Jo Beverly
Authors: Winter Fire
Jo Beverley is “one of the great names in the genre
…”
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Five RITA Awards
The Readers’ Choice Award
The Award of Excellence
The Golden Leaf Award
Two Career Achievement Awards from
Romantic Times
Member of the Romance Writers of America
Hall of Fame
Member of the Romance Writers of America
Honor Roll
*
Romantic Times
Praise for Jo Beverley’s Malloren novels
“Beverley beautifully captures the flavor of Georgian England…. Her fast-paced, violent, and exquisitely sensual story is one that readers won’t soon forget.”
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Library Journal
“Jo Beverley has truly brought to life a fascinating, glittering, and sometimes dangerous world.”
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New York Times
bestselling author Mary Jo Putney
“Delightfully spicy…skillfully plotted and fast-paced…captivating.”
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Booklist
“Delicious…. [A] sensual delight.”
—
New York Times
bestselling author Teresa Medeiros
“A fast-paced adventure with strong, vividly portrayed characters…. Wickedly, wonderfully sensual and gloriously romantic.”
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New York Times
bestselling author Mary Balogh
“Romance at its best.”
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Publishers Weekly
“A fantasic novel. Jo Beverley shows again why she is considered one of the genre’s brightest stars.”
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Affaire de Coeur
“Intricately plotted, fast-paced, and delightfully wicked.”
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Library Journal
“Storytelling at its best!”
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Rendezvous
“A page-turner…a breathtaking and powerful love story.”
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Romantic Times
(Top Pick)
Don’t miss these Malloren romances!
Devilish
Secrets of the Night
Something Wicked
My Lady Notorious
ALSO BY JO BEVERLEY
St. Raven
Dark Champion
Lord of My Heart
My Lady Notorious
Hazard
The Devil’s Heiress
The Dragon’s Bride
“The Demon’s Mistress” in
In Praise of Younger Men
Devilish
Secrets of the Night
Forbidden Magic
Lord of Midnight
Something Wicked
Winter Fire
Jo Beverley
A SIGNET BOOK
SIGNET
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, November 2003
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Copyright © Jo Beverley Publications, Inc., 2003
Excerpt from
Secrets of the Night
copyright © Jo Beverley, 1999
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-101-21174-8
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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Winter Fire
Chapter One
December 1763, in Surrey, en route to Rothgar Abbey
“
M
any people pray for tedium,” Genova Smith’s mother had often said to her as a girl if she complained that she was bored. It had not convinced her then, and didn’t now. Two long days in a slow-moving coach, no matter how luxurious, had tested her tolerance to the breaking point.
Her companions were not dull. The elderly Trayce ladies could be excellent company. Fat Lady Calliope Trayce was gruffly insightful. Thin Lady Thalia was charmingly eccentric. They could play three-handed whist forever.
However, being eighty-four and seventy-seven, they slipped into a doze now and then, as now. Tilted against the sides of the coach, they looked like mismatched bookends, one snorting, one whistling.
Genova’s books had worn out their appeal, and she couldn’t do needlework in the swaying, jolting coach. Though she’d never say so, even cards had become tedious.
Dear Lord, send a diversion. Even a highwayman!
The coach stopped.
Genova looked out with alarm. Surely prayers like that weren’t answered. Heart beating faster, she slipped her pistol out of her carriage bag. She had to admit that her rapid heart was caused by excitement rather than fear.
Action, at last.
She’d checked and cocked the gun before she realized
that highwaymen would make some sound. Didn’t they shout, “Stand and deliver!” or some such?
Besides, no sane highwayman would attempt to stop an entourage of three carriages and four armed outriders, not even if tempted by the gilded ostentation of this vehicle. The Trayce ladies were ensconced in the personal traveling chariot of their great-nephew, the Marquess of Ashart.
Genova had a low opinion of the marquess from a portrait of him that hung on his great-aunts’ wall in Tunbridge Wells, showing a vapid, powdered, and primped creature. This coach had confirmed her opinion. No true man needed deep padding, silk-lined walls, and ornate, gilded candle sconces—not to mention paintings of nubile nymphs on the ceiling.
The coach was still stationary. Genova was sitting with her back to the horses, so she couldn’t see the cause. She leaned forward and craned.
Ah. A coach was in the ditch, and the stranded traveler, a lady, was talking to Hockney, the chief outrider. The sky was low and trees whipped in a sharp wind. With the icy temperature out there, the poor lady must be freezing. They would have to take her up to the next inn.
Genova glanced at the Trayce ladies, wondering if it was within her powers to decide that. They’d asked her to come on this journey as their lady companion—“For you’ve had such adventures!” Thalia had exclaimed—but her precise duties had never been specified.
