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I have endless thanks to my readers, who inspire me daily with good wishes and encouragement, or just to drop me a line and say how much they enjoyed a particular portion of a book. Your enthusiastic support inspires me with new stories to keep us all busy for a very long, time. I am indebted to you. Raine has the BEST fans on the planet. Truth!
To my dear hearts at NS and SC, I couldn’t do this without your friendship, love, and daily commiseration. Truly, I would be a blubbering, hot mess 24/7. Love you so much.
I wish for all of you, a wealth of good stories, well told.
xxoo Raine
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A word about PTSD and Combat Stress…
In my Blackstone Affair series, you’ve read about Ethan and his struggles with flashbacks and night terrors resulting from PTSD, coming from his wartime trauma. These experiences can have a devastating effect on daily life and relationships, as they did for Ethan in my books. For many soldiers, their fight goes on, long after their military service ends, some, for the rest of their lives. Statistics show as high as twenty percent of enlisted personnel may suffer from PTSD. There is help.
USA
http://www.ptsd.va.gov/
http://ptsdhotline.com/
UK
http://www.combatstress.org.uk/
The Passion of Darius ~ excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Declaration
Somerset Coast, 1837
DARIUS chose his seat strategically every Sunday. Close enough to catch her scent just from sitting behind her in church. He waited for it, knowing what would come, for he was well familiar with her choice of perfume. The soft essence of violets floated to him, its delicate sweetness stirring and calming both at once. Savoring the instant when he could draw even the tiniest part of her into himself, Darius indulged in the simple pleasure of breathing her.
Her neck was his favorite. He loved to look at the place where her coffee-colored hair swept up with just a few strands escaping. Indulging in wild dreams about her, he imagined how she’d look with all those glorious waves spilling down over her pale, naked flesh. Of how he would brush it aside and put his lips to that spot he so desired to know. He thought of the triumph of possessing her totally. Of her soft, pliant body beneath his hard, commanding one, accepting him inside when he took her.
Wanting her so badly was nothing new. He’d known the feeling for a long time. Marianne was perfection in Darius’s opinion.
Marianne might be perfect, but her father was an idiot. Mr. George was a weak man. He had turned to drink after the death of his wife, bringing them to the brink of ruin with his drinking and gambling. At the pace he was going, Darius figured her father’s descent would sit well with his own plans regardless. Being a patient man, Darius didn’t think he would have to wait much longer. Her father would see to that for him.
THE hair on the back of her neck tingled and she knew. His eyes were on her. Again. Marianne looked around as soon as the service ended. Yes, indeed. He stood there staring—his dark eyes calling her to meet his gaze.
Her father nodded politely at him. “Mr. Rourke, good day.”
“Mr. George. Miss
Marianne, you look well today.” Mr. Rourke greeted both of them warmly, but his eyes rested only on her.
“Yes, sir, my Marianne is very fine. She takes after her mother, God rest her soul.” He crossed himself. “I daresay there’s not any more beautiful to be found in all of Somerset,” he boasted.
Marianne wanted to crawl under a pew in mortification. Why did Papa say such things? His thinly disguised attempt to throw her into the path of a wealthy gentleman such as Darius Rourke was grossly inappropriate. She felt her neck flush with heat.
“Papa, please!” She pulled at her father’s arm to lead him away. Offering a sympathetic look to Mr. Rourke, she mouthed a silent, “I am sorry,” for her father’s boorishness before turning to leave.
