Maximus shook his head, uncomfortable. “That is unnecessary, my lord,” he assured the man. “I was happy to help. But now that you are here, I may go about my business. I did not want to leave your daughters unescorted until you returned.”
Kellen was overwhelmed with the situation and with Maximus’ chivalry; he knew the man in name and reputation only, as he’d never had the opportunity to work closely with him. De Montfort kept the de Shera brothers close to him, like personal attack dogs, so it wasn’t often that the brothers mingled with the other barons. Now, Maximus was in his midst and had evidently done him a great service. He owed the man.
“Again, you have my deepest thanks,” he said. “May I at least invite you to sup with us this eve? I should like to demonstrate my thanks for your heroics. Invite your brothers as well. I’ve not had the opportunity to converse with the three of you other than cursory discussions.”
Maximus was hesitant. “Your offer is generous, my lord, but my brothers may have other plans,” he said. Then, he caught a glimpse of Courtly’s hopeful expression and he knew that, come what may, he was going to accept de Lara’s invitation. It would give him another opportunity to see Courtly again. “I, however, have no such plans. I would be happy to sup with you.”
Kellen smiled and Courtly positively beamed. “Excellent,” Kellen said. Then, he turned to eye the heap of ashes behind him. “We have been supping at the hostel but it would seem our dining hall has been burned to the ground. Come out to Kennington House, south of Oxford, and we shall dine tonight in the halls of my ancestors. We shall put on such a feast as to impress even the likes of you. Will you come, then?”
Maximus nodded, trying not to stare at Courtly, who was smiling at him quite openly. “I will be honored, my lord,” he said. “I will see you this eve.”
With that, he nodded his farewells to the de Lara group, excusing himself, and together he and Garran headed back down the avenue, back to the spice merchant to reclaim the licorice root and other things he had purchased. Already, he was thinking on the evening and the time he would spent gazing at Courtly de Lara’s magnificent face. Already, he was missing her as he headed back down the avenue.
It was an effort not to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t want to do it and seem over-eager. His thoughts, however, lingered on the lovely Courtly as her father took charge of both her and her sister, ushering them onto horses and making their way to Kennington House where the vile de Lara aunt resided.
Even as they reached the spice vendor, Maximus was thinking on gold spun hair and on luminous blue eyes. As Garran collected the packages they had already paid for, Maximus caught sight of an entire shelf of perfumed oil. He gazed at it, a thought coming to him, as Garran headed out of the stall.
“We must find Ty,” Garran said, squinting down the avenue to see if he could catch sight of the youngest de Shera brother. “We need to get this stuff to Lady de Shera.”
Maximus was still looking at the perfumed oil, breaking from his train of thought as Garran spoke. He eyed Garran, eyed the oil, and then pretended to look at other things.
“Go and find my brother,” he instructed. “I will look the wares over one more time to see if there is something else we can purchase to help Jeniver’s belly.”
Garran went without another word. Maximus peered from the doorway of the stall, casually, watching the knight head down the avenue in search of Tiberius. When he was positive that Garran wasn’t going to turn around and head back in his direction, he went straight to the spice merchant and pointed to the perfumed oils on the shelf.
A few minutes later, a beautifully wrapped phial of rose-scented oil was tucked safely in Maximus’ tunic, intended for a certain young lady when he saw her at sup that night.
THE THUNDER WARRIOR is Book Two in the Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood Trilogy. Book One, THE THUNDER LORD, is currently available at all major eBook retailers.
THE THUNDER WARRIOR will be released March 18 at all major eBook retailers.
Book Three, THE THUNDER KNIGHT, will be released April 30.
The Love of a Rogue
Christi Caldwell
Chapter 1
London, England
Spring, 1815
The day Lady Imogen Isabel Moore had made her Come Out almost three Seasons ago, she’d taken the ton by storm.
Not, however for any reasons that were good.
One glass of ratafia held in trembling fingers, one graceless misstep and an inconveniently situated Lady Jersey in the hallowed halls of Almack’s had placed Imogen in polite Society’s focus. At the time, that glass of punch had proven the most disastrous moment of her then eighteen years. In a single night, she’d shocked polite Society…and earned the attention of the gloriously handsome, Duke of Montrose.
With a sigh, Imogen glanced down at the copy of The Times.
The D of C, recently wedded had returned to London…
She skimmed the details of the article. Hopelessly in love. Devoted… Love at any cost… Imogen tossed the newspaper aside, where it landed with a thump upon the mahogany side table.
He’d returned. The gloriously handsome, golden duke with his glib tongue and winning smile and his black heart. And he’d returned with his wife—Imogen’s sister, Rosalind. Or, the Duchess of Montrose, as she was now properly titled.
“Never tell me you are melancholy again.”
A gasp escaped her, and she spun around so quickly a blindingly bright crimson curl slipped free of its chignon and tumbled over her eye. In a flurry of noisy blue bombazine skirts, her mother swept into the room. “Mother,” she greeted with a weak smile for the parent who’d merely been happy that one of her daughters had secured the duke’s title. None of the rest had mattered. “I’m not melancholy,” she added as an afterthought. Egads. Her lips pulled in a grimace. That faithless, roguish duke she’d imagined herself in love with had turned her into one of those dreadfully miserable types to be around.
Mother came to a stop before her and wordlessly brushed the errant, hideously red curl back behind Imogen’s ear. Narrowing her eyes like a doddering lord in need of his monocle, she peered at Imogen.
Imogen drew back. “What is it?”
“I’m looking for tears. There are to be no tears. Your sister is happy and that should bring you happiness and….” Her mother launched into a familiar lecture; a nonsensical lesson on sibling loyalty expected of Imogen when her own sister had been anything but. “…you will take the ton by storm.” Those hopeful words brought her to the moment.
An inelegant snort escaped her, earning a hard frown from her mama. “I did take the ton by storm, Mother. Remember? There was the whole incident with the ratafia two,” nearly three, “years ago.” That defining moment which had brought the Duke of Montrose into her life and into her heart.
That blasted glass of punch.