A tale of the dangers and delights of passion fulfilled

From the back cover:

As a child, shy, bookish Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald loses her heart to the dashing young lord, Tyrell de Warenne. Although she is well aware that he is the heir to an earldom and utterly unattainable, Lizzie secretly worships him for years. And one fateful evening—the night of her first masquerade ball—she is stunned when he suggests that they rendezvous at midnight. But then fortune takes a maddening turn and Lizzie is thwarted from ever meeting Tyrell. Lizzie is certain such an opportunity will never arise again, but that night is only the beginning...

Tyrell de Warenne is shocked when, two years later, Lizzie arrives on his doorstep with a child that she claims is his. He remembers her well—and knows that it is impossible that he is the boy's father. What is this game she is playing...and why? Is Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald a woman of vast experience, or the gentle innocent he had believed her to be? Tyrell quickly decides he will play her game and he claims the child as his own—determined to uncover Lizzie's lies. But neither scandal, deception nor pride can thwart a love too grand and passionate to ever be denied...

“Brenda Joyce continues her de Warrene Dynasty with a passionate tale of two lovers caught up in a web of secrets, deceptions, and lies.” Booklist

From Chapter #2

Tyrell de Warenne stood a short distance away, dressed as a pirate in thigh-high boots, tight black breeches, a black shirt, black eye patch and a wig on his head, with several narrow beaded braids around his face. He had his hand on his hip, where he wore a very genuine-looking sword, and he seemed to be staring directly at her.

Lizzie lost the ability to breathe. He could not be staring at her that way, so intently, as if he were a lion about to pounce on his prey. She turned to see what lovely lady stood behind her, but no one was there. She was by herself, quite alone.

Almost disbelieving, she faced him. Dear Lord, he was no striding toward her!

Lizzie panicked. What has she thinking? He was the heir to an earldom, as wealthy as she was, and eight years older than she. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted. Her heart was beating its way out of her chest—and she knew she would behave like a fool again.

Lizzie turned and fled out of the ballroom, suddenly terrified. She was no seductress and courtesan. She was Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald, a sixteen-year-old girl prone to daydreams, and it was absurd to try to tempt Tryell de Warenne. She found herself in a gaming room filled with lords and ladies at various card and dice tables. There, she paused against the wall, panting and uncertain as to what she should now do. Had he really been approaching her? And if so, why?

And he suddenly strode into the room.

His presence was like the sunrise on a cold gray dawn. Instantly, his gaze pinned her. He halted before her, leaving Lizzie stunned, her back to the wall.

She could only stare, her heart racing as wildly as it ever had.

“Do you really think to run from me?” he murmured. And he smiled.

She had stiffened impossibly. She could not more but she began to breathe, not normally but shallowly and rapidly. She tried to shake her head no, and failed. What could he possibly want? Had he confused with someone else?

He was so close, as close—no, closer—than he had been the other day in Limerick. She knew she must reply, somehow. But how could she? She had never seen him thus clad. The thigh-high boots drew gaze the way a magnet did a coin, and from the top of the boots, her eyes drifted to his groin. There, a suggestive and very masculine swell was far too evident. She jerked her gaze up to his disreputably unbuttoned shirt, and saw a gold-and–ruby cross lying amid the dark hairs of his chest. Moisture gathered in her mouth, and elsewhere, too. A most persistent aching began, that longing she spent days and nights trying to ignore.

“You need not run from me,” he said, his tone remaining unbearable soft. “All pirates are not the same.”

Was he flirting with her? Dear God, this was her second chance! She felt certain she could not speak—she still could not draw a normal breath—but she had to respond! She had to make some witty comment about pirates. “I do believe all pirates have a reputation for mayhem and murder, my lord,” she somehow whispered. “So of course I should think to run.”

He grinned then, sweeping a courtly bow that no pirate would ever use. The braids, beaded with coral and gold, swung about his face and against his full lips, which she stared helplessly at. How good he must taste. He straightened abruptly, his sungle eye locking with her. “And if I swear I am not like other pirates? If I swear no intent to harm?”

She swallowed hard. “Then I should rethink my position, my lord,” she managed.

One dimple danced. “I am pleased to hear that,” he stated. “I believe we have made each other’s acquaintance, have we not, my lady?”

For one moment she stared, enthralled by his appeal.

“My lady? We have met?” he insisted.

She did not want to confess to being the foolish muddy child he had rescued on the high street. “Only if you run with my lord Robin Hood, sir.”

He studied her, still smiling. “The truth is, I am rather familiar with Sherwood Forest, my lady, although I have yet to meet the outlaw you speak of.”

And she found herself finally smiling back. “Perhaps there shall arise an occasion in which I may make that introduction, if you truly seek it.” Lizzie realized she was actually flirting with him.

His single uncovered eye glittered in the most shocking manner. “There is only one introduction that I wish to make,” he said very precisely.

Lizzie had never received such a look from any man in her life. There was simply no mistaking his meaning. “Maid Marian,” she whispered hoarsely. “It is simple Maid Marian.”

He hesitated and she sensed he had wanted her real name, but then he bowed again, this time briefly. “And I am Black Jack Brody, at your every command.”

They stood on the deck of his ship, buffeted by the wind and rocked by the sea. His braids swinging by his jaw, he leaned over her, his hands closing on her waist. Lizzie closed her eyes and waited for his kiss…

“My lady? Surely you wish to command…me.”

He cut into her fantasy abruptly and she jerked to reality, finding herself face-to-face with the prince of all her dreams. He was staring at her as if he knew exactly she had been thinking—and exactly what she had been yearning for.

“I doubt that you would obey my every command,” she whispered, trembling.

His expression seemed dangerous. “Ah, but you will never know, now will you, unless you ask me.”
She stared in real shock. Did he mean what she though he did? Or was this how men and women flirted—wildly and without any though for literal interpretation?

He placed his hand on the wall, truly entrapping her, and leaned terribly close. “So command, my lady, as your heart desires, and we shall see if this pirate speaks true.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to kiss her. She would die for his kiss.

A slow, sensual smile began. “What is wrong?” he whispered softly.

She swallowed.

“Do you not know where to begin?” The dimple flashed, as did the light in his uncovered eye.

They were not in Sherwood Forest, Lizzie managed to think. They were in a public room, one filled with a crowd, and she could not dare do what she was on the verge of doing. Could she?

“Perhaps the lady needs aid,” he breathed. “Perhaps a pirate’s suggestion would do.”

And it seemed to Lizzie that he had moved closer as their lips were almost touching now. Somehow, as her body quivered and throbbed, the feeling of being drugged overcame her, and she felt her eyes grow heavy, so heavy they began to close. His mouth brushed her jaw. Her sex tightened. And as he spoke, his lips caressed her skin, his hard thighs pressing into her own softer body.

“Midnight. In the west gardens. There, your every wish shall be my command,” he said, soft, guttural and low.

And for one moment, his lips remained pressed against her cheek. Worse, she felt his strong hard chest on her bosom—and then he was gone.

Lizzie did not move, trembling. When she dared to open her eyes, she was afraid the entire room would be staring at her as she tried to control the terrible fire consuming her body. She remained against the wall, fighting for composure, fighting to drive the raging desire aside.

What had just happened?

She began to breath a bit more normally and she straightened, hugging herself. Had Tyrell de Warenne just asked her to meet him in the gardens at midnight?

Was this a jest? Or did he think to entice her to a lover’s tryst?