BRIGAND, BOOK 4 IN THE AWARD-WINNING
NOBLE PASSIONS SERIES
By Sabrina York
It's always great to have Sabrina as a guest on The Lusty View blog. I love her books!! Here's the latest in her Noble Passions series to check out!
SAMPLE TWEET:
BRIGAND,
Book 4 in the acclaimed #NoblePassionsSeries from @ellorascave releases!
Kidnapped by a Brigand! Horrors!
http://www.ellorascave.com/brigand.html
The
Fourth Book in the Scorching Noble Passions Series by Sabrina York Releases!
Fans of Sabrina York’s steamy Regency series
have been eagerly awaiting the release of, the fourth book (following award
winning Folly, Dark Fancy and the scorching
Dark Duke) which follows the adventures of Violet Wyeth who is
captured by a vengeful Scottish Brigand…only to discover he is none other than
Ewan St. Andrews, the boy she once loved.
Noble Passions: Follow the decadent exploits
of friends and enemies as they find love and passion in the glittering world of
the Regency—and its dark underbelly. Each book is a stand-alone read.
If you’re new to the series, download
Sabrina’s free teaser book at http://sabrinayork.com/home-2/sabrina-yorks-teaser-book/
to read blurbs and excerpts for this popular series. Each book in the series is
a stand-alone story.
Brigand
Sabrina York
Kidnapped and held prisoner by menacing Scottish brigand, the
notorious McCloud, Violet Wyeth does her best to persevere…and resist his rakish
charms. But when she realizes The McCloud is really Ewan St. Andrews, the boy
who once saved her life, the boy who once kissed her and made her heart
flutter, she is lost.
Ewan has every intention of marrying Lady Kaitlin
MacAllister. He desperately needs the entrée into the ton this bride can provide. But when his bride is delivered—bound
and gagged—it’s not Kaitlin. It’s Violet Wyeth—the girl who betrayed him and
ruined his life when he was a boy. He keeps her, determined to punish her for
her sins. But when he discovers the truth about what really happened so long
ago, and seething passion rises between them, he can no longer hold on to his
rusty grudge. By the time he realizes how much he loves Violet—that he always
has—he’s lost her.
All he can do is follow her. Follow her into the bowels of
hell—and partake in the torment of the glittering London Season, where the
harpies are far more dangerous than a Scottish brigand.
READ A STEAMY EXCERPT
By reading any further, you are
stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18,
please exit this site.
An
Excerpt From: BRIGAND
All
Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Holy Heaven. She would never take a bath for granted again.
Violet stumbled on the stairs and the contents of the heavy
bucket sloshed, dousing her with hot water. She sucked in a breath as pain
seared. She set the bucket on the landing and pulled her skirts up. Her skin
was red. She ruffled the tatters of her petticoats, waiting for the sting to
subside.
The door to the Laird’s solar swung open. She stepped back
so it wouldn’t hit her and it slammed into the wall. The McCloud glowered down
at her. His gaze stalled on her bare legs. It was riveted—until she dropped her
skirts—then he snapped, “What the hell is taking so long?” His glanced back at
her damp skirts and his frown darkened. He picked up the last bucket and
carried it to the tub, dumping it in himself. “For god’s sake. How long does it
take to bring a few measly buckets up from the kitchen?”
A few measly buckets? It had taken twelve trips, each with a
bucket that weighed near as much as she. Violet glared at him. “Is that
enough?” She probably didn’t need to clip the words quite so much but she had
already worked for hours. She was tired and sweaty and her skin ached and Morna
was waiting for her to come help prepare dinner.
He swished his hand in the water. “Yes. I suppose that will
do.”
Not a thank you. Not a smile. Nothing.
Beast.
She whirled and started for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice rumbled, a deep
tenor. Her steps slowed.
“Back to the kitchen.” She frowned at him over her shoulder.
“I have work to do.”
“You have work to do here.”
“I beg your pardon?” What did he want her to do now, wash
his bottom?
“You’re going to bathe me.”
Her heart stilled at his words, his intent, and especially
his expression. “Wh-what?”
“Come now, Violet. The laird of the manor can’t be expected to
scrub his own back, can he now? Be a good girl, close the door and come over
here.”
She gaped at him. Gaped.
He expected her to remain in a room with a naked man? He expected her to touch
him?
“Close your mouth. You look like a trout.”
“But…I c-can’t. I can’t b-bathe you.”
“You can. And you will.” His eyes glimmered with something
other than humor. The unspoken threat hummed in the stony chamber. “You may
want to turn around while I undress, unless you want an early education.” He
began to unbutton his shirt.
With an undignified eep,
Violet whirled and showed him her back until she heard the splash and his gusty
sigh.
“All right, girl. Get to work. Scrub my back.” He gestured
to a chunk of soap and a sponge on a small table. She picked them up,
approached the tub and knelt behind him, trying not to stare at the bunching
muscles, the broad expanse of tanned skin. She couldn’t help but notice it was
covered with scars. Long and short, crisscrossing over one another. As though
he’d been brutally beaten and lashed time after time after—“Did you close the
door?”
Her bubbling sympathy evaporated in a rush. She stuck her
tongue out at him, but only because he couldn’t see. Then, with a heavy sigh,
she levered herself off the floor and closed the door. Well, slammed it.
His chuckle annoyed her more.
He leaned forward and peeped at her over his shoulder. “Come
along now. My back isn’t going to scrub itself.”
She took her place behind him again, being very careful not
to look at his broad, be-furred chest as she approached. She wet the soap and
sponge and created a lather. Being very careful not to touch him, she began to
scour his back. He winced. “Not so hard.”
His plaintive tone probably shouldn’t have sent a shard of
evil satisfaction through her, but it did. This man had been a boor to her from
the moment he’d found her on the floor in Callum MacAllister’s cottage. She dug
deeper.
He lurched forward. “Ouch!”
“Hold still,” she muttered, making a wide swath across the
ridged skin. “You’re filthy. I need to scrub.”
“I am not filthy.”
“You are. Stop wriggling.”
Amazingly, he did, though her efforts bordered on abuse. But
my, it felt good.
When she started on his neck and ears, he caught her wrist.
“All right. I think that’s enough.”
“I’m not done.”
“Oh, you’re not done.” He tugged her around to the side of
the tub so she faced him. She focused on his crooked nose, schooled her
attention not to drift lower. “Now it’s time for you to scrub my front.”
She really disliked his tone. There was mischief—and
something much darker—coiling in there. “Fine.” She dropped to her knees and
wet the sponge again, but rather than dunking it, merely skimmed the surface of
the water.
Fortunately the bath was murky, so she couldn’t see anything. But she knew what was down
there and she didn’t want to find it by accident. She trained her attention on
his chest, and her heart lurched.
A long, nasty scar scored him. Like a puckered lightning
bolt, it made its jagged way from his left nipple down to his belly. Her pulse
skittered. Her breath snagged in her throat. She’d only ever seen a scar like
that once before.
A scar exactly like that.
Her gaze snapped back to his face. She looked at him. Really
looked at him, perhaps for the first
time. Her mouth went dry. The gray eyes laced by thick black lashes. The broad,
smiling mouth. The curve of his jaw.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
“W-where did you get that scar?”
He glanced down and stilled. Annoyance flickered across his
features. “Every man has scars.”
“Not-not like that.” She sat back on her haunches. She
didn’t realize she was squeezing the sponge until water seeped through her
skirts.
“All right. A knife fight.”
“Knives don’t cut like that.” It was uneven and rippled, as
though the flesh and been shorn off in places and sliced in others.
“Well, it was a goddamn knife fight. I was in a vicious
battle with a man in an alley. I gutted him.” His lip curled into a sneer.
“Does it frighten you, my lady?”
“No.” But that was a lie. It did frighten her. Because Ewan,
her friend, the boy who had saved her, had gotten an eerily similar wound
rescuing her from a watery grave. And surely this wasn’t Ewan. It couldn’t be.
Ewan was gentle and sweet. He had liked her, maybe loved
her. He had kissed her. And this man… This man had taken her prisoner and
mauled her and put her to work.
And she hated him.
He couldn’t be Ewan. He couldn’t. It would break her heart.
“Goddamn it, girl, finish washing me. The water’s getting
cold,” he barked
But she couldn’t. She needed to know. She had to know.
“It wasn’t a knife. It was ice.” A whisper, but he heard it.
He froze, his gaze locked to hers. “You jumped in and found me in the water.
Lifted me out. But you couldn’t get out yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
But he did. She could see it in his eyes. There, for a flash
of an instant, she saw that boy in
his eyes.
She licked suddenly dry lips. “Ewan? Is it you?”
He rose from the tub in an unholy rush. She didn’t have time
to glanced away. The vision of his naked body, hard and lean, scarred and
perfect, burned on her brain. He grabbed a cloth and covered his loins.
“This bath is over. Get out.”
She stood. Tried desperately not to tremble. “It is you. It
is.”
“Get out. Go!”
“What happened to you, Ewan?”
A dark cloud lowered on his already stormy brow. “What
happened to me? You mean how did I become the beast that I am?” The vitriol in
his voice made her shake, but she didn’t back down.
“No, Ewan. Where did you go? No one would tell me and I
always wondered…”
Every muscle in his body tensed, vibrated. Violet knew, because
she could see them all, a magnificent panoply.
She should have been afraid. She should have been horrified.
She should have skittered away like a frightened little rabbit. But she wasn’t
afraid. She didn’t run.
She knew—knew—her
Ewan would never hurt her.
Indeed, as he stared at her, his fury passed. He scrubbed a
palm over his broad face. “Go,” he croaked. His tone was laced with an emotion
she couldn’t decipher. Desolation? Greif? “Just go.”
This time, she did.
About Sabrina York
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York is the award
winning author of over 20 hot,
humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet &
sexy erotic romance to scorching BDSM. Connect with her on twitter
@sabrina_york, on Facebook
or on Pintrest. Check
out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on Amazon
or wherever e-books are sold. Visit
her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to
check out her books, excerpts and contests. Free Teaser Book: http://sabrinayork.com/home-2/sabrina-yorks-teaser-book/ And don’t forget to enter to win the royal
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2 comments:
Kathy, thank you so much for sharing the word about Brigand!!! You are awesome! I hope your readers LOVED the tease!
You're welcome, Sabrina. I'm sure they'll love the excerpt. I did! I'll be loading up my NOOK with a few new books. :)
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