At Spinster House, a woman can enjoy the spoils of single life—or find the love of a lifetime… It has been twenty years since Lord William Wattles laid eyes on Annabelle Frost. Still, he remembers everything—her ethereal beauty, her bookish intelligence, her surprisingly modern attitudes about love...and lust. But Belle’s allegedly wanton behavior led her father to send her away to save the family’s reputation. Now she resides at Spinster House in the village of Loves Bridge, where an unmarried lady can live—and in Belle’s case, support herself as a librarian—in peace... Beautiful, passionate Belle—sworn off marriage? William can’t believe the woman he once knew could end up like this. But when the hands of fate bring him to Loves Bridge, his long-lost love might just end up back in his arms. Is their unwavering desire worth the sweeping scandal that is sure to follow them both? Absolutely.
Release date:
July 1, 2015
Publisher:
Zebra Books
Print pages:
130
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Miss Annabelle Franklin’s heart stopped. She stared down at the book she’d been reading, but she no longer saw the words.
Good Lord, that’s William’s voice.
No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. She took a deep, calming breath. The third son of the Duke of Benton would have no reason to visit this small village library. Even the Duke of Hart, the lord of the manor, never came to Loves Bridge. It was just some fellow with a voice a bit like William’s.
But no one in Loves Bridge knows my real name.
She must have misheard. She forced her lips into a smile and looked up—
Oh, God. Oh, God. It is William. It can’t be, but it is.
She mustn’t let him know she had recognized him.
She looked down again quickly, took another deep breath, and then slowly marked her place in her book. By the time she looked back up, she had her emotions under control.
“May I help you, sir?”
He was older, of course. He’d been only a boy of eighteen when last she’d seen him. Now he was a man of thirty-eight. His shoulders were broader and his features more chiseled. And there were lines that hadn’t been there before, on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth. They did not look like laugh lines.
But he was still devastatingly handsome. He grinned at her, and her silly heart leaped like an eager puppy.
Oh, no. Not again. Never again.
“Belle Frost, it is you.”
Thank God she’d thought to change her name. “I’m sorry, sir, but you have mistaken me for someone else.” Too true. She was nothing like the girl he’d grown up with. “My name is Miss Franklin.”
What is William doing in Loves Bridge? She glanced around. At least the library was empty. She needed to get rid of him before anyone saw him.
“May I help you find a book, sir?” She raised her brows in inquiry. Remember, he can’t know for certain I’m Belle Frost. Just keep denying it.
He frowned. “Don’t you recognize me, Belle? I’m Lord William.”
“Sir—I mean, my lord—I have told you, you have confused me with someone else.” Apparently William was as strong-willed and sure of himself as ever. It had been his personality even more than his handsome face and broad shoulders that had led her astray all those years ago. Daring, smart, witty. He’d been the flame to her moth, and she’d been very, very burned.
But she’d survived, and she’d healed. She was wiser now. She was not going to let any man, especially Lord William Wattles, ruin her life again.
She stood, not that it helped a great deal. William was still a good six inches taller than she.
“Are you interested in a book, my lord? I’m afraid that is all I have to offer you.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. “This is a lending library, you know.”
His brows snapped down into a deep furrow, but she thought his expression held puzzlement rather than annoyance. Perhaps now he was not quite so certain he knew her.
He didn’t know her. She wasn’t Belle Frost, the vicar’s daughter, any longer. That naïve girl had died when her father had thrown her out of the house twenty years ago. Now she was Annabelle Franklin, the Spinster House spinster, as strong-willed and independent as William.
“No, thank you,” he said, his blue eyes still studying her. “You’re very like Belle Frost, you know. Have you ever met her? She’s from the village of Dornham.”
She was thirty-seven now. It was really quite surprising he could still recognize her.
“Dornham? Isn’t that rather far from Loves Bridge?” She knew exactly how far it was. She’d felt every rut as the shabby old stagecoach she’d ridden in had jolted over the road from there to here.
She never wanted to be that frightened, mewling, pitiful girl again.
“Yes, I suppose it is.” He shook his head. “Still, I swear you look exactly like her.”
She had to get rid of him.
“If I can’t help you find a book, Lord William, I shall get back to my work. If you will excuse me?”
She started to sit down. He reached out as if to touch her, and she flinched.
Damnation. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was . . . well, she was afraid of herself. She was afraid his touch would open the floodgates and she’d feel everything again.
His frown deepened. He had noticed, but at least he had the grace not to mention it. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“One more moment of your time, Miss, er, Franklin, if you please. I wonder if you might be able to tell me how to reach Mr. Randolph Wilkinson’s office? A woman tried to give me directions at the inn, but I’m afraid I couldn’t follow her.”
Likely it had been Mrs. Tweedon, the innkeeper’s wife. She was a lovely person, but she did tend to get her lefts and rights mixed up. And Mr. Wilkinson’s office was not easy to find. She should take William there—
Oh, no, she shouldn’t. And why was William seeking out the Loves Bridge solicitor? She could only hope it was on some brief errand, perhaps for a friend, and he would hie himself back to Dornham or London or wherever it was he now called home as soon as possible.
“Certainly, my lord. Go up round the back of the church. There you’ll find a gate. Go through it and follow the path down through the woods. Turn right when you reach the lane. Mr. Wilkinson’s house will be the first building on the left once the hedgerows end. Have you got that?” William had always had a good sense of direction.
He nodded. “Yes, I believe I have. Thank you for your help, Miss Frost—I mean Miss Franklin.”
“You’re welcome, my lord. I hope your business with Mr. Wilkinson is accomplished satisfactorily.” And you leave Loves Bridge immediately thereafter.
William gave her another probing look. She was afraid he was going to say more, but he just nodded. “Thank you. Good day, Miss Fro—Franklin.”
“Good day, my lord.”
And then, finally, he was out the door and out of her life again. Her legs gave way and she collapsed onto her chair.
It took several minutes for her hands to stop shaking.
That was Belle Frost.
Lord William Wattles stood on the walk outside the lending library. He’d swear that was Belle. Yes, it had been twenty years, but she hadn’t changed so very much. Her face might be thinner, but her eyes were the same, large and golden with green flecks and long lashes.
Yet they were different, too. They used to be full of intelligence and humor—and passion. Today they’d been strained. Shuttered. And he’d not liked the way she’d flinched when he’d reached for her. Not at all.
Had some man mistreated her? Was that why she was so far from home?
Bloody hell! He should go back inside and demand she tell him the scoundrel’s name. He’d find the miscreant and darken the fellow’s daylights.
Guilt whispered through him, but he shrugged it off. Belle couldn’t be afraid of him. They hadn’t seen each other for years, and, in any event, she’d wanted everything they’d done together. There’d been no doubt of that.
He would go back inside and demand she tell him everything.
But how was he to manage that? She’d been adamant she was not Belle but this Miss Franklin.
Miss Franklin—not Mrs. At least she’d not made his mistake and got married.
“Oh, sir? May we help you?”
He blinked at the young women standing in front of him. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t seen them approach, and given they were strikingly beautiful and twins, that was astounding.
If he wasn’t more careful, he’d start the village rumor mill running at a fever pitch. Likely it was already firing up. A stranger always provoked comment in a small village.
“No, thank you, ladies.” He bowed, giving the girls—they couldn’t be long out of the schoolroom—his most polished smile. It had the hoped-for effect, setting them to blushing and giggling. “My apologies for blocking the walk.”
“Oh, sir, that is quite all right.”
“You weren’t blocking the walk.”
“Not at all.”
“We just wondered if you needed assistance.”
“Since you are obviously new here.”
The. . .
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