Desire in Tartan by Suz DeMello
Dugald Kilburn was sure that
he’d never find love. And why should he?
‘Tis rare for vampires and their
mates to reproduce successfully and Dugald kens that. He’s certain his lust
caused his first wife’s death in childbed.
Innocent Alice Derwent presents
Dugald with a dilemma. She’s different than any woman he’s known, different and
altogether alluring. And while the lady is innocent, her feelings are anything
but.
Will he bed and wed the lady,
risking her life? Or remain celibate, sparing her?
But when threatened with death,
Alice decides she doesn’t want to die without knowing Dugald’s love. Can he
resist her charms?
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******** EXCERPT *********
Book Two of the Highland
Vampires series from Ellora’s Cave
***
Glasgow, Autumn 1759
Dugald left most of his company
of men back at the inn with strict instructions to stay out of trouble, but he
had no illusions. The men would drink as much as they could hold before finding
the loosest bits of muslin available. If they were still able to perform,
perform they would, as long and as hard as possible. He hoped that he’d be able
to rescue the less experienced of the lot out of whatever scrapes they fell
into. The youngest, Malcolm, came with Dugald as his companion. He wouldna leave
Malcolm in the care of the rest.
The mop fair was a mad scene.
’Twas combined with a street fair and a farmer’s market, so the entire
population of Glasgow had seemingly crowded itself into the square with a market
cross in the center. Food stalls, redolent with the spicy aromas of roasting
fowls and sausages were fronted by cooks and ’prentices bawling out the prices
of their wares. Nearby, penned livestock emitted a less appealing miasma of
straw and shite, with the autumn wind swirling the scents along with dry
leaves.
Turning to Malcolm, Dugald
raised his brows. Without speaking, the two Kilburns started to walk along the
disordered rows of booths. Once they’d passed the food stalls, the fair became
even more riotous, with knots of maids and men looking for hire, screeching
their qualifications. Each brandished a tool of his or her trade, cooks with
rolling pins or wooden spoons, coachmen with their whips. Country girls in their
Sunday dresses crowded in a knot, peering anxiously at well-dressed passers-by
whom Dugald guessed were the stewards of the grand houses. Every once in a while
one would stop and question a rosy-cheeked lass, occasionally leaving the fair
with a new maid or tweeny in tow.
He stopped, arrested by a sweet
fragrance that rose from the reek of unwashed bodies like clean mist drifting on
the surface of a loch. He hadn’t detected it before. Mayhap it had been cloaked
by the pungent roasting sausages and the other scents at the food stalls—herbs
and the like.
He lifted his face into the air
and sniffed. Yes, ‘twas there, elusive but definite.
Malcolm did the same. “I smell
it too.”
“That’s our lassie,” Dugald
said.
The stripling looked mystified.
“A sweet smell means a governess?”
“Milady gave me questions to
ask.” Dugald patted his sporran. “If she passes, she’s the one. But this is how
we’ll be finding her.”
At the end of the row of
coachmen, stable hands, maids and cooks fluttered a gaggle of…what? Somberly
robed figures resembling a flock of giant crows or, mayhap, vultures. Exuding
the stinks of mothballs and body odor, they all appeared to be flapping about
one small, drab figure, a female who couldna contrast more with her oafish
companions.
Dugald’s first impression of the
woman was of narrowness, so at odds with her tempting scent that all he could do
was stand and gape at her like a looby. Dressed in unrelieved black, she had
slender shoulders and a tiny waist. Slight hips. When she turned, he could see
she possessed but a small bosom. He raised his gaze and didn’t bother to stifle
a gasp at the sight of her pure and perfect profile. Intelligence sparkled in
her hazel eyes, completely belying the rest of her dull demeanor.
Her face… He could stare
at that face forever without a single moment of boredom. Pale, though not as
white as a Kilburn’s, for a smattering of freckles spattered the bridge of her
straight little nose and sprinkled her high cheekbones.
She had well-cut lips with a definite Cupid’s bow, the one distinct curve on her
serious face. A semi-circular half-moon dip.
He wanted to slide his tongue
into that dip before kissing her with every mite of passion he
possessed.
*****
Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written over sixteen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica,
comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and
non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid
Silver Books and Ai Press,
where she is currently Managing Editor. She also takes private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in PublishersWeekly,
Kirkus and Booklist, won a
contest or two, attained
the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller
lists.
A
former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a
dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a
vampire tale and planning her next trip.
Find
her books at http://www.suzdemello.com
For editing services, email
her at suzswift@yahoo.com
Befriend her on Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/sueswift, and visit her group at
She
tweets her reading picks @ReadThis4fun
Her current blog is http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com
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