Flavia Petronia Rutila had schooled herself to be content farming her family’s lands on the fertile slopes of Mount Vesuvius. However unconventional that was for a noblewoman of her patrician lineage it was far preferable to miring herself in the sordid intrigues of the Emperor’s court in Rome. It had the additional benefit of removing her from the vicinity of a husband who’d led her to degradation at the Imperial Palace to further his own ends. Any regret that she was derelict in her marital duty Flavia repressed as firmly as she had closed down her feelings for the man himself.
So it wasn’t an unalloyed joy for her to be snatched away from her ordered world and transported to the strange and outlandish society of Regency England. And she wasn’t elated that the man who’d abducted her through time, the domineering Robert Langford, Earl of Melfield seems to view her simply as a tempting armful. Particularly after she discovers that when it comes to women Robert has more skeletons in his closet than the average cemetery.
However much she fears for her modesty as a helpless captive Flavia is every inch a Roman noblewoman who isn’t going to allow herself to be overawed by a petty tribal chieftain. What she hasn’t bargained for is her own physical reaction to him. To her own intense disgust she swoons like the silliest girl faced with a determined bodice ripper. While Flavia would never have described herself as a shy wallflower even in her self imposed exile on Vesuvius, neither would she have described herself as a wild wanton, yet here she is responding outrageously to a man she knows is an out and out rake.
The only refuge Flavia can find is to indulge her disdain for Regency mores and manners. But somehow letting Robert know that she cares less than nothing for the distinction between a duke and a viscount and finds his obsession with personal honour ridiculous does little to soothe the anguish she feels at having to deny herself any dreams of a future with Robert. But it would be ridiculous to pin any hopes on a young aristocrat who has shown himself to be an unrepentant rake.
Robert would conceded that Flavia’s opinion of him is largely true. A gilded life of wealth, military glory and diplomatic glamour have left him with a habit of amusing himself with women. Yet successful as his philandering has been it’s left a void Robert hasn’t learned how to fill. He’s courted danger and sought out thrills enough but till now the discontent has never left him. Finally with Flavia he can see his way. Only for the complications of his past to intercede.
Not that the young Earl lets either that or Flavia’s evident disapproval discourage him. A Regency rake is secure in the knowledge that arrogance is a devastating enough aphrodisiac for any woman, even a Roman lady who takes sneaking pride in the nickname she knows her household and field slaves have given her: Mistress Vinegar.
So no matter how caustically she reacts Flavia knows the ground is shifting under her feet.
Her resolution to resist Robert can only wane as her own skeletons rise to the surface and she has to deal with the secret scandal of her ruin at the hands of the Emperor. She’s forced to choose between returning to her old life or facing the future with Robert here in the alien world of Regency England.
So it wasn’t an unalloyed joy for her to be snatched away from her ordered world and transported to the strange and outlandish society of Regency England. And she wasn’t elated that the man who’d abducted her through time, the domineering Robert Langford, Earl of Melfield seems to view her simply as a tempting armful. Particularly after she discovers that when it comes to women Robert has more skeletons in his closet than the average cemetery.
However much she fears for her modesty as a helpless captive Flavia is every inch a Roman noblewoman who isn’t going to allow herself to be overawed by a petty tribal chieftain. What she hasn’t bargained for is her own physical reaction to him. To her own intense disgust she swoons like the silliest girl faced with a determined bodice ripper. While Flavia would never have described herself as a shy wallflower even in her self imposed exile on Vesuvius, neither would she have described herself as a wild wanton, yet here she is responding outrageously to a man she knows is an out and out rake.
The only refuge Flavia can find is to indulge her disdain for Regency mores and manners. But somehow letting Robert know that she cares less than nothing for the distinction between a duke and a viscount and finds his obsession with personal honour ridiculous does little to soothe the anguish she feels at having to deny herself any dreams of a future with Robert. But it would be ridiculous to pin any hopes on a young aristocrat who has shown himself to be an unrepentant rake.
Robert would conceded that Flavia’s opinion of him is largely true. A gilded life of wealth, military glory and diplomatic glamour have left him with a habit of amusing himself with women. Yet successful as his philandering has been it’s left a void Robert hasn’t learned how to fill. He’s courted danger and sought out thrills enough but till now the discontent has never left him. Finally with Flavia he can see his way. Only for the complications of his past to intercede.
Not that the young Earl lets either that or Flavia’s evident disapproval discourage him. A Regency rake is secure in the knowledge that arrogance is a devastating enough aphrodisiac for any woman, even a Roman lady who takes sneaking pride in the nickname she knows her household and field slaves have given her: Mistress Vinegar.
So no matter how caustically she reacts Flavia knows the ground is shifting under her feet.
Her resolution to resist Robert can only wane as her own skeletons rise to the surface and she has to deal with the secret scandal of her ruin at the hands of the Emperor. She’s forced to choose between returning to her old life or facing the future with Robert here in the alien world of Regency England.
