At long last, the love story of Ren Porter!
Caught
in a rainstorm, Miss Calliope Worthington takes shelter in a seemingly
abandoned mansion. But when she finds a string of pearls in a dusty chest, she
is caught red-handed by the house's reclusive owner—Mr. Ren Porter—a fiery
demon of a man who demands that Callie pay for the necklace…with her innocence.
When
he first lays eyes on the beautiful trespasser, Ren mistakes her for an angel.
But when he realizes Callie is a thief, he strikes a bargain she cannot refuse.
She must take his hand in marriage and pay him back in full: one night of
passion for each stolen pearl. But when Callie surrenders to his desires—night
after wicked night—he awakens something deep inside of her. Something powerful
and passionate. Like a fairy tale come true, the monster she married has become
the man she loves…when she said "I
do."
* * *
Brimming with her signature depth of emotion,
delightful characters and perfect pacing, this sexy love story tugs on the
heartstrings and makes you smile. --RTBookReviews
I look forward to more of the
Worthington family! --Night Owl Reviews
* * *
Behind the scenes...
What to do when you’ve
finished a successful trilogy? When I asked my editor if she’d like a family
series next, her immediate response was “Yes!”
Writers,
as you may know, do most of their work lying on the sofa staring at the
ceiling, which is where I recalled my two favorite families in literature—the
Bennets of Pride and Prejudice and
the Weasleys of the Harry Potter series
Both
clans inspired the madcap antics of the adult Worthington brothers and sisters—all
grown up and ready for romance! Quirky parents and wildly creative sibling
rivalry mingled in my mind and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Seven unattached
Worthingtons--all those saucy, misfit girls and all those handsome, wicked
rogues—how is a writer supposed to pick just one?
With
the first book of the series, When She
Said I Do, I welcome you to Worthington House, packed to the rafters with
art, science, mischief, Shakespeare and most of all, love!
(for fans of past series, I
have begun “The Wicked Worthingtons” with a little present from “The Liar’s
Club”—reclusive, scarred spy Ren Porter is the first man to tangle with a
Worthington miss!)
Hugs and thanks for reading!
Celeste
* * *
Read an excerpt!
WHEN SHE SAID I DO
Chapter One
COTSWOLDS, ENGLAND, 1816
Well, isn’t this simply lovely?
The
icy river water rushed into the carriage, sweeping Miss Calliope Worthington
from her seat and crashing her into the tilting ceiling of the contraption
before towing her out through the opposite door. Gasping at the shocking chill
of the water, she choked on froth and mud and terror.
The
river tore one of her shoes from her dangling feet. Callie closed her eyes as
she clung desperately to the leather hand loop that had dangled annoyingly over
her head for the entire journey from her home in London to this dark, flooded
Cotswolds bridge.
The
other hand was fisted into the back of the coat of her mother, Iris, who had
both arms wrapped around Callie’s stout, unconscious father, Archie.
Callie
threw back her head and screamed for her brother. “Dade!”
*
* *
At last the grand house loomed up in the dark before
them, the fine Cotswolds limestone seeming to glow in the moonlight. No one
answered the booming summons as they pounded on the vast oak door. Calliope
helped her brother Daedalus ease their father’s unconscious body through the
unlocked portal and through the dark chill house while Mama followed toting the
single small bag they’d managed to recover. No one interrupted their progress
through the entrance hall to a small salon.
As
Calliope helped her mother clear the dustcovers from a pair of sofas, her heart
leaped in relief as her father began to mutter fretfully as he rose to
awareness.
Dade
turned to her. “Callie, I should go help Morgan with the horses.”
Callie
helped Dade bundle up against the chill though they had nothing dry but a few
musty lap rugs found folded up within the window seat. For herself, she turned
a dustcover into something of a toga, and hung her dress to dry by the hearth.
Then she bent to make a fire by use of the tinderbox on the mantel.
Once
Dade had left and Mama had subsided onto the opposite sofa, gazing worriedly at
her husband, Callie had a moment to truly examine her surroundings.
It
was a very fine house. Grand even, although one could hardly apply such a word
to such terrible housekeeping. Really, some people had no respect for their
things.
“Mama—”
But Mama had drifted off, soothed by the fire and her husband’s even snoring.
Calliope brushed a lock of silvering hair from her sleeping mother’s brow, then
tugged her makeshift canvas wrapper more tightly about herself. Her gown still
dripped on the hearth, like her mother’s and several items of her father’s.
Mama
and Papa slept like exhausted children on the paired sofas, now slanted toward
the glowing coals heaped in the hearth. If she liked, Calliope could join them
in rest, curling up upon a thick albeit dusty rug before the welcome heat.
Or
she could satisfy her curiosity as she searched the house for something better
for them all.
Taking
her candle, she searched out the kitchen and found it well-stocked with items
that would keep well. She returned to the salon and left the pot of broth to
thicken by the fire. She checked Mama’s brow but her mother slept deeply and
without any sign of fever or chill. She squeezed Papa’s hand and he grumbled
and pulled away, a lovable grump even in sleep.
After
lighting the fine silver candelabra from the chimneypiece and leaving it in the
front window to ease Dade’s journey “home,” Callie could think of nothing more
to do. Restlessly, she tightened her coarse wrapper over her still damp shift
and took up her little candle.
Soundless
in bare feet, she drifted through the first floor of the house. It was an
unworthy thought perhaps, but she reveled in the novel sensation of being
completely alone. Her family was large and loving— if sometimes maddening— but
she was never, ever, alone.
With
seven outrageous siblings and two even more outrageous parents all crammed into
the comfortable but shabby house in London, Callie could scarcely recall the
last time she’d walked in silence and solitude. Surely it had been years.
And
now this lovely house lay before her, empty rooms waiting like a box of bonbons
to be unwrapped by no one but her!
It
was not the vast, endless mausoleum she had first thought. In fact, if one
squinted a bit and imagined clean, jewel-toned carpets and polished woodwork,
it would be a most cheerful and welcoming hall. She shuddered and brushed a
dangling cobweb from her cheek as she pursued her curiosity up the gracefully
curving stair and into the upper gallery. Her own home might be furnished in
things well past their best years, but it was also, due to her own industry and
the ancient housekeeper’s tutelage, quite spotless.
Well,
except for that odd stain in the parlor, where the twins had spilled something
nasty and tried to destroy the evidence by dissolving it with something yet
nastier …
In
the spacious, elegant gallery, silvery light poured through the tall windows
along one wall and carved the long room into boxes of light and dark, only
slightly blurred by her single flame. Calliope moved into one of the window
casements and gazed out at a night turned from stormy nightmare to moonlit
dream. She could see the bank of drained clouds moving aside to allow a nearly
full moon to spill over her where she stood.
She
felt the unwelcome sensation of a string pulled by fate somewhere in the weave
of her life. What if they had roused at the inn half an hour earlier this
morning? Or had left half an hour later? Either they might have passed over the
wooden bridge long before it suffered damage in the flood or they might have
simply driven up to it, seen it washed away, and turned safely back.
Yet
she must remember to be grateful for the health of her family. It was lucky for
them all that Mama had somehow spotted this dark house set back so far from the
road.
Callie
smiled at the grand space before her and began to run lightly down it in her
bare feet, guarding her small candle flame with one hand. Laughing, she
curtsied to a very grand old lady in a somber portrait. Some women had no sense
of humor. Callie gave the old witch a cheeky salute and spun away, singing just
to hear her voice fill the gallery. Just her own voice, alone.
“‘
O merry maids do come afore, and let thy feet be dancing…’”
*
* *
Ren Porter, recluse and cynic— and don’t forget
monster— had been drunk even before the storm began. He hadn’t noticed its
arrival and he cared little for its departure, save that he favored his house
silent and still.
Draped
on a chair before the hearth in his bedchamber— well, perhaps it was bit of a
reach to call it “his” bedchamber. It was merely the latest in a long line.
When one room became too fouled by smoke and crumbs and empty bottles, Ren
simply moved one door down the seemingly endless hall to clean sheets and clean
shirts.
It
was his bloody house, wasn’t it?
His
house, his fire, and his wine cellar, all conveniently provided just when he’d
needed it most by an elderly cousin Ren barely remembered.
Feeling
unusually mellow due to extreme use of the aforementioned wine cellar, Ren
almost tipped his bottle to that cousin, who now doubtless watched the
ruination of his fine estate from above— until Ren remembered that he didn’t
believe in an above. Or a below.
There
was plenty of hell to be found, right here on earth.
So
instead, he tipped the bottle to the departed storm, for leaving him in peace
and silence—
And
singing.
Now,
Ren had experienced a few fever dreams and many drunken hallucinations, but
never had one of these visions included the light lilting voice of an angel
echoing through his hallowed hermit halls.
Since
the pain in his back and shoulder scarcely allowed any chair to give him
comfort, it was no great sacrifice to give in to his curiosity and leave his
room in search of that haunting melody. It wouldn’t be the first time he tried
to chase down an illusion. He’d once spent an entire night chasing a violet dog
through the attic, so this hardly seemed odd at all.
The
hall was dark but a feeble light shone from an open doorway down the hall.
Angel light? Perhaps stealth was in order. Angels didn’t much care for
monsters.
And
he’d never managed to catch that damned dog …
*
* *
Deep within the house, in a grand bedchamber clearly
meant for the lady of the house, Callie found a small chest of jewels sitting
on an ornate mirrored vanity. She set down her small candleholder so as to
reflect in the mirror, doubling her light.
Her
dancing had made her warm so she let the canvas wrapper fall to her feet, which
freed her hands to run her fingers through the heaped baubles. Playfully she
tried them all on, layering strands of rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Her
reflection in the mirror was scandalous. Callie grinned.
A
slight noise behind her brought a halt to her breathy song. What was that?
Callie
frowned at her reflection. It must have been the candle flame guttering, but
she almost believed she’d seen a shadow move behind her. That was silliness, of
course. The house was empty but for Mama and Papa sleeping downstairs. Perhaps
a draft pushing past the shuttered windows had fluttered a bed curtain, just
there … in the corner of her vision.
Staring
so hard she felt her eyes grow hot, she watched the room behind her, too
breathless with tension to even turn around. It seemed safer to stay where she
was, standing before the vanity, with the mirror to give her the light of two
flames instead of just one.
Then
a shadow parted from the others and moved toward her. She shivered. “Dade,
don’t play the fool.” Her voice, meant to be sharp, came out a breathless gasp
instead. Even as she spoke the words, she knew it wasn’t her brother.
Turn. Turn and run. And scream.
She
tried. She took one quick step to her right, prepared to spin on her heel and
flee to the door. Her body came up against a solid mass and bounced back.
Another swift step, this time to the left, only brought the edge of the vanity
pressing to her hipbones once more.
Her
throat closed in terror as she watched her own candlelit image in the mirror be
dwarfed by the towering darkness behind her. A shade, left alone in the house
to wander in mourning, or in anger.
But
no, she had bounced off it as if she’d run full on into the chest of a human
man. According to legend, a shade would have chilled her, overtaken her,
perhaps even drawn the life from her— but bounced her?
“I—
don’t— please—”
“Ah,
but you do please.”
Two
hands emerged from the darkness and came down to cover her shoulders. They were
large and heavy, hot on her bare skin, on the narrow shoulders of her chemise.
The weight of them pinned her like a butterfly in a collection, holding her
there, standing before the vanity, watching her doom come at her in a mirror.
“I
name you thief, sweet angel.”
Callie
started at the deep voice.
“Or
are you a wraith, sent to torment me with what I can never have? Stealing is a
crime. Crimes have penalties, do they not?”
Then
the hands slid inward, toward her neck, until her throat disappeared behind
them.
I am to die, then.
The
ruby necklace slipped its catch, slithering down almost between her breasts
before being caught by one of the hands. The hand hefted the jewels.
“Warm,
for a wraith.” The voice from behind her was husky and rough, although its
tones were cultured. It was also a bit slurred. “Warm enough to heat the stones
whilst they glowed upon your skin.”
She
shivered as the hand drew the necklace away from her and deposited it back into
the open jewel chest on the vanity. When she made to twist away, the hand
swiftly returned to hold her still, gentle but implacable, hot and chilling at
once.
The
sapphire chain came next. This time the hands held the center stone to let the
parted ends slither down beneath her chemise. When the skin-warmed silver hung
dangling from her nipples, she realized how erect they were, pressing hard and
high from beneath the thin batiste.
A
warm exhalation upon the back of her neck told her she was not the only one to
have seen. Her face flamed. As the hand holding the sapphire necklace left her
to return its prize to the jewel chest, she tried to fold her arms over her
chest.
“No.”
The heavy hands slid smoothly down to her elbows and gently pulled them back,
parting her hands and forcing her back to arch. Her breasts jutted obscenely
against the tightened chemise, her nipples crowning them like diamond-hard
jewels, clearly visible beneath the worn fabric.
“That’s
better. This is my haunting, pretty wraith, and I wish to enjoy every moment of
it.”
The
hands moved slowly back up her arms, eventually allowing her to relax her
embarrassing stance, but she dared not try to cross her arms again.
Hot
fingers, roughened but gentle, retrieved the earbobs from her lobes. He was
only removing what was doubtless his own property, which she’d been very
naughty to pilfer, yet as each piece of shimmering glory left her, she felt
more and more naked.
“I’m
sorry,” she began. “I ought not to have— but if you would only let me exp—”
One
large hand covered her mouth, wrapping clear across her face. She stiffened in
terror, then began to struggle wildly.
One
step forward was all it took for her captor to press her so firmly against the
vanity that she was immobilized from the hips down. His large body pressed full
against her back, flooding her with heat and fear and an intense awareness of
being entirely at his mercy. She could see her own eyes, wide with shock in the
mirror, then gazed higher to find that the shade had a face after all.
He
was half in shadow still, the candlelight blocked by her body, so all that she
could see was one eye, one slanting cheekbone, one side of a sculpted jaw. Dark
hair fell long and unfettered against that unshaven cheek, shadowing his
features until all she could see was that eye, dark and intense and perhaps a
little mad.
Handsome.
Dangerous. She’d never known a demon could be so beautiful.
Caught
by that heated gaze, she didn’t move again, nor try to scream around his
repressive hand. After a moment, the hand slid from her mouth and wrapped
loosely about her throat. She let it, feeling the heat of his palm sink into
her flesh, gentled in spite of her fear.
The
other hand slid down her arm to remove the diamond bracelet from her wrist. As
it reached across her to deposit the jewelry into the case, his muscled arm
brushed against her rigid nipples. Callie gasped at the sensations jolting
through her at such shocking contact.
Never.
Never, ever. She’d never been touched … there.
And you never will. Your time has passed,
remember? A spinster’s life, that’s all there is before you.
He
froze as well, his arm still crossing her body. Then, slowly, he pulled it
back, dragging it intentionally sideways. His fine white sleeve tugged slightly
at the paper-thin chemise, rubbing the fabric into delicate flesh so tight it
ached.
A
sound came out of Callie’s throat. Part fear, part shock, part astonished,
shivering awakening.
Never,
ever.
She
began to shiver now, her body caught in tremors beyond her ability to still.
His arm dropped away. She closed her eyes tightly.
All he has done is take back his jewels.
Perhaps he yet means me no harm.
“A
virgin fantasy? Not my usual delusion, but one learns not to argue the point.”
His tone was soft, odd, as if she weren’t even there.
“Seduction,
then? Make her want me? Impossible. This is even worse than the damned dog…”
Callie’s
eyes squeezed shut more tightly. He thought she wished to be seduced? Yet what
else was a man to think, to find a soaking-wet, half-naked girl in his rooms?
Horror laced through her, building in her throat, unable to be released in a
scream.
One
shoulder of her chemise began to slip down, down …
She
started, jerking in his grasp. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s nothing
to fear, sweet wraith. You are simply too lovely to remain concealed.”
One
half of Callie’s mind was gibbering in panic, running about in tiny circles and
waving mad hands in the air. The other half wondered at a man who seemed so
determined to be gentle with a woman so entirely in his power.
She
felt his arm go around her and then the other tiny sleeve fell halfway down her
elbow. A tug on the fabric was all it took to drag the damp, clinging fabric to
puddle at her waist, her arms trapped at the elbow by the sleeves. The chill in
the room sent another shiver through her that seemed to culminate in her
ever-hardening nipples.
She
felt rather than heard him drag in a long, deep breath.
“Open
your eyes.”
Callie
hesitated, then did as he commanded her in that roughened voice. The image in
the mirror was a wicked one, indeed. Her shoulders, her torso, her breasts,
bare and ivory against the larger darkness of him behind her. The crumpled
chemise, pinning her arms, made her look shameless, somehow almost worse than
being naked.
She
raised her gaze to her own eyes in the mirror, wide and shocked above his big
hand covering her mouth … Is that
me?
“You
yet have something of mine.”
She
still wore the long strand of perfect pearls. It draped down between her
breasts, gleaming ethereally in the golden glow of the candle.
Her
hands fluttered up to take it off, but he caught them like butterflies, trapped
carefully in his larger ones. He pressed their tangled fingers between her
breasts.
“You
could keep it, delicious spirit, if you wish.”
The
words were broken, as if torn from a throat unused to coaxing anyone for
anything.
“A
small request, perhaps? No, too many in my mind to choose … I could ask
for more … one for each and every pearl?”
Warm
fingers trailed down the strand, brushing lightly on her skin. “There are so
many pearls … I could keep you for a year or more with such a bounty.
Would you return to me each night to earn a pearl? A dying man’s wish? I would
release you happily in the end, if only you would bring your warmth to my cold
evenings and my colder dawns…”
Callie
felt some of the fear leak away at the loneliness in his deep voice. He did not
know what he said, locked into his brandy-soaked fancies. She would explain
herself, convince him that she was a real girl, a gently bred one at that,
fallen upon his hearth in need of shelter from the storm.
Then,
releasing her, his hot hands closed over her breasts and his hot mouth dove
down upon her neck. Her gasp of shock and protest was lost in the deep growl of
need reverberating from his throat as he drew her back hard against him.
Then
he was gone, torn from her with a violence that spun her hard against the
vanity. Unable to catch herself with her arms pinned to her sides, she stumbled
and fell to the floor. The strand of pearls caught upon the corner of the
marble tabletop and broke as she fell. Iridescent orbs bounced and scattered
everywhere.
She
scrambled to her hands and knees, frantically tugging her chemise back up, then
turned to see two struggling forms in the shadows.
“Dade!”
On
her feet once more, she grabbed her candle and held it high. Two heads, one
dark and one light— that would be Dade, his hair much more golden than her own!
Callie searched for something heavy to swing, ready to enter the fray in
defense of her brother.
Then
the fight swung closer to her and she saw what had been hidden from her in the
mirror. Her assailant’s face, twisted and half ruined— dark and demonic!
Callie
screamed and lost her grip on the candlestick. The room went entirely
dark.
* * *
