Read an Excerpt from the Classic DARK BEFORE THE RISING SUN by Laurie McBain

About DARK BEFORE THE RISING SUN

"Now you can see how easily an ill-spoken word can cast doubt on or even destroy the feelings we thought inviolate," Dante warned her. "Never let anyone turn you against me, Rhea. Promise me that."

Newly-wed, Lady Rhea Claire and Dante Leighton must return to England, where their reception is anything but warm.

Now armed with wealth and power, Dante is a target for the murderous smugglers who despoiled his family home, while Rhea's father, the powerful Duke of Camareigh, vehemently rejects their marriage.

The two lovers thought themselves invincible together. But in the riveting conclusion of McBain's epic trilogy, Dante's determination to reclaim his family seat and Rhea's desperation to win over her father threaten to cause an insurmountable rift that could break them apart forever.

Read an Excerpt

“You flatter yourself, my lord,” Rhea responded in a voice so insolent that the arrogantly confident captain of the Sea Dragon was momentarily stunned. “If indeed you are what you claim to be. A circumstance I would find particularly deplorable. Of course, titles can be bought, if the price is right,” she said, mimicking his earlier insult. Meanwhile, her casual perusal of his person was so insultingly brief that her doubts about his laying claim to an aristocratic heritage were quite obvious. “You, sir, are beneath contempt. You are not fit to wallow with swine.” Rhea thought these words would be the coup de grâce for this insufferable man, but she did not know her enemy. Dante Leighton was not a man to be bested by some gutter- bred halfling.

“I am impressed,” Dante complimented her. His eyes, though, showed antagonism
instead of admiration, as he stared at this disdainful creature whose reactions
were totally different from what he had expected. “I have seldom heard better
mimicry in Drury Lane,” he continued. “You present more of a puzzle than I had at
first thought. I am curious where you learned to speak in so refined a manner.
Were you, perhaps, a kitchen maid, or milady’s personal maid?” he questioned
softly, then moved with a suddenness that caught Rhea off guard.

He held her chin firmly while he stared down into her face with an intentness
that made her uneasy. There was little she could do except try to brave that
pale-eyed gaze that seemed to miss nothing.

Dante was, in fact, experiencing a strange sensation of déjà vu. A vague memory
of another woman with eyes of a similar, extraordinary shade of violet was
insinuating itself into his thoughts. He remembered now, with a sense of loss,
how long ago that had been. He had been so incredibly young and naive that year
in London. What an idealistic fool he had been to believe in anyone other than
himself. How pungent still was the taste of bitterness in his mouth from that
season of betrayal.

And now the memory of violet eyes was bringing back too vividly all the regrets
from that time. It was ironic how the memory of that woman could lash into fury
all of the old hatreds. He did not even know her name, nor had he then, for it
had been just a casual glance, a meeting of eyes across a room, a shared moment,
nothing more. But in that instant of suspended time, she had been the embodiment
of a young man’s dreams. The image of her had remained untarnished after all else
had been defiled.

His nameless woman had entered and left his life in that one night; yet here he
was wondering about her and what her life had been like in the years since. He’d
like to believe she’d found happiness, but too many women were little more than
commodities bartered into marriage for titles and wealth.

She had stood apart from the throng, aloof and almost contemptuous of her
surroundings. Holding her slight frame stiffly erect, her head tilted at an
imperious angle, she had seemed to be daring anyone to approach her. Her proud
bearing reminded him oddly of this young creature standing before him now—and yet
they were nothing alike. One was in rags, the other had worn silk. One was fair,
the other had been dark. But despite the physical differences, the image of the
other woman seemed stamped on this one. It went deeper even than the elusive
quality of dignity that both possessed.

Dante shook his head, freeing himself from that clinging memory. It had been the
romantic fancy of a callow youth, and his gilded paragon was wed to a wealthy,
titled gentleman and had become a well-fed matron, whose only concerns were her
children, and whether to serve leg of mutton with caper sauce, or boiled beef and
pudding.

A look of self-disgust settled over Dante’s already grim face during his speculations on the all too probable and mundane fate of his ideal. Rhea misinterpreted this glowering look as one of loathing for her and was filled with an ill-advised, yet overpowering urge to escape from yet another tormentor. Without stopping to think about the consequences of such an action, she sidestepped the brooding captain of the Sea Dragon and grabbed the offending map before he could make a move to stop her.

As Dante watched unbelievingly, the girl held it precariously close to the
lantern’s flame, for fool that he was, he had, in his surprise at discovering a
trespasser on board, forgotten to close the lantern after lighting it.

“It will become nothing more than cinders,” Rhea warned him as he stepped toward
her. His barely restrained fury made her more frightened of him than she had ever
been of Daniel Lewis. “Let me go! Or I swear to you, Captain, that I will destroy
this map you seem to prize so highly.”

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About Laurie McBain

Laurie McBain was born on October 15, 1949. She was always passionate about art and history, and her father encouraged her and helped her write her first historical romance.[5] Her first book, Devil's Desire, was published in 1975 by Avon, joining her to a new generation of romantic writers, like Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, who changed the style of the historical romances. Her two first novels, Devil's Desire and Moonstruck Madness, each sold over a million copies. After the death of her father, she decided to retire from the publishing world in 1985, with only seven romances written. Wikipedia