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Felicia Grossman, please visit her website here.
Coming soon from Carina Press and
Felicia Grossman.
After refusing to play the hand they dealt each other as teenagers, they’ll have one last chance to put all their cards on the table and win each others’ hearts.
Read on for a sneak preview of
Dalliances & Devotion,
the next book in
Felicia Grossman’s captivating historical series
The Truitts.
Chapter One
Outside Indianapolis, Indiana
Summer, 1871
Her lawyer ought to offer a discount. First divorce: ranting client. Second: sobbing client. Third: exhausted but compliant client.
Amalia Truitt threw her valise against the seat next to her and kicked her legs up onto the brocade footrest she’d requested for her private train car.
At least it was finished. Terminated. No more marriage and no more temporary life in Indiana.
With a moan, she leaned back farther, rubbing against the magenta velvet, reveling in the soothing vibrations from the rumbling wheels below. Probably ruining her ringlets.
But no one was going to see her hair today. She tossed her hat on the floor and closed her eyes. She’d order her favorite meal. With brandy. And forget about her family’s ultimatum.
No more marriages, I mean it, Amalia. You’ll bankrupt us. One more and we’ll have you declared incompetent. And put your assets in a trust—save you from yourself.
Amalia blinked back tears. Her father, the jovial and permissive parent, delivered the threat. Not that he didn’t have a point.
Twenty-three, two months away from twenty-four years old and a three-time failure. She should become a nun. Or at least find a Jewish version of a convent. With better outfits.
Amalia’s stomach rumbled. Food. Now. Time to call the porter.
Before she could rise, a rapping rattled the door. Had the Pennsylvania Railroad Company started anticipating her needs? Perhaps she held some sort of frequent traveler status.
Still rubbing her aching neck, she swept aside the sliding door and gaped at the two familiar men and a lone, unfamiliar woman who pushed their way into the car. Her car. Swaying on her feet, Amalia clutched at the wall to keep upright.
Even after six years, she’d recognize her brother’s best friend from V Corps anywhere. Though his bearing was somehow more American, David Zisskind’s flashing coal eyes and tousled brown hair hadn’t changed a lick. All the memories roared back—every kiss, every touch—but most especially her father’s admonition when he caught her sneaking back to her room after a midnight rendezvous.
Amalia, he’s a rag peddler. What do you think he sees when he looks at you? Ten to one, he doesn’t know the color of your eyes, but he can recite where all the silver is located.
“What are you doing here?” She managed the question as she gaped, her mind working to reconcile the man before her with the teenage boy she once lusted after. His thin, cheap wool jacket strained over his arms, the seams gaping. The amount of muscle was new, wasn’t it? If only he could remove his shirt and she could compare...no.
