Table of Contents
A Reunion of Sorts Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
About Annette Archer
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BONUS - Preview of "Secrets of a Wedding Night" by Sandra Sinclair
Copyright © 2014 Steam Books Erotica & Romance
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Annette Archer's humble beginnings working retail brought her two things: a strong work ethic and an insatiable desire for escapism. Utilizing these traits as well as her degree in English and her natural power of the pen, Annette Archer has emerged as an exciting voice in the realm of romance fiction.
Annette has published independently as well as teamed with publishers such as Steam Books Erotica & Romance. Her "Penny's Choice" series has earned her the attention of romance and fantasy readers alike.
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BONUS
Please enjoy a tease from the hot story,
by Sandra Sinclair
“You will be wed to the Earl of Snowvale in a fortnight.”
The announcement caused Ginny to pale, her gloved fingers clenching around handfuls of muslin. Horrified, she sat still, at a loss for words. If it had been any other person, she would have accused him of jesting, but her father, the Earl of Windbrook, never jested. She had never once heard him laugh, in fact, never seen him smile. He would grin, yes, but those grins were even more frightening than his grimaces, like a wolf baring its teeth before an attack.
“The wedding will take place in the countryside,” her father went on. “Considering the Season is coming to an end in a few days. I’ve asked…”
“I don’t want to,” Ginny finally found her voice, though she was still trembling.
Her father paused, but continued as if she hadn’t uttered a word. “I’ve asked your aunt, Lady Gertrude, and your sister, Emilia, to see to the preparations. I’ll be going to the country ahead to…”
“Father, I don’t want to be wed,” she spoke louder this time, standing up. “I don’t even know the Earl of Snowvale.”
“You seemed to have enjoyed his company last night,” her father pointed out.
Ginny frowned.
Indeed, she had enjoyed dancing with the Earl last night at Lord Hawking’s ball. He was a good dancer, after all, never having stepped once on her slippers, which was more than she could say for about half of the young gentlemen of the ton, even those who had not yet had more than a glass of brandy to drink. He was a good listener, too, and was even quite amusing.
Now, she no longer found him so. He probably acted wonderful on purpose just to charm her, and some fool she turned out to be, falling for his charms. Oh, if only she had known then that he was plotting to marry her, then she wouldn’t have danced with him at all.
“You will marry the Earl of Snowvale,” her father said. “What you want is of no consequence.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Father, you’re being unfair.”
“It is an honor I share with all the other fathers in the ton. Or did you think that this is the first time a woman is being wed to a man not of her choosing?”
“Do you not care for my happiness? I am your daughter.”
“Yes, you are my daughter and you will do as I say. The wedding is final.”
She stared at him defiantly, her jaw clenched and her eyebrows narrowed, half-tempted to tell him she wished she was anyone’s daughter but his. Instead, she picked up her skirts and marched out of the room.
“I don’t recall dismissing you. Or do you want to be sent to bed without any supper?”
She ignored him.
“You should be grateful. The Earl of Snowvale…”
The rest of the sentence remained in the study, behind the door which she pushed close with such strength that the chandelier in the hall shook. She didn’t mind, making her way down the hall and up the staircase with a firm pout.
Grateful? For what? For being given away like a pig to the butcher? And what she wanted was of no consequence? Her gowns were chosen for her. Her books. Her meals. Her horses. Her friends. Must her husband be chosen for her, too?