Category: Teatime Tattler Page 122 of 152

To Love A Knight

On August 26, 2017

Dear Diary:

I have a medieval man in my shower.

Knight

Yes… I just wrote that and no… I’m not drunk, but maybe I should be. How else do I explain the strange trip through Time that took me 800 years into the past and then again to return home to present day San Francisco? I wish I could say I dreamed the whole thing but then I can hear Fletcher humming some medieval melody and the steam from his shower is escaping through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. Just listen to him! That deep baritone voice makes my heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird in flight.

Fletcher… I swear my face flushes inferno hot each and every time he even glances in my direction. He is the stuff dreams are made of. Really! I’m not over exaggerating or lying just to make this entry interesting. I mean who would make up this stuff? If I were an author, I’d probably have a bestseller on my hands. Now isn’t that thought a hoot?

But I digress from telling you about this incredible man who continues to watch over me. He gave up everything he had just to follow me through Time. This chivalrous knight who gave no thought as to his responsibilities to his family and liege lord. A noble knight who now finds himself out of place and time in a future world that no longer values the very essence of all he held dear in another life. I’m unsure how he’ll ever adjust to modern living, despite the brave face he puts on for my benefit.

I’m in love with him. Even writing those words scares the hell out of me, and I’m terrified of what the implications of those feelings could mean to my heart. I could blink, and he could be gone in a heartbeat if God decides such is our fate. I came back to my own place in time because of the anguish I heard in my mother’s cry that spanned centuries. Would the same happen to Fletcher and those he, too, left in day’s long since past? His father, a younger sister, not to mention those he cared about at Berwyck Castle. It’s a lot to consider and it makes my head hurt with just the thought of losing him now that we’ve found one another.

He left his sword leaning up against the wall near the bathroom door, a twelfth century item appearing totally out of place among the things in this room of modern living. The ruby jewel in the hilt winks at me as though the stone has a secret to tell. My only thought is how Fletcher will react when he sees me in my best negligée that I put on just for him. He’ll think me overly bold, but I never wanted a man more than I do tonight. Now if only I can convince him to share my bed, which will be no small task. He’ll probably tell me we can’t until we’re married. He has much to learn about the twenty-first century!

I’ll write more when I can. I just heard the water go off and I’ve only moments before I’m confronted with the man who makes my heart sing. I can only hope that whatever happens between us, that we won’t lose what we have found with each other. Time brought us together. I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Time to tear us apart.

Jenna

Knight

To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novel (Book Three)

Bestselling author, Sherry Ewing, brings you the next installment of her Knights of Berwyck series, To Follow My Heart.

Love is a leap. Sometimes you need to jump…

After a gut wrenching break up with her fiancé, Jenna Sinclair heads to the coast to do a little soul searching. To say everything is subject to change is putting it mildly. Her world is not only turned upside down, but pretty much torn asunder when she is pulled through a time gate on the beach beneath the Cliff House and transported more than eight hundred years into the past.

Fletcher Monroe, captain of the garrison knights at Berwyck Castle, has wasted too much time pining for a woman who will never be his. When he finally decides to move on with his life and focus on his duties, he is suddenly confronted with a woman who magically appears at his feet. This could either be the best thing that has ever happened to him or another cursed event in a string of many. He soon finds he is wildly attracted to her, but she’s scared to death of him ─ not a very encouraging beginning.

From the shores of California to twelfth century England and back again, Jenna and Fletcher must find a way to reconcile their two different worlds before Time forever tears them apart.

Buy Links:

You can learn more about Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing on her page on the tab above with the Belles or on her website here.

A Scandalous Affair

By Guest author

On August 23, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Tongues are wagging this week in the exclusive enclave of Belgravia as news spreads of one of their own caught in the midst of a dishonest deed. I overheard The Countess B relating the details to her good friend Lady J whilst taking tea at the Imperial. With a lightning fast hand, I faithfully recorded their conversation for you, dear readers.

“I swear I am in earnest, Lady J. I heard it from a most reliable source.”

“I cannot believe it to be true. I have always thought Mr T to be most upstanding. His late wife’s family were of an excellent lineage. Why, I even had his delightful daughter, Miss T, to dine only a week past.”

“I, too, have received them and that is what makes the whole situation so distasteful. How could he steal from the very people who have welcomed him and his children into their homes and treated them as equals?”

“This is, without a doubt, the most shocking and outrageous thing I have ever heard. I will be speaking to my husband this evening. I expect he will remove our business from that bank without delay.”

“As will mine, I am sure.”

“It is as I have always feared. When you allow merchants and traders into society, you do not know to whom you open your doors. These people may have money, but they have no breeding. You can put a Saville Row suit on a man, but that does not make him a gentleman. From now on, I will only be admitting into my home those whose pedigree I am confident of. One must learn to draw the line, don’t you think?”

“I completely agree. Would you like to hear what has become of them?”

“I suppose so, if only to be aware of which establishments they frequent so I can be sure to avoid them.”

“They are to immigrate to New Zealand.”

“New Zealand? What fate will befall them in such a place? Particularly Miss T; even with her father’s low birth she, at least, had some hope of an advantageous marriage because of her mother’s connections.”

“And she is so pretty.”

“She’s passable I suppose. But I did find all that curly, red hair most off-putting. Such characteristics are often an indication of wild and unsavoury tendencies in a person.”

“Who do you suppose she will find a match with now?”

“If she is fortunate perhaps a gentleman farmer will take her. I don’t imagine that she will be able to hope for much better.”

“Perhaps she will wed a native with a bone through his nose.”

“Oh, Countess, you are a card. How shocking.”

**Excerpt from ‘The Moral Compass’ by K A Servian**

Having gathered her few most precious possessions in her reticule and pinned her mother’s brooch to the neck of her dress, Florence peered at Jack sitting astride his Clydesdale. He reached down to her.

“You cannot be serious, you don’t even have a saddle.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do we not take the cart?”

“Poor old Nellie needs a break from dragging that thing around.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “And I thought I’d be more fun this way. Give us a chance to get to know each other.”

Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly grasped his hand and placed her foot onto his. He hauled her off the ground as if she were weightless. There was only just time to twist her body as she landed sideways with a thump on Nellie’s wide rump.

He peered over his shoulder at her. “You’ll be more secure if you sit astride.”

She shook her head. Despite the fact that her seat was precarious, there was no way that she would sit in such an undignified way and she certainly did not want to be any closer to him than absolutely necessary. At least in this position, she could retain her decorum and keep some distance between them. “I have ridden side saddle since I was a child, I am sure that I will be able to keep my seat, thank you.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’d better hang on to me. It’s a long way down.”

“No thank you.”

Jack shook his head as he pressed his knees into Nellie’s sides and she lumbered across the grass towards the gravel road.

Florence felt for something to grip onto as her body lurched from side to side. Nellie moved quite differently from the thoroughbreds Florence was used to riding. She eyed the ground. It was a long way down.

“Tell me,” said Jack. “How did you and your brother end up here?”

She frowned. “I’d prefer not to speak about it if you don’t mind.”

“Were you running away from something? Most people I’ve met here in New Zealand are running away from something.”

“As I said, I’d prefer—”

“—not to speak about it.” He shrugged again.

A stream ran across the road and Nellie stepped sideways to avoid a crevice created by the water. They lurched and an involuntary cry escaped Florence’s lips as her backside slid. She scrabbled to hold on and as it seemed inevitable that she would fall, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her just in time.

“Will you stop being so damned stubborn and sit astride,” Jack snapped as he hauled her up. He eased Nellie to a stop and slid forward.

Florence scowled at him as she manoeuvred her leg over Nellie’s back whilst grappling with her petticoats in a vain attempt to maintain her modesty. Finally, after a few very undignified moments, she was securely astride.

Jack slid backwards closing the gap between their bodies and Nellie resumed her slow amble. “Hold onto me it gets a bit rough up ahead.”

Florence glared at his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist, gripping the rough linen of his shirt.

“See, that’s not so bad is it?”

“Humph.”

The slow roll of Nellie’s gait combined with Florence’s previously sleepless night had a soporific effect and soon she found her eyes growing heavy. Leaning into the firm warmth of Jack’s body she inhaled the mingled scents of linen and something spicy that reminded her of Christmas. She tightened her grip and snuggled closer as she drifted off to sleep.

About The Moral Compass

The Moral Compass is part one in the Shaking the Tree Series in which several generations of women from one family battle for their independence and learn how to love.

Florence Thackeray has a charmed life. The poverty and filth of Victorian London are beyond her notice as she attends an endless round of balls, suppers and parties.

However, when her father suffers a spectacular fall from grace, Florence’s world comes crashing down around her. Forced to emigrate to the other side of the world leaving behind the man she loves, she faces hardship beyond anything she could have imagined.

Florence becomes a working-class wife when she is given no choice but to marry Jack Cameron who is ‘the wrong sort of man.’ She learns that there is more to life than parties and pretty dresses and that love can sneak up on you when you least expect it.

But a piece of the spoilt little rich girl still remains within Florence and when she is offered the opportunity to escape the drudgery of her daily life, just for a short time, she takes it. However, she soon discovers that the offer is not all it seems. There is a high price attached and she must live with the heart-breaking consequences of her decision.

The Moral Compass is due for release later this year. Sign-up to my newsletter here, check out my blog or like my page on Facebook to keep in touch and be in to receive a free pre-release copy.

A Pirate, A Lady, and A Lord – Part Five

By Aunt Augusta

On August 19, 2017

In Bluestocking Belles, Nicole Zoltack, Teatime Tattler

Captain Pershore served the lovely Lady Annamarie himself. A bit of each of the three fish and a loaf of bread. A pile of vegetables. He laid the plate in front of her and hesitated.

“Would you prefer ale or water?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” She swept to her feet. “Allow me to pour.”

Pleased beyond measure, he watched as she poured his glass first. Ale for him and water for her, he noted.

He quickly threw a few items on his plate and sat.

“Please, enjoy,” he said.

But the lovely vision did not eat her food.

“What is the mater?” he asked.

Despite himself, he was growing angry. He did not wish to be angry. He wanted to feel only love for the lady sitting before him. For years, he had loved her from afar. He wished to have her love in return.

Why would she not eat? Was she rejecting the food or himself?

***

Annamarie could tell that Pershore was growing upset, and so she quickly took a bite of food. She chewed and swallowed hastily.

A bit too hastily. The fish caught in her throat, and she coughed and coughed.

At once, Perhsore leaped to his feet and rounded the table. He patted her back firmly but not too harshly, and the piece dislodged. Her breathing returned to normal.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling flustered and embarrassed.

To her surprise, Pershore reassumed his seat without touching her more than necessary.

Perhaps he read her shock because he said, “When you wish to be held, I will hold you. When you wish to dance, we will dance. If you wish to sing, I will raise my voice too. Although I must confess I am a terrible singer.”

“I am not much of a dancer,” she whispered. “Or a singer.”

A dark cloud crossed over his features, and her fright returned.

“This fish is delicious,” she rushed to say.

When she was not choking on it.

“Did you catch it yourself?” she continued.

Most of that darkness banished away, but not all of it. Annamarie swallowed hard. She must not forget that Pershore was not a good man. He had kidnapped her. He might be trying to act the part of a gentleman, but he clearly was not one.

Would she be doomed to remain on his ship for forever? Or worse, would he force her to marry him whenever they would reach shore?

***

Barnet was beside himself. Far too much time was passing them by. Annamarie needed him, and here he was, lost at sea with a Landlubber claiming to know the way when he clearly didn’t.

“Haven’t your friends been answering your lantern signals?” Barnet would ask each morning.

“Soon,” Landlubber would answer each morning. “You’ll be gettin’ to your lass soon.”

“Yes, yes, and you’ll kill Pershore. I know.”

“Do not fret. Frettin’ affects the seas.”

“So does sneezing,” Barnet grumbled.

Landlubber laughed. “I know how you be feelin’. Trust me. I know what I be doin’.”

What choice did Barnet have but to trust him?

Hold on, Annamarie. We’ll save you. I promise we won’t be too late.

Barnet just hoped that promise would not prove to be a lie.

To be continued…

Read Part One here, Part Two here, Part Three here, and Part Four here.

Taken from the notes of one Lady Anna Wycliff

Lady Anna is the heroine in Christmas Kisses, which had been a part of the Bluestocking Belles’ boxed set Holly and Hopeful Hearts and now contains a bonus end scene.

Louisa Wycliff, Dowager Countess of Exeter, wants only for her darling daughter, Anna, to find a man she can love and marry. She suffered through trials to find love herself.

Appallingly, Anna has her sights on a scoundrel of a duke. Her mother insists on Anna befriending a marquess’s son, a man Anna finds far too rude. Can either man be the right one for Anna?

Buy CHRISTMAS KISSES here!

Ssshhh! Don’t show this letter to the children

By Guest author

On August 16, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Letter from Quamby House parlour maid Sally Cooper to her older sisters.

Dear Mabel, Agnes and Dorcas,

This is another one of them letters where you’ll have to choose what’s only good and proper to report to the little ‘uns, cos I can tell you that the goings-on at Quamby House between Her Grace and an actor fellow called Mr Ambrose ain’t fit for their innocent ears—notwithstandin’ that I won’t ever criticize my beautiful lady duchess since she gived me her fine spotted muslin from only last season and a tippet wot she said reminded her too tragically of her last lover.

So, here’s the gossip and I can’t see a happy endin’ in sight for either the new house guest Miss Montrose or my beautiful duchess—who must know she’ll burn in hell for runnin’ from her duties attendin’ to the earl’s gouty foot to makin’ secret plans with her new actor fellow, Mr Ambrose in his bedchamber. (Not but that the earl don’t seem to care what she does as long as she’s there to play cribbage when he wants and to lean on her when they go out and about.)

Well! Last week, along came beautiful Miss Montrose for a five-day visit and you could have knocked me down with a feather when I were told that His Grace, the Earl of Quamby’s horrible nephew Mr George Bramley were going to marry ‘er. Me beautiful duchess didn’t like it either, for that’s when she said she were goin’ to get Mr Ambrose to do some sly work and see if Miss Montrose had a sweetheart lurkin’ in the shadows for Miss Montrose—sure as God made little apples—couldn’t want to marry Mr Bramley.

If you ask me, Miss Montrose is madly in love with Mr Bramley’s friend, Mr Patmore, a very kind and charming gentleman wot came here to buy a horse and were ever so generous, givin’ me two shillings for stoking up his fire ‘just as he likes it’, he told me. Ah, but I can see why Miss Montrose would be mad for him, wot with his handsome brown curls and twinking grey eyes, an’ I can’t understand why she refused him. Yes! She refused him for I saw him ask her when I were taking the stable boy his dinner. She wouldn’t let him go down on one knee and be all romantic, and then later I heard her cryin’ in her bedroom.

It’s a mystery and it don’t make sense she’d want to go ahead and marry that sly, cowardly Mr Bramley when her heart is breaking for noble, brave Mr Patmore who wants to marry her.

But what do I know of love? Just that I’m more determined than ever on bein’ a good girl and not takin’ as my example my beautiful duchess who I overheard Mr Bramley say would turn black and pockmarked with her corruptness—though the whisper is ‘e once ‘ad a passionate affair with her, though he were, in truth—madly in love with her sister, Miss Fanny Brightwell, who rejected his marriage offer.

The last word is that the two sisters—my beautiful duchess and Miss Fanny—are plotting to get Miss Montrose and Mr Patmore together. And when my beautiful duchess hatches a cunning plan, she always succeeds.

Must go and change the bedsheets. There’s more dirty linen in me life than you can shake a stick at; and since there’s nothin’ here you can read to the little ‘uns, just tell ‘em that thanks to Mr Patmore’s generous two shillings, I’ll come home Sunday next with three sugar mice for each of ‘em.

Your loving sister Sally

Devil’s Run, by Beverley Oakley

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

A rigged horse race – and a marriage offer riding on the outcome. When Miss Eliza Montrose unexpectedly becomes legal owner of the horse tipped to win the East Anglia Cup, her future is finally in her hands – but at what cost?

George Bramley, nephew to the Earl of Quamby, will wager anything. Even his future bride.

Miss Eliza Montrose will accept any wager to be reunited with the child she was forced to relinquish after an indiscretion — even if it means marrying a man she does not love.

But when the handsome and charming Rufus Patmore buys a horse from her betrothed, George Bramley, whose household her son visits from the foundling home, her heart is captured and the outcome of the wager is suddenly fraught with peril.

**This is book 3 in the Scandalous Miss Brightwell series, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Amazon US | All other retailers

Excerpt:

This excerpt begins after Eliza has just plunged into the lake to rescue three drowning children and their nanny. Having dragged them – and herself – to shore, she makes a shocking discovery.

Chapter Two

Eliza had forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a man’s attention. He’d started to dry her in a vigorous attempt to warm her but then his touch gentled and he simply stared down at her.

The wonder in his eye as he murmured words of praise was a rare sensation. Embarrassed, she turned away. Yes, turned away because she could not afford to be so obviously disquieted by another man when she was affianced to George Bramley who stood a few feet away from her. He was also staring but there was no softness in his countenance.

Hoping to avoid any more gestures of admiration or kindness from Mr Patmore, Eliza politely extricated herself and put out her hand to arrest the progress of the Foundling Home lad whom Nanny Brown was pursuing with a piece of dry linen.

His impish grin reminded her of young Miss Katherine’s, Lady Fenton’s daughter. Clearly the two had had a great adventure unlike Young George who was lying on his stomach upon the grass, shaking with sobs.

“Did you drink a lot of water, Young George?” Eliza asked, looking down at the crying boy but he ignored her. “I said we shouldn’t go out! I said!” He pounded his fists. “No one ever listens to what I say!”

Eliza shared a wry smile with the rather lovely Mr Patmore whom she found still staring at her but, as he looked about to approach her again, she turned her back on him and instead brought the Foundling Home boy to stand in front of her now that she’d succeeded in catching him. Eliza would not have Mr Bramley – or anyone else – accuse her of encouraging the attentions of a man not her betrothed.

“Jack – that’s your name, isn’t it? Well, you’ll have something to tell them back at the Foundling Home.” She’d seen him only from a distance and now, mud bespattered and with his hair matted over his forehead it was difficult to make out his features though she knew from various anecdotes that young Jack distinguished himself for keeping Miss Katherine’s wilfulness in check and peace between Katherine and her cousin, Young George.

Jack stood obediently before her as he started to wring out his threadbare shirt. “Nah, I’m fine, m’lady,” he said, glancing up to reveal a pair of small white teeth in a freckled face. “But thanks for savin’ me, an’ all.”

Eliza was about to let him go. Releasing her grip a second later might have changed the course of her life, she thought later that evening, and perhaps it would have been better if she had. Why repeat the trauma she’d already experienced?

But for now she was acting on instinct and instead of letting him go when it would have seemed natural, her grip on his wrist tightened while the air in her lungs disappeared, and she had to open and close her eyes three times before she was ready to believe what she saw.

“Gideon?” There seemed still no air to say his name. A great pressure was building in her head. Finally she was able to gasp in a breath, forcing herself to resist the urge to draw him into her embrace and wail her joy.

And pain.

How many other boys of seven years sported a tiny extra claw on their left hand? Or had been thrust into the cold, unloving world of the Foundling Home, she thought bitterly.

He stopped what he was doing to look at her uncomprehendingly and she added faintly, “Though that’s not what they call you, of course.”

An amused look crossed his face, making him look older and wiser than his seven years. Nearby, the weeping and wailing George was a puling infant. Smiling at her was a little man.

He pushed out his chest and said in a tone that was neither boastful nor self pitying, “There’s some ‘at call me Devil’s Cub, or bastard, but at the manor here they call me Jack.”

Devil’s Cub? The sixth finger accounted for the nickname, of course.

“Miss Montrose?” In the distance, Lady Fenton was calling her. Eliza was suddenly shaking like one suffering the ague. “Jack,” she repeated in a whisper, still staring at him as she clenched her own fists. Was the child tormented by his deformity? It looked as if not much troubled him though Eliza couldn’t remember how many times Eliza had been told the sixth finger was God’s punishment upon her bastard babe.

“Miss Montrose! Come away! Susan is waiting in the house with a warm bath and blankets. You must be chilled to the bone!”

Vaguely, she could hear the sounds of concern all around her but all Eliza could focus on was the impish face before her: that of her lost child.

Other Books in the Series:

Book 1: Rake’s Honour

Book 2: Rogue’s Kiss

Book 3: Devil’s Run

~*~*~*~*~*~

Meet Beverley Oakley

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.

Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.

Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.

You can get in contact with Beverley at:

website | Facebook | Pinterest | Twitter | Goodreads

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Rumours of a mad rival

By Jude Knight

On August 12, 2017

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

Overheard in a London drawing room.
“To be fair, Lady Amelia, many females have run mad over a red coat.” Lady Fenella’s jibe—and Lady Amelia’s blush—reminded the others present of Lady Amelia’s own excesses last Season in pursuit of a certain officer of the Horse Guard.

“One officer might be a mistake,” Mrs Fullerton suggested, “but two seems a little excessive. It certainly sounds as if this poor mad sister of Braxton’s makes a habit of compromising situations with the cavalry.”

“Only one compromising situation, surely,” Lady Eustace Framley protested. “I thought she was the baronet’s widow. One can’t compromise oneself with one’s husband.”

“One can before he is her husband, darling.” Lady Fenella widened her eyes. “Or do you not remember how you came to marry Lord Eustace?”

“Is it true that this mysterious officer stole her from her bedroom in her chemise?” Lady Amelia wondered.

“It would be rather cold,” said Lady Eustace. “It was, after all, more than a month ago, and in the Spring. One would imagine the Cheshire weather would dampen the ardour.”

“Your innocence is so charming,” Lady Fenella said. “Do you practice it in front of the mirror?”

“I do not much like these Braxtons. If I lived with Mrs Braxton, I dare say I should be mad myself,” Lady Amelia declared.

“I would certainly prefer Major Alex Redepenning to Mr Braxton,” said Lady Fenella, watching Mrs Fullerton very closely.

“Anyone would,” Lady Amelia agreed. “At least one would have before he was crippled. Goodness, Fenella, you don’t mean that Alex Redepenning stole Melville’s widow away! But that’s…” Her voice trailed off and she, too, stared speculatively at Mrs Fullerton.

Lady Eustace proved her relative naivety by rushing to make the comment the other two women merely thought. “Melville’s widow? Sir Gervase Melville? Wasn’t he your particular friend once, Mrs Fullerton? Yes, and Major Redepenning, too!”

“Poor dear.” Lady Fenella took Mrs Fullerton’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “It can hardly be pleasant to know you are unlikely in love not once, but twice, and both times have lost to the same woman.”

Their marriage is a fiction. Their enemies are all too real.

Ella survived an abusive and philandering husband, in-laws who hate her, and public scorn. But she’s not sure she will survive love. It is too late to guard her heart from the man forced to pretend he has married such a disreputable widow, but at least she will not burden him with feelings he can never return.

Alex understands his supposed wife never wishes to remarry. And if she had chosen to wed, it would not have been to him. He should have wooed her when he was whole, when he could have had her love, not her pity. But it is too late now. She looks at him and sees a broken man. Perhaps she will learn to bear him.

In their masquerade of a marriage, Ella and Alex soon discover they are more well-matched than they expected. But then the couple’s blossoming trust is ripped apart by a malicious enemy. Two lost souls must together face the demons of their past to save their lives and give their love a future.