Star-crossed lovers have a rare chance to reclaim the love cruelly denied them in the past, but can they grasp this brief window in time before it is too late?Newly arrived at Foxleigh, the gracious old Wentworth home in Virginia, British born Julia Morrow is excited at the prospect of a summer working as a guide in the stately house and herb garden. She quickly discovers the historic plantation holds far more.~
Excerpt:
A wildly irrational hope pulsed inside Julia. She bit her lip, hoping Will wouldn’t think her balmy. “Is it possible we’ve met before?”
The spark of life in his eyes faded. “I don’t see how.”
Yet, like a distant melody growing stronger, she instinctively knew his voice…him. “I’m not familiar to you at all?”
“How could you be, Miss Morrow?”That name sounded alien on his lips. “It’s Julia.”
His face tightened in an almost imperceptible wince. “I’d prefer we retained formal working titles. At least until we’re better acquainted.”
Disappointment washed through her. “Then you really don’t remember me?”
He ran long fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you, somehow,” she persisted.
An inner struggle flickered in his eyes. Wariness won out and he set his jaw. “The mind sometimes plays tricks on us, especially when mixed with an active imagination.”
“It’s more than that…rather like waking from a sleep when you cannot clearly recall the dream, only feel it.”
For a moment, he seemed pensive, then that sardonic look returned to his eyes. His gaze narrowed. “You’re dreaming, all right. I expect you’ve joined the throng of women in love with the dashing Cole Wentworth.”Julia felt a blush burning her cheeks. She couldn’t deny that possibility. The name alone ripped through her.
“Is this a problem with your working here?” he asked.
Mustering what dignity she had left, she drew herself up. “I’m fully capable of conducting myself with propriety, Mr. Wentworth. I’m British, for God’s sake.”
He frowned at her. “The Brits don’t have a monopoly on self-control. But I’ll allow you the benefit of the doubt in this instance.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Very good of you, I’m sure. I’ll endeavor not to put you out again.”
He made an impatient noise under his breath. “I’ve been all through this before, Miss Morrow.”
“Making allowances for Brits?”
“No. Admirers of my legendary cousin, superb horseman, exquisite artist, gallant nobleman struck down in his prime. Despite our similarities, I am not Cole Wentworth. There’s one glaring difference between us.”“He’s more charming?” she suggested.
William shot her a sarcastic smile. “He’s dead. Do try to bear that in mind.”~
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