Myriah Fire

By Claudy Conn

It started with a stolen kiss ...
Fiery Myriah Whitney is wild of nature, contrary, and independent. But when her father catches her kissing the handsome Sir Roland (how else is she to determine if he is the one who will make her feel thunder and lightning, hear bells and music?), he declares that her days of headstrong independence are over. She will, he commands, announce her engagement to Sir Roland—immediately.

But in an age where marriages are about alliances rather than affection, practicality not passion, Myriah wants more—she wants to fall in love. And she does not love Sir Roland. So she runs away to her grandfather with her faithful manservant, Tabson, at her side.

A wrong turn in the fog, however, leads to the discovery of an injured young man, and before she knows it Myriah is caught up in world of intrigue and secrets. And when she meets the young man’s older brother, the mysterious Lord Kit Wimborne, the sparks fly. Their first encounter—in his bed, both of them naked, no less!—is an explosion of wills, and it is what finally set Myriah on fire.

She has, it seems, finally found her thunder and lightning...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claudy Conn
• Release date: Nov 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465790415

Claudy Conn

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Claudy Conn is a multi published author who got her start with her bestselling historical/regency romances.She tells us that she fell in love with the fantasy/paranormal genre and created a world of paranormal.She hopes you will read and enjoy and join her on her facebook where she loves to interact with her readers.page.http://www.facebook.com/pages/Claudy-Conn-Paranormal-Romance-Author/135826686471445

Book preview

Myriah Fire

By

Claudy Conn

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Excerpts

Myriah Fire

By Claudy Conn

http://claudyconn.embarqspace.com

Copyright © 2011, 2012  by Claudy Conn at Smashwords

Edited by: Karen Babcock

Cover Artist: Kendra Egert

All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America

First edition published 2011

Second edition published 2012

July 2012

Names, characters, and events depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Excerpt of Miss Lacey

Copyright © 2020 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of Lady X

She lay staring in utter disbelief

at the stranger she was still holding in her arms

Lantern in hand, Kit moved upstairs to his bedchamber. He was surprised the drapes in his room had been pulled tight but was too tired to contemplate the mystery. He set the lit lantern on a side table and shrugged out of his clothes. He then picked up the lantern and made his way to his bed, setting the lantern on the nightstand. However, there he stopped short.

Someone with long, flaming ringlets of hair was lying face down, covered only to her waist—in his bed!

His first thought made him grin. His puppy of a brother had no doubt brought her home with him, but why would the rascal send her off to his bedchamber?

Drape mystery solved, and another one to contemplate.

 Now what to do with you, sweet, he murmured. Grinning, as he thought, One shouldn’t infringe on one’s brother’s property—but really, Billy, why the devil did you put her in my bed? This question repeated itself, and still grinning, his lordship decided the only thing to do in such a situation was to wake her—his way!

He nibbled at her delicate ears and placed a warm kiss on her throat. She groaned pleasurably. The sound stimulated him, and he leaned over her and took her mouth with his.

* * *

Myriah felt the sweet pressure, and her dream took on a new force, one that sent a fire bolt racing through her veins. Her arms went around the virile, muscular body, the source of her dream’s acute burning.

All at once Myriah was awake. Unable to speak in spite of the fact that her lips were now quite free, she lay staring in utter disbelief at the stranger she was still holding in her arms. She lay for a moment in quiet astonishment, trying to collect her thoughts as she stared at the stranger’s face.

He was smiling provocatively, and she noted the ruggedness of his features. Somehow, they seemed familiar. But he was a stranger nonetheless—and he was in her bed, taking advantage of her.

This notion was followed by the next, that being it was no doubt time to drop her arms and pull out of range, which she did speedily, wondering all the while how the deuce this situation had come to pass.

The gasp that had been stuck in her throat finally escaped. The words of outrage got mingled with fear, and she jumped up to a sitting position. Pulling the covers around herself, she pointed towards the door as she blubbered, How dare you! Get out of my room!

His voice was low, husky, and full with a sensually lined amusement. "Well, little bird, for one thing … this is my room. And for another, although I should be throwing you out, I think I’ll keep you in spite of your offense to my person."

Other books by Claudy Conn

Legend Series

Spellbound—Legend

Shee Willow—Legend

Trapped—Legend

Free Falling—Legend

Catch & Hold—Legend

Prince in the Mist (Novella)

Aaibhe—Shee Queen (Novelette)

Prince Prelude—Legend

~

Shadow Series

ShadowLove—Stalkers

ShadowHeart—Slayer

ShadowLife—Hybrid

~

Risqué Regencies

Oh, Cherry Ripe

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

Taffeta & Hotspur

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

Wildfire Kiss

Netherby Halls

After the Storm

~

Time Series

Through Time-Pursuit

Through Time-Whiplash

Through Time-Slamming

Through Time-Frankie

Through Time-Compulsion

~

DarkLove

~

Lady X

~

Netherby Halls

Hungry Moon Series

Hungry Moon-Quicksilver

Hungry Moon-Destiny

Hungry Moon-Jodi (coming in Aug)

Dedication

This is for my dear friend and laughing buddy in the World of Make Believe,

Candice Stauffer

~ One ~

LONDON, 1813

CASCADING RINGLETS OF fire framed an elf-like countenance of peaches and cream. Dark brows and curling lashes accentuated the almond shape of the blue-green eyes. Champagne organza fell alluringly about a form as delicate as it was provocative, yet the owner of these enviable attributes gazed at her reflection in the gilt-edged looking glass and sighed deeply.

A maid popped her linen-covered head into Lady Myriah’s dressing room and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. Tch tch, m’lady, here you be, idling your time away with your papa that anxious for you down in the ballroom! Why, gracious, the music is sweet to hear, and the dancers looking fine as five pence … and here you be, looking that sad! Why, it fair sets me in a huff, it does! said the middle-aged woman, taking all the liberty that years of faithful service had won her.

Lady Myriah raised an eyebrow, and there was warning in her look though her tone was light. "Now, now, love, don’t be hipped with me. ’T’would never do! I don’t see why I must go down just yet, especially when I feel disinclined. She stopped abruptly and noted the troubled look on the older woman’s face. Oh, very well, don’t worry yourself over me, I’ll go," Myriah said with one of her spontaneous smiles.

Good girl—’tis that much those fine bucks below be wanting a look at yer sweet face! her maid said, nodding and returning Myriah’s smile.

Nonsense, Nelly, love. They have seen it all this season and last! All right, all right, don’t get yourself all puckered up again. I’m going!

Myriah made her way down the red-carpeted, circular staircase, a slight frown between her eyes. The music floated up and enfolded her gently. Usually its mesmerizing effects lifted her spirits, but now she only sighed.

Whatever is the matter? This one question haunted, irritated, and left her burdened. She did not know the answer, but she did know that she had no wish to hear the music she loved and no need to join the merrily waltzing ton in the ballroom below.

About to embark upon the glorious age of one and twenty, Myriah had already enjoyed two London Seasons and was about to take on her third. Yet the young lady was bored—bored and totally disenchanted with the beau monde, London, and all its frivolous activities.

She was Lady Myriah, the only child of Lord Whitney, and he was well able to indulge her many whims, and he had always seen fit to do so in the past. Lately, however, her worthy father had begun to lose patience with his headstrong darling. She lived in an age where women were supposed to be demure and submissive—which did not work for Myriah.

Beautiful, wealthy, and socially prominent, still Myriah was completely unattached and unspoken for. This last and somewhat astounding fact had not been achieved without some exertion on her part, to be sure, for Myriah had received no less than a dozen offers. Her papa and numerous interested relatives had spent much time and effort in their attempts to convince her that at least four of those offers were most exceptional, but Myriah had held out and refused them all. Perhaps it was because of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels—or her own imagination. She had often heard her aunts pompously deplore her father’s leniency in allowing her to read such material. Perhaps it was Tom Moore’s provocative poems or Sir Walter Scott’s gallants. Regardless of the reason, by the time Myriah had reached her eighteenth year she had become most regrettably romantic. During an age when people of her class married for many excellent reasons, none of them having anything to do with love, she had the very odd notion that love was the most important prerequisite to matrimony. But, strangely, Myriah had never been in love.

She did not pretend her heart, which was as passionate as it was gregarious, had not yet been stirred. Several fine young bucks, in fact, had stirred it very well. However, it had not yet received its coup de grace. Thus it was that Myriah’s heart remained intact, albeit restless and seemingly fickle.

Myriah’s father, however, was not concerned with frivolous notions of romantic love; he had to contend with his sisters, who nagged him non-stop about her behavior. But though the dowagers frowned, though Lady Jersey chastised gently, though Myriah’s relatives wagged their fingers, Lady Myriah’s weighty family name and its accompanying fortune allowed much. So, in spite of her wayward nature, Myriah was as popular as ever with the fawning ton. Amused with her mild indiscretions, they called her ‘naughty puss’ and chuckled over her whimsies.

Myriah accepted their adoration as her due. Still, though she laughed at her aunts’ admonishing, she was aware her father would not tolerate her caprices much longer. He told her he had to get her married and soon. If she didn’t pick out a husband for herself, he was going to damn well do it for her!

Sighing at the thought she had little time before her father would press her to decide, Myriah gazed at the ballroom that lay before her gleaming with hundreds of candles in wall sconces and chandeliers. The marble floor could scarcely be seen as the waltzing feet of fashionable dancers glided around in time to the music.

Beautiful, delicate, and commanding in style, Myriah stood a moment at the entrance before she was surrounded and heralded into the room. Her name was on all their lips. Where had she been? Why hadn’t she come sooner? Promise a dance, Myriah. One for me, Myriah!

Suddenly she felt suffocated. She broke loose with a laugh and caught her father’s eye. He smiled warmly across at her, and she composed herself and blew him a gentle kiss.

Sweet Myriah, have you a smile for me? asked a quiet male voice.

She looked up into the face of Sir Roland Keyes, and a twinkle crept into her eyes. Now here was a diversion. You, sir, have no need of such wispy things, she said coyly.

Although I don’t wish to declare you wrong, I need that and much more, he said, taking her hand and leading her firmly onto the dance floor. They moved in rhythm to the music of the violins, and many eyes glanced curiously at them.

Sir Roland, a bachelor of nine and twenty, had many attractive qualities, and more than one of Lady Myriah’s suitors had noticed her apparent preference for the dratted fellow’s company. Sir Roland’s height was good, and his frame was such as to catch any maid’s eye. His thick, curling locks were auburn with a hint of gold. He always seemed to entertain Lady Myriah with an adroitness that kept her amused.

As the waltz ended, Myriah gazed quizzically up into his bright eyes. Sweet Myriah, shall we continue our play on the dance floor, or shall we seek privacy? he teased, kissing the wrist of her gloved hand.

I think, Sir Roland, we had better remain here. I have already found that playing alone with you can be quite dangerous! countered the lady.

Dangerous for whom, sweet beauty?

She laughed amicably, for as always his forwardness excited her. He had skill, and there was no denying it.

You know very well for whom! Never say you fear for yourself? she said.

For myself, never—ah, but for my heart, that is something altogether different. I have not attained my years and remained unshackled by toying with danger.

Her eyes flickered. Well, there certainly is no danger of your becoming … how did you put it? … shackled to me? No, Sir Roland, you need have no fear on that score with me, as I have already told you I cannot marry you. The teasing quality of her voice had begun to ebb.

Sir Roland smiled and took her hand. Without speaking, he led her into a country dance. He was aware Myriah was attracted to him, and though he had not yet discovered the means to win her, he had no intention of giving the sport over. She was far too wealthy, and Sir Roland needed her money! His lands were heavily mortgaged, a state that had been achieved by his father’s heavy gaming debts. He had tried everything else, even resorted to gaming himself with the little blunt he had left. Now, deeper in debt, he was desperate. Putting his estates in order had become all-important, and he needed an advantageous marriage to achieve this end.

If his financial affairs were not reason enough for wanting to marry Myriah, there was his desire for the chit. She teased him until he knew he must possess her—nay, not just teased but dallied with him, taunted him, and flirted with him outrageously. However, she had made it clear her virginity went only with marriage, and indeed a maid of her class could not be taken any other way.

They had been presented to each other just two months ago, and he knew she found him titillating, witty, and a stimulating companion. In turn he found her exquisite to behold, spoiled, wild, and irresistible. Though he knew neither she nor he were in love with one another, he meant to have her and her money. He looked long at her as these thoughts gravely carried his intent.

Myriah watched his face, and it occurred to her that her father might have his hopes around a match with Sir Roland. That was not what she wanted.

However, as Myriah and Roland met in the steps of the country dance, their eyes flirted, and it seemed to the onlookers that here was a match indeed.

Myriah’s cheeks were flushed when the dance ended, and Sir Roland eyed her with concern. You need air, love. Come, the night is too beautiful to ignore.

She hesitated and glanced doubtfully toward her father.

Sir Roland tugged gently at her arm, and with a shrug she relented, allowing him to open the French door and lead her into the garden. It was a delicious night, smelling of roses and fresh grass. She looked up at the black sky and saw the half-moon shining brightly down on her, its star companions twinkling gloriously. It was the sort of night poets and minstrels sang about, and Myriah breathed it in with pleasure. They walked without speaking, without touching, and she pulled her light shawl about her arms.

Cold, love? he inquired quietly, and there was a subtle shading in his words she chose to ignore.

No, she replied and walked a bit away from him. He reached out and held her back. Don’t run away from me, Myriah. There is no need. If you wish, I’ll take you back inside.

No, I don’t wish to go back.

Then come walk with me, he said, linking her arm through his. He led her farther away from the house, down the path to a maze of neatly cut yews where a stone bench caught his eye. He coaxed her to sit down beside him. Suddenly, as if exasperated, he took Myriah by the shoulders and turned her face to him. You want to be alone with me, Myriah. Why do you pretend otherwise? You are no silly miss declaring no when she means yes. ’Tis not your way.

She laughed good-naturedly. "You are a rogue! Perhaps I do want to be alone with you … perhaps I do not. I really don’t know. But that doesn’t signify at the moment, for apparently I am alone with you!"

His laugh was low and soft as he put his strong arms around her and drew her to him. Myriah, you feel so good in my arms …

She knew what she was doing. She invited his caress, hoping he might be the one. He certainly excited her. Suddenly his mouth was hungrily on hers. She yielded to his lips, allowing him the kiss, tasting his tongue, wondering if he could be the one