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The Rake & The Princess

Why is the Romany princess seemingly so sad – and suddenly so available? Captain Clifton is determined to help her, but can he fight for her and against his attraction to her at the same time?


The Duke of Carston rarely visits Clifton Hall, preferring to spend his time in London, among his mistresses and political cronies. So when his young rake of a son, Captain Warwick ‘Wil’ Clifton, conducts an illegal duel on the grounds of the family estate, the event is entirely in Wil's hands.


As a recently demobbed military man, Wil is known to be the best shot in the county. However, nothing prepares him for this duel. It's not the Earl but a Romany prince who's hurt. It's not just the prince, but a host of elder royal siblings he must host as a consequence. It's not only his younger sister Lydia whose emotions are at stake. Syeria is the prince's feisty sister, forthright and passionate. She's also very caring and, as Wil watches the Romany family go about their day-to-day business, he becomes acutely aware of the emptiness within his own circle.


Once he discovers that a sad secret stands in the way of Syeria's happiness, he becomes determined to discover the truth of it, and help her if he can. In doing so, he must confront his own rakish ways and decide what sort of man he truly wants to be.

Taster . . .

“Am I permitted to kiss you?”

He moved closer to her and lifted her hair off her face.

“Some kinds of kisses, yes,” she whispered. Warwick balanced himself on the lakebed and cupped her cheek with one dripping hand. She saw the hunger in his eyes as he stared at her mouth.

“What kinds of kisses Syeira?” He bent his head and brushed her lips with his. “This kind?” He murmured against her lips.

“Mmmm…yes, that is allowed.” She breathed, barely conscious of what she was saying. He pressed his lips more firmly to hers and rested there, so they were breath to breath against each other.

“And this kind Syeira?”

He felt her slipping and swept her into his arms, holding her against him without releasing her mouth. She felt his hand cradling her bottom through the wet silk, his other arm across her hip. She looped her arms around his neck and leaned into the crook of his shoulder. He rested his brow against hers, his breathing ragged. To kiss her, but not to take her. Could he do this? He wasn’t at all sure it was possible. Even now he wanted nothing more than to be inside her, to feel her fire surround him. To watch her eyes dilate with pleasure as he sank himself into her dark, wet heat ….

“Mmmm…” she said. “Yes, I think –”

He caught her lips with his as she spoke, sliding his tongue inside and beginning a warm, slow exploration of that lower lip he’d been dreaming about. Syeira slid one palm over Warwick’s linen shirt, marvelling at his taut, flat chest. She turned her head to him and gloried in the sensation of his tongue seeking hers, his hand moving from her hip to her breasts where she was already on fire, aching for his touch. She pressed herself into the hardness of his strong body, her hand behind his head now, holding his mouth to hers.

He felt every part of her through the thin, wet silk. The water made sliding his fingers over her almost too smooth. He kept his lips firmly moulded to her ripe mouth, shifting only slightly to penetrate her warmth more deeply with his desperately seeking tongue. He stroked her cheek now, sliding his wet palm across her throat; slipping his hand down to her rounded breasts again and gently rubbing her tender nipples, causing her to whimper with desire.

He ran his fingers across her body until she was quivering with need, burning for him the way he burned for her. His feather-light caress moved over her centre and he felt her shift slightly, felt her lips part further; he deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of her hot, wet mouth, his tongue penetrating her as though he could never get enough of her. He growled low in his throat and he knew he couldn’t stop this now.

Her whole body shuddered with pleasure as his touch explored her soft, wet centre. He slid his fingers beneath the silk, caressing the moist curls he found there, probing her tender flesh, seeking the molten fire that burned in the very centre of her. Barely breathing, knowing she should stop him, Syeira whimpered in her throat and pulled him closer to her, unable to do anything but respond to the flood of heat and fire and passionate flame he had awoken within her. Her breaths were ragged now as she moved her thighs apart. She felt an intense need building inside her, like nothing she’d ever known. As Warwick’s gentle, teasing fingers slid lower, and lower, slid right inside her to touch her in the most sensuously intimate way, she gripped his shoulders and held on, feeling as though she would go up in flames at any moment.

Warwick ignored the ferocious heat from his groin, stroking his fingers over her heated, liquid core again and again until she jerked her mouth away from his and cried out, whispering tangled words in Romany and English. 
“I take it that is not permitted?” His voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it, his gold-green eyes glazed with desire, with need, with the fire that burned for her.

He was breathing so hard he was surprised he didn’t drop her. His whole body shook. His own desire was a fiery, flaming need to be inside her and he fought for control. He had to let her go. Now. Before he -. 

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