“Yes, my lord.”
The door clicked shut behind the maid. The air throbbed between them. Lucien swept a hand down Rosalind’s soft cheek, his hand grazing the pulse point at her throat.
“I love you, Rosalind.” He slid pins from her hair until long strands fell loose around her shoulders.
Slowly her head rose and her gaze connected with his. A jolt of recognition seared his body.
She grinned. “I know. I love you too.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Lucien stepped away from temptation to strip off his crumpled black jacket. His blood-speckled shirt followed. “I’m not sure you do,” he said, his voice quiet and solemn. “But you will after the next two days.”
The color in her cheeks heightened, but her gaze never wavered. “I like the idea.” Her blue eyes danced like a rippling Italian pool. “Show me.”
One hand trailed down his bare chest, while pure love blazed across her face. Lucien’s heart slammed against his ribs. “With pleasure, my lady. We have an heir to produce.” As he spoke, his hands undid laces and pushed fabric aside to reveal silken skin. He bent and pressed his lips to the tender place where her neck joined her shoulder. His teeth nipped before soothing the bite with a gentle press of his lips. Rosalind made a soft sound of approval and arched her neck to give him better access.
“Do you like that?” Lucien didn’t wait for an answer but whisked her dress down, baring her breasts. He smiled as he smoothed the back of his hand across her plump curves. So beautiful. He had difficulty believing she was his wife.
“I’m not only your wife, but I love you.” Her blue eyes twinkled up at him.
“It will take me time to get used to you reading my mind.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosalind said. “I—”
Lucien stopped her apology with a kiss. His lips slid across hers, nipping and tasting. Tormenting. Desire stirred, riding him hard. She was so sweet. His, and a second chance for love.
He slid his hands down her shoulders and cupped her breasts before scooping her off her feet with a suddenness that made her squeak. He carried her over to the bed. After stripping off her remaining clothing, he yanked off his breeches, shoes, and stockings and joined her. He drew her close, angled his mouth over hers and laced his hands into her long hair.
“Ah, Lucien,” she murmured.
Their naked limbs brushed together. Slowly, he explored her body with careful attention to detail. He touched her breasts, her shoulders, her belly, and her legs until she ached for his possession. Lucien wedged her thighs apart and surged into her body, kissing her fiercely at the same time. Rosalind arched into him. Frissons of desire spilled through her as they rocked together. The sensation built, growing bigger and bigger until the pleasure exploded inside her.
For a long time after, Rosalind clung to Lucien’s powerful shoulders, savoring the closeness, the togetherness, and of being one with him and no longer rejected. Instead, his actions told of his love and the way he treasured her. This was security, and she was finally home.
She pressed a kiss to his muscular chest. The spurned viscountess had won the viscount’s heart.
Thank you for reading The Unwilling Viscount and the Vixen. How did you enjoy Rosalind’s and Lucien’s adventures at Castle St, Clare? I’d love to learn what you thought so please consider leaving a review at your favorite online bookstore, Goodreads, or Bookbub. A review would make my day.
I write in several different genres and historical eras. Please turn the page for an excerpt from Unforgettalbe, a World War II set romance plus an excerpt from Lynx to the Pharaoh, a historical paranormal romance set during Victorian times. If you’d like to keep up with my releases, check out my newsletter or follow me on Bookbub.
Shelley
Excerpt – Unforgettable
A World War Two Romance
The clear notes of a trumpet blared, forcing her back to the present. A piano tinkled a bright and gay tune while a husky voice crooned words of blue birds and Dover. Chatter and laughter, some tinged with desperation, spilled from inside the dancehall. Anything to forget the horrid war for a few short hours. Margo paused on the threshold with her two friends, letting her eyes adjust to the brighter light after the blackout conditions on the street outside.
“Lots of soldiers,” June, one of her Women’s Auxiliary Air Force or WAAF friends, said after scanning the room. They checked their coats into the cloakroom. “I hope we’re not too late and all the good dancers are taken.”
“Ooh, flyboys,” Caroline said, a gleam of excitement lighting her eyes when she spied the blue uniforms.
Margo laughed. “Thank goodness men aren’t rationed. Otherwise, we would be in trouble.”
“Good men are so scarce, they might as well issue ration coupons. It’s all right for you,” June said. “You’re engaged.”
Margo straightened the smart blue jacket of her uniform. Absentmindedly, she twirled the ring on her left hand. Two years ago none of them would have considered attending a dance dressed like this, let alone without an escort. The war had changed everything. It had certainly changed her life.
“Come on, Margo! Stop fiddling with that ring. Let’s dance.” June’s excited smile lit up her plain face, taking it to beautiful.
Engaged. Margo couldn’t believe she’d actually said yes to Peter. She didn’t love him as a wife should love a husband. What she felt was more friendship, which wasn’t the same thing at all. The backs of her eyes stung suddenly, and Margo blinked rapidly.
Johnnie.
Her slim frame tensed as Johnnie’s image slipped into her mind. His short dark hair with its rebellious curl. His serious brown eyes. She could almost feel his strong muscular body and the way his muscles rippled beneath her hands when they’d stood close and danced. And his smile, the one that made her insides twist and melt and long for his touch, his kiss. Her breath eased out on a depressed sigh, her mind returning to Peter. Blond where Johnnie was dark. As different as the blackout conditions of the night were from the bright sunlight of a summer’s day. The engagement had made her parents happy. Peter’s parents were ecstatic. Even Peter appeared excited. Margo was having trouble summoning the same joy when it felt as though her life were running out of control. Friendship was no basis for a marriage, despite how happy it had made their parents. Following her friends through the press of bodies, she gave the gold diamond ring one last self-conscious twirl.
Johnnie.
It was still Johnnie.
What happens when Johnnie reappears in Margo’s life? Learn more.
Excerpt – Lynx to the Pharaoh
A historical paranormal romance
Charlotte blinked up at the large man who’d woken her. Nervous because of the way he towered over her, she scrambled to her feet. Sudden shooting pins and needles in legs cramped from staying in one place made her wobble precariously and cry out loud. The man moved so quick she didn’t register until her hand tightened around his forearm. Warm skin greeted her touch along with a shudder of awareness at his stark masculinity. Now here was a man who could tempt her. Maybe, just maybe…
He was tall and lean with a build hinting at muscles beneath the fabric of his clothing. His dark, curly hair framed his head, unruly enough that she had the urge to smooth it with her hands and tug long strands from his queue. In fact, she acknowledged to herself her hands itched to stroke more than his hair. How odd! Charlotte jerked up her chin, wary yet enthralled by the striking stranger. It took her an instant longer to release the man’s arm.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she said, uneasy suddenly with the intimacy of the cave and the glow she could see in his tawny eyes.
What was wrong with her? After George’s death, she didn’t want to marry again. The experience had left her wanting and confused about why women sought marriage. She intended to remain a widow for the rest of her days.
“I need to return to camp before my stepbrother starts to worry.” Or loses his temper wit
h me. Charlotte wrinkled her nose at that thought. William’s temperament hovered in uncertain territory these days, and his wrath was a sight to make a grown man or woman tremble. She didn’t want to raise his ire. All the more reason to hurry back to camp.
“Let me escort you back.” The stranger paused to smile and offer his arm. The flash of even white teeth pushed her awareness of his raw sexuality even higher, and nerves skittered through her. She felt unaccountably jumpy. But not frightened, she realized in puzzlement. How peculiar this strange sensation was…
“Your brother has hired me as a guide. I am Sethmet Khalil.”
“Our guide?” Charlotte snapped her mouth shut when she heard herself parrot the man.
“That’s right.” He glanced down at his arm then back at her. One dark brow rose in silent mockery, and Charlotte realized she’d been staring. Her gaze shot to her half boots before she extended her hand and placed it on the hard sinews of his forearm.
They strolled across the sand and rock floor of the cave as though they paraded in one of London’s finest ballrooms.
“What made you decide to travel to Egypt?” he asked.
Charlotte paused and found herself wanting to tell the truth. “My husband died eight months ago. I wanted to have a break from London.” A break from the sympathetic tabbies and the puckered brows when she so much as spoke to an unmarried man.
“Ah,” he said.
Charlotte wondered what he meant by that since his face didn’t yield a clue. The silence between them intensified. Charlotte swallowed and fought to think of suitable chitchat to fill the void. Aware of the social chasm between them yet desperately wanting to breach it, she blurted, “I saw a cat last night.”
He paused inside the mouth of the cave and looked down at her with an impassive expression. The seconds dragged out.
“It was beautiful,” Charlotte said, recalling the proud and sleek creature standing in the light of her lamp.
“Are you sure? There are no footprints out here.”
His voice was low, husky and it strummed along her nerve endings. Charlotte shivered when a picture formed in her mind. A naked man and woman rubbing their bodies against each other. A small gasp of shock emerged when she recognized their faces. His—Sethmet’s—and hers. Heat pooled in her cheeks while nerves danced in the pit of her stomach. This was so unlike her, yet she couldn’t rid her mind of the truth. She wanted him to touch her, to remove her clothes and stroke her body. She wanted him sexually. The realization stunned her since intimacy with her late husband George had been anything but inspiring. Certainly nothing more than duty and the need to produce an heir. Charlotte inhaled sharply and struggled to regroup. It was fatigue, that’s all.
“Perhaps the storm covered the prints, Mr. Khalil.”
He grinned without warning. “Call me Sethmet.” The accented words underscored his amusement.
“I am Charlotte.” It seemed pointless to keep to formalities when she was so far from home. And with the way her mind kept drifting to intimacies featuring this man. “Lady Charlotte Webster.”
“Lady Charlotte.” Sethmet rolled her name, making it sound unusual. Exotic. “Come. It is early still. No one stirs in your camp. Would you like to watch the birds on the oasis and break your fast with me?” He indicated the basket he held in his other hand.
“How do you know I am staying at the camp?”
“A process of deduction since no Englishwoman has arrived with the camel trains during recent weeks. I would have heard the gossip at the caravanserai.”
“Of course.” Uncertainty made her pause. “I’m not sure I should go with you.”
“I do not intend you harm,” he said gravely.
But he wanted to kiss her, she thought. Touch her. The knowledge shimmered between them like a splendid secret.
Uncertain but tempted, she exited the cave at his side. Ribbons of color streaked the morning sky, a faint splash of orange and a deep pink. Charlotte sighed, feeling more at home in this foreign place than she’d ever felt amongst society in London. She strolled over the uneven rocks, conscious of the flex of muscles in his arm and the brush of his trousers against her skirt. She shot a quick glance in his direction and discovered he was watching her with distinct interest and speculation. Temptation slithered through her and made her feel sympathy for Eve facing the apple. Seductive temptation indeed.
“Can we go past the camp first?” Maybe that would be best. Safer.
“If it would put your mind at rest.”
Charlotte shook her head, aware she didn’t want to do the right thing. She didn’t know the man, and yet it didn’t seem to matter. Instinctively she trusted him.
They slid down a short rocky slope and rounded the base of a dune. In the distance, the canvas tents were visible, framed against another sand dune. A faint plume of smoke rose, indicating the native cooks were awake and preparing for the day. If she returned now, she’d have to go to her tent. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful morning. What her brother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him…
What is Sethmet’s plan? Learn more.
About Shelley
USA Today bestselling author Shelley Munro lives in Auckland, the City of Sails, with her husband and a cheeky Jack Russell/mystery breed puppy.
Typical New Zealanders, Shelley and her husband left home for their big OE soon after they married (translation of New Zealand speak – big overseas experience). A twelve-month long adventure lengthened to six years of roaming the world. Enduring memories include being almost sat on by a mountain gorilla in Rwanda, lazing on white sandy beaches in India, whale watching in Alaska, searching for leprechauns in Ireland, and dealing with ghosts in an English pub.
While travel is still a big attraction, these days Shelley is most likely found in front of her computer following another love – that of writing stories of contemporary and paranormal romance and adventure. Other interests include watching rugby (strictly for research purposes), cycling, baking bread and curling up with an enjoyable book.
Visit Shelley at her website.
Join Shelley’s newsletter.
Visit Shelley’s Facebook author page.
Follow Shelley at BookBub.
Other Books By Shelley
Paranormal
Sea of Change
Price of Love
Lynx to the Pharaoh
Curse of Brandon Lupinus
Churchill Polar Bears
Fiona’s Mates
Kendall’s Mates
Renee’s Mates
Dragon Investigators
Blue Moon Dragon
Blood Moon Dragon
Black Moon Dragon
Middlemarch Capture
Snared by Saber
Favored by Felix
Lost with Leo
Spellbound with Sly
Journey with Joe
Bundle
Middlemarch Capture
Middlemarch Shifters
My Scarlet Woman
My Younger Lover
My Peeping Tom
My Assassin
My Estranged Lover
My Feline Protector
My Determined Suitor
My Cat Burglar
My Stray Cat
My Second Chance
My Plan B
My Cat Nap
My Romantic Tangle
My Blue Lady
My Twin Trouble
Bundle
Middlemarch Shifters 1 – 3
Middlemarch Shifters 4 - 6
House of the Cat series
Sampled & Seduced
Captured & Seduced
Claimed & Seduced
Merry & Seduced
Stranded & Seduced
Seized & Seduced
Hunted & Seduced
Festive & Seduced
Betrayed & Seduced
Enticed & Seduced
Bundle
House of the Cat
Contemporary
Wild C
hild
One Night of Misbehavior
Blindside
Fringe Benefits
Lovers at Last
Ain’t Misbehaving
Playing to Win
Summer Encounter
Reformed Bad Girl
Stranger Things Happen
Fancy Free
Protection
Buzz
Bundle
Audacious
Friendship Chronicles
Secret Lovers
Reunited Lovers
Clandestine Lovers
Part-Time Lovers
Enemy Lovers
Military Men
Innocent Next Door
Soldiers with Benefits
Safeguarding Sorrel
Stranded with Ella
Bundle
Military Men
Sci-fi/Futuristic
Interplanetary Love
Sex Idol
Alien Encounter series
Janaya
Hinekiri
Alexandre
Bundle
Alien Encounter
Gay Romance
No Defense
Best Man
Last Wish
Curse Across Time
Eye on the Ball
Fallen Idol
Lone Wolf
Seeking Kokopelli
Bundle
Under His Spell
Historical
Evening Tryst
Unforgettable
Mistress of Merrivale
Copyright Page
The Unwilling Viscount and the Vixen
Copyright © 2019 Shelley Munro
ISBN: 978-0-473-47748-6
Cover Design by: Fantasia Frog Designs
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.