Authors: JoMarie DeGioia
More than Passion
MORE THAN PASSION
by
JOMARIE DEGIOIA
Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing
RR # 1, Rockland, Ontario
Canada K4K 0E3
Copyright © 2012 JoMarie DeGioia
Exclusive cover © 2012 Laura Givens
Inside artwork © 2012 Louise Clark
First published as Raven’s Flight in 2001 by
Denlinger’s Publishers Ltd., Edgewater, Florida in a print edition.
2012 editions (e-book and trade paper) by
Lachesis Publishing, Rockland, Canada.
Newly revised and edited for 2012 publication.
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.
A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada
ISBN 13:
978-1-897562-96-3
A catalogue record for the Ebook is available
from the
National Library of Canada
Ebooks are available for purchase from
ISBN 13:
978-1-897562-95-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my fabulous agent, Michelle Grajkowski, for her unfailing encouragement. To my amazing editor, Joanna D’Angelo, whose help was invaluable in reshaping this story. To my dedicated readers, who so often requested Geoffrey and Becca’s story. And finally to my husband, Jay, and our family for their support and encouragement for lo these many years since I began this writer’s journey. I love you guys!
Also Available
in The Dashing Nobles Series
Pride and Fire
PAUL TALBOT, Viscount Leed, is set on avoiding the marriage trap. Though his family has money troubles he won’t marry an heiress and dance on her leading strings.
LADY MICHELLE THOMAS is a spirited heiress, piqued with the rules of Society which dictate that a woman must be seen and not heard. And if she has opinions on politics or finance? Well, she had best keep them to herself. Sparks fly when she meets Paul—she believes she’s found a man interested in more than her face, form and finances.
They wed, but when Paul refuses her generous dowry she’ll do anything to see her money settled on him, even if it means going to his rival and putting more than his career in jeopardy.
Reviews
Highly Recommended
[More than Passion]
is a passionate historical romance with secrets and danger. The story moves at a steady pace, keeping the reader's interest. The love scenes are well done and beautiful.... Ms. DeGioia pens a sweet romance... well-created characters, exciting storyline and a bit of intrigue. For an enjoyable read to cozy up on the couch with, try
[More than Passion]
today.
Five Roses!!
—Robin Peek,
Under the Covers Book Reviews
JoMarie DeGioia is a promising newcomer to historical novel writing. She tells a good tale about a likable pair of lovers and a nasty villain or two. ...someone looking for a story with danger and suspense encountered by two very lusty lovers will be pleased with
[More than Passion]
.
—Jane Bowers,
Romance Reviews Today
Author JoMarie DeGioia spins an absorbing tale of intrigue... Romantic and VERY sensuous story...JoMarie DeGioia brings a smooth, deft style to her gift for absorbing storytelling. Devotees of deep, abiding romantic love stories won't be able to put this one down.
—Bestselling author Maggie Davis, AKA Katherine Deauville
M
ORE
T
HAN
P
ASSION
Chapter 1
England, 1822
Geoffrey Michael Kane, the seventh Earl of Kanewood, was hot, dusty, and tired. At twenty-eight he was still adjusting to the duties thrust upon him with the death of his father two years earlier, making frequent trips to London to meet with his solicitors. Returning from one such meeting, his carriage hit a dip in the road and skidded to a halt.
“Where are we?” Geoffrey called to his driver.
“Rutlandshire, my lord. Not far from Oakham.”
Geoffrey climbed out of the leaning carriage. “Grab the wheel then, Fields. You and I are visiting Oakham today.”
After securing Geoffrey’s travel bag behind one of the saddles, they rode into Oakham. It was late June and the weather was hot and muggy. The ride was rough and with every new bump and stumble, Geoffrey swore under his breath. For the last hour, he dismounted and led his horse into town. He wore no hat, which was the norm for him, and the sun beat down on his head. He squinted and looked at his surroundings.
The town was quite small—a village, really—but picturesque. His sharp eyes noticed a dry goods establishment, a market, a pub, and even a doctor’s office. The shingle on the side of a two-story brick building proclaimed the medical man’s residence and place of business. Just past the outskirts of the town, Geoffrey spotted the only business he was interested in today. The wheelwright’s shop. The wheelwright shared his space with the blacksmith, and both businesses appeared to do well. Geoffrey snorted. No surprise, given the rutted cobblestone road that led through town.
He brushed off his clothes. There was nothing for it. His tan breeches were stained with wheel grease and his white shirt was crumpled and smudged. He retrieved his brown jacket from behind the saddle and saw it was in a sorry shape, as well. “I don’t much resemble the Earl of Kanewood, do I, Fields?”
Fields reddened before realizing no answer was expected. Geoffrey led his horse in front of the wheelwright’s shop as Fields dismounted and rolled the offending wheel to him.
Geoffrey spied a beefy man standing in the large doorway. “Are you the proprietor?”
“Aye. William Bennett, wheelwright. What can I do for ya?”
Standing there, with an obviously-broken wheel at his feet, Geoffrey bit back a sarcastic reply. “I need a wheel fixed. This wheel.”
Bennett fingered the splintered spokes. “Aye. It’s broken.”
Geoffrey kept his exasperation in check. “Can you fix it?” he asked deliberately.
“Aye. Nothin’ to it. Fix it right as rain.”
“Good.” Geoffrey breathed.
“Goin’ ta take a few days, though.”
“A few days? Why?”
Bennett held up his right hand, wrapped in a cloth bandage. “Got me hand a bit crushed fixin’ the doc’s trap. He told me not to use it till he says it’s okay.”
Geoffrey stared at the man incredulously. “There is no one else who could fix this?”
“Nay,” the man answered. “Not around here.”
Geoffrey’s irritation began to grow to anger, but with one look at the guileless face of the wheelwright, it swiftly faded. “Well, do you have someone to get my carriage out of the road? It’s about a twenty-minute’s ride back.”
“Aye, me boy and I’ll go get it. You be wantin’ it brought here?”
“Yes, thank you. Is there a place to keep my horses?”
“Blacksmith’s got a couple stalls. Wouldn’t put these fine animals there, though. You be stayin’ here till this be fixed?”
Geoffrey thought for a moment. Perhaps a few days away from London, as well as Kanewood, would help him ponder the disquieting news he’d received from his solicitors.
“Is there an inn close by?” he asked.
“Aye. Raven’s Inn, just outside of town. Stables to let in back, fine dinin’ room.” The wheelwright scratched his chubby chin. “Can’t attest to the rooms, but I can tell ya the ale is mighty fine.”
“Thank you.” Geoffrey motioned to his driver. “Let’s head over to this Raven’s Inn, Fields. It seems we may be here awhile.”
They mounted and set off for the inn.
* * * *
The Raven’s Inn was surprisingly elegant. The brick structure was trimmed with dark green, its long windows sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Rebecca Kingsley was straightening the beautifully-appointed parlor of the inn. Her father, Thomas, insisted that all the rooms look fine. His father had been a baronet, but all that was left of the family fortune, as it were, was the inn. As a younger man, he’d traveled in the social circles of the ton and claimed to know what the gentry and lesser folk alike looked for in food and lodging. Many travelers stopped at the inn, and they expected service and accommodations as fine as any in London, or so Rebecca’s father insisted.
At twenty years old, Rebecca had been working at the inn all of her life. Her mother died when Rebecca was just two, leaving no real memories. Thomas refused to speak of her and Rebecca had long since given up asking. The only thing he’d say was that she took after her mother in looks. This he always said in a gruff, affectionate manner that never failed to surprise her. She supposed she inherited her fair skin from her mother, that and her thick raven-black hair. She could never see anything of herself in Thomas.
He never really gave her much notice. She worked as hard as the servants at the inn, keeping her own room as well as half of the rest abovestairs. Mary, the chambermaid, took care of the other rooms as well as seeing to the guests’ personal needs. Rebecca served the morning and evening meals in the dining room, as well, along with Emmy. Emmy was funny and kind and a shameless flirt. She never hesitated to share her experiences with Rebecca, who couldn’t help but blush. She listened, though. Closely.
Rebecca was usually free to go about her own business after finishing her chores abovestairs. But this afternoon, she polished the candlesticks and dusted the furniture in the parlor. As usual, she wore her hair plaited in one long braid coiled at the back of her head. Her simple muslin gown was a few seasons old and well-suited to her task. She paused to gaze longingly out the window toward the stables out back. Beyond them, she could see the gently rolling hills over which she so loved to ride. If she didn’t have to see to the parlor today, she’d surely be out riding her black filly.
From her vantage point, Rebecca could see two figures walking out of the stable’s wide doors. One man was slight of stature and fell in step behind the other. The man in the lead was tall with broad shoulders and dressed in a brown coat and tan breeches. He walked with a long, easy stride. Sun glinted off hair she fancied the color of honey. He had a strong profile, and Rebecca couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. What color were his eyes?
“Fool,” she chided herself. She turned back to her work, flicking her dusting cloth in frustration.
* * * *
After leaving the stables, Geoffrey located the innkeeper in an office off the foyer. Thomas Kingsley was a big man, well-dressed but thick through the middle. Gray hair curled over his wide forehead, nearly obscuring his brown eyes.
He smiled at Geoffrey as he greeted him, motioning him to sit. “Thomas Kingsley, proprietor of the Raven’s Inn.”
“Geoffrey Kane,” Geoffrey returned, omitting his title. He didn’t much feel like a peer at the moment.