Blackstone's Bride. Bronwyn Williams

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      “Ladies don’t swear,” he said piously.

      Eleanor jerked out another stick and peeled off a length of sheeting. “Gentlemen don’t refer to their—their posteriors in a lady’s presence.”

      “Ah, come on now, El, aren’t we beyond all that?”

      Her lips twitched as she tried to repress a smile. “Your bruises have turned yellow,” she told him. When he tried to look down, she said, “Hold still. I’m not through yet.”

      She was fast and efficient, reaching around him to grab an end, freeing it and then reaching around him again. When her fingers brushed across his navel, he sucked in his breath.

      “Sorry. Did I pinch?”

      He closed his eyes. “Ticklish,” he said. He didn’t specify which body part was itching now.

      Blackstone’s Bride

      Harlequin Historical #667

      Acclaim for Bronwyn Williams’s recent titles

      The Mail-Order Bride

      “A setting so vivid it’s almost another character,

       intense-but-forbidden attraction and an appealing degree of humor make this supreme romance reading.”

      —Romantic Times

      Longshadow’s Woman

      “This is a perfect example of western romance writing at

       its very best…an exciting and satisfying read.”

      —Romance Reviews Today

      The Paper Marriage

      “From first page to last,

       this is the way romance should be.”

      —Old Book Barn Gazette

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      Blackstone’s Bride

      Bronwyn Williams

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter One

      The paneled door closed quietly behind Jedediah Blackstone, shutting out the noise of the lobby just down the hall. Jed had asked for a room on the third floor, but the hotel had already been full when he’d checked in three days earlier. Something to do with politics, this being the state capitol, the clerk had said.

      Crossing to the window that looked out on one of Raleigh’s busier streets, he cast his mind back over the past few hours. Had he left any loose ends untied? The property had been identified on a large plat on the wall of the land office. The deed had been signed both by him and by the agent representing the railway company, the signatures duly witnessed. The money had been disbursed as he’d requested, the largest portion going directly into his new account at the bank in Asheville, with only enough held out to cover his traveling expenses, which would be minimal, considering the way he intended to travel. And he still had forty acres left over.

      For another few days—a week, at best—he could consider himself a rich man. Hardly in the same category as a man like Sam Stanfield, the man who’d had him beaten, branded and run out of Foggy Valley eight years ago for daring to court his daughter—but wealthy enough to keep the bastard from foreclosing on George’s farm.

      Looking back through the years, Jed had to admit he’d done a damn sight more than court the girl. Not that that had kept Vera from marrying the same sunovabitch who had branded his ass all those years ago.

      “Ancient history,” he told the pigeon pacing his windowsill. He had too many more important matters to deal with now to waste time crying over spilt milk that had long since soured. Up until George had wired him about the loan Stanfield was about to call, Jed had been in no hurry to sell the property he’d won in a poker game. Hadn’t even known exactly where it was at the time, only that it was worthless as farmland, therefore good only for what the past owner had used it for—to try and parlay it into something of value.

      But before he could find another big stakes game, he’d heard about the railroad’s plans to move farther west, and the same week he’d had a wire from his half brother, George Dulah, describing the mess he was in.

      Jed had been in Winston at the time on a meandering trip that would have eventually fetched him up right on the edge of the continent. He’d had a hankering to see the ocean, now that he’d read about it in the encyclopedias. The Atlantic, at least. He had a ways to go before he got to the Ps.

      Instead, he’d headed for Raleigh, where the railroad land office was located. He had taken a room, had himself a bath, dressed the part of a gentleman and set forth to convert the deed he’d won into СКАЧАТЬ