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Category: Romance/Historical Fiction
Description: A sweeping tale of desperate love, dark intrigue, ship wreckers, smugglers and the mysterious Lord Draken Hazelmere. Veracity Beresford, pampered darling of Regency London, finds herself torn from her safe existence. Forced by Lord Hazelmere, she travels to the Devonshire coast, to Seacliff House, there to nurse her invalid uncle. Strange events occur upon her arrival. Veracity soon discovers she is in the midst of devious plots by persons unknown. Then, when wreckers sink a ship, Veracity realizes that Draken, the man she now loves, may be the key to it all. Is he her salvation or damnation? Is he involved in horrible crimes? Veracity, in truth, must find the answers in time to save her and those she loves.
eBook Publisher: Red Rose Publishing, 2010
Fictionwise Kindle eBookstore Release Date: August 2010

Available eBook Formats [Kindle Compatible (MOBI) - What's this?]: Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [342 KB]
Words: 75816
Reading time: 216-303 min.
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Later, that night, Veracity waited for Draken to appear. She knew his delay was to allow her time to get ready, to prepare for him. This she had done. Nervous, she had shed her clothes, and then bathed in the hot water brought by Henrietta. Veracity had perfumed herself and donned her nightdress, a thing of most transparent lace and filmy satin. After brushing her hair at some length, in order to give it an added lustre, she then had retired to the bed. She had laid her head in the exact centre of one pillow, her dark tresses artfully spread out over it. Outwardly composed now, Veracity waited. Inwardly, she seethed with nervousness.

A light knock came at the door.

"Veracity?" Draken's one word held a world of gentleness, a night of potential.

"I'm here," she managed to squeak in a high voice.

Well, so much for trying to sound calm and collected, Veracity thought crossly.

The door opened. Draken appeared, magnificent in his black eveningwear.

"You look positively radiant," he told her, as he stood there in the doorway, just staring down at her. "I won't be but a moment."

"Did everyone have a good time?" she asked, for want of anything better to say.

He moved toward a large wardrobe. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it there.

"The men are still up, talking, busy downing their free port and Madeira, and smoking their rank cigars. It all sounds like a lot of bombast, if you ask me."

He undid his shirt and pulled it off him. Now he bent to remove his shoes.

"You prefer the company of women?" Veracity asked.

He glanced up at her and smiled, revealing pearl-white teeth in a tanned face.

"I prefer the company of one woman--you," he said.

Veracity blushed. "I suppose I was fishing for that compliment."

"I suppose you were," he agreed matter-of-factly, as he pulled off his tight-fitting trousers. They were the very latest fashion, as decreed by none other than George "Beau" Brummel, himself, and his sycophantic friend, Prince George, who followed the man's every lead in fashion. Now Draken stood clad only in his under things. Without hesitating, he stripped out of these and flung them to the floor. He stood now, naked before her.

Veracity felt herself blushing again as he moved toward the bed. Never before had she seen any man completely naked--never, except for Draken of course, and then only from the rear. She had seen young children bathed and such, but that had not prepared her for the sight that now met her gaze.

Draken was glorious in his maleness. That was the only way she could think of to describe him. Dark hair curled over his chest, narrowed into a thin line that traced down over his flat stomach, down to his lush pubic area. At this point, Veracity averted her gaze, too embarrassed to stare directly at what rose so fully rampant there.

He climbed into the bed next to her. His lean body moved against hers. Bare feet brushed hers. He lay there on his side, so close, so very close.

"You have no need to be shy, my dear." He said this in a suddenly husky voice.

One hand moved gently, stroked her forehead, and then slid over her raven locks where they lay flowing across the pillow between them. His touch was so light. It was as if Draken were petting a kitten. A premonitory thrill ran through Veracity, but she did not speak, wasn't sure she was able to.

He leaned closer, kissed her left cheek. And although the touch of his lips was infinitely soft, it ignited a fire in Veracity. At the same time, he traced a finger down her neckline to the top of her nightdress, and then beyond, deftly probing, moving toward her breasts. For Veracity, his touch was like a trail of living flame.

Unable to resist, she gave a first low moan.