Somebody to Love
To be released by Kensington, November, 2004
ABOVE ALL OTHERS
Everything Griffin Calverson ever touched turned to gold, but his worldly success has only isolated him. Despite his millions, he is essentially alone and sworn to remain so -- until he meets Araminta Woodhall, whose sultry beauty sets his heart on fire. Griffin loves her beyond all reason -- though by the rules of his social circle, they cannot marry. But Araminta will not agree to be merely his mistress...
AGAINST ALL ODDS
Raised in humble circumstances, Araminta has grown strong in the face of adversity -- her courage and pride have always gotten her through. But Griffin Calverson may be her only weakness -- and her only refuge in an unforgiving world. She can't seem to tell him goodbye...and she will settle for nothing less than all his love...
Read an Excerpt
Griffin Calverson strolled from the dining room through the middle parlor, careful to keep his face a mask of indifference. Behind him, the soft slap of cards punctuated men’s conversation and raucous laughter. He shoved open a massive oak door he suspected was meant to discourage any member of the public from wandering out of the first floor gaming rooms. Cigar smoke thickened the air and trailed him into the empty corridor.
Griffin rubbed his chin and pondered his next move. A friend had brought him to this gambling parlor, and so far, he’d managed to avoid being introduced to Kane, who would recognize his last name. Kane’s greedy hands were trying to dip into Calverson Company coffers.
The man had to be stopped.
A few minutes earlier, Kane had reappeared in the dining room after a long absence, the fixed smile more pronouncedly false. Something back here had ruffled the man, and Griffin decided to indulge his piqued curiosity. Just a quick snoop round. And he’d heard a rumor he wanted to confirm.
The air in this deserted back corridor was only slightly less rancid than that in the parlors, but Griffin breathed deep, putting his thoughts in order. He became aware of a slight prickling, like a soft touch on his skin. Someone watched him.
He glanced up, his gaze following the sweep of an ornate stair that led to the upper chambers, to the shadows at the top where a woman’s form stood, unmoving, looking down.
Good God, so the rumor was true. This was where the woman had ended up. There was no mistaking the lovely curve from waist to hip. The elegant set of the slightly tilted head, seen in silhouette, matched the memory that occasionally distracted him.
Araminta.
What the hell was she doing working here?
If he knew her, perhaps she recognized him. He’d have to speak to her. He started toward the stairs, tamping down sudden, unexpected eagerness.
The oak door behind him opened. Araminta vanished into the shadows of the upstairs hall.
Kane’s starched and impressive butler stood and frowned at Griffin, who set his shoulders and stared down the man with frigid hauteur.
The butler immediately showed an apologetic smile as wide and false as Kane’s. “Sir? I’m sorry, but we prefer our customers remain in the front parlors. Coffee is being served in the dining room.“
“Of course.” Griffin strolled past him. “I beg your pardon.”
In the dining room, Melrose, the odious but useful acquaintance who’d brought Griffin here, lounged in a chair, three sheets to the wind, bragging about his recent mining deals in Colorado. Griffin knew the dark-haired oily man listening and beaming was Kane, and so he took a chair well away from the two of them.
He fell into conversation with a thin stick of a lawyer who looked dyspeptic.
“I enjoy a few hands of vingt et un, but mostly I come for the dinner,” the lawyer confided. “She’ll be out soon.”
“She?”
“The gal who does it. Wish I could steal her, I tell you. All the rage just because she cooked for a duchess and that eccentric whatshername. Timona Caleston.”
“Calverson,” Griffin muttered. He didn’t bother to add his sister’s last name was now actually McCann.
“Yeah. For all the fuss, she’s as skilled in the kitchen as any Pierre or Jacques – better even.” The stick smiled. “And tastier to look at.”
Kane’s raised voice rumbled over the conversations. “Ah, Miss Araminta.”
Griffin leaned back. He draped his arm over the top of the chair and examined Kane’s cook.
She had the voluptuous hourglass figure of a Bowery actress, but the demeanor of royalty. Her eyes were dark, delicious, exotic, her skin the radiant color of dark clover honey in sunlight. Her hair, a mass of curls, had been drawn into a tight knot at the back of her head, but enough raven locks had escaped to frame her face. He fancied that the last time they’d met, her hair had been shorter.
She looked straight into his face. Her full lips parted slightly and she blushed. He narrowed his eyes, hoping she’d see his warning. Perhaps she did, for she looked away at once.
The men, filled with her excellent cooking and Kane’s good wine, applauded, stamped their feet and whistled at her. She murmured some nonsense about “enjoying their visit,” though Griffin was amused to hear that she sounded as if she cursed them all.
And then for another long moment, her glowing dark eyes stared into his face. Several of Kane’s other patrons turned to see where her attention had focused. Amused, and a bit rattled, Griffin frowned, then shifted his gaze from her eyes to the wineglass he held. He felt almost as if he’d broken physical contact.
Damn the woman for showing the room she recognized him. He already knew Araminta Woodhall displayed every emotion on that lovely face. And as far as he could tell, every emotion for her was a strong one. Luckily Kane had been distracted by Melrose and didn’t notice.
When Griffin looked up from the ornate crystal glass, Araminta had disappeared.
He’d endure a few hands of cards and then go seek her out. He needed to make sure she wouldn’t babble to Kane. And, he reasoned, he owed it to his sister to find out why her former employee worked for that unscrupulous twit. He took a gulp of wine and wondered why the blazes she’d stared at him in such a marked manner. The possibilities were intriguing.
