Met by Chance (released 5 Feb 08 by Samhain) is the most recent historical romance release by the prolific Lynne Connolly 🙂 It is the third book in the Triple Countess Trilogy. Read Sandy’s review, then read on for an excerpt!

There’s more to this man than satin and lace.

After a serious riding accident, Perdita Garland is back in society. Unfortunately the first man who catches her interest, Charles Dalton, Marquis of Petherbridge, turns out to be a popinjay with a spoiled daughter in tow. And his equally spoiled sister is flirting with the same fortune-hunting suitor who almost cost Perdita her life. What’s a lady to do? Warn the marquis of the danger, of course.

Charles knows that English society finds his manners and dress astonishing, but they cover a man broken by a disastrous marriage to a faithless wife. Now a widowed father determined not to be fooled again, he is nevertheless charmed by Perdita and the steely strength of will under her fragile exterior. If only the lady would mind her own business.

But when his impulsive sister elopes and kidnaps his daughter, he finds himself wishing he had listened to the little busybody. And Perdita, feeling partly responsible for the disaster, boldly sets out to help him put things right.Alone in a strange city with his lordship, plunged into danger, Perdita discovers there is more than meets the eye under the pampered skin of the marquis. There is strength, power…and passion beyond her wildest dreams.

The Excerpt:
Perdita went to the stove and picked up the cloth to wrap around the hot handle of the kettle. It wasn’t a large kettle, but full of boiling water the weight was more than she was used to.

She felt the handle slip under the cloth and the weight of the water continued the small initial movement. Before she could prevent it the handle slipped through the cloth, and the boiling water spilled over her.

Perdita reacted quickly, dropping the kettle and jumping back to avoid what she could, but Charles acted quicker.

A torrent of cold water doused her, hurled from the can by the door, forcing her to close her eyes against the deluge. Then his arms went around her from behind and he lifted her up, almost throwing her on to the bed on the opposite side of the small room. He dragged her skirts up, and pulled at her garters, tearing the woollen stockings off her. Perdita, stunned by the swiftness of the actions, came to herself and pulled the stocking off the other leg.

They studied the damage. The boiling water had landed on her skirts, soaking through the thin, worn fabric too quickly, but his quick actions saved her from serious damage. Her legs were pinker than usual, but no welts, no scalds were apparent.

What was apparent were her scars. Perdita tried not to look at her legs usually, and usually put on her stockings by herself by touch, only allowing her maid to tie off the garters for her. She couldn’t bear to look at the damage.

The accident had caused some ugly scars. On her left leg the shinbone had penetrated the skin, leaving a puckered scar, lividly white. Her legs had been cut by stones on her fall, and not much attention had been given to their healing, once infection was discounted, so the scars were worse than they might have been. Little white lines, raised above what had been a smooth surface. The bone in the right leg had set a little crookedly. Perdita knew it could have been worse. Any more and she would have been left with a permanent limp, unable to walk or dance.

Ugly. So ugly Perdita couldn’t bear to look. She had forced herself to, once the bandages and splints came off, determined to face what she had with determination and courage. Easier on her own. Violetta, now her brother’s wife, had seen them, and given her massages which helped the muscle strain when she began to walk again. It had been Violetta who bullied her into taking those first steps, and helped her to face society, something Perdita was sure she never wanted to do again after her humiliation and then her accident. Her mother had seen them, and Orlando. No one else, until now.

She didn’t want to look at him. He’d saved her from a scald, but reminded her just why no man would take her, when he could have an unblemished, untouched woman.

She’d been foolish to consider it, she knew that.

“Thank you.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I don’t think I’m badly hurt. Silly of me.”

“No.” His voice was just as low. He stared at her legs and Perdita knew there was no concealing them now. Many married couples rarely saw each other naked, and if they did, they were in bed. She’d hoped to hide the evidence of her shame and her stupidity with any future husband some way, any way.

“Dear God, how you must have suffered!” His low, throbbing tones held more than pity.

More than he would know. The physical suffering had been penance for her, for the stupid mistakes she’d made. “My horse had to be put down. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

He reached out, and touched her calf with his open palm. There was a scar there, white and twisted. Without it she would have had a sweetly rounded calf. With the scar, it was a travesty.

She moved, tried to withdraw but his touch became a grip. “No. Don’t. Trust me enough, Peri, trust me to look.”

She was afraid of his reaction, afraid he would recoil, or more likely, gently withdraw once it was clear she hadn’t done herself serious injury, at least this time. She knew he would not be unkind, but was equally sure he would not be interested in her any more. Who would, thinking of those ugly limbs wrapped with theirs, entwined with their own?

There was nothing left to lose. Under his hands, turned gentle once more, she made herself relax.

“Dear God, I knew you’d had an accident, but not that it was this bad!” He slid his hands over her lower legs, as though he could smooth the skin back to perfection. He felt every knot, every scar.

He looked up at her and shocked her with his expression. His eyes glistened, and there was no repulsion on his face. No desire either, but she would have been appalled had she seen that. No man should desire a woman after seeing that. Deep compassion remained, even sympathy.

Sympathy?

“I’ve always admired your courage, but I didn’t know until now just how brave you are. Peri, these injuries must have been crippling.”

She forced a smile. It wavered, but she managed it. “Violetta helped me. She’s Orlando’s wife. Where everyone else gave me pity and sympathy, she gave me backbone. She forced me to stand, bullied me to walk. She also discovered that my doctor was keeping me malingering for his own ends. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Thank God it wasn’t!” He seemed to mean it literally. If his hands hadn’t still been on her legs Perdita would have tossed her wet skirts back down. She would have felt more comfortable. What he did next shocked her to the core.

He bent and kissed one of the worst scars, his lips touching the wound like a healing touch. Then he lifted his head and looked at her, getting to his feet. She watched him in silence as he stripped off his neckcloth and undid the ties at the top of his shirt, pulling the garment over his head. Bare-chested he stared at her, waiting for her reaction.

At first all Perdita saw was a strong male chest, the muscles moving under the skin when he dropped his hands to his sides. Then she saw some silvery marks. She stood up to look closer, forgetting propriety, forgetting everything but their presence and what he was showing her.

Threads of silver lightly scored his skin, forming lines not formed by nature. They were hardly noticeable, until she looked closer. She reached out a hand, then snatched it back. She wasn’t that far gone.

When she looked up at his face, he was smiling. “They were bad, once,” he told her, in a voice so gentle she could hardly bear it. “I fell on an unguarded fire when I was a toddler, barely walking. The nursemaid snatched me off the coals, but the damage was done. The scars were bad all through my boyhood.”

“But they’re hardly noticeable!”

He took her hand in his. “They are bad still. In here.” He lifted their conjoined hands to his head, touching one temple lightly. “I was ragged at school mercilessly for the marks. My mother was ashamed of them, and never allowed me to go bare-chested, even in front of my body servants. It took a long time to recover, but I did.”

“How did you do it?”

“I was compensated.” The answer was vague, but Perdita could guess what he meant.

“Your wife? She didn’t care about the scars?”

He laughed bitterly. “You could say that.”

When he tugged on her hand, she allowed herself to be drawn forward, into his arms. They folded around her, softly cherishing. Perdita let her head rest against his shoulder. She could be comforted. Nothing else was possible now, but his skin felt warm against her cheek and his arms comforting around her body. It was all she wanted, she told herself. Anything else wasn’t worth considering.

Until she felt his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up. Knowing what was coming she went willingly, and opened her mouth for him when his lips settled on hers. Entwined together, bare chest to her thin gown, Perdita revelled in the hard, cherishing body against hers, the soft, coaxing tongue teasing her into arousal.

Desire rose, sharp and needy. She wanted him. He couldn’t want her. Part of her mind still couldn’t believe anyone would want her, having seen those terrible marks. But she responded, accepting him, responding to his caresses. She smoothed her hands up and down his back, revelling in the bare skin under her palms. He felt wonderful, warm and alive, muscles tensing when he tightened his hold on her.

Charles lifted his head slightly. “I want you, ma cherie,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips. “Will you come to bed with me?”