Beloved Beast E-Book

Lois Greiman

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 59

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

From the bestselling author of award-winning historical romance, a classic Highlander Romance "Lois Greiman creates the ideal atmosphere for her compelling tale, placing her strong characters in difficult situations and building a dramatic conflict that keeps us wondering just how their relationship will be resolved. Ms. Greiman's hallmark powerful storytelling makes her a must-read author." –Romantic Times Swift Torree is a lass with a bonny face, a clever mind, and fingers just meant for thievery. Brenan Mackay is a giant of a Highlander charged with keeping the treasury safe from people of her ilk. Will their meeting spell disaster for them both or will they find a way to join forces and make their own happily ever after?

Leseprobe

Beloved Beast

Lois Greiman

Copyright

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Beloved Beast

Copyright © 2011 by Lois Greiman

Ebook ISBN: 9781943772452

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

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http://www.nyliterary.com

Beloved Beast

Swift Torree smiled as she swung her beaded reticule in time to her lively stride. It was a braw day in New Town. The bluebells were just beginning to bloom, the apple blossoms smelled like a wee bit of heaven, and the sun had made a rare spring appearance, sparkling on Edinburgh like firelight on brilliants. Stilling her tiny purse so as to avoid striking any oncoming pedestrians, she tucked it tight between her arm and her well-dressed ribcage. Today she wore a walking gown of pink muslin decorated with intricate embroidered flowers she had stitched herself. It was, after all, the details that separated the middling pickpocket from the truly gifted. And she was gifted.

Her pert little sleeves were capped at her shoulders, then hugged her arms all the way to her knuckles, making it frightfully simple to slip recently purloined items from her hand into hiding. Her straw chapeau was wide-brimmed enough to conceal her face, and her undergarments were nonexistent; she was all for keeping up appearances, but why bother with frills no mark would ever have a chance to appreciate.

Besides it was a warm April day and…

Ho there. A likely looking couple had just turned the corner onto Princes Street and was strolling toward her. The woman was small, plump and cute as a kitten. The man was tall and fit, which was rather a disappointment, for though Swift’s name was aptly given, it spoke more of her dexterity than fleetness of foot. Just then, however, the gentleman glanced into the lady’s upturned face, and in that instant Swift recognized his expression: Adoration. Fascination. And maybe…if her luck held…maybe a smidgen of obsession.

Swift smiled to herself. Fifteen feet separated her from them, and there was no easier mark in the world than a man in love. It addled his thinking, slowed his reflexes, lightened his mood.

And this one…this one kept his wallet in his breast pocket. How very kind of him. Oh, and the lady, paragon of generosity that she was, seemed to be wearing a diamond bracelet. What a big-hearted lass. That little bauble would go a far ways toward Tavis’s education.

Unfortunately the cobbled walkways were all but empty, making it impossible to appear to have been jostled from behind. Another tact, then, Swift thought, and gripped the little reticule in her right hand. Inside, the initials SVT were embroidered, but that didn’t bother her. For all she knew her own name had contained just those letters. She’d pilfered the bonny bag from a manor house on Brunswick. Perhaps she should have taken the snuff box she’d seen there, too, but ‘twas wrong to be greedy. Blind Pete had instilled that thought into her consciousness from her earliest memory.

The couple was closing the gap between them. Just enough time to glance into the reticule’s empty interior. Just a second to bobble inattentively on the uneven stone. Just an instant to gasp and teeter and grapple for stability. But too late. Oh dear, she was already falling, hands splayed, skirts flying, and eyes wide with dismay as she lifted them toward the gentleman.

With the grace of a diving swallow, she collapsed five inches in front of him.

“Gracious!”

“Careful there!”

The pair took a guarded step to the rear. Swift knew that without glancing up, knew and realized she must do something quick. A little moan might turn the trick.

She emitted a soft sigh of misery, remained absolutely still and hoped to God her feet were tucked firmly beneath her beribboned skirt. Her gown may be Parisian in design, but her shoes were better suited for the mines…or a lively chase. Despite her eye for detail, she was no slave to fashion. Or anything else come to that.

“My dear?” The lady lisped a little as she crouched. “My dear, are you quite all right?”

“Yes. Yes,” Swift said and lifted her head as if disoriented.

“Here then, you’ve taken a nasty spill. Let me help you sit up.”

“Oh.” She looked into the woman’s eyes, catching her full attention as they clasped fingers. “I fear I am a dreadful clod. Murdoch always says as much.”

“You’re no such thing,” said the lady. “Is she, Henry?”

The man seemed late to the party, but rallied when he realized he was about to look the clod should he fail to show some sympathy posthaste. “Certainly not,” he said. “’Tis these damnable cobbles. Rough as the sea at midday. You didn’t twist your ankle did you?”

“No.”

“Better let me take a look. I’m a physician, you know, and-”

“No!” she repeated and jerked her feet more firmly beneath the lacy hem of her stolen skirt. If the damned thing had any more frippery, she’d be tripping for real and earnest. “I’m quite well. Not to worry.”

“Ahh, well, can I give you a hand up at the least?”

She caught his gaze with her own lavender eyes. He had a long, hooked nose, a narrow face, and sallow skin. While Swift was…well…today she had chosen to be almost plain. She’d made certain of that in the small shard of mirror she kept stowed beneath her bed.

“That’s ever so kind of you,” she said, and carefully keeping her homely footwear well hidden, shifted her feet beneath her. She was the best dipper in all of Edinburgh, but it was entirely possible that she’d have to be hot-footing it down Hanover Street in another few seconds. Reaching for his hands, she held his gaze as they rose in unison.

“My thanks, good sir,” she said and smiled tremulously into his eyes.

“’Twas nothing at all. Are you certain you’re quite all right?”

“Of course,” she said, then let her eyes drift closed and bobbled as if about to faint. He caught her about the waist. “Here now,” he crooned and drew her close to his chest… and his wallet.