Open Road Media Romance

“I would have you, Isolde, despite the name FitzHugh that you bear. I would have you to wife.”

He dominated her, but she tamed him

Al‍­though Charles had suc‍­ceeded in con‍­vin‍­cing Elspeth to join the fam‍­ily at the table, his an‍­nounce‍­ment of their forth‍­com‍­ing nup‍­tials to Cous‍­in Hat‍­tie and Aunt Eu‍­genia did not cause an out‍­pour‍­ing of good will.

he still wrestled and maintained his reputation as the most formidable sportsman in the country.

JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now?

One
“JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now?

JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now

There you had it. Right up front. I wasn’t one of the popular girls. I read books. All the time. In between classes. During study hall. After school, before dinner, after work and studying, before bed, I read. On weekends, I read. I went babysitting. And I read. Romances. Always romances.

I looked around. After having been in class with the same kids for four long years, it was still a little weird to me being in a classroom where I didn’t know a single soul.

The room buzzed with energy. Freshman energy. After all life was just beginning. The future was more question than answer—resting largely on the success or failure of the next four years in classrooms just like that one.

Did I stand out?

I didn’t have to be there to obtain a future.

I had my future planned. I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t going to be swayed.

It was the fall of 1977. I had my whole world lying before me