Review
"Susan Johnson is a queen of erotic, exciting romance who soars to new heights with each novel."
--Romantic Times
"Susan Johnson's love scenes sparkle, sizzle and burn!"
--Affaire de Coeur
--Romantic Times
"Susan Johnson's love scenes sparkle, sizzle and burn!"
--Affaire de Coeur
Book Description
Through eleven nationally bestselling books, award winner Susan Johnson has won a legion of fans for her lushly romantic historical novels. Now she delivers her most thrilling tale yet--a searing blend of rousing adventure and wild, forbidden love...
Married against her will to the brutal Russian general who conquered her people, Countess Teo Korsakova has never known what it means to want a man...until now. Trapped behind enemy lines, held captive by her husband's most formidable foe, she should fear for her life. But all Teo feels in General Andre Duras's shattering presence is breathless passion. France's most victorious commander, Andre knows that he should do the honorable thing, knows too that on the eve of battle he cannot afford so luscious a distraction. Yet something about Teo lures him to do the unthinkable: to seduce his enemy's wife, and to let himself love a woman who can never be his.
Married against her will to the brutal Russian general who conquered her people, Countess Teo Korsakova has never known what it means to want a man...until now. Trapped behind enemy lines, held captive by her husband's most formidable foe, she should fear for her life. But all Teo feels in General Andre Duras's shattering presence is breathless passion. France's most victorious commander, Andre knows that he should do the honorable thing, knows too that on the eve of battle he cannot afford so luscious a distraction. Yet something about Teo lures him to do the unthinkable: to seduce his enemy's wife, and to let himself love a woman who can never be his.
From the Publisher
"Susan Johnson is a queen of erotic, exciting romance who soars to new heights with each novel."
--Romantic Times
--Romantic Times
"Susan Johnson's love scenes sparkle, sizzle and burn!"
--Affaire de Coeur
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
He knocked once on the parlor door before opening it and stepping into a blaze of candlelight. He didn't realize he had so many candles. And on second glance he saw he didn't; the scented tapers were all set in heavy silver Russian candelabra.
A servant watched him from the fireside with wary, timorous eyes, her features Asiatic, her costume Russian. There was no sign of the countess.
"Where's your mistress?"
"In here, General," a clear, direct voice replied in French. "Have you eaten? Do you play chess?"
And when he crossed the carpeted floor and stood in the open doorway to the small dining room, he saw the countess for the first time, seated before a small chess table, apparently playing both sides in the game.
Her dark brows arched delicately against her pale skin as she gazed at him. "Your engravings don't do you justice, General Duras. You're much younger."
"Good evening, Countess Korsakova. And you don't appear to be frightened. Bonnay led me to believe my presence was required here to allay your fears." If she thought him young, she was younger still, he reflected, and exotic-looking. With Korsakov's family well connected at the Russian court, Andre didn't doubt that Korsakov had his pick of women.
"The young colonel mistook my reticence for fear," the countess replied, a luscious small smile lighting up her brilliant green eyes.
"You're not afraid, then."
She made a small moue of negation. "Certainly, General, we both understand the rules. You'll exchange me for one of your officers now languishing in Austrian hands-- when the opportunity arises. He'll be glad to come home and I"--her dark lashes lowered marginally--"will return to my husband's household. Do you play chess?"
"Yes."
Her mouth curved upward in amusement. "Will you play chess?"
"I'm sorry. Perhaps some other time."
"Have you eaten?"
He hesitated, debating the lie.
"You haven't, have you? You must eat sometime tonight, General. Why not now?"
He was a gentleman despite his disclaimer to Bonnay and it would have been rude to refuse when they both knew he'd have to have dinner at some point that evening. "Something quick perhaps," he agreed.
Clapping her hands, she called for her maid, giving her directions for serving the general. "I'll join you at the table," she graciously said, rising from her chair in a shimmer of absinthe velvet.
She waved away his offer to help seat her across from him and sat instead to his left. "I recommend the ragout and the wines of course are wonderful here. My husband is quite sure of his victory, you know. So sure, he ordered me here to keep him company," she went on, leaning casually on the tabletop, meeting his swift, searching glance with a smile. "I'm just making conversation. He doesn't confide in me but my maids know everything."
Lifting a spoonful of ragout to his mouth, he said, "How old are you?" She spoke with a girlish candor that he couldn't decide was coquettish or artless.
"I'm twenty-eight."
"You look younger." He dipped his spoon back into the savory dish. Her porcelain skin and black hair, her wide, ingenuous gaze and lithe slenderness evoked a youthful delicacy.
"He likes that."
Was her tone jeunesse dorée or just cynical? "Do you miss your husband?" he bluntly asked, tipping a tender piece of meat from his spoon into his mouth.
"Do you miss your wife?"
He gazed at her for a telling minute while he chewed and then swallowed. "Will your husband want you back?" he softly inquired, ignoring her question.
"Yes, definitely." She sat back, a new coolness in her tone. "I'm too valuable to misplace. My husband has his own selfish reasons for--"
"Let's just leave it at that," Duras interjected. "I'm not interested in family controversy."
"Forgive me, General. I lack reserve, I've been told."
He ate for a few moments without replying, not inclined to discuss a relative stranger's reserve or its lack and when he spoke, his voice was impersonal. "I can't exchange you now with the state of the war, but we'll endeavor to make you comfortable."
"How long will I be here?"
"Two weeks to a month, perhaps. We'll keep you safe."
He put his spoon aside, the campaign once again intruding into his thoughts. He'd moved his troops up to Sargans only two days ago and there was immense work to be done before the offensive began.
"Thank you. You didn't eat much."
He shrugged and pushed his chair away from the table. "I'll eat later. If you require anything, ask for Bonnay," he added, rising to his feet. "Good night, Countess. It was a pleasure meeting you." And with a nod of his head he turned and left. That should satisfy Bonnay, he thought, striding back to his office.
It was well after midnight. Only Duras and Bonnay were left at headquarters when a guard rushed into the maproom, apologizing and stammering, obviously agitated, his broken phrases finally merging into a decipherable account.
The Countess Gonchanka, it seemed, was in Duras's bedroom accosting General Korsakov's wife.
Swearing, Duras decided Natalie must be his penance for his multitudinous sins and then, breaking into the guard's disordered recital, briskly said, "Thank you, Corporal. Bonnay and I will take care of it."
"Why me?" Bonnay instantly protested.
"Because I'm ordering you to," Duras said with mock severity, "and I can't handle two women at once."
"Rumor suggests otherwise," his subordinate ironically murmured.
"Not, however, tonight," Duras crisply retorted. "Now move."
The noise emanating from the burgomaster's second-floor rooms facing the street had drawn a crowd and ribald comments greeted Duras and Bonnay as they approached at a run.
"The show's over," Duras said, sprinting through the parting throng.
"Or just beginning, General," a cheerful voice retorted.
"Everyone back to quarters," Bonnay shouted.
"He wants them all to himself," another voice called out and the crowd roared with laughter.
"That's an order, men." Andre Duras spoke in a normal tone from the porch rail. "Back to quarters."
The laughter instantly died away and the troopers began dispersing.
"I hope the ladies obey as easily," Bonnay drolly said, motioning Duras before him into the house.
"Wishful thinking with Natalie," Duras replied.
Moments later at the sound of the men entering the bedroom, Countess Gonchanka turned from her prey. "Damn you, Andre!" she screamed, hurling the bronze statuette intended for Korsakov's wife at him. "Damn your blackguard soul!"
Swiftly ducking, Duras avoided being impaled by the upraised arms of a Grecian Victory and lunged for Natalie's hands before she could gather fresh ammunition. He caught her wrists in a steely grip. "Behave yourself, Natalie," he brusquely ordered.
"So you can't have dinner with me tonight," she shrieked, fighting his grasp. "And now I know why, you bastard, you deceiving, libertine knave! You've someone new in your bed!"
"Christ, Natalie, calm down. She's a guest," he asserted, trying to retain his hold as she struggled in his hands.
"I know all about your guests," she hissed, twisting and turning, attempting to knee him in the groin. "There're always new ones in your bed, aren't there?"
"That's enough, Natalie," he snapped, forcing her toward the door. "Bonnay will see you home." The Countess Gonchanka had overstepped even his lax sense of propriety tonight. He abhorred scenes.
"So you can sleep with Korsakov's wife undisturbed!" she screeched.
"No, so everyone can get a night's rest," he answered with great restraint, his temper barely in check. And transferring his charge to Bonnay's hands, he watched the Russian countess who'd entertained him so pleasantly the last few months escorted out of his life. He'd see that she was on the road back to Paris in the morning.
"Did she hurt you?" he inquired, turning back to Korsakov's wife, who'd found shelter behind a semainier.
"Does this happen often to you?" she pleasantly said, emerging from her burled-walnut barricade.
"No, never," he acerbically retorted. "You're fine, I see." Immediately after he uttered the words, he realized he shouldn't have verbalized his thoughts. But her slender form couldn't be ignored; it was blatantly visible through the sheer batiste of her gown.
"Yes, I am." Her voice was amiable, not seductive, and the odd disparity between her sensuous a...
A servant watched him from the fireside with wary, timorous eyes, her features Asiatic, her costume Russian. There was no sign of the countess.
"Where's your mistress?"
"In here, General," a clear, direct voice replied in French. "Have you eaten? Do you play chess?"
And when he crossed the carpeted floor and stood in the open doorway to the small dining room, he saw the countess for the first time, seated before a small chess table, apparently playing both sides in the game.
Her dark brows arched delicately against her pale skin as she gazed at him. "Your engravings don't do you justice, General Duras. You're much younger."
"Good evening, Countess Korsakova. And you don't appear to be frightened. Bonnay led me to believe my presence was required here to allay your fears." If she thought him young, she was younger still, he reflected, and exotic-looking. With Korsakov's family well connected at the Russian court, Andre didn't doubt that Korsakov had his pick of women.
"The young colonel mistook my reticence for fear," the countess replied, a luscious small smile lighting up her brilliant green eyes.
"You're not afraid, then."
She made a small moue of negation. "Certainly, General, we both understand the rules. You'll exchange me for one of your officers now languishing in Austrian hands-- when the opportunity arises. He'll be glad to come home and I"--her dark lashes lowered marginally--"will return to my husband's household. Do you play chess?"
"Yes."
Her mouth curved upward in amusement. "Will you play chess?"
"I'm sorry. Perhaps some other time."
"Have you eaten?"
He hesitated, debating the lie.
"You haven't, have you? You must eat sometime tonight, General. Why not now?"
He was a gentleman despite his disclaimer to Bonnay and it would have been rude to refuse when they both knew he'd have to have dinner at some point that evening. "Something quick perhaps," he agreed.
Clapping her hands, she called for her maid, giving her directions for serving the general. "I'll join you at the table," she graciously said, rising from her chair in a shimmer of absinthe velvet.
She waved away his offer to help seat her across from him and sat instead to his left. "I recommend the ragout and the wines of course are wonderful here. My husband is quite sure of his victory, you know. So sure, he ordered me here to keep him company," she went on, leaning casually on the tabletop, meeting his swift, searching glance with a smile. "I'm just making conversation. He doesn't confide in me but my maids know everything."
Lifting a spoonful of ragout to his mouth, he said, "How old are you?" She spoke with a girlish candor that he couldn't decide was coquettish or artless.
"I'm twenty-eight."
"You look younger." He dipped his spoon back into the savory dish. Her porcelain skin and black hair, her wide, ingenuous gaze and lithe slenderness evoked a youthful delicacy.
"He likes that."
Was her tone jeunesse dorée or just cynical? "Do you miss your husband?" he bluntly asked, tipping a tender piece of meat from his spoon into his mouth.
"Do you miss your wife?"
He gazed at her for a telling minute while he chewed and then swallowed. "Will your husband want you back?" he softly inquired, ignoring her question.
"Yes, definitely." She sat back, a new coolness in her tone. "I'm too valuable to misplace. My husband has his own selfish reasons for--"
"Let's just leave it at that," Duras interjected. "I'm not interested in family controversy."
"Forgive me, General. I lack reserve, I've been told."
He ate for a few moments without replying, not inclined to discuss a relative stranger's reserve or its lack and when he spoke, his voice was impersonal. "I can't exchange you now with the state of the war, but we'll endeavor to make you comfortable."
"How long will I be here?"
"Two weeks to a month, perhaps. We'll keep you safe."
He put his spoon aside, the campaign once again intruding into his thoughts. He'd moved his troops up to Sargans only two days ago and there was immense work to be done before the offensive began.
"Thank you. You didn't eat much."
He shrugged and pushed his chair away from the table. "I'll eat later. If you require anything, ask for Bonnay," he added, rising to his feet. "Good night, Countess. It was a pleasure meeting you." And with a nod of his head he turned and left. That should satisfy Bonnay, he thought, striding back to his office.
It was well after midnight. Only Duras and Bonnay were left at headquarters when a guard rushed into the maproom, apologizing and stammering, obviously agitated, his broken phrases finally merging into a decipherable account.
The Countess Gonchanka, it seemed, was in Duras's bedroom accosting General Korsakov's wife.
Swearing, Duras decided Natalie must be his penance for his multitudinous sins and then, breaking into the guard's disordered recital, briskly said, "Thank you, Corporal. Bonnay and I will take care of it."
"Why me?" Bonnay instantly protested.
"Because I'm ordering you to," Duras said with mock severity, "and I can't handle two women at once."
"Rumor suggests otherwise," his subordinate ironically murmured.
"Not, however, tonight," Duras crisply retorted. "Now move."
The noise emanating from the burgomaster's second-floor rooms facing the street had drawn a crowd and ribald comments greeted Duras and Bonnay as they approached at a run.
"The show's over," Duras said, sprinting through the parting throng.
"Or just beginning, General," a cheerful voice retorted.
"Everyone back to quarters," Bonnay shouted.
"He wants them all to himself," another voice called out and the crowd roared with laughter.
"That's an order, men." Andre Duras spoke in a normal tone from the porch rail. "Back to quarters."
The laughter instantly died away and the troopers began dispersing.
"I hope the ladies obey as easily," Bonnay drolly said, motioning Duras before him into the house.
"Wishful thinking with Natalie," Duras replied.
Moments later at the sound of the men entering the bedroom, Countess Gonchanka turned from her prey. "Damn you, Andre!" she screamed, hurling the bronze statuette intended for Korsakov's wife at him. "Damn your blackguard soul!"
Swiftly ducking, Duras avoided being impaled by the upraised arms of a Grecian Victory and lunged for Natalie's hands before she could gather fresh ammunition. He caught her wrists in a steely grip. "Behave yourself, Natalie," he brusquely ordered.
"So you can't have dinner with me tonight," she shrieked, fighting his grasp. "And now I know why, you bastard, you deceiving, libertine knave! You've someone new in your bed!"
"Christ, Natalie, calm down. She's a guest," he asserted, trying to retain his hold as she struggled in his hands.
"I know all about your guests," she hissed, twisting and turning, attempting to knee him in the groin. "There're always new ones in your bed, aren't there?"
"That's enough, Natalie," he snapped, forcing her toward the door. "Bonnay will see you home." The Countess Gonchanka had overstepped even his lax sense of propriety tonight. He abhorred scenes.
"So you can sleep with Korsakov's wife undisturbed!" she screeched.
"No, so everyone can get a night's rest," he answered with great restraint, his temper barely in check. And transferring his charge to Bonnay's hands, he watched the Russian countess who'd entertained him so pleasantly the last few months escorted out of his life. He'd see that she was on the road back to Paris in the morning.
"Did she hurt you?" he inquired, turning back to Korsakov's wife, who'd found shelter behind a semainier.
"Does this happen often to you?" she pleasantly said, emerging from her burled-walnut barricade.
"No, never," he acerbically retorted. "You're fine, I see." Immediately after he uttered the words, he realized he shouldn't have verbalized his thoughts. But her slender form couldn't be ignored; it was blatantly visible through the sheer batiste of her gown.
"Yes, I am." Her voice was amiable, not seductive, and the odd disparity between her sensuous a...
