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From the Vault
Books from Cassandra's backlist - have you tried them?
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Ever curious, Elizabeth, Viscountess Rocksley, has turned her curiosity to erotic pleasure. Three years a widow, she boldly employs the madam of a brothel for guidance but never had she expected her education to be conducted by a coldly handsome peer of the realm.
To the Earl of Malvern, the erotic tutelage of a skittish widow is little more than sport, however the woman he teaches is far from the mouse he expects. With her sly humor and insistent joy, Elizabeth obliterates all his expectations and he, unwillingly fascinated, can’t prevent his fall.
Each more intrigued than they are willing to admit, Elizabeth and Malvern embark upon a tutelage that will challenge them, change them, come to mean everything to them…until a heartbreaking betrayal threatens to tear them apart forever.
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Also available in
Audiobook
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Every quarter, one lucky subscriber wins a Prize of Mystery. This month, that person is...
DragonStar1974
Congratulations! Cassandra will be in contact soon.
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Because Cassandra is slack, there is no Bharia & Stahg installment in this newsletter. However, you can read the story so far at the below links.
To compensate, here's a never-before-seen unedited and unproofed excerpt from SILK & SCHOLAR.
Enjoy!
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Read Bharia & Stahg so far...
Part 1 - Gone
Part 2 - Ambush
Part 3 - Voyage
Part 4 - Home
Part 5 - Fight will be coming soon
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SILK & SCHOLAR exclusive excerpt
“Miss Wilding-Marsh, what a pleasure. What an absolute pleasure.”
The hair on the back of Etta's neck raised. No. It couldn’t be. Ill thoughts couldn’t conjure the devil. Could they?
Shoulders tensed, she turned. Standing inside the room, his face wreathed in a lunatic grin, stood Lord Christopher Hiddleston.
Fury filled her, such that it stole her tongue. Stonily, she wrenched her gaze from him and regarded the fireplace. Maybe, if she pretended he wasn’t there, he wouldn’t be.
However, she had never been lucky.
“Miss Wilding-Marsh?”
Etta resolutely stared forward, though she was overwhelmingly aware of his presence. Lord, she wished it was socially acceptable for her to just plant him a facer. She even had some notion of how to do so, given she’d infiltrated Harcourt’s Gymnasium last summer to discover how exactly men went about pummelling each other for fun.
“I say, Miss Wilding-Marsh?”
Damnation, he wasn’t going away. With no other recourse, she regarded him direct.
He looked different. Ten years had passed, and with time’s passage, the boy had become a man. Auburn curls tumbled wildly about his head, too long and untamed by any hint of pomade. Dark eyes glittered wickedly beneath straight brows, like the pools of Hades on a particularly evil day, while his aquiline nose led to a mouth far too sensuous for such an annoying man. His strong jaw showed a hint of red-gold stubble, and his cravat was skewwhiff as if it had taken a battering, of what she had no clue. His garments showed the same battering, the grey overcoat stretching his broad shoulders slightly wrinkled. He was a full head taller, and he used the difference in their heights to smirk down at her.
Something curled low in her belly. Damnation, he had always been ridiculously handsome. Why had God seen fit to pair a contrary disposition with such an exterior?
Ignoring whatever was floating about her stomach—which could only be the result of something she ate—she said flatly, “Lord Christopher.”
He didn’t even bother to disguise his glee. “Such a greeting. I do believe I shall blush at its fulsome and effulgent nature. I trust you are well?”
“I am.”
“You do appear in fine health. There’s a bloom to your cheeks that is quite fetching.”
She gritted her teeth. “Thank you.”
“It’s been simply an age since we’ve seen each other, Miss Wilding-Marsh. Tell me.” Moving to the chaise, he seated himself. “How has the intervening time been?”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you joking, sir?”
“No.” He flicked at invisible lint on his lapel.
“Have you not sent me completely unsolicited articles for the better part of ten years?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Yes.”
“I know all about you I care to know.” Crossing her arms, she glared at him.
He stretched his arm over the back of the chaise. And then he smiled.
A fury that seemed reserved solely for him roared through her. Whipping to face the mantle, she took a deep breath. Good God, how could it be ten years since she’d seen him and yet he still had the power to drive her completely mental? They weren’t in the public room of The Havisham Arms and he was no longer a smug law student, loftily determined to declare her wrong on every point of law.
It was irrational to feel this intense irritation for someone on the periphery of her life. It was insane that he still had the power to affect her, that his mere presence in Gwen’s house forced a disagreement between her and her oldest friend. How was it he could still affect her so?
He still regarded her, dark eyes dancing wickedly.
“Do you have anything of substance to impart?” she burst out.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Everything I say is of substance.”
“Who told you that? The legions of sycophants who laughingly believe you a stalwart of literature?”
“My sycophants would never be so gauche as to refer to my work as literature,” he said mildly. “Ah, Miss Wilding-Marsh, I do delight in our relationship. I’ve missed your invectives.”
“What do you expect? You sent me those cursed articles for years and years, despite my frequent and passionate demands to cease. You, sir, are no gentleman.”
“My title would seem to disagree.”
“Your behaviour marks you no gentleman. It has nothing to do with an accident of birth.”
“Ah. That argument again? It’s almost as if we were again ensconced in The Havisham Arms.” He strode to the chaise and settled himself, appearing appallingly comfortable. “Well, Miss Wilding-Marsh, do continue. Tell me again how an accident of birth should not dictate the distribution of power and wealth.”
She took a breath. And then another. And yet another. “I shall not engage you in debate, sir. I merely await the return of my friend. I would be pleased if you would allow me to do so in peace.”
He laughed. “How can I do so, Miss Wilding-Marsh? I am delighted our repartee—our persiflage, if you will—remains as dexterous and adroit as ever, almost as if the years have never passed.”
She crossed her arms. Did he think to confuse her with such language? She had made herself a student of the law, and there could be no greater challenge than to understand legal terminology. He could use all the ridiculously convoluted words he wished, and he would not confound her. “A true gentleman would leave me in peace.”
“Ah, but then that true gentleman of yours would not have the pleasure of your company and I find, Miss Wilding-Marsh, immense pleasure in your company.”
She snorted.
A look of delight overtook his features. “Did you just snort, Miss Wilding-Marsh?
She refused to dignify that with an answer. “Why are you here?”
“In the room? It seemed a comfortable sort of room, and I was looking for comfort.”
She grit her teeth. “No. In Cambridge.”
“Ah.” He leaned back into the chaise. “I was invited.”
It would be wrong to beat him about the head. Besides, he didn’t need to know how much he annoyed her. “Why did you accept the invitation?”
One auburn brow rose. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because this is Cambridge. Because few of your sycophantic readers would reside here. Because you are in support of a school for women.”
He looked surprised. “Why wouldn’t I support a school for women?”
“I—” Her mind went blank. She had never thought he would support the education of women. There was no real reason for her supposition, apart from he’d always been contrary.
“I have always counted you to be the cleverest person of my acquaintance, especially about matters of law. Why wouldn’t I support the education of other similar women?”
Mind. Blank.
His gaze strayed to the clock on the mantle and then he rose to his feet. “Miss Wilding-Marsh, it has been, as I’ve said, a pleasure. I hope to repeat it soon.” With a flourish and a bow, he departed.
Mouth agape, she stared after him. What…He just…Had he seriously just left? Abruptly and without explanation, after stirring her about? He was…He was the most insolent, infuriating, annoying man.
She was still fuming five minutes later when Gwen reappeared, full of apologies and preceding Chelsea buns and tea. Worse, she still thought on him hours later, when she’d returned home and lay in bed, grinding her teeth over a devilish man with autumn-coloured hair and wicked dark eyes.
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I FOUND A TYPO
Wonderful! Please don't point it out.
Professional editors and proofreaders will correct any typos.
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