HISTORY, ROMANCE AND...CATS!
Grace Elliot leads a double life as a vet by day and author of intelligent historical fiction by night. Grace is an avid reader and believes that smart people need to read romance - as an antidote to the modern world!
Grace is also obsessed by all things feline.
In the four weeks since her guardians’
death, Eulogy Foster has lost everything.
Penniless and alone she seeks the help of
her estranged brother, Lord Lucien Devlin. But Devlin turns Eulogy onto the
streets, where she is attacked and thrown onto the mercy of a passing stranger,
Jack Huntley. As Eulogy seeks the truth behind her birth, she is drawn into the
world of art and artists, where her morals are challenged and nothing is as it
Jack Huntley: bitter, cynical and betrayed
in love. He believes women are devious, scheming, untrustworthy creatures - and
when he rescues a naïve Miss from being raped, his life is about to change
forever. There is something about Miss Foster that haunts him and challenges
his emotions. But despite their growing attraction, Eulogy will not share her
secret, which means he cannot trust her. Caught in a deadlock with both denying
their true feelings, events take a sinister turn as someone seeks to silence
EXCERPT: Eulogy learns of Jack's involvement in a duel...
Two men pacing with measured steps: Devlin
facing her, Huntley away. The former glanced up, she swore he saw her and
smiled, and with deliberate intent turned early. Through the mist she saw Jack
turn…but Devlin had already fired; the flint flashed, the smell of cordite then
a deafening boom. Eulogy saw everything in slow motion; how Devlin squeezed the
trigger on an unprepared man… the horrible surprise on Jack’s face…
“No!” Eulogy lurched to life, as Jack
swayed and dropped his pistol. He touched a hand to his chest and winced,
looking puzzled by the strange wet redness running down his fingers.
“Jack!” Hobbled by twisting skirts, she
ran, covering the last few yards as his knees buckled.
“Eulogy? What are you…doing here?” He licked
his lips, his eyesglassy as he
struggled to focus.“I feel… a
bit…queer.” His words drifted as all colour drained from his face and he
crumpled to the ground. Icy fear gripped Eulogy’s bowels.
“Hush,” she threw herself down. “Keep
still, let me look.”
Biting her lips, she unbuttoned his jacket;
the fabric already sodden, her fingers sticky with blood. Every heightened
sense was focused on Jack; the metallic smell of blood, lips tinged with blue,
the gasp of his breathing and the fluttering eyelids. For a moment she became
two people in one; the outwardly calm Eulogy, whilst inside she wanted to howl
like a dog. The rational side won out.
Breathing deeply she started to distance
herself and think of Jack as a patient. Trembling, she forced her churning mind
to think. What would Doctor Foster have done?
Instantly she knew.With a silent curse, she tore a length of
cotton from her petticoat and formed it into a pad.
“Jack, listen to me. I’m going to stop the
bleeding…do you hear?”
He nodded weakly.
Eulogy loosened his waistcoat and almost
swooned; the crisp linen shirt stained ruby red, wet and glistening with spilt
“Jack, can you hear me?”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Listen to me, stay awake!” She entreated,
stroking his clammy forehead.Around her
she was vaguely aware, of men shouting and pounding feet, and prayed help was
on the way.
“Mauvoreen? What can I do?” Puffing
heavily, Farrell leant over her shoulder.
“His neck cloth…remove it… use as a
“Aye.”With a glance of respect, the artist did as he was bid.
Taking a deep breath Eulogyeased the sodden shirt from Jack’s chest.
Blood welled up. With a whimper she pressed
the linen pad firmly againstthe ugly
hole, and ignoring Jack’s groans forced herself to count to sixty; once, twice,
three times before cautiously raising a corner of the compress.
The fabric was soaked, but from there was
no fresh blood flow.
“Good. Now I’m going to bandage you.”
She almost laughed with relief at Jack’s
cry of pain…for it meant he was still alive. A fresh pad in place, Eulogy’s
mind raced. Jack was so pale…and shaking.
Urgently, Eulogy waved to Farrell. “Your
Throwing the jacket over the prone figure,
“Jack, Jack can you hear me?”
His lay still; eyes shut, a waxen pallor to
please wake up,”
A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. “Jack’s
second has ridden for a surgeon.”
“How long?” She sobbed.
“Five, maybe ten minutes at most. The
second took the precaution of having a doctor waiting near the Heath.”
“Devlin…he fired early.”
Tristan grimaced. “I know.”
Eulogy nodded and turned back to Jack,
feeling for a pulse.