An Invitation to Seduction

When multiple New York Times bestselling author Lorraine Heath received her BA degree in psychology from the University of Texas, she had no idea she had gained a foundation that would help her create believable characters—characters often described as “real people.” The daughter ofxa0a British beauty and a Texan stationed at RAF Bovingdon, Lorraine was born in England but soon after moved to Texas. Her dual nationality has given her a love for all things British and Texan, and she enjoys weaving both heritages through her stories. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. An Invitation to Seduction By Heath, Lorraine Avon Books ISBN: 0060529466 Chapter One The Cornish CoastMay 1881 He had the look of danger about him. Kitty Robertson recognized it the moment shespotted him, standing alone on the rocky shore, gazingout to sea, toward the horizon, as though he were daringthe sun to rise. Or perhaps he was commanding it not to. Because its brightness would surely reveal what thedawn shadows were presently hiding, what had immediatelycaptured her breath and her attention when she'dclambered over the rocks, hoping for a bit of isolatedseashore: his perfect, naked form standing proud asthough he had been carved from the very boulders onwhich he stood. He was truly magnificent. It took every bit of willpowershe possessed to stay rooted exactly where shewas when she desperately wanted to cross the short distance that separated them and touch him. Trail her fingersover those sculpted muscles that were burningbronze as the sun pushed back the last remnants of night. She'd never seen anything so glorious -- except in thatsecret, dark corner of her mind where lustful thoughtstempted her with wickedness, shamed her with their clarity.She knew a lady of her upbringing shouldn't harborsuch vivid, carnal images -- much less crave the sight ofthem. And yet she did. Whenever her mind had occasionto drift, it was lured toward perilous thoughts that threatenedher purity. And that was the very reason that this man was so extremelydangerous. Because he embodied every sinfulfantasy that she'd ever dared to dream. As the morning's light faded from gray, she could seethat the thick, black strands of his hair were too heavywith dampness to move much with the breeze thatwafted in across the sea. He'd been swimming no doubt,and she marveled that he wasn't shivering. The waters offthe coast of England were cold, not nearly as welcomingas the warm currents that washed in off the Texas coastin summer. She'd often swum in the Gulf of Mexico, had actuallybeen contemplating a quick dip into these chilly waters. Until she'd happened upon Poseidon here. The man didtruly resemble a god. From the top of his head, along theentire length of his long torso and longer legs, down to hisrounded heels. As unacceptable as it was, she wished he'dturn so she might glimpse a full view of him. A decent woman would have averted her gaze immediatelyupon spying him; she wouldn't have ducked backand prayed that she wouldn't be sighted while sheleisurely took her fill of him, cataloging each dip andcurve and flat plane that had come together to create suchperfection. Unexpectedly, he twisted and crouched, to retrieve hisclothing she realized at the exact moment that his gazefell on her, holding her captive as easily as his lean bodyhad only moments before. He seemed slightly startled,not overly alarmed, more curious than anything else.And she realized the sun that had so clearly revealed himwas now also exposing her. She spun on her heel, lifted her skirts, and darted backthe way she'd come, scampering over the rocks until theygave way to the pebble-and-sand shore. She broke into afull run, the wind whipping her hair in her face, pressingher skirt against her legs. She ran until she reached thepath she'd followed to the shore. Ran until she reached aless desolate area, where her passing would no longer bemarked. When the brush thickened, she found a placewhere she could lie on the cool grass unobserved. Shecurled into a tight ball, wrapped her arms closely aroundherself, and wept. Wept because she was as wicked as the woman whohad given birth to her without the benefit of marriage.Wept because no matter how hard she tried, she neverwas as pure as the woman who had raised her. Wept because her body was hot with lust, and she feareda time would come when the lust would consume her. Richard Stanbury, the sixth Duke of Weddington,pressed a light kiss to the papery-thin cheek the duchesshad turned up toward him as soon as he'd entered thedining room. "Good morning, Mother. You're up early." "Not nearly as early as you apparently." Deigning to ignore the tone of chastisement in hervoice, he walked to the sideboard and exhibited unparalleledinterest in loading his plate with the varied offerings.He was always starving after an early-morningswim. Starving and invigorated. He was especially invigorated this morning after catchingsight of the siren who'd been watching him from behinda massive boulder. He'd wanted to follow her, buthe'd hardly been in a state to do so, and by the time he'dthrown on his clothes, she'd disappeared. Not that hisdamp and rumpled appearance would have impressedher or caused her not to fear him. Still, it might have beenworth the effort and the risk. He was trying to determinewhether he should be embarrassed, intrigued, or merelyamused by the fact he'd been caught -- quite unawaresand obviously naked -- by the young woman. He sat at his place at the head of the table, set down hisplate, and took a sip of the tea that the footman had alreadyprepared and sweetened to his liking. "I'm not quite certain it's seemly for you to be goingout at dawn," his mother said. "It would be more unseemly should I be arriving homeat dawn, I should think." His mother harrumphed. Deducing that he'd expertlyput an end to that avenue of conversation, he enjoyed hisfirst bite of poached egg before opening The Times ,which his butler had dutifully ironed and set at Richard'splace before his arrival -- exactly as it had been preparedfor his father when he was alive. More than sixteen yearshad passed since Richard had easily, albeit guiltily,stepped into his father's shoes and inherited the daily ritualsand traditions as well as the titles. Continues... Excerpted from An Invitation to Seduction by Heath, Lorraine Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.