries.
If I had my life over, would I become a writer? Nope. I would enjoy being a Victoria Secret model. Perhaps in my next incarnation I won't be too old, too short, or too unphotogenic.
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