"Someone's going to call your bluff someday, Venetia -- you'd better hope it's not a handsome man." -- Mrs. Charlotte Harris, headmistress Lady Venetia Campbell's visit to her childhood home in Scotland takes a dramatic turn when she's kidnapped at pistol point by her father's sworn enemy. Sir Lachlan Ross is widely feared in his guise as The Scottish Scourge, but Venetia remembers her former neighbor as a handsome youth whose attentions she craved. Now a wickedly sexy man, Lachlan's appeal is even more intoxicating...and much more dangerous. Though Lachlan tries to treat her as his foe, his scorching kisses tell another story. And despite his plan to use her as a weapon against her father, Venetia is determined that Lachlan's lust for revenge will be trumped by an even more powerful desire....
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1 . Beware to reader's
Posted November 22, 2008 by Lena , HawaiiI waited with anticipation for this story about Venita to be released from the school for heiress series,only to be let down, I liked her character and from reading the previous books where she was just a background friend figure, I thought her to be a stubborn, strong willed, feisty lady and I couldn't wait to see when she would meet the man that would be her match. I also thought and expected her story to probably be the best in the series because there was so much too work with in her character. Dunno..what happened with this one. I felt like i got cheated somehow with this book and that she deserved a more interesting and better story then this. It was ok, not great but ok.
May 21, 2007
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Excerpt from Beware a Scot's Revenge by Sabrina Jeffries
August 20, 1822
I worry about Venetia's trip to Scotland. Yes, I know what the papers reported -- that the Scottish Scourge was killed three months ago in a fight with Sir Lachlan Ross that left both men dead. Still, considering the Scourge's mysterious grievance against the earl, I'd feel easier if someone could produce the villain's body.
Your anxious relation,
Mama would have loved this," Venetia said wistfully to her aunt, Maggie Douglas, the Viscountess Kerr. They stood in line waiting to be announced at the True Highlander Celtic Society's masquerade ball, now near enough to hear bagpipes skirling from inside the Edinburgh Assembly Rooms. "Don't you just adore the tartans and strathspeys and costumes and -- "
" -- packed streets and wretched food and ghastly accommodations?" Aunt Maggie rolled her green eyes, the same shade as her niece's. "Not a bit. Unlike you -- and my sister, when she was alive -- I prefer the comforts of London. Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep since we arrived."
"So the snoring I hear nightly comes from our baggage?" Venetia teased.
"Mind your tongue, or I'll make you take the lumpy side of the mattress."
Venetia laughed. "Forgive me. You've been very good to put up with it."
Their lodgings truly were awful, but they'd been lucky even to find them. Every spare bedroom, garret, and cellar had been spoken for by the hordes that had descended upon Edinburgh to witness the first visit of a reigning English monarch to Scotland in nearly two centuries.
But Venetia didn't mind their miserable inn room. She'd waited sixteen years to return to Scotland, and she wouldn't let a flat pillow and a lumpy mattress -- or a grousing chaperone -- dampen her pleasure.
Venetia squeezed her aunt's hand as the line moved forward. "You can't know how much I appreciate your accompanying me. Otherwise, I would never have convinced Papa to let me come."
"I'm rather shocked that you did. However did you manage it?"
"Oh, Papa is easy enough to handle. I only had to make one tiny promise."
"And what was that?"
She cast her aunt a game smile. "To accept a proposal of marriage in the next year."
"That isn't exactly a tiny promise, my dear. And who is the lucky fellow?"
"Lord, I don't know. Anyone I can endure, I suppose." And anyone passing the inspection of Mrs. Charlotte Harris and the mysterious Cousin Michael, who routinely provided information about men in society to Venetia's schoolmistress.
"Papa worries I'll never find a husband," Venetia explained. In truth, she'd begun to worry the same thing.
"A lady like you will always have proposals," her aunt said with a dismissive wave of her jeweled fingers.
"It's not a dearth of proposals that worries him. It's my lack of interest in any of them." She'd promised her mother never to marry any man who didn't rouse her senses, whatever that meant. When Mama had elicited the promise, she hadn't said it was because of Papa, but Venetia often wondered...
"So have you any particular men in mind?" her aunt asked.
She blew out a long breath. "No, but I hope to find someone in Scotland, away from the fortune hunters and dull-witted English lords. I want a Scottish laird with a venerable old name, who lives and breathes the Highlands -- "
"Like the fellows in those ballads you love to collect, I suppose."
Her aunt's contempt was plain. "Why not?" Venetia said defensively. "Why shouldn't I have a Duncan Graeme or a Highland Laddie who'll carry me off to his manor in the Highlands to live in connubial bliss?"
"Because you're about as Scottish as the Queen of England, my dear."
"That's not true!" she said, thoroughly insulted.
"You've got too many fine manners and too much English deportment for a country that thinks a good evening's entertainment is a jar of whisky and a rough brawl.