"Romance is about to become more interesting as cultures collide."
Reviewed by Melissa Kammer
Posted January 14, 2009
Romance Erotica Sensual | Romance Historical
Evelyn Stanton has always known how her life was going to
turn out. She was going to marry Christopher, the future
Earl of Warhaven, and become his countess. The last thing
she expected on her wedding day was for a monk to interrupt
her nuptials. To make matters worse, the monk is not
Chinese but English and he is claiming to be the true
earl. Her wedding is ruined, but the fun is only just
beginning as the need to validate his claim is carried
out. Evelyn must put up with this impostor until matters
are settled, but the more time she spends with him, the
more she finds herself attracted to him. Is it possible
for this exotic man to be her future husband? Is he truly
the earl?
Jacob Cato was the sole survivor of the slaughter that
killed his family while trekking through China. The ordeal
left him in a foreign country with no way to return home.
He found refuge with a group of monks and now he has one
goal in mind and that is taking his vows to become a monk
of the Xi Lin Temple. However, he has one final mission to
accomplish. He must immerse himself in the English
lifestyle and reclaim all that was lost to him, his title
and his bride. He wants to do this as quickly as possible
so that he can pave the way to fulfilling his vows. He
never expected to be attracted to the woman that he must
claim or to be overwhelmed at the prospect of revenge for
his family's slaughter. What path should he take? Should
he follow his heart or his mind?
Jade Lee has created a fascinating historical romance by
bringing a bit of the Chinese culture to England. Her
characters are very compelling and complex. Evelyn is torn
between being the prim and proper Countess that she was
trained to be and the wild and wanton seductress that Jacob
brings out in her. Jacob is caught between the peace he
craves by becoming a monk, and the rage he feels from his
family's slaughter. Their paths are not easy ones, and the
path to each other is covered with many obstacles. This
story was intriguing, and I found myself quickly ensconced
in the action. THE DRAGON EARL is a wonderful romantic
treat penned with a unique, sensual flavor.
SUMMARY
ONE MAN
A Chinese monk striding down the aisle was the first shock
at countess-to-be Evelyn Stanton’s wedding. To watch him
dispatch three groomsmen, unarmed, and to learn that he was
white and the long-lost heir to the Earldom of Warhaven,
was the second. He would be her husband?
ONE MISSION
After the slaughter of his family in far-off China, Jacob
Cato found sanctuary. In a Xi Lin temple he learned to be
strong, but now he had a grander goal: to reclaim his
English heritage and the woman he’d left behind.
ONE DESTINY
Revenge. It poisoned everything he’d learned, everything
he’d done, and yet every fiber of Jacob burned for it—just
as he burned for the beautiful but very English Evelyn.
Long ago, the conspiracy to kill his family had stranded
him, lost Jacob in the exotic East and made him
unrecognizable to his countrymen…and women. He had not
forgotten that past. It was to make peace that he had
returned. The manner was yet to be decided.
ExcerptCHAPTER 1
.excerpt p {text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%;}
A Chinese monk was walking up the aisle
of her wedding. Evelyn blinked to make the apparition go
away, but there he was, bright yellow robes billowing out
behind him as he strode the length of the Norman church.
Right toward her.
Evelyn hadn’t heard the commotion at
first. She’d been waiting breathlessly for her moment to
say, "I do." But a minute beyond "Dearly beloved," her
bridesmaid sister had giggled nervously. Maddie often
giggled inappropriately, so Evelyn ignored it. Moments
later she’d heard at least four whispers, two creaks from
the pews, and one gasp. The final blow came when the
Reverend Smythe-Jones faltered. His words stumbled and his
mouth fell slack. That had been too much. She’d had to see
what was behind her no matter that it was her wedding and
brides did not turn around in the middle of their
ceremonies. So she’d turned her back on cleric and
future-husband, shot a warning look at her sister Madeline,
then glared all the interruptions into silence.
That’s when she’d seen him: the
Chinaman. There were three of them actually–two men and a
boy–but the first seemed to dominate, with his ground-eating
stride and his bright yellow robe.
This simply would not do. Evelyn shifted
her gaze to her father and arched her brow. She could
already see the Earl of Warhaven, her fiancé Christopher’s
father, rising to his feet on the other side of the aisle.
But the Earl was choleric in temperament; he’d likely make a
bad scene worse. Thankfully, her father felt the same. He
would get to the disruption before her future
father-in-law. It would only take a moment.
Except, it did not take a moment. Her
father had barely found his feet before the Chinaman reached
the front pew. Evelyn expected that the twin forms of both
fathers would at least make the man pause, but they didn’t.
He neatly and almost magically sidestepped them. One moment
both fathers blocked the man’s path; the next moment, he had
somehow left them behind and was continuing up to the dais.
And still, all Evelyn could do was
stare. The man wore yellow robes that wrapped him from head
to foot. At her wedding?
"Now see here!" Christopher exclaimed as
he stepped forward, his outrage a palpable force. He
sounded just like an indignant future earl should, and
Evelyn felt the tension in her shoulders ease a bit.
Christopher would handle this disturbance.
Except, the Chinaman completely ignored
him. He bowed once respectfully to the Reverend then threw
back his cowl to focus on her.
"My God, you’re white!" she gasped. And
he was. Bald as a billiard ball, but with bright blue eyes,
a Roman nose and ruddy, stubbled skin. If he hadn’t
obviously been in robust health, she would have thought he
resembled Christopher’s great grandfather before the poor
man died at the age of ninety-eight.
The white Chinaman arched an eyebrow at
her. It was an aristocratic expression and completely at
odds with his clothing. Then he spoke in a commanding voice
that was strangely accented. "You are Evelyn Stanton? Of
twenty-four years age today?"
Evelyn swallowed and forcibly reminded
herself that she would one day be a Countess. Lifting her
chin, she responded as haughtily as possible. "I am, and
you, sir, belong outside." She should turn her back on him,
she decided. It was the best way, according to
Christopher’s mother, to appear regal without actually being
crass.
But before she could even start to move,
his arm shot out. He grabbed her elbow and held her fast.
She squeaked in alarm, but fortunately Christopher
intervened. He’d been too slow to prevent the Chinaman from
touching her, but managed to grab hold of the man’s rather
massive biceps clearly outlined by the folds of his robe.
And there they stood: Christopher holding the bizarre
Chinaman who held her.
"Release her, sirrah," Christopher
growled.
Again the Chinaman ignored her fiancé,
and he boldly scanned Evelyn from head to toe. From the
tight compression of his lips, he was none too pleased with
what he saw. "You are to wed the Earl of Warhaven on this
date? In this church?"
"Yes!" she snapped. "Now go away!" She
glanced over his shoulder–no easy feat given his height–in
the hopes that the fathers would be able to help. But what
she saw made her grimace with disgust. Trust the men to be
having a furious whispered debate with two other gentlemen
while completely ignoring the Chinamen interrupting her
wedding. What was going on?
Meanwhile, Christopher leaned forward and
spoke clearly and directly into the Chinaman’s face. "If
you have something to say to my wife, you can do so after
the ceremony." He jerked his head sideways at his
groomsmen. "These are my brothers. They will escort you
outside where you will await our pleasure."
The Chinaman’s gaze abruptly sharpened,
but not on Christopher or his bristling brothers. Instead,
he pinned the Reverend Smythe-Jones with his intense stare.
"The ceremony is accomplished? They are wed?"
Was there a note of hope in his voice?
"Er...no...n-not yet," stammered the
cleric. "We’d just begun." Then the Reverend abruptly
straightened and peered down his bulbous nose. "If you
would please leave the altar area, I will proceed."
"Then I am in time." The Chinaman’s tone
was almost dull, but still clearly heard. He turned to
Christopher, and with every word, his voice became clearer
and more authoritative. "You are not wed. And she is
promised to the Earl."
"Sirrah–"
"And now I am here." He turned to look
at the Reverend. "You may marry us. I am the Earl of
Warhaven."
Once again, the words did not fit into
Evelyn’s consciousness. She heard him, of course. Everyone
likely heard him with that booming voice of his. But the
meaning would not settle in her thoughts, and she simply
gaped at him.
Not so Christopher, who snorted one
word–"Madman!"–then waved to his two brothers. As one, they
sprang into action to drag the disruptor out of the way.
Evelyn did her part, shying sideways to stand protectively
in front of the elderly cleric. She also kept a watchful
eye on her sister. Madeline was more likely to join the
mayhem than avoid it.
Unfortunately, this Chinaman who was not
Chinese refused to release her. He held her fast in one
hand while–quick as lightning–the other shot forward in two
chops: one to Christopher’s forearm, the other to his
shoulder. Evelyn’s fiancé gasped and stumbled backwards,
his arm dropping uselessly to his side. Evelyn reached out
instinctively, trying to steady him, but he was too far away
and she was held fast.
Then it was the brothers’ turn. They
rushed forward, but the Chinaman lashed out with his soft
brown boots from beneath his yellow robes. Truthfully, the
footwear did not look all that solid–designed more for
warmth than fighting–but Evelyn distinctly heard the impact
of each kick. Alcott took two blows–one to his chest, then
his face–and dropped on his bottom beside Christopher.
Stephen’s arms were raised to protect his face, but his
knees were vulnerable. Two kicks to his legs and he dropped
away.
"This is ungodly!" cried the Reverend as
he charged around Evelyn to attack the Chinaman. The madman
did not react. He simply stood his ground. His hands
remained lowered as the elderly cleric rushed forward.
Evelyn had a moment of irrational hope that a man in his
sixties could accomplish with fisticuffs what three brothers
in their twenties could not. She was wrong. At the last
possible second, the madman stepped back and away, easily
avoiding the Reverend’s fists. The cleric swung anyway,
missing by a mile as the madman arched backwards. Then the
Reverend’s momentum carried him farther to stumble down the
dais steps and into the other Chinaman’s arms: the one
wearing orange-saffron robes.
"Don’t hurt him!" Evelyn cried.
The other Chinaman–a real Chinaman this
time–didn’t need the warning. He gently guided the cleric
to a seat–on top of the Countess–and then returned to his
place between the madman and everyone else.
Evelyn hurriedly scanned the crowd for
more assistance. But the people in the pews remained rooted
in place, their mouths hanging open like an audience at a
bizarre show. To one side, Christopher and his brothers
were regrouping, but it would take them a moment. On the
other, Madeline had dropped her bouquet and raised her
fists.
"Don’t you dare!" Evelyn hissed,
effectively stopping her miscreant sister long enough for
their cousin, who was the other bridesmaid, to grab Maddie’s
skirt and hold her back. Which left Evelyn at the top of
the dais with a madman. It was up to her to end this.
Using her bouquet as a weapon, she
roundly smacked the intruder on the back of his head just as
she would an errant child. "Why are you ruining my
wedding?" she demanded. It was a ridiculous question.
Madmen did not respond well to reason, but it did, at least,
bring his attention to her. Perhaps that would give
Christopher enough time to coordinate an attack.
"My apologizes for my tardiness," was the
man’s response, and it came in surprisingly cultured tones.
"I wish no one harm," he said as he tossed a glare at
Christopher and his brothers. "But I am the Earl and you
are my intended bride."
"Don’t be ridiculous," Evelyn returned.
"You are nothing of the sort."
"But I’m afraid he is!" came another
voice, a young voice tremulous with apology. It took a
moment for Evelyn to find the speaker. He was older than
his voice suggested: twenty-six, she would guess. He was
standing next to the arguing fathers, his pale skin slick,
his expression anxious.
"What are you talking about?" she
demanded.
He didn’t answer, because the madman
spoke up. "Nearly twenty years ago, my father took me, my
mother and sister and a few servants on his travels to
China. He wanted us to be together as a family." He said
those last words with a negligent wave of his free hand.
"We were attacked by bandits. None survived except me, his
son." He turned back to her, and she was struck by the raw
intensity in his pale blue eyes. "My parents promised us to
one another when we were children. I have returned now to
honor that vow." His shoulders sank somewhat as he grimaced
up at the altar. "I am here to wed you."
"Like bloody hell!" bellowed Christopher
as he barreled forward.
Evelyn squeaked in alarm. She knew what
would happen, even if she thought Christopher terribly
gallant for trying. But without the support of his
brothers, who were a step behind as usual, Christopher would
not fare better against the madman this time than he had the
last.
She tried to help. She jerked her
immobilized arm backwards as hard as she could while
slipping sideways to interpose her body between the two men.
It didn’t work. The madman easily moved with her, allowing
her to step between him and her fiancé, and then follow all
the way through until she stood on his other side. That
gave ample room for his booted foot to connect with the
center of Christopher’s chest, and again her fiancé went
flying backwards. The madman, of course, was not even
breathing hard.
"This is outside of enough!" cried
Evelyn. "This is my wedding!" She glared at
Christopher’s brothers before they could attack and fail
again. "Do not be foolish. And you!" She turned to the
madman. "You are not the current Earl!" She looked out to
her father for confirmation. She even tried to get the
attention of the real Earl, but it was useless. The fathers
plus an older gentleman were hissing and blustering to one
another, completely oblivious.
Or perhaps not completely
oblivious, because at that moment Evelyn finally placed the
graying man nervously wringing his handkerchief as he
cringed in the pew. It was the Honorable Mr. Grayson, the
Earl’s family’s London solicitor. Which meant the sweating
young man who had spoken up in support of the madman was the
solicitor’s grandson and a barrister in his own right.
Evelyn blinked and tried to understand what could possibly
be happening there.
"Solicitors argue like chickens," said
the madman in a strangely reasonable tone. "But the truth
does not change. I am my father’s son. I am the current
Earl, and you were promised to me."
She focused back on him because,
honestly, how could she not? He had that commanding tone
that captured one’s attention even in whispers. Still, the
situation simply didn’t make sense. "You cannot possibly be
the Earl." She looked into his very blue eyes and pleaded.
"This just isn’t the way things are done."
His eyes narrowed. His gaze was so
intense, so direct, she felt as if her skin sizzled. He
looked at her nose and her mouth, her ears even, but
eventually, his gaze returned to her eyes. "This is
important to you? That things be done properly?"
She stiffened. Here was proof positive
that the man was mad, but she answered his question
nevertheless. "Of course things must be done properly.
Anything else is…improper!"
The tension in his grip eased, and she
thought perhaps his face relaxed, but it was hard to tell as
he dipped his head in a bow. "Very well then, my wife, I
will concede to your wishes. We will do things correctly."
She breathed a sigh of relief. Except,
he didn’t move. He didn’t release her arm, and he didn’t
step away from her. And most importantly, he didn’t take
his fellow Chinamen with him and leave so that things could
return to order. He simply stood and looked at her.
"What?" she finally snapped.
He reared back slightly and arched a
brow. Then, with a sweeping gesture of his arm, he
indicated Christopher, who was whispering to his injured
brothers, the arguing fathers and solicitors, and the entire
slack-jawed congregation. "How does one proceed correctly
in such a situation?"
There was no Earthly way to answer that
question. And yet it was incumbent upon her to answer,
since the only other ranking woman in the room was the
Countess, who was sobbing uncontrollably beside the
Reverend, who had managed to climb off her lap to sit rather
awkwardly by her side.
Evelyn sighed then made her decision.
"Father," she called. No response. So she raised her voice
despite the fact that brides most certainly did not do such
a thing. "Father!"
Her father jerked around to face her.
"Dearest, there seems to be some question–," he began.
"So I understand," she interrupted.
"Perhaps our guests could all adjourn to the breakfast? It
appears that there will be no wedding today."
Her father glanced ruefully back at the
Earl and the solicitors–both young and old Mr. Grayson–as
the three hissed and spat in their squabble. The madman had
a point: they did seem rather animalistic, though more like
snakes than chickens.
Her father grimaced. "Don’t worry,
Button, we’ll get this all sorted out soon enough. Then you
can have your wedding day just as everything ought to be."
She smiled at her father. Simple and
even-tempered, he always knew just what to say. Putting his
words into effect, however, took much more time. Evelyn
turned and address her mother. "Mama, do you think you
could help everyone find the wedding breakfast? I’m sure
they must all be very hungry." It was a polite fiction. No
one was hungry, everyone clearly wanted to stay and watch
the unexpected show.
Mama blinked, then a martial gleam
entered her eyes. "Of course! Excellent idea," she said.
Then with quick words and pointed stares, she shamed the
audience into leaving, enlisting the bridesmaids in getting
the stragglers out the door. At Evelyn’s insistence, the
groomsmen left as well: Stephen with a limp, Alcott nursing
a bloody lip. The Earl was urged by the Reverend to remain
silent until they at least had more privacy. And finally,
Christopher ordered everyone to sit down and conduct
themselves as befitted their stations.
No one obeyed until the madman bowed
politely to Evelyn then settled in her father’s seat in the
front pew. He reclined there like a...well, like a
Chinaman, she supposed. He sat with his back straight, his
legs spread, and his hands on his thighs. But he was at
least silent and no longer holding her prisoner, so that was
progress. At least she was no longer held captive.
She waited until the last guest was
escorted out. A number of Christopher’s family remained,
for he had retained them. Evelyn’s own family–except for
her father–was gone. Mother and Evelyn together had
marshaled every last one to "assist" at the wedding
breakfast. The other two Chinamen–the orange-robed one and
the boy–were standing respectfully off to the side.
"Well," Evelyn said as the door shut
behind the last straggler, "I suppose it’s time to hear from
the…er, from Mr. Grayson." She’d almost said "chickens,"
and right there was a clear indication of how upsetting this
whole situation was.
"You may sit beside me, wife," the madman
intoned. He nodded regally to indicate where.
"I think not," Evelyn responded, startled
by her sudden urge to laugh. Fortunately, the exchange
prompted Christopher to stop fussing at his mother and turn
to her. He was beside her in a moment, taking her hand and
escorting her gently to a place beside the Countess.
Unfortunately, the woman’s sobs made it rather hard to hear.
"I am terribly sorry about this, Miss
Stanton," said the younger Mr. Grayson. He bowed deeply in
front of her. "Terribly sorry, but we got here as fast as
we could."
"My grandson is an idiot!" snapped the
elder Mr. Grayson. "Interrupting a wedding like this! If
you had just waited an hour, then this poor gel wouldn’t be
in the middle of it. Contract or no contract, she would
have been wed!" He folded his arms and looked most put out.
"But...but she thought she’d be wedding
an earl!"
"She is!" bellowed the current Earl.
Evelyn stood up, crossing to
Christopher’s side because she wanted to hear and because
she did not want to become trapped in comforting the
Countess. "Please, please, forget my situation right now.
You can’t possibly suggest that this...this..." How did one
refer to an Englishman in yellow robes? "That his claims
are true." And why was he staring at her like that:
steady-eyed, without apparent emotion, completely focused
upon her? It was disconcerting. She resolved to ignore him
completely in favor of her husband-to-be.
"He is a charlatan!" bellowed the Earl.
"I’m terribly, terribly sorry," babbled
the younger Mr. Grayson, "but I believe this to be Jacob. I
am so sorry."
Evelyn frowned at the man, wondering why
he was apologizing to her. After all, Christopher’s
father was the one who would lose the title. But that was
ridiculous, since this madman wasn’t the rightful Earl.
Either way, her place was beside her fiancé, so she smiled
reassuringly at Christopher. His face was pale and set, his
lips compressed into a thin line. And his gray-blue eyes
glinted with steel as he stared at the madman.
"What is the proof?" he demanded.
"There is no proof!" bellowed his father,
stomping forward. "We have the signet ring." He lifted his
hand to wave the item. "Joseph went off to China and was
slaughtered. The only survivor..." He turned and glared at
the madman. "The only survivor was his valet, who
saw it all. Higgins told us everything. Everyone was
slaughtered except him. He stayed hidden, sneaked back to
get the ring then made it here to me." He turned to the
young Mr. Grayson. "That is what happened. I am the Earl,
and there will be a wedding!"
From his place in the front pew, the
Chinaman turned, his expression fierce. "Higgins did
survive! We searched the bodies and couldn’t find him. I
thought he’d gone home. I thought he’d tell someone I was
alive. Why didn’t you send someone back for me?" His voice
was rising in clear fury even though his body remained
absolutely still. It was as if he restrained all his
emotions, but couldn’t control his voice. Or the burning
intensity in his eyes.
"Because Jacob died!" bellowed the Earl.
"And you are a miscreant thief!"
"I wish that were true, sir," the young
solicitor inserted. "But he remembers things. We played
together as boys, you recall. He remembers me."
The Earl spun around to glare at the
older Mr. Grayson. "Control your man, sir, then fetch the
Reverend."
But it was Christopher who stepped
forward to glare at the madman. "What was your horse’s
name?"
The madman’s gaze turned abstract as he
looked not at Christopher, but over his shoulder. "Zeus,"
he answered.
"Where did you hide your toy soldiers?"
"Under my bed."
"Did you have a pet?"
"A dog named Apollo. And the barn cat
Ginger."
The elder Mr. Grayson snorted. "That’s
hardly proof. Every boy has a dog and a barn cat. And toy
soldiers are always under the bed!"
"Look at me, God damn it!"
Everyone abruptly stared at Christopher,
Evelyn included. She had never heard him raise his voice
before, much less bellow a curse in the middle of a church.
His face was flushed, his eyes sparked like flint and
tinder, and for the first time in her life Evelyn actually
believed that Christopher was related to his choleric
father.
One glance at the madman showed that he,
too, was now looking at Christopher. No expression, no
emotion; his was just a simple, steady stare.
Silence.
No one dared interrupt as Christopher
continued to glare. For a madman, the Chinaman possessed
remarkable composure. In truth, he was completely and
totally calm, whereas Christopher’s breath began to huff and
his hands were tightening into fists.
Then Christopher abruptly relaxed. His
fists opened, his shoulders dropped, and in a low, calm
tone, he said five very distinct words: "I do not believe
you."
"Well, of course not!" his father began,
but Christopher raised his hand and effectively silenced his
father.
"I remember Jacob as wild and loud
and..." He glanced apologetically at the Earl. "Very much
like my father." His gaze returned to the madman. "You are
not Jacob. You may leave before we call the constable."
"You are my cousin Christopher. You had
freckles on your nose and talked about sheep manure. You
wanted to go to sea and be a pirate, and when we played
soldiers you always wanted to be the French. You said it
would prove you were smarter than any frog when you beat
me." He frowned and shifted his gaze to a spot in the air
over Evelyn’s shoulder. "That is all I remember of you."
It didn’t matter. No one cared what a
madman claimed to remember. But at the very moment Evelyn
decided everything was settled, Christopher’s grandmother
let out a wail. It was loud, it echoed, and it sounded
equal parts joy and terror. She struggled to her feet,
using her cane to hobble around the pew.
"It is you!" she sobbed. "It’s
James! I knew it! I knew it!" And she went to throw her
arms around the startled madman.
"Nana! Stop that!" Christopher cried as
he tried to restrain the elderly woman. Evelyn also leaped
forward, but the dowager countess pushed them both away.
"James used to speak just like that!" she
cried. "That was James–stiff and arrogant!"
"Mother," the Earl ground out behind
them. "James was your husband. James is dead."
She glared at him with watery eyes. "I
know that, you idiot, but I raised this boy. I would
remember. Besides, there’s proof!" With surprisingly quick
movements, she abruptly shoved down the edge of the madman’s
robe, baring his shoulder and chest all the way to his left
nipple. Evelyn gasped and tried to force herself to look
away. She…didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d never guessed that
a man could have such a well developed chest.
Meanwhile, Lady Warhaven pointed at a
moon shaped scar, half faded but still obvious. "You did
that to him! Don’t you remember? You were riding too
recklessly with him, and he fell right in those horrible
bushes." She lifted her chin. "This is Jacob."
"Don’t be ridiculous–," began the Earl,
but he was cut off as his mother turned directly to Evelyn.
"And you, young lady," she continued,
"will marry the correct grandson!"
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