The Marquis' Mystical Witch

Professional Reviews

5 BOOKS: "When reading romances of this period I tend to silently beg the hero and heroine to talk to one another and solve their problems. I didn’t feel I needed to do this with Ulrich and Thea. This is the first regency I have read in a long time that kept my attention and forced me to keep reading. The story has many hidden facets and even the end of the book held totally unexpected surprises. Instead of floating along with a delightful but unexciting storyline, this book grabbed my interest and didn’t let go until the last page. I recommend The Marquis’ Mystical Witch to regency readers who would like that little bit extra in their books. It’s also a book guaranteed to catch the interest of lovers of the paranormal or anyone who loves a good romance." -- Orchid, Long and Short Reviews

4.5 STARS: "Oh, this was a good one. The characters were vibrant and haunted by their demons and the ghosts of their ancestors. Also, though there was a certain darkness to the tone of the story, it was appropriate and the characters were not full of self-pity about their circumstances." -- Karen, Single Titles

Excerpt

Wulf slipped through the French windows onto the veranda, leaving the noisy congested ballroom behind. Five years of being away from the nobility and London's fashionable parties hadn't been long enough.

His brother had tried to convince him to join the family in town last year. Ulric had refused. A twinge of guilt surfaced as he thought of Evan and his untimely death.

He moved farther toward a darkened corner to be completely out of sight. Seeing all the ambitious mothers still willing to throw their daughters in his direction made him realize he had a decision to make. One that could no longer be ignored.

Years of exhaustive studies and searching had yielded no results and given Wulf little hope of ending the family curse. Disgust at what had happened to him and his family left the taste of bitterness in his mouth. His father and grandfathers had finally embraced their ability to change into the werewolf. Wulf fought what was happening to him more quickly as the years went by. Ruthlessness, cunning, and cruelty were traits he saw take over his loving father and grandfather. But, he had struggled long and hard to resist the temptations.

Ulric had hoped Evan would outlive him. The curse struck the heir at sixteen, so Ulric reasoned Evan would be immune. Now, with his brother gone, he had only two choices; to marry and produce an heir to carry on the family name and curse, or let it all end with his death.

Suddenly a flash of recognition heightened his senses. He was no longer alone. The soft breeze delivered a hint of her fragrance, roses and jasmine, as he turned toward the French windows.

Her white gown rippled in the breeze. Ulric edged closer and studied her. He recognized a look of defiance on an otherwise lovely face. Her stern expression was softened by a Cupid’s bow mouth that begged to be kissed and glorious black hair, so dark that moonlight sparked off the lovely curls. He held in the growl that wanted to erupt. Mine. The word pounded into his body and heart.

Leashing the wolf tight inside, he subtly stalked his prey. With his enhanced vision, he noted the dismay in her deep green eyes. Who was she?

* * * *

Thea slid in and around the people lining the dance floor of the hot and airless room. She needed a few minutes outside to regain control. Reaching the French windows, she slipped through into the cool, dark night and inhaled.

Most of the foul odors of the day had wafted off to sea, but the smell of smoke lingered. She took another deep breath, trying to absorb the quiet and peacefulness. Raising her hand toward her hair, she caught the scent of Lord Akers’ heavy cologne lingering on her gloves. She ripped them off and threw them out and away from her. She never wanted to touch them again.

How she missed the country, her home and her parents. First, her father had died from an accident on the estate, and a few months later her mother caught pneumonia and faded away. With all the confusion of her aunt and uncle moving to the estate and her own grief, eighteen months had passed since she'd visited London.

A slight movement to her right caught Thea’s attention, startling her. She stifled a scream as a tall man edged into the meager light cast across the veranda.

Dressed in black, all she saw was his white ruffled shirt. His features were hidden by the darkness. Thea found herself both intrigued and frightened. She picked up her skirts to leave.

“Forgive me.” His silky voice slid across her skin like the touch of cool satin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak. He stepped closer. “I’ve been long in the country and am rusty in the art of casual conversation.”

She glanced from him to the doors and the light and people inside. “I understand,” she said and hesitated. Something about his stillness and the faint hint of his woodsy fragrance held her in place. “The crowd and noise is a bit overwhelming when you are used to quiet nights with only the hoot owl or whippoorwill to keep you company.”

“Am I correct in assuming your preference is for the fresh air of the countryside?”

“Most definitely, and in my little village we know each other well, which brings a certain comfort.”

He came forward, his movements graceful yet almost menacing, like a sleek cat stalking his prey. She was being ridiculous, letting her imagination overcome her common sense.

He faced her fully for the first time. The dim light, reflected from the doors behind her, cast shadows across his face, but not enough to hide the jagged scars running from forehead to chin on the right side. Only his eye and corner of his mouth remained untouched. She held back a gasp. The saint and the damned flew through her mind, perfect profile on the left and desecration on the right. The silence and emptiness around them created a small circle of intimacy, and her hand involuntarily reached up to touch his scars.

His eyes widened and brows rose, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Does it hurt?”

“Often,” he replied, his voice almost a growl.

“Nothing can be done to help?”

 “No.”

Her hand trembled when a spark of red seemed to glow briefly in his eyes. Fear brushed fleetingly across her shoulders, but ignoring the urge to turn and run she flattened her palm against the ruined side of his face. Focusing her concentration, she let the healing warmth of her hand penetrate into the tight ridges.

He towered over her. Her gaze traveled from his silky golden brown hair to his face where thick, curling eyelashes shaded his shining golden eyes. His sensuous mouth softened his appearance until she noted the strong jut of his jaw. A faint hint of stubble darkened his cheeks. His black velvet coat fit snug across wide shoulders.

Thea continued to focus her healing energy directly into his scars. His particular fragrance, which reminded her of cedar and woods, swirled around her. A sound, like a purr, disrupted her concentration, and when she moved her attention from his scars, she jerked her hand back. His eyes glowed with a fiery light. Suddenly, the realization of how very forward her behavior was and how isolated they were, swept over her. She stumbled backward out of his warm aura and hurried through the French windows into the ballroom. Her heart bounded in her chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or fascination.

If Uncle Rigby or Lord Akers had seen her, they would insist on her accepting Lord Akers’ offer immediately. Thea hid herself in the crowd of people lining the dance floor until the heat in her face cooled and her rapid heartbeat returned to normal.

* * * *

Ulric waited in the dark. Her gown fluttered behind her as she disappeared in the crowd. He touched the side of his face. The pain was gone. He'd had an impression of heat and gradually the ache subsided. How had she succeeded, where all his renowned doctors had failed?

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