Elizabeth Michels continues her charming Spare Heirs series with her new release, The Wicked Heir! Read on for an excerpt from the book, available today where all books are sold!
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“Am
I dead?” Isabelle’s voice croaked as if she’d never used it before.
“No.
Thankfully not,” came a male voice from the far side of the room.
She
gasped and pulled herself up a bit against the pillows. Why was there a man
with her in a strange bedchamber? Had he hit her on the head and brought her
here? Isabelle’s mind reeled with questions, each punctuated by the pain in her
skull.
Coals
from a near-dead fire sprang to life in the grate across the room, lighting a
tall silhouette. The man dusted his hands off and turned toward her. “You did
have me worried there for a bit though.”
Blinking
into the haziness that was the other side of the room, she forced her eyes to
adjust to the light. There was something familiar about his deep voice, the
confidence in his movements, but she couldn’t make sense of any of this. “Whose
bedchamber am I in?”
“Mine.”
St. James came into focus as he moved to her side, but his answer was no answer
at all.
This
room couldn’t belong to St. James, and she couldn’t be lying within it. None of
this was real. It was all a dream caused by the bump on her head. She must have
hit it quite hard to envision herself in such a place, with St. James of all
people. It was rather amusing, really, aside from her throbbing head. That part
wasn’t amusing at all. But the setting she’d placed St. James in did bring a
smile to her face.
A
large bedchamber filled with plush furnishings and covered in busy floral
patterns—ha! And in her mind she’d made her most stern—and only male—friend
claim he lived there. Dreams were entertaining at times. St. James’s chosen
place to sleep would be on a cot beside a desk. Or perhaps he never reclined at
all; he only caught a quick nap in a chair between meetings. She giggled, which
only drew him closer. A look of concern made him look more serious than ever as
he stood surrounded in flowers.
She
scowled back at him and laughed. “St. James, I’m in your bed—your overly
feminine bed,” she whispered up to him. “Are we married in this dream? Don’t
you want to kiss me, have your way with me here on our wedding night?”
“Devil
take it, you’re delusional. I’ll have the doctor return,” he muttered. He
leaned against the bed, next to her, and lifted a hand to check something on
her forehead.
“Oh,
a doctor! Yes, I’ll need one of those. I am injured. Horribly injured!
Save me, St. James. The only way I’ll live is if you kiss me.” She reached up
and grabbed the fabric of his waistcoat, pulling him closer. He braced a hand
on the bed on the other side of her body, smoothed her hair back from her face,
and watched her. The fabric of his waistcoat was textured by the pattern of
gray threads stitched into it and was rough under her fingers, drawing her
attention from the intense look in his eyes. How odd to have such detail in a
dream.
“Your
clothing feels so real.”
He’d
removed his coat and cravat. His waistcoat hung open, and his clothes were
rumpled, as if he’d slept in them. She’d never seen him in such a state of
undress. She moved her hand to his shirt and splayed her hand across his chest.
The heat of his skin warmed her fingers as his heart beat beneath her palm.
Dream St. James had a broad chest and muscles that twitched at her touch. She
lifted her hand to his shoulder, her other hand skimming up his side. His
breath hitched in his chest. It was odd that she’d never noticed the real man’s
fit form, never before caught the look in his eyes that was one part caring
concern, one part intense desire.
He
moved his hand over her hair, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. St.
James was her friend, only a friend. She wouldn’t be able to face him for a
week once she woke from this scene, him sitting so close, her touching him.
“This dream…”
“Isn’t
a dream,” he said, not breaking the contact he had with her. Instead he searched her eyes and continued to
touch her cheek, her temple, in soothing, gentle caresses, as if she might
break.
It
took a moment for his words to sink into her aching skull. “It isn’t…” She
froze in her exploration of his body, her gaze dropping to her hands that had
been roaming over his chest for well over a minute. “What?”
“You
aren’t dreaming. I found you on the floor of the museum earlier today.”
“And
you brought me here? Why? Wait… Earlier
today?” She had to leave. She had to
find her family. She tried to push St. James away to sit up, but he didn’t
budge.
“You
were unconscious. I know you’re confused, but you’re safe now…in my home, my
bed.”
“Your…
No, truly. Where am I?” She ripped her gaze from his to scan the room beyond
him, looking for anything that made sense of the past few minutes. This room
could not be Mr. St. James’s private quarters. It didn’t fit what she knew of
the man. And why was she in his private anything? She couldn’t be. Her
reputation. Victoria’s wedding. She needed to gather her things and leave this
place, wherever it was.
“You’re
in my bedchamber—truly.”
“What?”
She stared up at him, taking in the sympathy and, unfortunately for her,
honesty in his expression.
“You
need to rest,” he said in a tone that would command armies but not Isabelle on
her sister’s wedding day.
“I
need to leave,” she stated as she pushed against his unyielding chest in an
effort to sit up…
“No.”
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The Spare Heirs Society Cordially Invites You to
Meet Fallon St. James: The Mastermind
When the love of Lady
Isabelle Fairlyn’s life is betrothed to her twin sister, Isabelle vows to find
a suitable replacement before the end of the season. He must be a talented
dancer, have a keen fashion sense, and be perfectly dashing in every way.
Fallon St. James is the
farthest thing from perfectly anything. As head of the secretive Spare
Heirs Society, he must stick to the shadows…even as Isabelle’s friendship pulls
him reluctantly into the light. But when
Isabelle gets involved with the one man who could destroy Spares, Fallon must
decide between protecting his life’s work—or risking everything to save the
woman whose warm smile leaves him breathless.
Elizabeth Michels is the award-winning author
of the Tricks of the Ton series and the new Spare Heirs series.
She attended Park University where she graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BA in
Interior Design. This Historical Romance author enjoys living in a lake-side town in North Carolina with her husband
and son. Elizabeth is a lover of happily-ever-afters, laughter, and things that
are sparkly. Tiara optional while reading, but highly recommended.
Find her online!
Twitter:
@SouthernTart
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