By Tessa Dare
Welcome to Spindle Cove...
Spindle Cove is the vacation spot of selection for particular types of well-bred younger girls: the bookish, the shy, the heartbroken or misunderstood. it is a haven for younger women who do not fairly healthy in.
Victor Bramwell, the hot Earl of Rycliff, understands he does not belong right here. as far as he can inform, there is not anything during this village yet spinsters and sheep. yet he has orders to collect a defense force. it is a basic project, made complex via the lively, beautiful Susanna Finch--a girl who's decided to save lots of her girls' shelter from the invasion of Bram's makeshift army.
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Extra resources for A Night to Surrender
She ought to have known it. No sane man had ever looked at her this way. She pushed aside her disappointment. At least he had come to the right place. And landed on the right woman. She was far more skilled in treating head wounds than fielding gentlemen’s advances. The key here was to stop thinking of him as an immense, virile man and simply regard him as a person who needed her help. An unattractive, poxy, eunuch sort of person. Reaching out to him, she traced one fingertip over his brow. “Don’t be frightened,” she said in a calm, even tone.
The model, dear,” her father prompted. ” With a quiet sigh, Susanna dutifully rose from her chair and crossed the room to retrieve the clay model she’d made of Rycliff Castle more than a decade ago. Sometimes life could be astonishingly efficient in dispensing mortifications. In the space of a minute, she would be exposed before three male visitors to be both freakishly tall and an abominably poor sculptor. What would come next? Perhaps her father would invite the men to count her freckles, one by one.
Shading her brow with one hand, she peered hard at the men, trying to make out their identities. One of the men wore an officer’s coat. Another wore no coat at all. As she approached them, the coatless man began to wave with vigor. Shouts carried up to her on the breeze. Frowning, Susanna moved closer, hoping to better hear the words. “Wait! Miss, don’t . . ” Whomp. An unseen force plucked her straight off her feet and slammed her sideways, driving her off the lane entirely. She plowed shoulder-first into the tall grass, tackled to the turf by some kind of charging beast.