Download A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove, Book 3) by Tessa Dare PDF

By Tessa Dare

"**A transitority engagement, an entire life within the making . . .**

After years of fending for herself, Kate Taylor chanced on friendship and reputation in Spindle Cove—but she by no means stopped longing for love. The final position she'd search for it truly is within the palms of Corporal Thorne. The military commander is as stone chilly as he's brutally good-looking. but if mysterious strangers come looking for Kate, Thorne steps ahead as her fiancé. He claims to have purely Kate's defense in brain. So why is there smoldering ardour in his kiss?

Long in the past, Samuel Thorne dedicated his lifestyles to guarding Kate's happiness. He wishes what's most sensible for her, and he is familiar with it's no longer marriage to a guy like him. To live longer than their transitority engagement, he needs to hold his arms off her tempting physique and lock her hot smiles out of his withered middle. It's the hardest conflict of this hardened warrior's existence . . . and the 1st he turns out destined to lose.
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Additional resources for A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove, Book 3)

Sample text

Die Sargträger bewegten sich ehrerbietig mit angemessen betrübtem Lächeln, Antoine konnte sich kaum auf den Beinen hal­ ten, die anderen trugen eine den Umständen ent­ sprechende Miene zur Schau, mein Vater biss die Zähne aufeinander. Ich weiß nicht, was ihn plötz­ lich trieb, seinen Bruder auf dem Betonvorplatz zu schlagen, dass diesem das Blut aus der Nase spritzte. Ich erinnere mich nur an das Geschrei des Geschlagenen, meiner Tanten und eines älte­ ren Cousins, der ihn festhielt, an sein hochrotes, wütendes Gesicht zwei Fingerbreit neben dem schwarzen Leichenwagen mit den abgedunkelten Scheiben.

Alles schien plötzlich innezuhalten, zu stocken, es war wie kurz vor einem Asthmaanfall oder beim Stottern. Eine schleierhafte Traurigkeit, die an einen nicht enden wollenden November erinnerte, ließ uns innerlich gefrieren, meine Kehle war wie zugeschnürt, und ich wusste nicht, warum. An solchen Vormittagen irrte meine Mutter bleich und ziellos durchs Haus, wanderte untätig von einem Zimmer ins andere, 39 Olivier Adam setzte den Wasserkessel auf und vergaß ihn, fegte mit dem Besen oder wischte mit dem Scheuer­ lappen herum, obwohl alles sauber war, räumte auf, obwohl kaum etwas herumlag.

Danach ruhte Claire sich aus, und Chloé war ein unendlich zerbrechliches und violettes Etwas, ab und zu schlug sie die Augen auf, und drei Tage lang spuckten ihre Lungen Schleim aus, gelbe, kleb­ rige Klümpchen. Schläuche verschwanden in den winzigen Adern ihrer geröteten Armchen, andere verliefen unter ihrer Nase und versorgten sie mit Sauerstoff. « Dieser Gedanke war wie ein kopfloses Gebet. Ein Gebet für Claire, nicht für mich oder Chloé. Noch heute frage ich mich, wie dieses Flehen gemeint war und wem es eigentlich galt.

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