Award-winning author Jillian Hunter pens another deliciously sexy tale of passionate romance and beguiling trickery. At a glamorous soiree in the romantic English countryside, Lord Devon Boscastle, one of the most elusive bachelors in London, is on the prowl for a willing and wicked lady to share a night of all-consuming sin. So he�s delighted to accept a mysterious invitation for a midnight rendezvous. Miss Jocelyn Lydbury, a demure young debutante, has her heart set on a marriage proposal from a certain respectable gentleman. Invited to a secret tryst at the stroke of twelve, she hopes to finally meet her longtime admirer. To her dismay, it is the heartbreaking Devon who lies in wait for his midnight lady. Before the pair can unmask their deceiver, they are caught in a passionate, if unplanned, embrace and forced into marriage. Although Devon claims he won�t change his roguish ways for anyone, upon returning to London he is surprised to find that his once-timid bride has become an alluring temptress.
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1 . Too short
Posted November 10, 2009 by Jay , FPOI started the Boscastle novels and fell in love with them. however, the only disappointment i had with this book was that it was a bit shorter than the others. it was however a good read but the extra 100 pages would of helped.
October 30, 2006
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Excerpt from The Sinful Nights of a Nobleman by Jillian Hunter
To all outward appearances, Lord Alton Fernshaw's annual house party in the Essex countryside was a dignified affair. If one inquired of a random guest why he or she had trundled all the way from London to the castle estate, the most likely, and fictive, response would have been to enjoy the concerts, the extravagant raffles, the elaborate sporting events that brought back the glory of medieval days.
Few, in actual fact, attended Alton's party for the cultural upliftment offered, or to compete in the vigorous athletic competitions. It was the pursuit of passion that beckoned the energetic youth of the beau monde.
By the dessert course of the Friday-evening supper that began the house party, most of the guests had singled out which gentleman or lady they wished to pursue.
By Saturday morning, Eros, son of Venus, had discharged nearly all of his golden arrows. Some hearts had already begun to bleed. Some had taken wing.
The well-experienced servants of the estate, from the elderly majordomo to the youthful maids, stood at the ready to accept bribes in the cause of amorous conquests. Chambers could be changed with complete discretion at a moment's notice, doors unlocked at a whim. A footman would gladly serve as a loyal guard during a garden tryst for hours on end.
Lord Devon Boscastle and his acquaintances made no bones about why they'd accepted Fernshaw's annual invitation. Devon planned to excel at a more provocative game than jousting at a mock tournament, chivalric pretensions be damned. He'd already selected his partner and, to judge by the come-hither looks she was casting him across the crowded salon, Mrs. Lily Cranleigh was as eager for a liaison as he was.
She lifted her glass of champagne at him as if in a toast, and smiled.
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked to the door without a backward glance, her gray silk half-mourning dress clinging to her lush hips, her swansdown boa draped over one flawless white shoulder.
Well, that was an opening if ever he?d been issued one.
He waited several minutes before following. There was no advantage in appearing too eager even though both he and the licentious widow were unattached.
Let the lady smolder a little longer. He?d been quietly pursuing her for weeks.
It was now his turn to tease.
He turned, deep in pleasant thoughts, and found himself unexpectedly face to face with another, far less friendly, female guest. A young country miss with whom he shared a transient if embarrassing bit of history.
Once upon a time, before Devon had completely ruined his own reputation, Major-General Sir Gideon Lydbury, Jocelyn's father, had cast his eye upon Devon as a potential husband for his only daughter.
Devon had been asked to the ancestral country pile for a lavish dinner. The problem was, he had completely forgotten to attend because he'd been carousing in the low dives of London. After all, he'd just enlisted in the cavalry and thought it quite possible that he'd be killed or injured his first year out. He'd seen no point in planning a future.
Sir Gideon, who did not share in this fatalistic view, immediately let the whole of London know that he had not appreciated the social insult, war or no war. The matter might have blown over had the man not taken a seat in Parliament and gained the political support of Devon's eldest brother, Grayson, the Marquess of Sedgecroft. Even now, from time to time Sir Gideon reminded Grayson that he had not forgotten the slight.
And, of course, Grayson, in turn, reminded Devon.
Devon assessed the woman before him with an experienced glance. Her hair was not the ordinary brown he?d thought it was, but a deep burnished-gold becomingly swept back from her face in an elegant coil. Her face was one that the years had rendered more appealing than he remembered. Her dark eyes held his gaze.