By Tessa Dare
Welcome to Spindle Cove...
Spindle Cove is the vacation spot of selection for specific sorts of well-bred younger women: the bookish, the shy, the heartbroken or misunderstood. it is a haven for younger women who do not fairly healthy in.
Victor Bramwell, the recent Earl of Rycliff, understands he does not belong right here. as far as he can inform, there is not anything during this village yet spinsters and sheep. yet he has orders to collect a military. it is a uncomplicated challenge, made complex via the lively, beautiful Susanna Finch--a lady who's made up our minds to save lots of her girls' shelter from the invasion of Bram's makeshift army.
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Additional resources for A Night to Surrender
Susanna ducked her head, burrowing into the protection of what she’d recognized to be an officer’s coat. The knob of a brass button pressed into her cheek. The man’s bulk formed a comforting shield as a shower of dirt clods rained down on them both. He smelled of whiskey and gunpowder. After the dust cleared, she brushed the hair from his brow, searching his gaze for signs of confusion or pain. His eyes were alert and intelligent, and still that startling shade of green—as hard and richly hued as jade.
The name suited her. Simple, pretty. Susanna. Susanna Finch. Rather like the refrain of a song. A cheerful, stubborn sort of song. The sort of tune that persisted, dug a trench in a person’s mind and kept merrily chirping there for hours, days . . even when that person would rather be rid of it. Even when that person would slice off his own great toe just to turn his attention to something, anything else. Susanna. Susanna Finch. Susanna fair with brazen hair. He turned his gaze to the window, which overlooked an immaculately tended garden.
He glared suspiciously at the dragon-emblazoned carpet, as if expecting the embroidered beast to strike. If it did, she had no doubt he’d kill it handily. ” It occurred to her this might have been the first— and only—word she’d heard from his lips. He was the sort of man one knew, just from looking at him, had an interesting story to tell. She also felt, just as certainly, he would never tell it. Not at knifepoint, much less over tea. She handed Lord Payne a steaming cup, and he took an immediate, reckless draught.