By Tessa Dare
Welcome to Spindle Cove...
Spindle Cove is the vacation spot of selection for specific sorts of well-bred younger girls: the bookish, the shy, the heartbroken or misunderstood. it is a haven for younger ladies who do not particularly healthy in.
Victor Bramwell, the recent Earl of Rycliff, is familiar with he does not belong the following. as far as he can inform, there is not anything during this village yet spinsters and sheep. yet he has orders to collect a armed forces. it is a basic undertaking, made advanced by way of the lively, beautiful Susanna Finch--a lady who's made up our minds to save lots of her girls' safe haven from the invasion of Bram's makeshift army.
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Additional info for A Night to Surrender
He hadn’t inherited any property, and he’d never found time to purchase an estate of his own. “So buy a home. Find a pretty girl to marry. ” Bram shook his head. Impossible suggestions, all. He was not about to resign his commission at the age of nine-and-twenty, while England remained at war. And he damned well wasn’t going to marry. Like his father before him, he intended to serve until they pried his flintlock from his cold, dead grip. And while officers were permitted to bring their wives, Bram firmly believed gently bred women didn’t belong on campaign.
He had. And she was lucky he hadn’t done more. For a moment there, he’d been well and truly dazed. He supposed the blast was to blame for that. Or maybe it was just her. She sat up a bit further. Wisps of loosened hair tumbled about her face. Her hair was a striking shade of gold, touched with red. It made him think of molten bronze. ” she asked, peering at him. ” “Here in Spindle Cove, we ladies have a schedule. Mondays are country walks. Tuesdays, sea bathing. ” She touched the back of her hand to his forehead.
And the way he’d looked at her just before that kiss —as though he would devour her, and she would enjoy it—was straight from the Dark Ages. As he presented the crumbling mess of sun-dried clay and pasted-on moss, Susanna fought the urge to blow dust off the thing. Evidently the maids couldn’t reach this shelf, either. ” Her father took the model from Bramwell’s hands and held it up. ” “Fourteen,” she corrected, cursing herself a moment later. Because “fourteen” somehow made it better? With a flourish, her father placed the model on a table in the center of the room.
A Night to Surrender by Tessa Dare