Struggling to save her father from debtor's prison,
astrologer Eliza Farrell arrives at the Theatre Royal in
London in hopes of gaining the actress Violet as a new
client, just as Edward Neville, Lord Hartwood, (Lord
Lightning) appears requiring Violet's help. The prophesying
from Eliza leads Violet to refuse Edward's request that she
pose as a mistress in a scheme to claim his inheritance
from his dead brother and to humiliate his mother. Being
rejected by Violet, Edward abducts Eliza, intending to make
her pay for her interference.
Offering Eliza a sum of money, they strike a bargain to
spend a fortnight at his mother's home with Eliza posing as
his scandalously dressed mistress. Coming from a loveless
childhood and hated by his mother since birth, Eliza begins
to see Edward's true character, even though he denies being
a sensitive and honorable man as revealed by Eliza's
astrology charts. Eliza does not plan on falling in love
with Edward. Offering her body to him with a plan of
leaving him forever, Eliza finds herself caught in a
treacherous web woven by Edward's vindictive mother.
Secrets surface that promise to free Edward from his
blackguard beliefs when he learns of Eliza's false arrest
and impending forced prostitution, precipitated by his
mother.
LORD LIGHTNING is a sensual story of false beliefs of a
small boy and the light of his realization when he finds
the one woman who can free him. Based on Eliza's astrology
charts, she firmly stands behind her belief that a loving
and kind soul resides in Edward. It was gratifying to see
the staunch belief and faith Eliza holds for the blackguard
that society believes Edward to be. An extremely enjoyable
read!
They call him, Lord Lightning
...for his shocking behavior. An unrepentant rogue with a
wicked reputation, his outrageous conduct ensures no woman
will get close enough to hurt him.
But demure and lovely astrologer Eliza Farrell casts a chart
that tells her Lord Hartwood is capable of great, passionate
love. When Hartwood, indulges in one of this famous pranks
and invites Eliza to become his new mistress, the virginal
country miss must meet her fate armed only with her
knowledge that the cynical lord will become the tender lover
she sees predicted in the stars.
Though Eliza is nothing like the brazen strumpets he
prefers, the seemingly incorruptible seer excites Lord
Lightning much more than the hard, calculating women he is
accustomed to. Eliza's trusting spirit and quick mind touch
his cold heart-and when the bewitching innocent surprisingly
agrees to be seen on his arm, neither can predict the sparks
that fly between them--or resist the electric passion that
threatens to transform them both.
Excerpt
[Eliza Farrell, a gently raised lady down on her luck, has
deeply offended a notorious libertine, Lord Hartwood, by
giving his mistress astrological counsel that has convinced
her to leave him. To add to her sins, she told his ex-
mistress that despite the wretched reputation—his shocking
behavior has led society to nickname him “Lord Lightning—
Lord Hartwood’s astrological chart reveals that he is a man
who was born to love. Now, she stands alone on the street,
broke and without any idea of what to do next.]
Just as she stepped out onto the pavement, she felt a
strong, gloved hand come from behind her and grasp her by
the arm. It pulled her toward the large closed carriage
emblazoned with a crest that waited some dozen yards down
the alley. She struggled to free herself and was about to
cry out for assistance when a cultivated voice growled into
her ear, “Do not attempt to resist me, my pretty one. If
you do as I bid, I will not harm you.”
She recognized the voice—and she recognized the sense of
drama. It was Lord Hartwood.
As he drew her toward the carriage, a liveried
postillion glided toward it and opened the door smoothly,
allowing her captor to shove her inside. Then the elegant
lord clambered in, taking a seat at the far end of the
deeply upholstered bench as the coach door shut with a well-
oiled click. He signaled to the coachman with a single rap
on the compartment’s roof and the carriage began to move.
She was being abducted! She knew she should be alarmed.
But as she breathed in the aroma of well-oiled leather and
the subtler scent of the varnished burled maple paneling
that surrounded her, it was not alarm she felt, but relief.
For a few moments longer she could postpone facing the fact
that she had nowhere to live, no one to turn to, and four
pence ha’penny with which to plan her future. It was even
possible that despite his cynical pose, Lord Hartwood had
been so impressed by her earlier reading of his character
that he wished to know more. Had she found a patron after
all—one capable of showering her with the golden guineas
needed to stave off disaster?
But one look at her abductor dispelled that notion. A
sneer darkened his eyes and narrowed the sensuous lips that
in other circumstances might have been described as
inviting. His eyes drilled into hers, and suddenly she knew
why they called him Lord Lightning. His eyes raked up and
down her slender figure, lingering on the bodice of her
dress as if with his gaze alone he could divest her of that
garment. Eliza shrank away from him, sliding toward the
other end of the bench and raised one hand protectively in
front of her chest.
“Lord Hartwood—” she began, but he cut her words short.
“Did your fortune-telling tricks not warn you to beware
of a man with fair hair? Were you not cautioned to make no
short journeys? Or do you read the stars only for those you
attempt to bilk?”
“What do you mean?”
“You will address me as ‘Your Lordship,’” he admonished
her. “And you will remember at all times the respect owed
to my rank. What’s your name, young woman?”
“Miss Farrell, Your Lordship.”
“Well then, Miss Farrell, you’ve greatly displeased me
with your damnable interference in my life. Now that you
are completely in my power, I’ll make sure you don’t play
such tricks again. Would you like to consult the stars to
find out what I have planned for you? Will your almanac
teach you how to escape me?”
His vehemence caused his snuffbox to slip from his
pocket and roll onto the floor, but he did not stop to pick
it up. “But of course, you wouldn’t consult the stars to
learn your own fate,” he taunted. “You’re a fraud, some
scullery maid looking for easy money—no, you speak too well
to be a scullery maid—a lady’s maid perhaps. But whoever
you are, I’ve had enough of your meddling.”
At these words, something in Eliza snapped. The nerve of
the man. Calling her a jumped up lady’s maid? She who was a
direct descendent of England’s finest astrologer!
“I am no fraud,” she retorted. “I was trained in the
practice of astrology by my Aunt Celestina who studied with
her father, who was William Lilly’s great-grandson. Your
insults can mean nothing to me.”
“Surely,” Lord Hartwood responded in an unpleasant
tone, “though my insults may mean nothing, you must fear
for your safety at my hands.” And with that, he reached out
one languid hand and caressed her thigh. A shock ran
through her body. No man had ever touched her in such a
brazen way. She twisted her neck sharply, pulling away from
him. The man was impossible. It was time to put an end to
his nonsense.
“Your Lordship,” she snapped, “I, too, have read the
novels of Mr. Richardson, which you have apparently
confused with real life. Had you not caused me so much
distress just now in the theater, I might find your
posturing amusing. But though you may have the reputation
of a Lovelace, I am no Clarissa. I am a woman of some nine-
and-twenty years, quite past my prime, with my living to be
earned, no thanks to you. And you have caused me quite
enough trouble for one day.”
“Surely,” Lord Hartwood said, his hard look now replaced
by something very akin to amusement, “though not Clarissa,
you must owe me a little bit of terror. After all, I do
have you in my power.”
“Oh don’t be silly,” Eliza countered. “We read Miss
Austen now, not Mr. Richardson, and the ladies in our
modern novels only run off with bounders when they fall
prey to their devastating charm—not because some man drags
them off in a closed carriage.”
“I am abashed, madam,” replied Lord Hartwood, “to find
you do not consider my charm to be devastating.”
“I have no idea if your charm is devastating or not, for
you have favored me only with your bad temper. Though, on
reflection, I’d imagine you have charm enough when you
choose to use it—at least, you would if you really have the
Libra ascendant that’s on the chart I drew up for you.”
Lord Hartwood lifted one pale eyebrow. “So you truly
believe that drivel you spouted to Violet? You actually
think you can divine my character with your mystical
documents?”
“There is no need for you to insult my art,” Eliza said
firmly. As she spoke, a part of her watched in astonishment
as she administered a set down to a man who was, after all,
a powerful nobleman. He, too, appeared to be astonished.
His deep brown eyes had widened and he was clearly having
trouble maintaining the harsh expression the role he had
taken on required. He removed his beaver hat with a
flourish, revealing a startling mass of pale, tousled
curls, and said in an ironic tone, “Accept my apologies,
madam. In the future I shall refer to your art only with
the greatest respect.”
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