Authors: Katherine Sutcliffe
Tags: #England, #Historical Fiction, #Romance - Historical, #Fiction, #Romance, #Romance fiction, #Romance: Historical, #Adult, #Historical, #Romance & Sagas, #General, #Fiction - Romance
Devotion
EXPERIENCE THE PASSION OF NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR
KATHERINE
SUTCLIFFE
Miracle
Twin brothers Clayton and Trey Hawthorne plan a roguish scheme involving Miracle Cavendish. Clayton will seduce the young beauty and Trey will marry her. But when Clayton falls for Miracle, she discovers a difference between them—one that could only be seen by a woman in love . . .
"Funny, endearing, heart-tugging . . . a must read."
—Indianapolis Star
"Five stars."
—
Heartland Critiques
Once
A
Hero
When she was young, Bronte
Haviland
was a secret admirer of Captain Brandon
Tremain
the hero. When he was imprisoned for treason, she vowed to put her childish infatuation behind her. When she saw him, she knew it would be impossible . . .
"Without a doubt,
Katherine
Sutcliffe is one of the most powerful voices in the romantic genre."
—Romantic Times
My Only Love
Olivia Devonshire and Miles Warwick married one another for money. Then they fell in love . . .
"Romance lovers won't want to miss
My Only Love.
It's
books like this that the phrase 'page-turner' was created to describe."
—
USA Today
"A
passionate, touching tale which I was sorry to see end . . .
My Only Love
is a fabulous story."
—Heartland Critiques
Titles by
Katherine
Sutcliffe
MY ONLY LOVE
ONCE A HERO
MIRACLE
DEVOTION
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / February 1996
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1996 by
Katherine
Sutcliffe.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
The Putnam Berkley World Wide Web site address is
http://www.berkley.com
ISBN: 0-515-11801-X
A JOVE BOOK® Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016. JOVE and the
"J"
design are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
My thanks to the best literary agent in the business,
Evan Fogelman.
My friend.
What would I have done this last year without you?
And, as always.
To my family.
I love you all.
FATHER OF LIGHT
Father of light, to thee I call;
My soul is dark within.
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall.
Avert the death of sin.
Thou who canst guide the wandering star,
Who
calm'st
the elemental war,
Whose mantle is yon boundless
sky;
My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive,
And since I soon must cease to live,
Instruct me how to die.
—George Gordon, Lord Byron
Maria Ashton stood near the rectory door, waiting for it to be opened.
The sooner the better—best to get the ugly affair over with as soon as possible.
What could she have been thinking, to answer the advertisement like she had? Desperation could make fools of the hardiest souls, as could deception. Oh, but she would pay
dearly
for
this
deception! The hair shirt stinging her flesh would seem mild punishment compared to what would certainly follow this "breach of decency and trust," as her father, the Vicar Ashton, would term it.
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she withdrew the wrinkled and smudged article she had torn from the
London Times
a full six weeks earlier.
Position offered.
Desire live-in companion.
Tutor.
Nursemaid.
Yorkshire district.
Wage compensatory
with
experience. Prefer healthy, strong male. Reply
to
. . .
Her fingers closing around the paper, Maria moved to the window and noted the miserable weather without. From here she could see the steep roof of her home rising through the mist at the far end of the village, its slate roof a shocking opulence compared to the humble thatched cottages surrounding the Vicar Ashton's well- appointed house—due completely to the exorbitant tithes demanded of the church followers.
Unlike
her own
home, the village green was unremarkable. Grass grew among the pavement stones and the very rooks on the leafless trees seemed half asleep. All appeared as still and quiet as the local cemetery, which was not surprising, considering the vicar expounded at every opportunity on the sins of frivolity and cheerfulness. As if to add to the dismal mood, the entire village was filled with a dense white mist, rare indeed to the mostly clear atmosphere of the village set high on a hill. When the mist set in, it did so with an intense cold that pierced to one's very soul.
Odd, however, that she did not feel it. In truth, she felt little of anything but numbness.
"I forbid it!" cracked the vicar's voice suddenly, causing Maria to cringe, to glance toward the door, her mind on escape. But where would she go? Inevitably she would be forced to face the vicar's wrath. Best to steel herself and get the confrontation over with . . . as she always had. She had learned young in life that it was better to bear, for a short time, the wicked bite of her father's punishment than to live under the lingering cold fear of eventual discovery.
There came from the adjoining room a rumble of angry voices—her father's, another
man's . . .
a woman's—not her mother's, certainly. Her mother would be cowering in the corner, her white, emaciated, unhappy face turned in dread and shame toward the wall. That, more than any fear of facing her father, gave Maria pause, made her shudder with self-recrimination. While she gave not a double damn about the distress, or fury, this caused her
father,
her mother was a different matter.