Denise Eagan

The Wild One from Kensington Books–only $4.99!
Coming January 6, 2009

                  

The Wild One

 Sequel to Wicked Woman

San Francisco—Colorado—Texas, 1885

Betrayed and abandoned by her adulterous husband, actress Jess Sullivan has only one goal:  to return home to the happy, comfortable “good girl” life she foolishly forfeited in the name of love.  Before she can do that she’s determined to save enough money to pay back what she and her husband stole from her brother.  Riddled with guilt, Jess has no use for men or romance, especially a man like Leland Montgomery, an ultra-charming, aristocrat turned footloose gambler.  

Lee however, is enchanted by Jess’s breathtaking beauty, and quick, sharp wit. Assuming she follows the casual immorality of her profession, and hoping for a brief, torrid affair, Lee resolves to seduce her.  Jess though, is hardly the shallow, loose woman he expects. As his feelings for her deepen, it becomes apparent that any relationship with her must be respectable.  But men of his background do not marry actresses, especially ones that are already married.   Then her stage manager is murdered, and when it’s discovered that the man gambled away Jess’s savings, she and Lee are blamed for the crime. After narrowly escaping the clutches of corrupt lawmen, they set out across the Colorado prairie, one step ahead of a posse and shadowed by a passion that will no longer be denied. . . . 

Eagan’s talent for creating fast-paced stories and three-dimensional characters makes for a nonstop tale . . Kathe Robin, Romantic Times

Their adventures make the book impossible to put down. The author has created memorable characters and has a gift for describing the West of the late 1800’s. . . Coffee Time Romance

Click here to order from Amazon.

Excerpt (Jess and Lee are attending a Victorian Ball in San Francisco, 1885)

As the footmen attended their outer clothing, Jess surveyed her surroundings, reminding herself to breathe, for the hall alone was larger than all three rooms she and Michelle shared.   Two stories high, it was paneled in gleaming oak with an enormous oak staircase carpeted in crimson sweeping upward and parting at the first landing, where it formed a double staircase.  Above them a monstrous gold chandelier held back the night trying to enter through three enormous half- moon windows.  And everywhere there was black-veined marble: marble statues, marble floor, marble pillars flanking the stairway.  Jess’s heart raced as Lee took her arm and they followed a footman along a two- story high corridor hung with life-size portraits.

 ”Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Lee whispered in her ear.  ”They don’t bite.  At least, I don’t think they do.” The music grew louder with each step.  Then the footman bowed and swept his arm toward a huge room with two sets of open double doors.  They entered, stopping just inside.

Gold.  Lord almighty, everywhere gold-enormous, sparkling chandeliers,  paneling, wainscoting, everything covered in gold leaf.  The floor-to-ceiling windows, hung with delicate lace, were trimmed in gold.  The marble fireplace and the huge mirror over it, trimmed in gold.  Even the sky-and-cloud-painted ceiling was all but lost in gold-squared trimming.

And flowers, hundreds, thousands of flowers.  The scent almost knocked her over.  ”Good gracious, Lee,” Jess gasped.  “I didn’t know the world contained that much gold leaf!  Do they own a hothouse, too?”

Lee, scanning the crowd, grimaced.  “Awful, isn’t it?  It’s Bernadette’s doing.  Hathaway’s a Yank; you’d never see this sort of ostentation in Boston.  I see we’re late enough to have successfully avoided the reception line and the Grande Marche, which, believe me, is for the better,” he said smugly.   ”Let us see about finding you a seat while I locate-ah, there’s Michael.  Ah hell, he’s with Greenway and Eleanor.”  

Blinded by grandeur, Jess only then noticed the people, some dancing to the strains of an orchestra hidden behind a row of palms, some sitting on cream silk settees and chairs, while still others stood talking in groups. 

Then the names sank in.  “Greenway?” Jess repeated, in yet another shock to her reeling mind. Over and over again she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, barely controlling the urge to flee.  “Ned Greenway?”  Dear God, and Eleanor Martin, the queen of San Francisco society.  Jess had only read about her in the society pages.  Oh no, she would not meet her, she’d rather sink through the gold-parquet floor, turn into a bird and fly through the heaven-painted ceiling.  To be anywhere but here, completely, entirely out of her realm.

Across the room Michael Hathaway spotted them. After reaching into a gold-edged white box, he withdrew a slim gold square and crossed the room.  “Montgomery,” he exclaimed, shaking Lee’s hand.  “Good to see you again!  And Miss Sullivan,” he said bowing.  “It’s an honor to renew our acquaintance.  Your dance card, ma’am.” He handed her a gold-leaf book with a tiny pencil attached by an ivory silk cord.  She took it, using her best acting skills to appear perfectly at ease. Mr. Hathaway continued. “Lee, there are a number of people here who wish to talk to you.”

            Rubbing his neck, Lee grimaced.  “Damn it, Michael, I came late hoping to avoid all that.”

Hathaway laughed.  “You’d have to arrive dead for that to happen.  Come, we’ll make it as painless as possible.”

            “Confound it,  McAllister’s here, too,” Lee hissed, as he took Jess’s arm to lead her across the floor. “Thought he was visiting his brother in New York.  If he talks to Port there’ll be the devil to pay. You’d better steer me clear of him, Hathaway, or it’ll be pistols at dawn between you and me!”

            Mr. Hathaway chuckled again.  “Sorry, old boy, he’s seen you.” 

A few breath-stealing moments later, Jess stood in frozen silence as Lee very prettily introduced her to the Eleanor Martin.  Following that came introductions to Ned Greenway and the Crockers and the Floods. The next half hour passed in a blur as Jess attempted small talk with people of mind-numbing wealth, many of whom treated Lee to lectures about his negligence in attending social functions. Through it all he displayed a truly astonishing amount of charm.  Even the oldest and hardest of women bloomed under his dimpled smile and silver tongue, their lectures skillfully averted with sincere apologies and well-targeted compliments.

  Finally, Lee excused himself and led Jess to the dance floor.  With his arm around her waist and enough distance between them for respectability, he whirled her around the room to a waltz.  When her feet, from lack of practice, faltered, he merely smiled and told her that she was doing just fine.  The music ended and Lee brought her to a chair, first steering her away from Mr. McAllister, who seemed intent upon conversation. 

“So,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “did you get a good look at Eleanor Martin’s brooch?” He shuddered in revulsion. “A beetle for the love of God!”

Jess bit back a laugh. “But ever so expensive.”

“It doesn’t matter. No amount of diamonds and rubies can make a beetle attractive.  I shall never comprehend why some women insist upon wearing bugs on their clothes.”

“It’s the fashion.”

“I’ve never seen you wear one.”

Heat rushed to her face.  “You’ve never seen me wear any precious gems.”

Compassion flickered in his eyes, and he touched her hand briefly.   ”As it should be. You’d take the shine all out of them. Come,” he continued in a rallying voice,  “it’s time to dance again.”

Two quadrilles and another waltz later he led her to a seat where, exhausted and perspiring, she fanned herself.  When he made a sly comment about another woman’s huge dragonfly broach flying away with her, Jess hid her laughter behind her fan.  A devilish smile lit  his face.  ”Better not do that. The fan across the lips means ‘kiss me.’  Not that I wouldn’t love to oblige you, but this is hardly the place.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, and let her fan drop to her side. 

“Ah, the dance master is returning to the floor.  If you’ll lend me your arm?”

Breathless-from dancing, she told herself firmly, not from the idea kissing Lee -she shook her head. “Another dance? No!”  

“Should you consult your card, you’ll see that you’ve already promised it to me.”

 ”My card,” she said, glancing down at the little book hanging from her left wrist.  She’d completely forgotten about it. “But I never wrote anything in it.”  She lifted her hand and twirled the little book to untangle it.

“I did, while Del Huntington flirted with you, who, by the way, is married-at least occasionally-and a scandal in the making.”

“Occasionally?” she questioned, as she finally pulled the card off her wrist and opened it. A list of dances and composers were printed down the left side of the book.  On the right, written next to every dance in careful masculine script, was Leland Montgomery. “Lee,” she said, shocked mirth shaking her voice,  ”you’ve claimed every dance.”

“Have I?” he asked, laughter rumbling through his words as he leaned forward to read it upside down.  ”What a fortunate man I am.”

“Fortunate!  It’s scandalous, even I know that!  I am very sure that Mrs. Hathaway invited you expecting you to dance with many different girls.”  

“Bernadette didn’t invite me.  Michael did, and he knows full well that I’m only here because of you.  Come, the orchestra is striking up,” he said, taking her elbow.   

“But-”

“Jess, if you keep complaining, I shall never invite you to another ball.”

“At this rate you’ll never be invited!”

“Then we had better enjoy this one, hadn’t we?”

Shaking her head, she laughed and decided to stop trying to appeal to his better self. Probably, she thought as they whirled around the floor, Lee didn’t have a better self. . .

 

 

Wicked Woman Zebra Debut–only $3.99!
On Shelves Now!

 Boston, 1855

 After the accidental death of her third husband, former English noblewoman Morgan Turner flees the Philadelphia police for  the streets of Boston.  There she ends up in the arms of Ward Montgomery, the captain of the ship that brought her to America.  Desperate and penniless, she succumbs to the simmering attraction between them, and, concealing her deadly past, brazenly offers to become his mistress. Unknown to Morgan, conservative, self-restrained Ward has pledged to restore honor to his proud Boston name, ruined by his lecherous father.  Consumed by desire, Ward recklessly decides he can keep the affair a secret from his family and society.  But as desire turns to love their secret is threatened, first by Morgan’s pregnancy—and then when the Philadelphia police discover the infamous Wicked Widow is living in Boston. . . .

 

Quite different. . . . And quite daring. . . .”
Leslie Kazanjain, Romantic Times

Fiercely tender and intensely romantic, Wicked Woman has just the right amounts of passion and suspense. . . .I laughed, I cried. . . .I was on the edge of my seat.
Lettetia Elsasser, Single Titles.com

 

Click here to order from Amazon

Click here for excerpt