There’s nothing quite like devouring a new regency romance over the weekend, except maybe devouring a Jennifer Haymore regency romance over the weekend! With Earls Rush In not releasing until May 8, we’re in dire need of something to tie us over, so we have to share this exclusive excerpt to help you out as well! Want to pre-order the book? You can find out more here!
Quickly, Charlotte removed her dress and reached back to loosen her stays.
Of course, the earl took that moment to walk in.
Of course, he didn’t bother to knock.
Charlotte grabbed the first thing she could to hide her scandalously underdressed body from him. It was a stocking. When it didn’t provide adequate coverage, she threw it at him and grabbed something more substantial—the pelisse, this time.
He caught the stocking easily, his blue gaze feeling like it was stripping her to her skin. She shuddered.
“If you intend to do violence on me with a scant piece of fabric, it’s not going to work, wife.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said with far more bravado than she felt. Then, taking in the broad bandage wrapped around his head, she softened. “How is your head?”
“Fine.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Please close the door and turn to face it.”
It was only then that he seemed to observe the obnoxious pinkness of the room. His gaze bounced from her to the floor to the bed to the ceiling, his jaw dropping farther as he took in each pink element. “Good God,” he muttered in disgust.
“The door, if you please,” she said curtly.
Thankfully, he did as he was told, his face still twisted from the horror of pink, first closing the door, then standing and facing it.
She found the ties of her stays and slowly began the task of loosening them. This wasn’t something she was skilled at, given she always had a maid or her sister to do it for her. Still, she didn’t have much of a choice.
After a minute, Trevelyan began to shift back and forth on his feet. In the next minute, he cleared his throat loudly—twice—and a minute after that, he said in an exasperated tone, “I will help you.”
Before she could protest, he was inches from her, hands on her shoulders, firmly turning her so her back faced him. Her face burned with the heat of a thousand tiny hot pokers as he plucked at the ties, businesslike and efficient. Efficient enough to make her wonder how many times he’d done this—as he was far more skilled at it than she was—and within a minute, he slid her stays off, his rough fingertips grazing over her arms as he did so.
Now clad only in her damp shift, she clutched her stays to her chest. “Thank you,” she said. “Now if you will turn your back once more…”
He made a rumbling noise in his throat as he turned, and quickly, she shed the damp shift and pulled the dry one over her head. Then, she stuffed her arms into the pelisse and wrapped it around her like a robe. “Finished.”
He took two long strides toward the fire, bending down and pulling a shirt from the traveling bag before stripping off his waistcoat, pushing his braces off his shoulders, and reaching behind his head to yank off his wet shirt. Charlotte gulped. There he was—in half-naked glory—just inches from her. Heat radiated from his form, so different from hers, hard where she was soft, broad, and ridged with large muscles. She shuddered, not at all from cold this time, but from the power that radiated from him.
White fabric slid down over those bulging muscles, and she had an aberrant thought that she wished she were that fabric, stroking down the ridges of his abdomen, feeling each bump and curve of him, all that strong, warm flesh—
“What?” he growled, and she tore her eyes from his now-clad torso to see him staring at her.
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Nothing.”
How could she tell him that the only time she’d ever seen an unclad male form was in marble honed by the Greeks? She’d never seen the hot, naked flesh of a real man before, had never seen so much real masculine skin, and it made her lightheaded.
His hands moved to his waistband beneath the hem of his shirt, and he looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes glowing with sudden, unexpected humor. “I’m removing my trousers now. Friendly warning.”
“Oh!”
She spun around, but not before she saw the round, taut curve of his buttocks as his trousers fell to the floor.
The beloved “sunshine” of the ton, Miss Charlotte Chapman, is trapped in the carriage with an utter madman. There’s simply no other explanation for it. Why else would the rough, reclusive Earl of Trevelyan—her deceased brother’s most beloved friend—sweep her away during a terrible snowstorm without explanation? All she knows is that his rather boorish behavior somehow involves her pending betrothal…
Trevelyan has a reputation for being something of a beast in society’s circles, but nothing—nothing—will stop him from rescuing Charlotte from her disastrous engagement. He promised his best friend that she and her sister would be looked after. Of course, the earl can only protect her from the blackguard who’s trying to marry her. Protecting her from himself is quite another matter…
Now, thanks to their upended carriage, they’re stranded at a country inn—which has only one room left. And all it takes is one kiss to unlock the simmering desires they’ve never admitted…and a heartbreaking secret that could shatter Charlotte into a million pieces.
USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore is the author of over a dozen award-winning historical romances. When she’s not dreaming up scandal in Regency England, you’ll likely find her avidly listening to an audiobook while sailing, walking her spoiled husky, or on an airplane heading off to visit the exciting locale of her next novel. Jennifer loves reading romance and writing happily ever afters, and she’s grateful to all her readers for giving her an opportunity to share her stories with the world.
You can find Jennifer on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and check out her website to stay up to date on the latest news!
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