Historical Romance

Captive of My Desires (Malory-Anderson Family, Book 8) by Johanna Lindsey

Posted On February 25, 2017 at 6:03 pm by / Comments Off on Captive of My Desires (Malory-Anderson Family, Book 8) by Johanna Lindsey

By Johanna Lindsey

"Gabrielle Brooks is familiar with that discovering the correct husband isn't going to be effortless. although her father had known as in a want from the influential James Malory, who, together with his spouse, Georgina, is sponsoring Gabrielle's debut, it's already halfway throughout the season, and lots of the eligible males were tagged by means of different marriage-minded misses. And if observe acquired out that Gabrielle used to be the daughter of a pirate, she may besides pack her luggage and go back domestic a proven spinster. despite these types of drawbacks, Gabrielle does locate one guy with strength: American sea captain Drew Anderson. yet Drew is sort of transparent approximately his emotions approximately marriage and pirates. while Gabrielle without warning must go back to the Caribbean, she makes a decision to end up precisely how a lot of a pirate she relatively is via stealing Drew's send and taking him captive. Lindsey provides a beneficiant soupcon of swashbuckling motion and event to the newest attractive addition to her wickedly witty, lusciously sensual Malory sequence.
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Additional resources for Captive of My Desires (Malory-Anderson Family, Book 8)

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Sie versuchten nun, die Felder zu verpachten (es kam ihnen nicht einmal in den Sinn, daß sie sie hätten verkaufen können, sie und das anspruchsvolle, halb verfallene Haus, das der Vater in der Stadt erworben hatte und das sie in der Folge, Bodendiele um Bodendiele, Decke um Decke und Ziegel um Ziegel in jahrelanger Arbeit praktisch vom Keller bis zum Speicher wiederaufbauten), aber die meisten waren so schwer zugänglich und so wenig ertragreich, daß niemand sie haben wollte, und bei denen, die jemand zu übernehmen bereit war, bestahl man sie erneut, so daß schließlich, ungeachtet der Proteste des Knaben, der sonntags ebenfalls in eine alte Hose schlüpfte und an ihrer Seite arbeitete, eine von ihnen, die ältere (es war auch noch die Mutter da – oder vielmehr eine Sache (eine Kugel), etwa so groß wie eine Faust und gelb, eine Haube mit Volants auf dem Kopf, die regungslos auf einem Kissen lag, das makellose Laken bis zum Kinn hochgezogen, so flach, daß es nichts zu bedecken schien, mit einem Mund in der Mitte der Falten, dem man mit Hilfe eines kleinen Löffels etwas weißlichen Brei einflößte, der weiter unten wieder herauskam in Form von Exkrementen, von denen man sie täglich säuberte)… so daß schließlich also die Ältere resigniert zu der Stellung zurückkehrte, aus welcher der Vater sie für 56 immer hatte herausholen wollen, und mit ihren Werkzeugen erneut die Wege zurücklegte zu den Maisgevierten, den Weinbergen oder den Obstgärten, deren Bäume Birnen trugen, die schon wurmstichig waren, bevor sie reiften, und hart wie Holz.

Weitergeben! Die Deu…« 40 III 27. August 1914 41 Die Fahrt dauerte eine Nacht, einen Tag und noch eine ganze Nacht. Sei es, daß die Operation schlecht vorbereitet oder schlecht konzipiert worden war, sei es, daß ihr Plan unter Berücksichtigung möglicher Engpässe ausgearbeitet worden war und einen Spielraum vorsah, der es erlaubte, dem Transport anderer Einheiten Vorrang zu geben, der Konvoi blieb manchmal stundenlang auf Rangiergleisen stehen. Jedenfalls brauchte das Regiment (die Truppe in den Viehwagen zusammengepfercht, der Oberst und seine Offiziere in einem Erste-Klasse-Wagen auf Polsterbänken bespannt mit grauem Tuch und mit Schonerdeckchen versehen) über sechsunddreißig Stunden, ehe es auf einem kleinen Bahnhof des Departements Meuse ausstieg, von wo es in Gewaltmärschen nach Belgien aufbrach, jeder der berittenen Hauptleute seiner Kompanie ein wenig voraus, die jungen Leutnants und Unterleutnants am Schluß des Zugs.

Daneben hob sich die massive Form des Generals ab, der die Armee befehligte. Dem Automobil entstiegen, das ihn hergebracht hatte, gleichgültig gegen den Regen, gegen die Windstöße, die seine Pelerine flattern ließen, sich in seiner langen schwarzen Houppelande verfingen, stand er vor den Standartenträgern. Sehr gerade, eine seiner weißbehandschuhten Hände auf den Knauf seines Stocks gelegt und den Kopf leicht nach rechts gewandt, blickte er in der Mitte des riesigen Vierecks, das die Truppen bildeten, auf den Fahnenträger des vernichteten Regiments.

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