By Kerrigan Byrne
"*They're rebels, scoundrels, and blackguards-dark, rushing males at the fallacious part of the legislations. yet for the ladies who love them, a touch of chance basically makes the heartbeat quicker, within the attractive debut historic romance The Highwayman by means of Kerrigan Byrne.*
Dorian Blackwell, the Blackheart of Ben extra, is a ruthless villain. Scarred and hard-hearted, Dorian is considered one of Victorian London's wealthiest, so much influential males who will cease at not anything to wreak vengeance on these who've wronged him...and will struggle to the dying to grab what he wishes. the beautiful, nonetheless blameless widow Farah Leigh Mackenzie isn't any exception-and quickly Dorian whisks the attractive lass away to his sanctuary within the wild Highlands...
But Farah is not any one's puppet. She possesses a strong secret-one that threatens her very lifestyles. whilst being held captive by means of Dorian proves to be the one technique to preserve Farah secure from those that might see her useless, Dorian makes Farah a scandalous proposition: marry him for defense in trade for utilizing her mystery to assist him distinctive revenge on his enemies. yet what the Blackheart of Ben extra by no means can have imagined is that Farah has phrases of her personal, igniting a tempestuous wish that consumes them either. may possibly or not it's that the girl he captured is the one person who can contact the black center he'd lengthy idea dead?
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Extra info for The Highwayman (Victorian Rebels, Book 1)
Of my strange visitor there was no sign. Herman was sitting on the hearth looking unruffled, and I envied him his peace of mind. I was still thoroughly alarmed by the trespass. Especially when I looked to the front door and found it closed but unbarred. A quick search revealed that Fergus’s journal was gone. So my mysterious visitor was a thief—but perhaps a kind one, since he had bothered to make up the fire and drape me with a blanket. He also felt enough at home to make a pot of tea before departing.
Doubtless he had visited many times and knew the tides and where it was safe to stow a boat. And he had even used the kitchen before, because he was human, subject to the cold, not a devil or a sea monster who had no need for tea. And he had come at night because of the stupid villagers who were so hostile to strangers. Look at how they still treated me! Findloss was necessarily hermetic given its geography, and while not inbred in any physical sense, it was unusually xenophobic and superstitious.
I needed more information, and my only real hope of getting it was if Fergus had left some other journals or letters behind: Surely if this stranger had been a friend, Fergus would make some mention of him. And if he wasn’t a friend…? Well, he would probably mention that too. My Aunt Sophie—acquired through marriage and thought of without affection—was originally from Texas. She always said to my mother that I had a lot of quit in me. The stupid woman didn’t know me very well. What I had had were a lot of good manners drilled into me, and that kept me from contradicting her even when what she said was idiotic, self-serving or vicious, which was most of the time.