The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
“Is the Scottish climate why the best weather workers are always Macraes?”
“Perhaps. There may be something in the air of Dunrath that enhances that kind of magic.” Changing the subject, he said, “Falconer told me you’re an expert on Guardian lore.”
She smiled wryly. “I know everything about power except what it feels like to have it.”
“Knowledge is as important as power,” he said seriously. “It is knowledge of history and of our own mistakes that gives us what wisdom we have. The work of Guardian scholars like you is the framework that helps us fulfill our vows.”
“What a nice way to think of my work.” Curious about him, she asked, “Do you travel a great deal, Lord Ballister? You have been away from Scotland for some time.”
“Too long.” They had reached the riverbank, where a short pier poked into the Thames. “Three years ago the Council requested that I act as envoy to Families in other nations. My journeys were essential and interesting, but I missed my home.”
“Did experiencing the weather of other lands compensate for being so long away from Dunrath?”
“The basic principles of wind and cloud and rain are the same everywhere, but the patterns and nuances are different. The winds sing with different voices.” His voice deepened. “I would like to show you the winds of Italy, my lady. Warm, sensual, soft as a lover’s sigh.”
A gust of wind snapped around them, swirling Gwynne’s skirts. She had learned much about flirtation since her marriage, for many men offered gallantries to the young wife of an old earl. She knew when flirting was a lighthearted game, and when a man had more serious aims.
Lord Ballister was deeply, alarmingly serious.
She released his arm under the pretense of straightening her skirts. “I had hoped that my husband and I would travel, but his health did not permit it.”
“Imagine yourself in Paris or Rome or Athens, Lady Brecon, and perhaps that will help your vision come true.” He gazed at her like a starving man who eyed a feast. Her breathing quickened. Who would have thought that being devoured might be an intriguing prospect?
The wind gusted again and strands of his raven black hair broke free of their confinement. Gwynne felt an impulse to brush the tendrils back. It would be pleasing to feel the texture of that strong, tanned cheek….
Abruptly she recognized the electric pull between them as desire. She had loved her husband deeply and she was woman enough to appreciate a handsome man, but this hungry urgency was entirely different, and not at all comfortable.
A blast of rain struck her face and half soaked her gown. “Where did this come from? Lady Bethany said the weather would be fine all afternoon.” She caught up her skirts and prepared to bolt for cover.
“Damnation!” He looked at the sky, rain pouring over his face. “I’m sorry, my lady. I haven’t been paying sufficient attention to our surroundings.”
She almost laughed when she realized that the Lord of Storms hadn’t noticed the change in the weather. The guests farther up the hill had seen the advancing rain and were racing for shelter or crowding into the gazebo while servants attempted to cover the food. “Nor have I, and my gown will pay for my carelessness.”
“Don’t leave.” He held up a commanding hand.
On the verge of flight, she hesitated when his eyes closed. Despite his saturated hair and garments, his concentration radiated like heat from a fire.
She caught her breath as the storm cloud split and rolled away to both sides, avoiding the garden. Within seconds the rain stopped. Amazed, she watched as the clouds dissipated. The sun reappeared and for an instant a rainbow arched over Ballister’s head. She caught her breath. This was the Lord of Storms indeed.
The rainbow faded, even more ephemeral than the storm. On the hill guests laughed and stopped retreating, ready to enjoy the party again.
Ballister wiped water from his face. “The weather here is not so chancy as in Scotland, but it’s unpredictable enough that a bit of rain never calls attention to itself.”
His tone was too casual. Making an intuitive leap, she said, “You didn’t overlook that storm. You caused it, didn’t you?”
He looked embarrassed. “If I’m careless, I can attract ill weather when my attention is otherwise engaged.”
Amused, she brushed at her hair, where the wind and rain had pulled a lock loose from her restrained hairstyle. “What could be so interesting at a lawn party as to attract such a fierce little tempest?”
His gaze darkened. The full force of those eyes was…dangerous. They could make a woman forget herself, and all good sense.
“You, of course. There is power between us. You feel it also, I know you do.” He touched her wet hair where a few bright glints showed through the powder. His fingertips grazed her bare throat as he caressed the errant lock. “What is the natural color of your hair?” he murmured.
Her breathing became difficult, as if the laces of her corset had been drawn too tightly. Ignoring his question, she said, “Power sounds like no more than another name for lust, Lord Ballister.”
Deliberately she turned away, breaking the spell cast by his eyes. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you, but I have no wish for an affair. Good afternoon, sir. It’s time for me to go indoors and change into dry clothing.”
“Wait!” He caught her wrist, and lightning tingled across her skin.
Part of her wanted to turn back, but the part that needed to escape was much stronger. She jerked free of his grip and raced away, skimming up the hill and hoping he would not pursue her.
He didn’t. When she neared the house, she turned and saw that he still stood on the pier, his brooding gaze following her. She had a moment of absolute knowledge that he was not gone from her life.
“ANOTHER IN THE LONG LINE
OF WONDERFULLY ENTERTAINING TALES FROM PUTNEY.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“With its strong, courageous characters, high degree of emotional intensity, excellent writing, and compelling plot, this novel is classic Putney and a fitting conclusion to the trilogy that began with The Wild Child. One of the best authors writing today, Putney…has few peers when it comes to creating emotionally satisfying romances that connect with readers.”
—Library Journal
“An exciting, action-packed historical romance that never slowsdown…The story line is loaded with a taste of an exotic 1830s environment…. Mary Jo Putney continues toprovide a vast panorama of an intriguing bygone era by placing her romances in unique locales.”
—The Midwest Book Review
“A rich and realistic nineteenth-century historical romance…Putney knows how to create characters attractive enough to enchant readers without being too good to be true.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Recommended…Combines passion with suspense…Cleanly plotted and well written.”
—Rendezvous
The Bartered Bride is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2002 by Mary Jo Putney
Excerpt from A Kiss of Fate copyright © 2004 by Mary Jo Putney
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
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eISBN-13: 978-0-345-49421-4
eISBN-10: 0-345-49421-0
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Mary Jo Putney, The Bartered Bride
(Series: The Bride Trilogy # 3)