By Victoria Connelly
Compliment FOR VICTORIA CONNELLY: "Witty and unique. " -The Romantic Novelists' organization
Of direction she's passionate about Jane Austen...
Surrounded via appalling exes and fawning scholars, the single factor retaining professor Katherine Roberts sane is Jane Austen and her own mystery love for racy Regency romance novels. She thinks the Jane Austen Addicts convention within the English geographical region is the appropriate chance to flee her chaotic existence and at last relax...
But then she encounters a devilishly good-looking guy on the convention who turns out made up our minds to brush her off her ft. Is he extra fiction than truth? Or may he be the hero she didn't comprehend she used to be searching for? (20110613)
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Extra resources for A Weekend with Mr. Darcy
She took his hand tightly in hers, and led the way to the window. “Come on, Bobby. ” He stared at her while she opened the drapes, then fumbled with the catch. The glass slid open. She pushed out the screen. ” She released his hand so she could lower the screen to the ground. A blooming azalea bush provided a small amount of cover. From the front of the villa she could hear the tap-tap of the nanny’s heels. The sound kept advancing. Andie didn’t know how much time they had left. They just needed a few seconds.
One last time, then cleared his mind. Nothing existed except the target. Nothing mattered. His breathing slowed, as did his heartbeat. His body stayed perfectly still in anticipation. The fourth man stepped through the door and onto the path. He, too, carried a canvas bag. The group started moving toward the boat. Now, Jeff told himself. He drew in a breath, held it and started to squeeze. ” a female voice called. Jeff froze, then forced himself to relax. There was still time. Kray and his men turned toward the house.
She moved toward him, holding out her arms. He stood up and launched himself at her. She caught him in midair. He wrapped his sturdy legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. Familiar little-boy smells assaulted her, as his warm, small body pressed against her. “Bobby,” she murmured, clutching him closer. His hair was longer, but still felt the same. Her palm moved up and down against his bony spine, feeling the ridges and thin muscles that would one day make him as big and broad as his father.
A Weekend with Mr. Darcy by Victoria Connelly