The Counterfeit Countess by Cheryl Bolen

Author:Cheryl Bolen [Bolen, Cheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780821777893
Google: YaCsWxPTjmwC
Amazon: 0821777890
Barnesnoble: 0821777890
Goodreads: 3202317
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2005-01-27T11:00:00+00:00

middle of nowhere, she’d vow. She had not put up the least resistance when he had informed her they would leave London within the hour.

She had almost fallen at his feet in gratitude, for after the terrifying abduction attempt she had been possessed of a frantic desperation to leave London, to go where those evil people could not find her. The gruesome memory of Andrew Bibble’s dead body kept rising before her, and she was too keenly aware that in all likelihood, she would meet the same fate.

Yet as she sat so close to Lord Warwick she felt safe. His powerful presence dispelled her fears now as it had done the day of the thunderstorm. Once she was in his arms, all her fears had vanished.

He was her own personal dragon slayer—despite what Lord Carrington had said about him. The thought of Lord Carrington reminded her that one of the abductors knew the woman they sought wore a silver-threaded dress. The man responsible for the abduction—the one who paid the band of cutthroats—must have been at Almack’s assembly rooms tonight. Either Harry Lyle or Lord Carrington.

Of course, it could have been someone else, perhaps someone she had never met, someone who had Maggie pointed out to him. But she thought not. There was the previous disturbance in her chambers when only three men beside Lord Warwick knew she was in London: Mr. Lyle, Lord Carrington, and another man whose name she could not remember, a gentleman who had a position at the Foreign Office.

Because of Harry’s amiability, she did not wish for her enemy to be him, but she did not want it to be Lord Carrington, either. He seemed so passionate about his precious Foreign Office she could not believe he would ever thwart his own efforts. Besides, a blueblood with generations of ties to England who had more money than he could ever spend had no reason to betray his country.

She yawned.

“Tired?” Lord Warwick asked in a voice one would use with a child. Or a sweetheart.

She nodded. “It’s been quite a night.” She regretted the pride and obstinacy that had compelled her to refuse the offer of his shoulder. She ached to melt into him, to shed her woes in his all-too-comforting embrace. Yet were he to ask again, her answer would not change. She would have to deny her need for his touch. Its potency could strip her of every ounce of pride, could rob her of rational thought. Worst of all, she could drop her guard.

And she could not allow herself to do that.

“We should be in St. Albans shortly,” he said. “We’ll stop there for a few hours’ rest.”

It took all her strength to nod as her head rested against the window. The inky black skies paled as they rode into the dawn and stopped at the posting inn in St. Albans.

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