TSoSM_500

He may be her savior…or what she fears most

Whatever Miss Sarah Marks once knew—of herself or of anything much at all—she has no clue. All she knows is her name and that she is in bed with a stranger in a shabby inn. Frightened out of her wits, Sarah’s only goal is to escape and return home. Wherever home might be.

Viscount Eastleigh, eldest son of an earl, must wed, but injuries sustained during the Crimean War forced healing to take precedence over marriage. Deeming himself fit to travel, the lord informs his meddlesome family that he is off to the Continent for a much needed respite. In truth, he intends to find a wife of his choosing, not theirs. His well-laid plans run afoul when an incident occurs along the way and he is forced to return home accompanied by a prim and proper country miss devoid of memory and in desperate need of shelter.

ISBN-13: 9781622666997

Available from Entangled Publishing

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Praise for The Seduction of Sarah Marks and excerpt

“A mysterious, alluring, and sensual tale by a fantastic new author!” Award winning author Eliza Knight

I LOVED this story – seriously!! I couldn’t put it down and was totally shocked by the twists and turns! Great tension and suspense that made the steamy bits very enjoyable!! I really felt like I knew the characters and cared about them. I enjoyed being with them. I loved the author’s description of Eastleigh’s estate and the surrounding countryside. I could see it. This is my first romance novel and I’m hooked! I want Eastleigh – or his hunky cousin!…S. Sparks

Excerpt

Seduction can take many forms when a certain chemistry exists between two people, even if it’s not done with purpose. Here’s a scene where Eastleigh rescues Sarah from a downpour:

The horse took a step forward. Sarah gripped the front of Eastleigh’s shirt and let out a pitiful squeak. No, she definitely did not ride by habit.

Eastleigh halted the beast and slid his gloved hand over hers. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“The only thing I’m fair…fairly certain of, is that I must have led my father’s horses to the smithy and never rode a one. Furthermore, I feel as though I’m ten feet off the ground and about to tumble beneath this monster’s great hooves, where I shall surely meet my demise. I don’t care for this one bit, Eastleigh.”

“Then you need to ride in front. Sit tight.” Before she knew what he was about, he threw a leg over the neck of the horse and slid to the ground with graceful ease. She slipped a bit in the saddle, and terror washed through her anew.

“Easy, now.” He righted her. “Lean over and grip the pommel.” He stepped to the horse’s head, stroking and murmuring in soothing tones. “Ease yourself all the way forward, then adjust your skirts while I have my back to you.”

After she did as she was told, he mounted behind her in one smooth motion. This time it was he who set his body against hers. It was his thighs cradling her hips. Oh, my. His one hand slid around her waist, tucking her close to him. He took the reins with the other. She swallowed hard against the tide of emotion washing through her and searched for a decent breath.

“I’ve got hold of you,” he said. “But grab a handful of the horse’s mane. Doing so will help you maintain your balance. There’s a storm nearly upon us, so we’d best pick up speed. Ready?”

She grasped a hank of black mane with both hands and nodded. His words of encouragement were warm and husky in her ear, his hand splayed over her stomach comforting, yet sending shockwaves of…of pleasure through her. A squeeze of his legs against the horse, and the beast eased into a walk, then a trot, and soon, a canter. All the while, Sarah bumped about in the saddle.

“Let your hips relax, and you won’t bounce so.” He gripped the side of her waist, and with strong, supple fingers, urged her hips into a back and forth motion that matched the horse’s movements—along with Eastleigh’s. Not only was the difference in the ride immediate, but oh, dear, the graceful cadence of the horse set her and Eastleigh moving together in a manner that one could call provocative. Could he be aware of what she was thinking? Or feeling? Or was this movement so common she would be considered a prig to make note of it?

“That’s it,” he murmured, his words throaty in her ear. “You’ve got things right now. Feel how smooth and natural the three of us move together.” He slid his hand back to her belly. “Settle in and enjoy the ride, I’ve got you.”

But the intimacy of Eastleigh’s hips rolling in cadence with hers did more than allow her to enjoy the ride. Something began to tingle inside her. God help her, she wanted to ride forever in his arms, wanted to delve deep into the erotic feelings shooting through her. She leaned the back of her head against his chest and closed her eyes to everything that was not him.