Our Best Historical for 2011 is Lord Keeper by Tarah Scott!
Bio
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on books such
as The Bobbsey Twins (yes, she is dating herself!) Nancy Drew, and Aesop's
Fables. Authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Mark Twain filled her
teenage years. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the
Wind as a close second. Favorite modern authors are Stephen King, Ann Rice,
Amanda Quick, and Johanna Lindsey.
Born in New Mexico, Tarah grew up in the
Southwest. Fifteen years ago, she relocated to Westchester County, New York,
where she and her daughter reside in a lakeside community. When not working,
writing, or reading--who are we kidding? She's always working, writing, or
reading. Oh! There is her daughter. They do manage to spend a lot of time
together.
Blurb
No man bargains for war when he
chooses a bride, but when he steals her from holy ground, he can expect nothing
less.
Iain MacPherson swore he was
nothing like his father, but his kidnapping of Victoria Hockley, the Countess of
Lansbury is the first step toward the same obsessive jealousy that fueled his
father’s life-long feud against the chief Iain’s mother loved.
A kiss,
a midnight race for freedom, and a royal missive force Victoria into her
captor’s arms. Hallowed ground can’t save her from the devil that followed her
from England. Yet the Scottish lord who swears to protect her is far more
dangerous.
Excerpt:
“My lord, did you
know a ghost walks the grounds of Fauldun
Castle?”
Iain halted and
turned.
Victoria spared a smug glance for Maude, who stood near
the sink, then said to him, “Were you aware of this?”
“Nay.”
Victoria sauntered over to Maude. “Maude saw him the day
you left.”
Iain’s eyes
shifted to the housekeeper, who stared at Victoria as if she’d lost her mind.
“The ghost looks
very much like you,” Victoria
said.
“A ghost is it,
now?” Maude said in a soft voice.
Victoria looked down at where the smaller woman now
leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her stomach as if she
hadn’t a care in the world. An unsettling sense that Maude was the cat and she
was now the mouse gave her pause, but she looked at Iain and added, “What else
could it have been? Unless that was you leaving my cottage the morning
you left?”
Iain’s expression
darkened and Victoria
startled when Iain took three steps and stopped in front of her. “What mischief
are you up to?”
She stared,
confused.
“Come now, lass,”
Maude put in. “Why go on with this ruse?”
“Ruse?” Victoria
split a glance between her two adversaries. “He is standing before us and yet you
continue with your tale?”
Maude gave her an
odd look, then turned to Iain. “Laird, what happened the morning you visited
V—er, the lass?”
“Nothing
happened,” he boomed, “but if someone does not explain what is going on,
something is likely to happen.” He looked at Victoria. “Is there something I should know?
Who else were you expecting?”
Victoria stilled. “Are you saying you did come that
morning?”
He bent down, nose to nose with her. “Who were
you expecting?”
“Not you!” She
shoved his chest. Iain fell back a step and Victoria advanced on him. “How dare you?”
Clenching her hand into a fist, she hit his stomach. Pain radiated up her arm.
She recoiled with a howl. “Now look what you have done.” She rubbed the injured
hand.
“I—”
“Never do that
again,” she growled.
Iain’s forehead
creased. “Tis not my fault you were foolish enough to hit me.”
“Oh, no.” Victoria shook her head.
“This is your fault and more—and you know I am not speaking of that.” She
jabbed at his stomach.
Iain’s glance
flicked from his abdomen to Maude. “What in the name of the devil happened
while I was away?”
“Who gave you
leave to come uninvited into my bedchamber?” Victoria demanded.
His head snapped
in her direction, lips thinned.
“Do not think to
intimidate me with that look. You had no right.” She threw her hands up and
strode to the counter. Palms down, she leaned against the counter, closed her
eyes and took a calming breath.
“Is this shrewish
tirade because I visited you the day I left?” he demanded.
Victoria opened her eyes and caught sight of the bowl
containing the beginnings of shortbread batter sitting on the counter. She
gripped the bowl edges and looked over her shoulder. “Shrewish tirade? Nay, my
lord, you are mistaken. This, however, may suffice.” Victoria spun, bowl in hand. The batter
spewed outward. The majority hit Iain in a splattered spray, leaving the
remainder in a wide arc across the kitchen walls.
A collective gasp
went up. Iain looked down at the batter blotched across breacan and white
shirt, then back at Victoria.
His gaze held hers and her pulse jumped when he stalked toward her. He neared
and she retreated. He took another slow step closer and she retreated more,
until shoulders met hard stone and he stopped inches from her. With
deliberation, Iain took a finger and wiped some of the mixture off his sash.
His eyes never left hers as he lifted the finger and put it in his mouth. With
a loud sucking sound, he pulled it out.
“Shortbread,” he
remarked. “How fortunate for me you had not added the flour.”
Victoria blinked. He gave a low laugh and stretched his
arms out on both sides of her, trapping her against the wall.
“If you wanted to
share, sweet, you might have asked.”
He leaned so
close his breath fanned her eyelashes. A glint entered his eyes and she
belatedly comprehended his intention. Iain rubbed against her, smearing the
sweet batter across the front of her dress. Soft contours of her breasts gave
way to hard muscle and her nipples tightened. She gasped in surprise. His gaze
sharpened. Iain seized her shoulders and yanked her against him, giving her a
hard kiss. She lifted a foot with the intention of slamming the heel down on
his boot, but he pushed away in time to escape.
“Now, now, love,”
he drawled as he headed for the door, “save something for later. Maude, a hot
bath, if you please.” He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at Victoria. “Would you
care to join me?”
