About
Eleanor Webster
Eleanor Webster has a passion for many things, the
most ardent likely being shoes.
But she’s also passionate about a story well
told. With the help of some debutantes
and viscounts and a twist of the unknown, Eleanor’s stories weave a tale of
enchantment, hope, and most importantly, love.
When not writing, you’ll find Eleanor dreaming of
being a world traveler, reading, running, reading, hiking in the wilds of
British Columbia, where she makes her home with her husband and two daughters,
and – did we mention reading?
Connect
with Eleanor
Website: https://eleanorwebsterauthor.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ewebsterauthor
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/eleanorwebs0086/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/eleanorwebsterauthor
Married
for His Convenience
Tainted by illegitimacy, plain Sarah Martin has no
illusions of a grand marriage. So when the Earl of Langford makes her a
proposal that will take her one step closer to finding her half sister, she
can't refuse!
Sebastian's dreams of romance died with his late
wife's affair, so now he needs a convenient wife to act as governess for his
silent daughter. Yet Sarah continues to surprise and challenge him, and soon
Sebastian can't deny the joy his new bride could bring to his life—and into his
bed!
Available
November 22, 2016
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2cEzUzW
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2cm9jJB
Nook: http://bit.ly/2cm8oZN
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2cNcokR
Excerpt
Dramatic events never happened to her. Ever.
‘If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?’
The voice was male. Warm breath touched her ear.
Sarah nodded. The man loosened his hold. She turned.
Her eyes widened as she took in his size, the breadth
of his shoulders and the midnight-black of his clothes.
‘Good God, you’re a woman,’ he said.
‘You’re...you’re a gentleman.’ For the cloth he wore
was fine and not the roughened garb of a common thief.
She grabbed on to these details as though, through
their analysis, she would make sense of the situation.
‘What was your purpose for spying on me?’ His gaze
narrowed, his voice calm and without emotion.
‘Spying? I don’t even know you.’ The rabbit squirmed
and she clutched it more tightly.
‘Then why are you hiding?’
‘I’m not. Even if I were, you have no reason to accost
me.’ Her cheeks flushed with indignation as her fear lessened.
He dropped his hand, stepping back. ‘I apologise. I
thought you were a burglar.’
‘We tend not to get many burglars in these parts. Who
are you anyway?’
‘Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Langford, at your
service.’
He made his bow. ‘And a guest at Eavensham.’
‘A guest? Then why are you in the kitchen garden?’
‘Taking the air,’ he said.
‘That usually doesn’t involve accosting one’s fellow
man.
You are lucky I am not of a hysterical disposition.’
‘Indeed.’
Briefly, she wondered if wry humour laced his voice,
but his lips were straight and no twinkle softened his
expression. In the fading light, the strong chin and cheekbones looked more
akin to a statue than anything having the softness of flesh.
At this moment, the rabbit thrust its head free of the
shawl.
‘Dinner is running late, I presume.’ Lord Langford’s
eyes widened, but he spoke with an unnerving lack of any natural surprise.
‘The creature is hurt and I need to bandage him,
except Mr. Hudson, the butler, is not fond of animals and I wanted to ensure
his absence.’
‘The butler has my sympathies.’
Sarah opened her mouth to respond but the rabbit,
suddenly spooked, kicked at her stomach as it clawed against the shawl. Sarah
gasped, doubling over, instinctively whispering the reassurances offered by her
mother after childhood nightmares.
‘You speak French?’
‘What?’
‘French? You are fluent?’
‘What? Yes, my mother spoke it—could we discuss my
linguistic skills later?’ she gasped, so intent on holding the rabbit that she
lost her footing and stumbled against the man. His hand shot out. She felt his
touch and the strangely tingling pressure of his strong fingers splayed against
her back.
She straightened. They stood so close she heard the
intake of his breath and felt its whisper.
‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘you could see if the butler is
in the kitchen? I do not know how long I can keep hold of this fellow.’
‘Of course.’ Lord Langford stepped towards the window
as though spying on the servants were an everyday occurrence. ‘I can see the
cook and several girls, scullery maids, I assume. I believe the butler is
absent.’
‘Thank you. I am obliged.’
Tightening her hold on the rabbit, Sarah paused,
briefly reluctant to curtail the surreal interlude. Then, with a nod of thanks,
she stooped to pick up the valise.
‘Allow me,’ Lord Langford said, opening the door. ‘You
seem to have your hands full.’
‘Er—thank you.’ She glanced up. The hallway’s
flickering oil lamp cast interesting shadows across his face, emphasising the
harsh line of his cheek and chin and the blackness of his hair.
She stepped inside and exhaled as the door swung shut,
conscious of relief, regret and an unpleasant wobbliness in both her stomach
and knees.
What a fun adventure. Poor bunny didn't know all the feelings he started!
ReplyDeleteLovely passage. Thank you for introducing us to this new to me author, Eleanor. I'm with Melissa about the bunny!
ReplyDelete