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If you missed the first two stories in the Cirque Masters series, I hope you’ll go back and check them out. The first book is Cirque de Minuit, Theo and Kelsey’s dramatic love story about overcoming mistakes and healing the ones we love. The second book is Bound in Blue, featuring a cross-continental romance between Sara and Jason, as Michel tries to come to terms with being a father. (Spoiler: it’s not easy for him.)
Many thanks to Linzy Antoinette, Candace Blevins, Tasha L. Harrison, J. Luna Scuro, and dear Doris for reading Master’s Flame and sharing your thoughts, and thanks to my editors Lina Sacher and Audrey for helping me polish Michel and Valentina’s story to a glowing shine.
If you liked this book, I hope you’ll be kind enough to leave a review at your favorite online site, mention the title on Facebook or Twitter, or perhaps recommend it to a friend. Without your support I couldn’t do this, so THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for reading and encouraging me. To Annabel’s Army, to all my faithful readers: You are the magic—and fire—of my days.
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An excerpt from Training Lady Townsend, a kinky historical romance coming soon from Annabel Joseph
The Lady Aurelia has been promised in marriage to the Marquess of Townsend since she was four and he was fourteen. Unfortunately, she grew up into a pillar of propriety while her betrothed grew up into a renowned rake. Of course, no one would expect such an unsuitable match to go forward…
“It is a lovely day, isn’t it?” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say to his daunting shoulder.
“Yes, and a lovely party, as you mentioned some moments ago. You seem to find everything lovely. What a charming quirk.”
Aurelia bit her lip, wishing she could quirk him right between his eyes with her slipper's heel. “I only mean to make polite conversation, Lord Townsend.”
“Ah, well. I can do that too if I apply myself.” He tapped a finger against the sculpted edge of his jaw. “I’m delighted you’re enjoying yourself, Lady Aurelia. How kind of His Grace to host this party in our honor.”
“You call the duke ‘His Grace’? I thought you and he were close friends.”
“We’re longtime friends, and I’ve called him many things in the course of our history, but in such a lovely setting”—he emphasized her word with a tone of mockery—“I find myself inclined to adhere to formalities.” He gave her a speculative look. “Is that what you and your friends do there at your tea table? Gossip about me and Arlington?”
“No, we don’t do anything of the sort. It’s only that your name comes up in conversation, now that we’re engaged.”
“That must be a trial for you.”
Aurelia decided not to answer. In truth, it was a trial, just like everything else about this engagement. This was the third social event they’d attended in one another’s company. The opera had been easy—they’d simply sat beside one another until they could leave. Riding in the park had been easy too, since the bustle of people and carriages made conversation impossible.
This garden party was far too quiet, and strolling on the Marquess of Townsend’s arm felt too intimate for her tastes.
“Out of conversation already? No more lovely topics?” he jested lightly. “We’d suit one another better if you weren’t such a mouse.”
“I am not a mouse.”
“Look at me and say that.”
To her chagrin, she realized she’d ducked her chin practically to her chest. But his closeness unsettled her, no matter how she tried to ignore it. His conspicuous masculinity tangled her in knots. This great, ungainly man was going to be her husband. He was going to get children on her. She’d been sheltered, but she still knew how that was done. She’d heard enough tales to thoroughly flummox her.
“I am not a mouse,” she repeated, almost managing to meet his gaze.
“They call you Lady Dormouse. Did you know that?”
“I do not care. And it’s not a gentlemanly thing to point it out.”
“Ah, but I’m not much of a gentleman. How poorly we suit each other. It’s a shame.”
“Cry off on our betrothal then,” she said through tight lips. “I wish you would.”
“I wish I could. I’ve tried to think of ways to do it, but there are more powerful forces than us forming this union.” He paused and turned to her, tilting up her chin with one gloved fingertip. “Besides that, I find you too fragile and innocent to ruin. It would weigh on my conscience.”
His lofty expression made her cross. “I thought you abhorred my fragility and innocence.”
“Abhorred is a strong word. No, Aurelia, fragility and innocence aren’t bad qualities in a wife. At least I’ll know no one has trespassed before me when I mount you on our wedding night.”
She drew in a breath as delicately as she could, when what she really needed to do was gasp for air. Of all the inappropriate and coarse things to say! She moved to pull away from him, to flee, but his grip tightened on her hand.
“Does my forthright speech trouble you, my lady?”
“You know it does,” she said between her teeth. “You...you impolite blackguard.”
“Oh, dear, is that the best you can do? Lady Dormouse indeed. You ought to call me a bastard instead. A bleeding bastard, if you really want to make a point.”
“Ladies don’t talk that way. Gentlemen shouldn’t either.”
“And gentlemen shouldn’t speak of mounting their brides. I know. That doesn’t change the fact that it shall happen very shortly, my Aurelia.” He paused, gazing down as she considered him with a stricken expression. “I’ll make it good for you, darling. Don’t worry.”
She wanted to spit at him that she wasn’t worried, but the truth was, she was terrified. Her gaze dropped to his neatly tied cravat, down to his broad shoulders and chest. When she looked back up to meet his eyes, he wore a self-satisfied expression.
“You only spend time with me because it gives you the opportunity to taunt me.” She looked away, wishing him to hell.
“In what way am I taunting you? I’m trying to reassure you.”
“By threatening to mount me?”
He made a sound of muted reproach. “It’s not a threat. It’s what’s going to happen in precisely eight days. I’ve been counting down the hours until our wedding night. Such is my hunger to possess you.”
“I want to return to my friends.”
“Look at me and smile then. We must convince people we are happy to marry, not trapped in some unwanted and ill-conceived betrothal.”
She skirted a bed of colorful blooms, trying to smile, and failing. “If you hadn’t dragged me into the woods at your parents’ ball we might have found a way to convince them how unsuited we are. They might have allowed us to marry others of our station.”
“Like your precious Lord Everett? It would never have happened, I promise you. At any rate, I have a larger cock. I’ve seen his. Impressive, but not quite up to my—”
“Oh, no, please.” She pressed her hands over her ears, knocking her hat askew in the process. “I beg you, don’t speak of such things to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because. You know why.” He was impossible. He refused to converse with any modicum of respect. “Can we not reference anything to do with your—your thing—and what shall happen on our wedding night? Can we not discuss it any more until the hour is at hand?”
He turned her to face him and set her hat to rights, biting one side of his lip in concentration. She closed her eyes rather than stare at his mouth, then opened them with a start when he brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear.
“I wonder why you have such a negative regard for the act of sexual congress. It makes me wonder if you haven’t already been mounted by some brute who didn’t know what he wa
s about.”
“I have never been m-mounted before,” she protested, flushing hot. “I am perfectly pure.”
“Are you? Then you’re too pure to realize that being perfectly pure is a very dull state indeed. Do you like when I touch your ear?”
His fingertips lingered, heating the sensitive skin beneath her lobe. She set her teeth and shook her head. “No, I don’t like it.”
“What if I stroked it instead, like this?”
His fingers moved again, not just touching this time, but caressing. She suppressed an instinctive shudder, knowing he watched. She could feel his dark eyes upon her even though she averted her gaze. The strange lilt in his voice, the rasp of his words, the slowness of his caress, the nearness of his body, all of it combined to affect her in some novel, disturbing way.
“I wish you would stop,” she said, meaning to draw a halt to this.
“No, you wish I would continue,” he murmured. “Don’t tell lies.”
She blinked, confused and ashamed, because she did wish it. But she also wished for him to stop. People might be watching, which embarrassed her, but truly, what would they care? They would find it romantic and appropriate, for her fiancé to be touching her this way.
“Please, you disturb me so,” she whispered.
“Do I?” His hand went still, left her and dropped to his side. “Then perhaps there’s hope for the two of us after all.”
An excerpt from the m/m romantic suspense trilogy My Brother’s Keeper by Adrienne Wilder
The town of Gilford has a Big and Terrible secret hidden in the ground.
Infecting those it touches.
Exploiting their darkness.
Consuming their souls.
