Beware a Scot’s Revenge by Sabrina Jeffries

Lady Venetia Campbell’s visit to her childhood home of Scotland takes a dramatic turn when she’s kidnapped at pistol-point by her father’s sworn enemy. Sir Lachlan Ross is widely feared in his guise as The Scottish Scourge, but Venetia remembers her former neighbor as a handsome youth whose attentions she craved.

Now a wickedly sexy man, Lachlan’s appeal is even more intoxicating…and much more dangerous. Though Lachlan tries to treat her as his foe, his scorching kisses tell another story. And despite his plan is to use her as a weapon against her father, Venetia is determined that Lachlan’s lust for revenge will be trumped by an even more powerful desire…

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know by now I like many a Sabrina Jeffries novel. In fact she is consistently a favorite of mine. Her stories are delightful and fun with characters, I enjoy spending time with (well not julia from After the Abduction but I adore her sister Helena in A Notorious Love). LOL but I digress.

If everything goes as planed, right now I am meeting up with Sabrina and will get to find out if she is as delightful as her characters. I promise to report back. As well as try to get some more info on her next novel. On her site it sez:

After that comes Once a Rake, Always a Rake, about Anthony Dalton, the Viscount Norcourt. He grudgingly agrees to teach a few rake lessons at the school under the “supervision” of Miss Madeline Prescott, math and science teacher extraordinaire, who is way too pretty for a schoolteacher. Little does he know that Madeline secretly needs his help . . . or that helping her is liable to put an end to his rakehell existence once and for all. Once a Rake is tentatively scheduled for release in March 2008.

I should even have an excerpt to share with you in a few weeks. Until then if you haven’t checked out Beware a Scot’s Revenge, here is a taste.

Just in case that isn’t clear, there is an excerpt behind the cut, in case you are one of those odd ducks who hate spoilers. 😉

When Sir Lachlan Ross had last seen Lady Venetia, he’d been a gangly lad of sixteen and she a pale-skinned brat of eight. Prancing about in satin and lace, she’d looked down her nose at him, chiding him for not behaving as “the future laird of Clan Ross” ought. He’d rewarded her uppity temper by ignoring her.

He sure as the devil couldn’t ignore her now. Even dressed as a farmer’s daughter for the masquerade, the sensuous beauty would corrupt a saint. Sinner that he was, she made his blood run hot.

Especially with her green eyes sparkling at him through the slits of her mask. “How kind of you to let me see the ballroom before it’s packed with people.”

She gifted him with a smile that would light up the barest crofter’s cottage, and he reacted with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a sharp throbbing in his still-healing ribs. “I’m glad it passes yer inspection,” he bit out over his pain.

His terse tone made her smile falter. “I can’t wait to see it fully lit on Friday.” She toyed with her fan. “I suppose you’re attending that ball as well?”

“No,” he said baldly. And neither are you, lassie.

“Oh.”

The sympathy in her voice made him regret his blunt words. Now she thought him too low to be invited, since only peers or those with titled connections had received the coveted invitations. As clan chief he would also have been invited, if they hadn’t believed him dead.

His stung pride got the better of him. “I have to return to the north.”

“Where in the north?” she said, suddenly alert and eager.

“No place ye’d ken.” He had to get her off this dangerous subject. His eyes fell on the archway. “They removed the bow windows so guests could pass into the courtyard. Would you like to see what they’ve built out there?”

Her gaze turned sultry. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

His heart began to thud. Careful, laddie, keep a rein on yer urges. Mustn’t frighten her off.

Trying not to notice her delicate touch on his arm, he led her into the dark courtyard, where painted wooden pillars supported a tent of rose and white muslin. When they slipped inside, they found themselves in a very small and private space.

“A theater owner is having sets painted with pictures of the Highland countryside.” Lachlan gestured to one end. “Then they can draw back the muslin to show the scenes.”

He felt her gaze search his face. “You seem to know a great deal about the plans for the ball. Are you a friend of the theater owner?”

“I know people enough in Edinburgh,” he said evasively.

Her voice turned sly. “I suppose you made many friends in the army.”

He tensed. “I told you, I was never in any regiment.”

“Nonsense.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’d swear that you adapted that costume from a regimental officer’s uniform.”

Devil take the lass. “I borrowed it from a soldier friend.”

“I see.” She snorted. “And that’s why the coat fits you to perfection. Did you borrow your military bearing from your soldier friend, too? And your tendency to pepper your speech with talk of skirmishes and inspections?”

Mo chreach, he hadn’t realized how he’d betrayed himself. Best turn the tables before she pieced together who he really was.

“I know why you’re so eager to make me into an officer.” He stepped closer. “Because you can’t make me into a peer, and only an officer or a lord can be fit company for a lady of yer breeding.”

She thrust out her chin. “I never claimed to be a lady of breeding. For all you know, I might be a milliner.”

“If you say so, lassie. That’s why you carry yourself like a queen and spend your days collecting ballads, the way milliners do.” He smiled. “Come now, why not just admit you’re a lady of rank?”

“Not until you admit you’re a soldier,” she said primly. Then she caught her breath. “That’s why you remind me of Lachlan Ross! He went off to join a regiment, too. I used to imagine him in his regimentals—”

He kissed her, a brief, soft kiss to shut her up. What else was he supposed to do, damn it? He had to keep her from realizing who he was.

When he drew back, her breath came quickly. “I . . . I . . . what do you think you’re . . . doing, sir?”

“Proving that you’re a lady of breeding.” He slid his hand about her waist to draw her close. “Because there are certain liberties a lady would never allow me.”

“How do you know what a lady might allow?” Her warm, spicy breath teased his senses. “Some are more reckless than others, especially when they’re held in the arms of a strapping soldier—”

He kissed her thoroughly this time, sealing his mouth to hers, drinking in her hot breaths, enjoying the fine tremor of her body against his.

He’d been aching to do this all night. Not because she was Duncannon’s daughter or because she held the key to his clan’s future, or even because she’d grown into such a bonnie lass.

It was because she’d dressed as Flora MacDonald, even though it meant wearing a simpler costume than the other ladies. Because she collected Scottish ballads, of all things. Because she’d hadn’t been affronted by his hints that the gentlemen were going bare-arsed under their kilts. Hard to resist such a female.

Especially knowing that once she found out he was her enemy, she’d only look on him with a wild and furious hatred. So before that happened, he had to taste her . . . touch her . . . see how far he could tempt her.

Even if he suffered for it later.