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#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns to romantic Scotland to usher in a new generation of Cynsters in an enchanting tale of mistletoe, magic and love. 

It's frosty December and six Cynster families come together at snowbound Casphairn Manor with members of their households to celebrate the season in true Cynster fashion—and where Cynsters gather, love is never far behind. 

The festive occasion brings together Daniel Crosbie, tutor to Lucifer Cynster's sons, and Claire Meadows, widow and governess to Gabriel Cynster's daughter. Daniel and Claire have met before and the embers of an unexpected passion smolder between them. 

However, Claire, once bitten, twice shy, believes a second marriage is not in her stars. Yet Daniel is determined. He's seen the kind of love the Cynsters share, and Claire is the lady with whom he dreams of sharing his life. Assisted by a bevy of Cynsters—innate matchmakers every one—Daniel strives to persuade Claire that trusting him with her hand and her heart is her right path to happiness. 

Claire is increasingly drawn to Daniel and despite her misgivings, their relationship deepens. But then catastrophe strikes, and by winter's light, she learns that love—true love—is worth any risk, any price.

• Sales Rank: #559289 in Books
• Published on: 2014-10-28
• Released on: 2014-10-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 7.23" h x 1.14" w x 5.74" l, .0 pounds
• Binding: Hardcover
• 352 pages

Review
"When it comes to dishing up lusciously sensual, relentlessly readable historical romances, Laurens is unrivalled." -Booklist

"Laurens's writing shines." -Publishers Weekly

"One of the most talented authors on the scene today...Laurens has a real talent for writing sensuous and compelling love scenes." -Romance Reviews

"Stephanie Laurens never fails to entertain and charm her readers with vibrant plots, snappy dialogue, and unforgettable characters." -Historical Romance Reviews.

"Stephanie Laurens plays into readers' fantasies like a master and claims their hearts time and again." -Romantic Times Magazine

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens originally began writing as an escape from the dry world of professional science. Her hobby quickly became a career; she has been writing historical romance novels for more than 20 years. Currently living outside Melbourne, Australia with her husband and two cats, she spends most of her days writing new stories in her signature 'Errol Flynn meets Jane Austen" style. Visit her online at www.stephanielaurens.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
December 23, 1837

Casphairn Manor, the Vale of Casphairn, Scotland

Daniel Crosbie felt as if all his Christmases had come at once. Letting his gaze travel the Great Hall of Casphairn Manor, filled to overflowing with six Cynster families and various associated household members, he allowed himself a moment to savor both his unexpected good fortune and his consequent hope.

About him, the combined households were enjoying the hearty dinner provided to welcome them to the celebration planned for the next ten days—as Daniel understood it, a combination of Christmas, the more ancient Yuletide, and Hogmanay. Seated about the long refectory-like tables on benches rather than chairs, with eyes alight and smiles on their faces, the assembled throng was in ebullient mood. Conversation and laughter abounded; delight and expectation shone in most faces, illuminated by the warm glow of the candlelight cast from massive circular chandeliers depending from thick chains from the highdomed ceiling. The central room about which the manor was built, the Great Hall lived up to its name; the space within its thick walls of pale gray stone was large enough to accommodate the Cynster contingent, all told about sixty strong, as well as the families of the various retainers who worked in and around the manor, which functioned like a small village.

With no family of his own still alive, Daniel had spent his last ten Christmases with the Cynster family for whom he acted as tutor—the family of Mr. Alasdair Cynster and his wife, Phyllida—but this was the first time in that decade that the Cynsters had come north for Christmas. The six Cynster families present—the six families closest to the dukedom of St. Ives, those of Devil, Duke of St. Ives, his brother Richard, and his cousins Vane, Harry, Rupert, and Alasdair—invariably came together at Christmastime. They were often joined by other connected families not present on this occasion; the long journey to the Vale, in the western Lowlands of Scotland, to the home of Richard Cynster and his wife Catriona in a season that had turned icy and cold with snow on the ground much earlier than expected had discouraged all but the most determined.

Out of long-established habit, Daniel glanced at his charges—soon to be erstwhile charges—seated at the next table with their cousins and second cousins. Aidan, now sixteen years old, and Evan, fifteen, had passed out of Daniel's immediate care when they'd gone up to Eton, yet Daniel still kept an eye on the pair when they were home—an action their parents appreciated and which the boys, at ease with him after all the years, bore with good grace. At that moment, both were talking animatedly with their male cousins in a fashion that instantly, at least in Daniel's mind, raised the question of what the group was planning. He made a mental note to inquire later. Jason, the youngest son of the family and the last of Daniel's true charges, was similarly occupied with the group of Cynster offspring nearer his age. Now eleven, later in the coming year, Jason, too, would start his formal schooling—a circumstance which had, for Daniel, raised the uncomfortable question of what he would do then.

Once Jason left for Eton and there were no more boys in Alasdair Cynster's household in Colyton, in Devon, for Daniel to tutor, what would he do for a living?

The question had plagued him for several months, not least because if he was ever to have a chance at the sort of life he now knew he wanted, and, if at all possible, was determined to claim, he needed to have secure employment—a place, a position, with a steady salary or stipend.

He'd been wracking his brains, trying to think of his options, of what might be possible, when Mr. Cynster— Alasdair—had called him into the library and laid before him a proposal that, in a nutshell, was the answer to all his prayers.

On several occasions over the years, Daniel had assisted Alasdair with his interests in ancient and antique jewelry, with documenting finds and establishing provenances, and also with cataloguing and adding to the collection of rare books Alasdair had inherited from the previous owner of the manor. Alasdair, supported by Phyllida, had suggested that, once Jason had departed with his brothers for Eton, if Daniel was happy to remain in Colyton as a member of their household, they would be delighted to engage him as Alasdair's personal secretary, an amanuensis to assist with Alasdair's ever-expanding interests.

The suggested stipend was generous, the conditions all Daniel could have hoped for. Not only would the new position suit him, it would solve all his difficulties.

Most importantly, it cleared the way for him to offer for Claire Meadows's hand.

He glanced along the board to his right. Clad in a soft woolen gown in a muted shade of blue, Claire—Mrs. Meadows—was sitting on the opposite side of the table, two places down. She was the governess in Rupert Cynster's household; as Rupert and Alasdair were brothers, Claire and Daniel were often thrown together when the families gathered. It was customary in such circumstances that the attending tutors and governesses banded together, sharing responsibilities and each other's company, as they were at present. The manor's governess, Miss Melinda Spotswood, a comfortable matronly sort with a backbone of forged iron, was chatting to Claire. On Melinda's other side, opposite Daniel, sat Oswald Raven, tutor at the manor; a few years older than Daniel, Raven projected a debonair façade, but he was hardworking and devoted to his charges. Raven was chatting to Mr. Samuel Morris, who was seated alongside Daniel and hailed from Vane Cynster's household in Kent; the oldest of the group, Morris was slightly rotund and had an unfailingly genial air, yet he was a sound scholar and very capable of exerting a firm hand on his charges' reins.

All five had met and shared duties on several occasions before; the rapport between them was comfortable and relaxed. Over the coming days, they would, between them, keep an eye on the combined flock of Cynster children—the younger ones, at least. The oldest group, the seventeen-year-olds led by eighteen-year-old Sebastian Cynster, Marquess of Earith and future head of the house, could be relied on to take care of themselves, along with the large group of sixteen- and fifteen-year-old males. But there were six boys thirteen years and under, and seven girls ranging from eight to fourteen years old, and over them the tutors and governesses would need to exert control sufficient to ensure they remained suitably occupied.

There was no telling what the engaging devils would get up to if left unsupervised.

Being governess or tutor to Cynster children was never dull or boring.

Daniel had managed to keep his gaze from Claire for all of ten minutes. Despite the color and vibrancy, the noise and distraction—despite the many handsome and outright stunningly beautiful faces around about—hers was the shining star in his firmament; regardless of where they were, regardless of competing sights and sounds, she effortlessly drew his gaze and transfixed his attention.

She'd done so from the moment he'd first seen her at one of the family's Summer Celebrations in Cambridgeshire several years ago. They'd subsequently met on and off at various family functions, at weddings in London, at major family birthdays, and at seasonal celebrations like the current one.

With each exposure, his attraction to Claire, his focus on her, had only grown more definite, more acute, until the obvious conclusion had stared him in the face, impossible to resist, much less deny.

Utterly impossible to ignore.

"If the weather holds," Raven said, commanding Daniel's attention with his gaze, "and the older crew go riding as they're planning, then we'll need to invent some suitable pastimes to keep our charges amused."

Seated with his back to the table at which the Cynster children were gathered, Raven had turned and asked what the animated talk had been about. Riding out to assess the position and state of the deer herds had been the answer.

Daniel nodded. "If at all possible, let's get those left to our care out of doors."

"Indeed," Melinda said, turning from Claire to join the conversation. "We need to take advantage of any clear days. If it is fine enough tomorrow, I was saying to Claire that the fourteen-year-olds—the girls—might like to gather greenery to decorate the hall." Melinda gestured to the stone walls hosting various fireplaces and archways, all presently devoid of any seasonal touches.

"It's customary to decorate them on the twenty-fourth, which is tomorrow."

"I'd heard," Morris said, "that there's some tradition about the Yule log that's followed hereabouts." He looked to Raven for confirmation.

Raven, his hair as dark as his name would suggest, nodded. "Yes, that's an inspired idea. Not only is it necessary to collect the right-sized logs, but the logs have to be carved. That should keep the boys amused for hours. I'll speak to the staff about organizing whatever's needed."

Daniel nodded again, and his gaze drifted once more to Claire; she'd been following the conversation, her calm expression indicating her agreement with the suggestions. With her glossy mid-brown hair burnished by the candlelight, with her delicate features and milky-white skin, her lips of pale rose, lush and full, and her large hazel eyes set under finely arched brown brows, she was, to his eyes, the epitome of womanhood.

That she was a widow—had been widowed at a young age—was neither here nor there, yet the experience had, it seemed, imbued her with a certain gravitas, leaving her more reserved, more cautious, and with a more sober and serious demeanor than might be expected of a well-bred lady of twenty-seven summers.

Her station—gentry-born but fallen on hard times—was similar to, or perhaps a touch higher than, Daniel's; he didn't really know. Nor did he truly care. They were both as they were here and now, and what happened next…that was up to them.

He'd come to Scotland, to the Vale, determined to put his luck to the test—to seize the opportunity to speak with Claire and plead his case, to learn if she shared his hopes and if she could come to share his dreams.

A gust of laughter and conversation drew his gaze to the high table.

The six Cynster couples were seated about the table on the raised dais along one side of the room, a traditional positioning most likely dating from medieval times. In addition to those twelve—middle-aged, perhaps, yet still vibrantly handsome, articulate, active, and engaged—there were three of the older generation at one end of the board. Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, mother of Devil and Richard and elder matriarch of the clan, was seated at the end of the table closest to the hearth, and had chosen to summon Algaria, Catriona's aging mentor, and McArdle, the ancient butler of the manor, now retired, to join her there. The three were much of an age and, judging by their glances and gestures, were busy sharing pithy observations on all others in the hall. Having met the dowager and been the object of her scrutiny on several occasions, Daniel didn't like to think of how much she, let alone black-eyed Algaria, was seeing.

A comment in a deep voice, followed by laughter, drew Daniel's gaze back to the twelve Cynsters of the generation that currently ruled. Their children might have been growing apace, might already have been showing signs of the forceful, powerful individuals they had the potential to become, yet the twelve seated about the high table still dominated their world.

Daniel had observed them—those six couples in particular—for the past ten years. All the males had been born to wealth, but what they'd made of it—the lives each had successfully wrought—hadn't been based solely on inherited advantage. Each of the six possessed a certain strength—a nuanced blend of power, ability, and insight—that Daniel appreciated, admired, and aspired to. It had taken him some time to realize from where that particular strength derived—namely, from the ladies. From their marriages. From the connection—the link that was so deep, so strong, so anchoring—that each of the six males shared with his wife.

Once he'd seen and understood, Daniel had wanted the same for himself.

His gaze shifted again to Claire. Once he'd met her, he'd known whom he wanted to share just such a link with.

Now he stood on the cusp of reaching for it—of chancing his hand and hoping he could persuade her to form such a connection with him.

Whatever gaining her assent required, he would do.

Now Fate in the form of Alasdair Cynster had cleared his path, it was time to screw his courage to the sticking point and act.

Hope, anticipation, and trepidation churned in his gut.

But he was there and so was she, and he was determined to move forward. He knew how he felt about her, and he thought she felt similarly toward him. His first step, plainly, was to determine whether he was correct in believing that—and whether with encouragement, "like" could grow into something more.

Most helpful customer reviews

24 of 25 people found the following review helpful.
Old Fashioned Romance With Christmas As A Bonus!
By Theresa M. Studer
Stephanie Laurens delivers a wonderful Christmas tale that is pure romance at it's best. I do so love it when I find a book that the author has taken care not to make it about sex but more about the wonderful aspects of what a wonderfully sweet romance holds for all of us.

The Cynster family has all come together at the manor for the Christmas Holidays and oh what a family it is. With multiple generations and all of which treat each other with love and respect, we welcome in Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with giggles, blessings, old traditions as well as new, lots of food and cheer and not to be left out but a possible romance or two perhaps.

I have to say I just love it when the kids are trying to pull one over on the adults only to find out later that the elders of the group are much wiser and see a whole lot more than they let on. Not only that but the elder generation is just as sneaky and willing to pull shenaigans as the younger generation. One said budding romance is between a tutor and a governess and I don't know that the two will stand a chance of not falling deeply for each other with all the help they will be getting to get them together. It really is comical and quite sweet.

I will be saving this to read again at Christmas as I do so love a good Christmas romance for the holiday. I highly recommend this one for all of you who love true old fashioned romances of yester year as well as a good Christmas tale of life anew, blooming love and sweet tender tales of all the good that should be in this world. This is a stand alone novel so go ahead and splurge on yourself.

14 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
A touch of magic
By wogan
There are quite a few books in the Cynster series, but this is a stand-alone book. It is a regency romance that is timeless. It very well could take place today.
It is Christmas and the large family has come together in the sizeable Scottish manor. This is a loving family, with as one begins to read, some slight hint of divergence from the norm. First we have some of the names; Devil, Raven, Scandal and Lucifer. It isn't until the middle of the book that the mystery of the Lady and hints that are not fully explained of a power and mystical gift that a few have that provides knowledge and a protection is given. Perhaps this is dealt with more fully and clearly in other books; but for now, in this one it adds a mystery and really takes nothing away from understanding.

The whole family is charming and loving and responsible. The love interest is between 2 tutors - Daniel and Claire who is a widow who does not wish to remarry. Can either of them find happiness?

There is a helpful list and explanation of the characters in the front of the book, this is most welcomed.
There is something so comforting about reading Christmas stories and this has much to entertain you...a loving family, a hope for love- a wealthy family who reaches out to those in need and trouble around them. It is an appropriate Christmas lesson and tale.

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
A Feel-Good Romantic Read for the Holidays
By J. Faltys
As the twenty-first book in the Cynster series Ms. Laurens has by now created a group of characters that have become like family to readers. In this heartwarming, mysterious, and sweet holiday romance the Cynster clan has gathered to celebrate Christmas and do a bit of matchmaking along the way. In her usual style, Ms. Laurens nicely balances believable and endearing familial interactions with a burgeoning romance between people struggling to reach their HEA.

Though there are some issues with the story, when it comes to expressing the love and support each of the Cynsters have for each other it shines. They're a family who believes in the power of love and want everyone to find their HEA. To acheive that, each generation unites to bring Claire and Daniel together through well-intentioned machinations. Claire and Daniel are an entertaining couple who've met before and it's apparent that they're still drawn to each other. Claire's been through a lot in the past though and has been left bruised because of it. Daniel wants a HEA, the kind he sees from the other Cynsters, and with their help he charms his way past Claire's fears in a heartwarming journey to HEA perfect for the holiday. Seeing the Cynster family interact brought a smile to my face as their banter is witty and playful. Each generation interacts with the other with the elders being just as funny and wild as the younger ones. The warmth and joy of the holidays shines through and gives readers a warm and fuzzy feeling that makes this a delightful holiday read.

This isn't a perfect read though, nor is it a favorite in the series. There's a large cast of characters that makes you feel overwhelmed and drags out the story longer than necessary. Those who haven't read much of the series may feel frustrated and a bit lost too. The mystery feels a bit out of place and a distraction though it's always nice seeing the family work together to solve a problem. The romance itself leans more to the sweet side than the steam I count on from Ms. Laurens, but as this is a holiday read I can understand why their interludes were toned down. All in all this was a good addition to the series that gets you excited for the next generation. It brings you all the joy and happiness of the holiday to get you in the mood in an entertaining and heartwarming way. Fans of the Cynster series will find this the perfect holiday gift and here's to many more Cynster books in the future!

See all 223 customer reviews...

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Far older than his legend, the immortal Vlad Dracul has wandered the earth for centuries in search of the reincarnation of his wife, Elisabeta. Now he believes he has found the woman possessed by his beloved's soul and is prepared to make her his for all eternity.

Tempest "Stormy" Jones is that mortal. She has long sensed the other, someone inside her fighting to take control, a feeling that becomes even stronger when the dark prince is near. But as Stormy denies the passion that burns between them, she also resists allowing Elisabeta to take over her mind and body to prevent her from claiming Vlad as her own.

But when Elisabeta discovers Vlad's feelings for Stormy, her wrath knows no bounds. She demands that her destiny be fulfilled, and seeks to destroy her rival, leaving Vlad in anguish, tormented by what was…and what could be. Now only he can choose—who will live and who will die.

• Sales Rank: #690082 in Books
• Published on: 2010-01-19
• Released on: 2010-01-19
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.03" w x 4.21" l, .1 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 400 pages

About the Author

RITA Award winning, New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published over 50 novels, including mini-series Wings in the Night (vampires), Secrets of Shadow Falls (suspense) and The Portal (witchcraft). A Wiccan High Priestess, tarot reader, advice columnist and former soap opera writer, Maggie lives in Cortland County, NY, with soulmate Lance and their furry family.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Present day

"Melina Roscova," the slender blond woman said, extending a hand. "You must be Maxine Stuart?"

"It's Maxine Malone, and no, I'm not her." Stormy took the woman's hand. It was cool and her grip very strong. "Stormy Jones," she said. "Max and Lou are busy with another case, and we didn't think it would take all three of us to conduct the initial interview."

"I see." Melina released her grip and dug in her pocket for a business card. "I guess this must be out of date."

Stormy took the card, looked it over. The SIS logo superimposed itself over the words Supernatural Investigations Services. In smaller letters were their names, Maxine Stuart, Lou Malone, Tempest Jones and beneath that, in a fancy script, Experienced, professional, discreet and a toll-free number.

She handed the card back. "Yeah, that's pretty old. Maxie and Lou got hitched sixteen years ago now. Of course, we didn't get new cards made up until we'd used all the old ones. You have to be practical, you know."

"Naturally."

"So why all the mystery?" Stormy asked. "And why did you want to meet here?"

As she spoke, they moved through the entrance and into the vaulted corridors of the Canadian National Museum. Their steps echoed as they walked. Melina paid the entry fee in cash, and led the way deeper into the building.

"No mystery. I want you to handle a sensitive case for me. Discretion—" she tapped the old business card against her knuckle "—is imperative."

"You can trust us on that," Stormy said. "We wouldn't still be in business after all this time if we didn't know how to keep our mouths shut." She looked at a threadbare tapestry on display inside a glass case. Its colors had faded to gray, and it looked as if a stiff breeze would reduce it to a pile of lint.

"So why this place?"

"This is where it is," Melina said, eyeing several tarnished silver pieces in another case. Bowls, urns, pendants.

"Where what is?"

"What you need to see. But it won't be here for long. It's part of a traveling exhibit. Artifacts uncovered on a recent archaeological dig in the northern part of Turkey."

Stormy eyed her, waiting for her to say more, but Melina fell silent and moved farther along the hall, among line drawings and diagrams of dig sites, framed like pieces of art. Then she turned to go through two open doors into a large room. There were items lining the walls, all of them safely behind glass barriers. Brass trinkets, steel blades with elaborately carved handles of bone and ivory. Stormy glanced at the items on display, then rubbed her arms, suddenly cold to the bone. "You'd think they'd turn on the heat in here. It's freezing," she muttered. Then, to distract herself from the rush of discomfort, she snatched up a flyer from a stack in a nearby rack and read from it. According to it, the items found didn't match the culture of the area in which they'd been located, and many were thought to be the spoils of war, brought home by soldiers who looted them from faraway lands and conquered enemies. The dig site was believed to have been a monastery of sorts—a place where men went to study magic and the occult.

"Here it is," Melina said.

Stormy dragged her gaze from the flyer to where the other woman stood a few yards away, in front of a small glass cube that sat atop a pedestal. Inside the cube, resting on a clear acrylic base, was a ring. It was big, its wide band more elaborately engraved than the gaudiest high school class ring she'd ever seen. Its gleaming red stone was as big as one of those, too, only she was pretty sure this stone was real.

"It's a ruby," Melina said, confirming Stormy's un-spoken suspicion. "It's priceless. Isn't it incredible?"

Stormy didn't reply. She couldn't take her eyes off the ring. For a moment it was as if she were seeing it through a long, dark tunnel. Everything around her went black, her vision riveted to the ring, her eyes unable to see anything else. And then she heard a voice.

"Inelul else al meu!"

The voice—it came from her own throat. Her lips were moving, but she wasn't moving them. The sensation was as if she had become a puppet, or a dummy in some ventriloquist act. Her body was moving all on its own, her hands reaching for the glass case, palms pressing to either side of it, lifting it from its base.

A hand closed hard on her arm and jerked her away. "Ms. Jones, what the hell are you doing?"

Stormy blinked rapidly as her body snapped back on line. She saw Melina holding her upper arm while looking around the room as if waiting for the Canadian version of a SWAT team to swarm in.

Stormy cleared her throat. "Did I set off any alarms?"

"I don't think so," Melina said. "There are sensors on the pedestal. They kick in only if the ring is removed."

Frowning as her head cleared, Stormy stared at her. "Why do you know that?"

"It's my job to know. Are you all right?" Nodding, Stormy avoided the other woman's eyes. "Yeah. Fine. I…zoned out for a minute, that's all."

But it wasn't all. And she wasn't fine. Far from it. She hadn't had an episode like that in sixteen years, but she knew the sensations that had swamped her just now. Knew them well. She would never forget. Never. She hadn't felt that way in sixteen years, not since the last time she'd been with him. With Dracula. The one and only. And though her memory of the specifics of that time with him was a dark void, her memories of…being possessed remained. And memories of Dracula or not, she'd heard his voice just a moment ago, whispering close to her.

Without the ring and the scroll, I'm afraid there is no hope.

What did it mean? Was he here? Nearby? And why, when she remembered so little about their time together, had that phrase come floating in to her memory now?

No. He wouldn't come back to her when he knew what it did to her mind and body. He'd let her go in order to spare her going through that madness anymore. Or so she liked to believe. She'd awakened in Rhiannon's private jet, on her way back home. And, like all of Vlad's victims before her, her memory of her time with him had been erased.

But not her feelings for him. Inexplicable or not, she had felt a deep sense of loss, and she'd been dying inside a little more with every single day that had passed since.

He wasn't here. He wouldn't put her through that again. Unless…

She looked again at the ring. God, could this be the ring he'd been talking about? And what had he meant by that cryptic phrase? It was hell not remembering. Sheer hell. She should hate him for playing with her mind the way he had. Over and over she'd struggled and fought to recall the time she'd spent with him, after he'd abducted her in the dead of night so long ago. She'd even tried hypnosis, but it hadn't worked. Nothing had. He'd robbed her of memories she sensed might be some of the best of her life. Damn him for that.

"Ms. Jones? Stormy?"

Turning slowly, she met Melina's far too curious brown eyes. "The ring is the reason you want to hire us?"

"Yes. What's your connection to it?"

Stormy frowned. "I don't know what you mean. I have no connection to it."

"You certainly had a strong reaction to it."

She shook her head. "I had a head injury a long time ago. Occasional blackouts are a side effect."

"Speaking in tongues is a side effect, as well?"

"It's gibberish. It doesn't mean anything. Look, the condition of my skull is really not the issue here. Are you going to tell me what this job entails or not?"

Melina looked at her, pursed her lips and lowered her voice. "I want you to steal it," she whispered.

* * *

Stormy wasn't sure what she had said as she had made a hasty exit from the museum. She thought she had told Melina Roscova to do something anatomically impossible, and then she'd left. She hadn't stopped until she'd pulled up in front of the Royal Arms Hotel, where she handed her car keys and a ten-spot to a valet.

"Be careful with her," she told him. "She's special." He promised he would be, and she watched him as he drove her shiny black Nissan, with the customized plates that read Bella-Donna into the parking garage across the street. As he moved into the darkness, she heard tires squeal and winced. "One scratch, pal. You bring Belladonna back with one scratch…"

"Madam?"

She turned to see a doorman with a question in his eyes. "You're going inside?" he asked.

"You tell that moron when he gets back that if he scratched my car, I'll take it out of his hide. And it's mademoiselle. Not every thirtysomething female is married, you know."

"Of course, mademoiselle." He opened the door, his face betraying no hint of emotion. It would have been much more satisfying if he'd been defensive or hostile or even apologetic. But…nothing.

Most helpful customer reviews

10 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
let down
By Neker
I was completely disappointed in this one. What was with the 16 year lapse? I read one book and Stormy is kidnapped by Vlad and here's this one 16 years later. I immediately start calculating in my head about old Stormy is (almost 40?!) Jeez, I'm almost 40, and the thought of having a relationship with someone physically half my age is just ... eww! Then to have such a disfunctional relationship. Stormy is nothing more than a doormat. Vlad seems to pine for his lost love constantly and yet is so easily swayed. The entire ending was sappy. What's with Damian? He just, poof, shows up just in the nick of time with no reason whatsoever to even being in the vacinity? Poor Elizabeta is turned into a child pycho that seems to whine alot. Then to top it all off, half the story is in flashbacks that occur during dreams, daydreams, and reminisents. How boring!

Regardless, this is the first time I have been so utterly disappointed in a Shayne novel. I'll continue to read. Hopefully this was only a once spoiled egg.

13 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
How do people publish this stuff
By Amazon Customer
In short this book showed poor story development, extremely poor grammar, poor character development, and had an unconvincing plot. The relationships were not believable. Who would wait five hundred years to reconnect with a lost mate, whom they only knew for two days? How could the sorceress, conveniently Vlad's best friend, predict the five hundred year reunion with a desendent of Beta (the dead wife of the 14th century) when, supposedly, all of Beta's relatives died of the plague? Also, why would the magicians, diviners, etc. etc create a spell to keep Beta's soul in limbo, only to have it share a body with someone else, namely Stormy? Why not just give her a body of her own???? So many questions. Clearly I thought more about the plot than the author. Perhaps, I shall write a novel of my own. If anything, at least my grammar is better.

Also, there was nothing endearing, or convincing about the relationship between the main characters. While I would love to believe that a twenty- something male (physically anyway)could be so very attracted to a nearly forty year old woman, who dressed like a twenty-something woman, I don't really want to read about it. I prefer the fantasy, to the actuality. Their banter was stupid too, "Take me Vlad if you think you can." "Oh I can take you and you can't stop me." "Vlad I want you." "Go to sleep so I can take you in your dreams." Does she want him or doesn't she? Can he take her, or does she need to be out cold first? Please I was so confused.

Apparently, Stormy is madly in love with Vlad from a previous encounter she had with him at the age of 23. An encounter which she had no memory of, except in her dreams. I don't know about anyone else, while I may dream about men in my sleep, I don't fall hopelessly in love with any of them in my reality. Anyhow, the confusion doesn't end there, apparently Stormy must fight off the soul sharing her body, the one the magicians couldn't find an actual body for. The two are locked in battle for the use of Stormy's body, and while this goes on Vlad confuses the two even more. He wants Stormy in her dreams so Beta won't know what he does to Stormy's body, yet wasn't Beta his great love (of two days remember), the one he waited five hundred years to be with? Is he cheating on her soul or getting it on with the body? Was he there for Stormy's body, or Beta's soul? See how confusing this gets, try reading the book it gets worse.

Finally, the original Vlad Dracula of history was an evil man, why choose him as your main character? I think the premise that he had only killed all those people out of anger for the death (suicide actually) of his great love (did I mention of two days) did not convince me to forgive "poor" Dracula.

I gave this 2 stars because I was actually able to read it. When I don't instantly throw away a book like this, there must have been something worthwhile in it, though I cannot tell you what that was. Could be that I was just bored and it was the only thing around to read.

9 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
Here comes a pretty negative review.
By A. Hanson
I have 3 things that I dislike about this book. First it has so many grammar and spelling errors that, at times, I had a hard time following the story. You kind of have to take a second to imagine what the author meant or fill in the missing words to continue in the story. The second thing that I really dislike about this story is that it took WAYYY too long for Vlad to reveal his true colors. Which brought on the third thing I disliked which is that Tempest is soo spunky but she continues to love him thus making her really pathetic. I won't ruin it for those of you who may read this in the future but lets just say these two deny each other wayyyyyyyy too much and then when there finally is some resolution it ain't nearly enough. I liked how Ms. Shayne tied everything from Gilgamesh to Egypt to present day together. It was very clever, but the cons in this book definitely outweigh the pros.

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Max Parkman—autistic and whip-smart, emotionally fragile and aggressive—is perfect in his mother's eyes. Until he's accused of murder.

Attorney Danielle Parkman knows her teenage son Max's behavior has been getting worse—using drugs and lashing out. But she can't accept the diagnosis she receives at a top-notch adolescent psychiatric facility that her son is deeply disturbed. Dangerous.

Until she finds Max, unconscious and bloodied, beside a patient who has been brutally stabbed to death.

Trapped in a world of doubt and fear, barred from contacting Max, Danielle clings to the belief that her son is innocent. But has she, too, lost touch with reality? Is her son really a killer?

With the justice system bearing down on them, Danielle steels herself to discover the truth, no matter what it is. She'll do whatever it takes to find the killer and to save her son from being destroyed by a system that's all too eager to convict him.

• Sales Rank: #814313 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2010-09-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.25" h x 1.04" w x 5.38" l, .74 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

About the Author
Antoinette van Heugten is a former international trial lawyer who retired to pursue a full-time career as a novelist. She lives with her husband in the Texas Hill country.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Danielle falls gratefully into the leather chair in Dr. Leonard's waiting room. She has just raced from her law firm's conference room, where she spent the entire morning with a priggish Brit who couldn't imagine that his business dealings across the pond could possibly have subjected him to the indignities of a New York lawsuit. Max, her son, sits in his customary place in the corner of the psychiatrist's waiting room—as far away from her as possible. He is hunched over his new iPhone, thumbs punching furiously. It's as if he's grown a new appendage, so rarely does she see him without it. At his insistence, Danielle also has an identical one in her purse. The faintest shadow of a moustache stains his upper lip, his handsome face marred by a cruel, silver piercing on his eyebrow. His scowl is that of an adult, not a child. He seems to feel her stare. He looks up and then averts his lovely, tenebrous eyes.

She thinks of all the doctors, the myriad of medications, the countless dead ends, and the dark, seemingly irreversible changes in Max. Yet somehow the ghost of her boy wraps his thin, tanned arms around her neck—his mouth cinnamon-sweet with Red Hots—and plants a sticky kiss on her cheek. He rests there a moment, his small body breathing rapidly, his heart her metronome. She shakes her head. To her, there is still only one Max. And in the center of this boy lies the tenderest, sweetest middle—her baby, the part she can never give up.

Her eyes return to the present Max. He's a teenager, she tells herself. Even as the hopeful thought flits across her mind, she knows she is lying to herself. Max has Asperger's Syndrome, high-functioning autism. Although very bright, he is clueless about getting along with people. This has caused him anguish and heartache all his life.

When he was very young, Max discovered computers. His teachers were stunned at his aptitude. Now sixteen, Danielle still has no idea of the extent of Max's abilities, but she knows that he is a virtual genius—a true savant. While this initially made him fascinating to his peers, none of them could possibly maintain interest in the minutiae Max droned on about. People with Asperger's often wax rhapsodic about their specific obsessions—whether or not the listener is even vaguely interested in the topic. Max's quirky behavior and learning disabilities have made him the object of further ridicule. His response has been to act out or retaliate, although lately it seems that he has just withdrawn further into himself, cinching thicker and tighter coils around his heart.

Sonya, his first real girlfriend, broke up with him a few months ago. Max was devastated. He finally had a relationship—like everybody else—and she dumped him in front of all his classmates. Max became so depressed that he refused to go to school; cut off contact with the few friends he had; and started using drugs. The latter she discovered when she walked into his room unannounced to find Max staring at her coolly—a joint in his hand; a blue, redolent cloud over his head; and a rainbow assortment of pills scattered carelessly on his desk. She didn't say a word, but waited until he took a shower a few hours later and then confiscated the bag of dope and every pill she could find. That afternoon she dragged him—cursing and screaming—to Dr. Leonard's office. The visits seemed to help. At least he had gone back to school and, in an odd way, seemed happier. He was tender and loving toward Danielle—a young Max, eager to please. As far as the drugs went, her secret forays into his room turned up nothing. That wasn't to say, of course, that he hadn't simply moved them to school or a friend's house.

But, she thinks ruefully, recent events pale in comparison to what brings them here today. Yesterday after Max left for school and she performed her daily search-and-seizure reconnaissance, she discovered a soft, leather-bound journal stuffed under his bed. Guiltily, she pried open the metal clasp with a paring knife. The first page so frightened her that she fell into a chair, hands shaking. Twenty pages of his boyish scrawl detailed a plan so intricate, so terrifying, that she only noticed her ragged breathing and stifled sobs when she looked around the room and wondered where the sounds were coming from. Did the blame lie with her? Could she have done something differently? Better? The old shame and humiliation filled her.

The door opens and Georgia walks in. A tiny blonde, she sits next to Danielle and gives her a brief, strong hug. Danielle smiles. Georgia is not only her best friend—she is family. As an only child with both parents gone, Danielle has come to rely upon Georgia's unflagging loyalty and support, not to mention her deep love for Max. Despite her sweet expression, Georgia has the quick mind of a tough lawyer. Their law firm is Blackwood & Price, a multinational firm with four hundred lawyers and offices in New York, Oslo and London. She is typically in her office by now—seated behind a perfectly ordered desk, a pile of finished work at her elbow. Danielle can't remember when she has been so glad to see someone. Georgia gives Max a wave and a smile. "Hi, you."

"Hey." The monosyllabic task accomplished, he closes his eyes and slouches lower into his chair.

"How is he?" asks Georgia.

"Either glued to his laptop or on that damned phone of his," she whispers. "He doesn't know I found his…journal. I'd never have gotten him here otherwise."

Georgia squeezes her shoulder. "It'll be all right. We'll get through this somehow."

"You're so wonderful to come. I can't tell you how much it means to me." She forces normality into her voice. "So, how did it go this morning?"

"I barely got to court in time, but I think I did okay."

"What happened?"

She shrugs. "Jonathan."

Danielle squeezes her hand. Her husband, Jonathan, although a brilliant plastic surgeon, has an unquenchable thirst that threatens to ruin not only his marriage, but his career. Georgia suspects that he is also addicted to cocaine, but has voiced that fear only to Danielle. No one at their law firm seems to know, despite his boorish behavior at the last Christmas party. The firm, an old-line Manhattan institution, does not look kindly upon spousal comportment that smacks of anything other than the rarified, blue-blooded professionals they believe themselves to be. With a two-year-old daughter, Georgia is reluctant to even consider divorce.

"What was it this time?" asks Danielle.

Her azure eyes are nubilous. "Came in at four; passed out in the bathtub; pissed all over himself."

"Oh, God."

"Melissa found him and came crying into the bedroom." Georgia shakes her head. "She thought he was dead."

This time it is Danielle who does the hugging.

Georgia forces a smile and turns her gaze upon Max, who has sunk even lower into his leather chair and appears to be asleep. "Has the doctor read his journal?"

"I'm sure he has," she says wearily. "I messengered it to him yesterday."

"Have you heard from the school?"

"He's out." Max's principal had politely suggested to Danielle that another "environment" might be more "successful" in meeting Max's "challenges." In other words, they want him the hell out of there.

Max's Asperger's has magnified tenfold since he became a teenager. As his peers have graduated to sophisticated social interaction, Max has struggled at a middle-school level. Saddled with severe learning disabilities, he stands out even more. Danielle understands it. If you are incessantly derided, you cannot risk further social laceration. Isolation at least staunches the pain. And it isn't as if Danielle hasn't tried like hell. Max had cut a swath through countless schools in Manhattan. Even the special schools that cater to students with disabilities had kicked him out. For years she had beaten paths to every doctor who might have something new to offer. A different medication. A different dream.

"Georgia," she whispers. "Why is this happening? What am I supposed to do?" She looks at her friend. Sadness is one emotion they mirror perfectly in one another's eyes. Danielle feels the inevitable pressure at the back of her eyes and fiddles with the hem of her skirt. There's a thread that won't stay put.

"You're here, aren't you?" Georgia's voice is a gentle spring rain. "There has to be a solution."

Danielle clenches her hands as the tears come hard and fast. She glances at Max, but he is still asleep. Georgia pulls a handkerchief from her purse. Danielle wipes her eyes and returns it. Without warning, Georgia reaches over and pushes up the sleeve of Danielle's blouse—all the way to the elbow. Danielle jerks her arm back, but Georgia grabs her wrist and pulls her arm toward her. Long, red slashes stretch from pulse to elbow.

"Don't!" Danielle yanks her sleeve down, her voice a fierce whisper. "He didn't mean it. It was just that one time—when I found his drugs."

Georgia's face is full of alarm. "This can't go on—not for him and not for you."

Danielle jerks back her arm and fumbles furiously with her cuff. The scarlet wounds are covered, but her secret is no longer safe. It is hers to know; hers to bear.

"Ms. Parkman?" The bland, smooth voice is straight from central casting. The short haircut and black glasses that frame Dr. Leonard's boyish face are cookie-cutter perfect—a walking advertisement for the American Psychiatric Association.

Still panicked by Georgia's discovery, she wills herself to appear normal. "Good morning, Doctor."

He regards her carefully. "Would you like to come in?"

Danielle nods, hastily gathering her things. She feels hot crimson flush her face.

"Max?" asks Dr. Leonard.

Barely awake, Max shrugs. "Whatever." He struggles to his feet and reluctantly follows Dr. Leonard down the hall.

Danielle flings a terrified glance at Georgia. She feels like a deer trapped in a barbed-wire fence, its slender leg about to snap.

"Don't worry." Georgia's gaze is blue and true. "I'll be here when you get back."

She takes a deep breath and straightens. It is time to walk into the lion's den.

Danielle files into the room after Max and Dr. Leonard. She takes in the sleek leather couch with a kilim pillow clipped to it and the obligatory box of tissues prominent on the stainless steel table. She walks to a chair and sits. She is dressed in one of her lawyer outfits. This is not where she wants to wear it.

Max sits in front of Dr. Leonard's desk, his chair angled away from them. Danielle turns to Dr. Leonard and gives him a practiced smile. He smiles back and inclines his head. "Shall we begin?"

Danielle nods. Max is silent.

Dr. Leonard adjusts his glasses and glances at Max's journal. Dense notes cover his yellow pad. He looks up and speaks in a soft voice. "Max?"

"Yeah?" His scowl speaks volumes.

"We need to discuss something very serious."

Dr. Leonard takes a deep breath and fixes Max with his gaze. "Have you been having thoughts of suicide?"

Max starts and looks accusingly at Danielle. "I don't know what in the hell you're talking about."

"Are you sure?" Leonard's voice is gentle. "It's safe here, Max. You can talk about it."

"No way. I'm gone." Just as he starts for the door, he catches a glimpse of the leather journal on the corner of Leonard's desk. He freezes. His face a boiling claret, he whips around and shoots Danielle a look of pure hatred. "Goddammit! That's none of your fucking business!"

Her heart feels as if it will burst. "Sweetheart, please let us help you! Killing yourself is not the answer, I promise you." Danielle rises and tries to embrace him.

Max shoves her so hard that she slams her head against the wall and slides to the floor. "Max—no!" she cries. His eyes widen in alarm, and for a moment, he reaches out to her, but then lurches back; grabs the journal; and bolts out of the room. The slamming of the door splits the air.

Dr. Leonard rushes over to Danielle; helps her to her feet; and guides her gently to a chair. She shakes all over. Leonard then takes a seat and looks gravely at her over his glasses. "Danielle, has Max been violent at home?"

Danielle shakes her head too quickly. The scars on her arm seem to burn. "No."

He sits quietly and then puts his notes into a blue folder. "Given Max's clinical depression, suicidal ideations and volatility, we have to be realistic about his needs. He requires intensive treatment by the best the profession has to offer. My recommendation is that we act immediately."

She tries not to let him see that her breathing has become irregular. Like an animal trapped in another's lair, she has to be extremely careful about her reaction. "I'm not certain what that means."

"I mentioned this option earlier, and now I'm afraid we have no choice." His usually kind eyes are obsidian. "Max needs a complete psychiatric assessment—including his medication protocol."

Danielle stares at the floor, a prism of tears clouding her eyes. "You mean."

His voice floats up to her very softly, very slowly. "Maitland."

Danielle feels her stomach free-fall. There is that word. It is as final as the closing of a coffin.

During the trip from Des Moines to Plano, Iowa, she drives as Max sleeps. Despite the chaos of suitcases, cabs, traffic and nightmarish arguments, they somehow caught the flight from New York. She had tried every form of plea and coercion to get Max's agreement to go to Maitland. It was only after she broke down completely that Max relented—just barely. She didn't wait for him to change his mind. She stayed up all night, constantly peeking into his bedroom to make sure he was.alive. The next day they were on that plane.

Her anxiety lessens as she settles into the thrum of the road. She lights a cigarette and lowers her window, hoping that Max won't wake up. He hates it when she smokes. The landscape is a flat, weary brown. It is only after they reach Plano and turn off the highway that all around them explodes. Every broad leaf is a stroke of green, bursting with liquid sun. She smells the aftermath of swollen showers and imagines a flood of expiation that wipes the world clean, leaving one incorruptible—the black, secret earth. It is a sign of hope, she decides, a presentiment that all will be well.

As she drives on, she turns her face to the sun, relaxes in its warmth, and thinks of Max as a small boy. One afternoon in particular flashes in her mind. At her father's farm in Wisconsin, shortly before he died, Danielle rocked gently in the porch swing and watched as the afternoon sun burnished gold into the summer air and turned her bones to butter.

Most helpful customer reviews

56 of 58 people found the following review helpful.
Interesting mystery but with some less than stellar issues
By Sheri in Reho
When I started Saving Max, I found the story of a desperate mother trying to find help for her sometimes-violent autistic teenager intriguing. However, during the first third or so of the book, my enjoyment of the story was substantially impacted (negatively) by the writing; so much so at times that I wasn't sure I was going to continue reading. Now that I have finished the book (and I'm very glad I kept reading, by the way) and look back to the beginning, it feels like two or three different people wrote it--or perhaps one person over several different periods of time.

In the first third or so, the author seemed to be working overtime throwing "25 cent words" into the story. I have a pretty good vocabulary and not only were there words used that I don't hear/read very often, there were words I could not remember having read before (tenebrous, nubilous, kilim, expiation and malefic just in the first 20 pages or so, and that's leaving out all the psychiatric terms). Not to say that boosting the reader's vocabulary is a bad thing at all--it just felt forced, like the author was parading her grand vocabulary for ego's sake.

There was also too much melodramatic description for my taste--"The darkness is voluptuous velvet.", "Her whisper is a feather in the wind." and "The air between them is dry powder hungry for the flame." to provide just a few examples on a SINGLE page. Not to say that similes, metaphors and analogies have no place in writing--of course they do!--for me, they just feel overused at times and/or too grandiose for the story being told.

In contrast, most of the final half of the book is an exciting mystery in which the writing did NOT detract from my enjoyment of the story. I generally only read for a short while at bedtime each night, so it can take me a few weeks to finish a book; I read the last half of this one (about 200 pages) in two nights because it was so suspenseful that I had a hard time putting it down!

It is not unusual for me to finish a book and be torn on what rating to give it. It IS pretty unusual, however, for me to feel so differently about one part of the book than I feel about another. So I'm left with deciding whether to give it 4 stars to encourage people to read it for the excellent last half, or to give it 3 stars because the first half almost discouraged me from finishing the book. In the end, I chose 3 stars, but I hoped that by including plenty of explanation about what I both liked and disliked about the book, you can make your own decision whether to read it based on YOUR likes and dislikes.

Finally, for those who are very sensitive to violence, especially involving children or mental illness, be forewarned--there are some fairly harrowing parts of the story, especially in the last half, that you would likely find disturbing.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By rae smith-barley
loved the book!!!

8 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
Ridiculous Melodrama That Still Entertains
By Susan K. Schoonover
As a special education teacher I am often attracted to books that deal with people with special needs and the legal system. SAVING MAX is the third such book published in 2010 I have read. Though the book is melodramatic and chockfull of ludicrous plot devices and pulp romance novel conventions it still manages to engage. I think the book is readable because the author does such a great job of creating the nightmare scenario in which the heroine Danielle finds herself. I had to keep reading to find out how everything would resolve ridiculous as Danielle's actions and those around her are portrayed. The writing in the book is quite uneven and for some reason the beginning of the book is stuffed with complex words as if the author wanted to show off her intelligence but by the end things have degenerated to the point that the journal entries of the murderer that should be horrific are so overwrought they are almost laughable. Still for a quick page-turner the prospective reader could do worse.

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## Free Ebook In Their Footsteps & Thief of Hearts, by Tess Gerritsen

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IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS

The quiet scandal surrounding her parents' death has always haunted Beryl Tavistock. Now she's asking dangerous questions and the answers are proving that the past does not die easily. Pulled into a world of espionage, Beryl quickly discovers that she needs help, and ex-CIA agent Richard Wolf is her only hope. But in a world where trust is a double-edged sword, friends become enemies and enemies are killers...

THIEF OF HEARTS

Reformed cat burglar Clea Rice has witnessed enough crimes to put her on the straight and narrow. But little does she suspect that her search for justice will land her in the arms of wealthy English gentleman Jordan Tavistock. As their attraction grows, so does the danger. Now their biggest concern isn't whether a proper gentleman and a cat burglar can find happiness...it's whether they'll survive long enough to find out.

• Sales Rank: #1085934 in Books
• Brand: Brand: Harlequin MIRA
• Published on: 2008-04-01
• Ingredients: Example Ingredients
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: .86" h x 4.22" w x 6.74" l, .50 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 528 pages

Features

• Used Book in Good Condition

About the Author
Tess Gerritsen left a successful practice as an internist to raise her children and concentrate on her writing. She gained nationwide acclaim for her first novel of medical suspense, the New York Times bestseller Harvest; she followed her debut with the bestsellers Life Support and Gravity (both available from Pocket Books.) Her other novels includes Body Double, The Sinner, The Apprentice, and The Surgeon. Tess Gerritsen lives in Maine.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Buckinghamshire, England Twenty years later

Jordan Tavistock lounged in Uncle Hugh's easy chair and amusedly regarded, as he had a thousand times before, the portrait of his long-dead ancestor, the hapless Earl of Lovat. Ah, the delicious irony of it all, he thought, that Lord Lovat should stare down from that place of honor above the mantelpiece. It was testimony to the Tavistock family's sense of whimsy that they'd chosen to so publicly display their one relative who'd, literally, lost his head on Tower Hill—the last man to be officially decapitated in England—unofficial decapitations did not count. Jordan raised his glass in a toast to the unfortunate earl and tossed back a gulp of sherry. He was tempted to pour a second glass, but it was already five-thirty, and the guests would soon be arriving for the Bastille Day reception. I should keep at least a few gray cells in working order, he thought.

I might need them to hold up my end of the chitchat. Chitchat being one of Jordan's least favorite activities.

For the most part, he avoided these caviar and black-tie bashes his Uncle Hugh seemed so addicted to throwing. But tonight's event—in honor of their house guests, Sir Reggie and Lady Helena Vane—might prove more interesting than the usual gathering of the horsey set. This was the first big affair since Uncle Hugh's retirement from British Intelligence, and a number of Hugh's former colleagues from MI6 would make an appearance. Throw into the brew a few old chums from Paris—all of them in London for the recent economic summit—and it could prove to be a most intriguing night. Anytime one threw a group of ex-spies and diplomats together in a room, all sorts of surprising secrets tended to surface.

Jordan looked up as his uncle came grumbling into the study. Already dressed in his tuxedo, Hugh was trying, without success, to fix his bow tie; he'd managed, instead, to tie a stubborn square knot.

"Jordan, help me with this blasted thing, will you?" said Hugh.

Jordan rose from the easy chair and loosened the knot. "Where's Davis? He's much better at this sort of thing."

"I sent him to fetch that sister of yours."

"Beryl's gone out again?"

"Naturally. Mention the words 'cocktail party,' and she's flying out the door."

Jordan began to loop his uncle's tie into a bow. "Beryl's never been fond of parties. And just between you and me, I think she's had just a bit too much of the Vanes."

"Hmm? But they've been lovely guests. Fit right in—"

"It's the nasty little barbs flying between them."

"Oh, that. They've always been that way. I scarcely notice it anymore."

"And have you seen the way Reggie follows Beryl about, like a puppy dog?"

Hugh laughed. "Around a pretty woman, Reggie is a puppy dog."

"Well, it's no wonder Helena's always sniping at him." Jordan stepped back and regarded his uncle's bow tie with a frown.

"How's it look?"

"It'll have to do."

Hugh glanced at the clock. "Better check on the kitchen. See that things are in order. And why aren't the Vanes down yet?"

As if on cue, they heard the sound of querulous voices on the stairway. Lady Helena, as always, was scolding her husband. "Someone has to point these things out to you," she said.

"Yes, and it's always you, isn't it?"

Sir Reggie fled into the study, pursued by his wife. It never failed to puzzle Jordan, the obvious mismatch of the pair. Sir Reggie, handsome and silver haired, towered over his drab little mouse of a wife. Perhaps Helena's substantial inheritance explained the pairing; money, after all, was the great equalizer.

As the hour edged toward six o'clock, Hugh poured out glasses of sherry and handed them around to the foursome. "Before the hordes arrive," he said, "a toast, to your safe return to Paris." They sipped. It was a solemn ceremony, this last evening together with old friends.

Now Reggie raised his glass. "And here's to English hospitality. Ever appreciated!"

From the front driveway came the sound of car tires on gravel. They all glanced out the window to see the first limousine roll into view. The chauffeur opened the door and out stepped a fiftyish woman, every ripe curve defined by a green gown ablaze with bugle beads. Then a young man in a shirt of purple silk emerged from the car and took the woman's arm.

"Good heavens, it's Nina Sutherland and her brat," Helena muttered. "What broom did she fly in on?"

Outside, the woman in the green gown suddenly spotted them standing in the window. "Hello, Reggie! Helena!" she called in a voice like a bassoon.

Hugh set down his sherry glass. "Time to greet the barbarians," he said, sighing. He and the Vanes headed out the front door to welcome the first arrivals.

Jordan paused a moment to finish his drink, giving himself time to paste on a smile and get the old handshake ready. Bastille Day—what an excuse for a party! He tugged at the coattails of his tuxedo, gave his ruffled shirt one last pat, and resignedly headed out to the front steps. Let the dog and pony show begin.

Now where in blazes was his sister?

At that moment, the subject of Jordan Tavistock's speculation was riding hell-bent for leather across a grassy field. Poor old Froggie needs the workout, thought Beryl. And so do I. She bent forward into the wind, felt the lash of Froggie's mane against her face, and inhaled that wonderful scent of horseflesh, sweet clover and warm July earth. Froggie was enjoying the sprint just as much as she was, if not more. Beryl could feel those powerful muscles straining for ever more speed. She's a demon, like me, thought Beryl, suddenly laughing aloud—the same wild laugh that always made poor Uncle Hughie cringe. But out here, in the open fields, she could laugh like a wanton woman and no one would hear. If only she could keep on riding, forever and ever! But fences and walls seemed to be everywhere in her life. Fences of the mind, of the heart. She urged her mount still faster, as though through speed she could outrun all the devils pursuing her.

Bastille Day. What a desperate excuse for a party. Uncle Hugh loved a good bash, and the Vanes were old family friends; they deserved a decent send-off. But she'd seen the guest list, and it was the same tiresome lot. Shouldn't ex-spies and diplomats lead more interesting lives? She couldn't imagine James Bond, retired, pottering about in his garden.

Yet that's what Uncle Hugh seemed to do all day. The highlight of his week had been harvesting the season's first hybrid Nepal tomato—his earliest tomato ever! And as for her uncle's friends, well, she couldn't imagine them ever sneaking around the back alleys of Paris or Berlin. Philippe St. Pierre, perhaps—yes, she could picture him in his younger days; at sixty-two, he was still charming, a Gallic lady-killer. And Reggie Vane might have cut a dashing figure years ago. But most of Uncle Hugh's old colleagues seemed so, well…used up.

Not me. Never me.

She galloped harder, letting Froggie have free rein. They raced across the last stretch of field and through a copse of trees. Froggie, winded now, slowed to a trot, then a walk. Beryl pulled her to a halt by the church's stone wall. There she dismounted and let Froggie wander about untethered. The churchyard was deserted and the gravestones cast lengthening shadows across the lawn. Beryl clambered over the low wall and walked among the plots until she came to the spot she'd visited so many times before. A handsome obelisk towered over two graves, resting side by side. There were no curlicues, no fancy angels carved into that marble face. Only words.

Bernard Tavistock, 1930-1973

Madeline Tavistock, 1934-1973 On earth, as it is in heaven, we are together.

Beryl knelt on the grass and gazed for a long time at the resting place of her mother and father. Twenty years ago tomorrow, she thought. How I wish I could remember you more clearly! Your faces, your smiles. What she did remember were odd things, unimportant things. The smell of leather luggage, of Mum's perfume and Dad's pipe. The crackle of paper as she and Jordan would unwrap the gifts Mum and Dad brought home to them. Dolls from France. Music boxes from Italy. And there was laughter. Always lots of laughter…

Beryl sat with her eyes closed and heard that happy sound through the passage of twenty years. Through the evening buzz of insects, the clink of Froggie's bit and bridle, she heard the sounds of her childhood.

The church bell tolled—six chimes.

At once Beryl sat up straight. Oh, no, was it already that late? She glanced around and saw that the shadows had grown, that Froggie was standing by the wall regarding her with frank expectation. Oh Lord, she thought, Uncle Hugh will be royally cross with me.

She dashed out of the churchyard and climbed onto Froggie's back. At once they were flying across the field, horse and rider blended into a single sleek organism. Time for the shortcut, thought Beryl, guiding Froggie toward the trees. It meant a leap over the stone wall, and then a clip along the road, but it would cut a mile off their route. Froggie seemed to understand that time was of the essence. She picked up speed and approached the stone wall with all the eagerness of a seasoned steeplechaser. She took the jump cleanly, with inches to spare. Beryl felt the wind rush past, felt her mount soar, then touch down on the far side of the wall. The biggest hurdle was behind them. Now, just beyond that bend in the road—

She saw a flash of red, heard the squeal of tires across pavement. Froggie swerved sideways and reared up. The sudden lurch caught Beryl by surprise. She tumbled out of the saddle and landed with a stunning thud on the ground.

Her first reaction, after her head had stopped spinning, was astonishment that she had fallen at all—and for such a stupid reason.

Her next reaction was fear that Froggie might be injured.

Beryl scrambled to her feet and ran to snatch the reins. Froggie was still spooked, nervously trip-trapping about on the pavement. The sound of a car door slamming shut, of someone running toward them, only made the horse edgier.

"Don't come any cl...

Most helpful customer reviews

15 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
reprint of two solid enjoyable mysteries
By A Customer
"In Their Footsteps". Two decades have past since her parents died and her family drowned in scandal. Now Beryl Tavistock needs to know the truth as she suspects they were murdered. She has left England for Paris seeking answers that she hopes leads to true closure. There she meets former CIA agent Richard Wolf, whom she is attracted to but does not trust. As she gets closer to learning what happened twenty years ago, someone keeps a close tab on her progress; if she gets too close she will join her parents.

"Thief of Hearts". As a favor to a pleading close friend Veronica Caircross, weary but faithful old chump Jordon Tavistock comes to her rescue; he breaks into a country manor to repossesses some damaging love letters. To his shock, he is not the first thief to break and enter as he finds himself facing Diana Lamb. They team up with her helping him find where the correspondence he seeks is and he assists her with her search for rare antiquities.

This book is a reprint of two solid enjoyable mysteries tied together by the Tavistock siblings, but not quite at the quality level of the medical thrillers that Tess Gerritsen wrote afterward. Still both are filled with suspense, action, and romance that grip the reader from the moment that their parents are killed in Paris' Pig Alley two decades ago until both Jordon and Beryl find adventure and love.

Harriet Klausner

12 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
Awful
By Knerrd
Is this the same author that wrote The Bone Garden? Can't be. Having very much enjoyed that book, I noticed and picked up these two stories at a thrift book shop. Don't make the same mistake (regardless of how much you pay for them)! These two books are simply trash. Granted, I assume these were early works and she has apparently matured and improved as an author. So, I guess it's not really necessary to go back and trash them. Rather, let this review be a warning that these two books are not worth your time and not near the level of The Bone Garden.

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
A winning combination
By D'Bogat
I'm a fan of Tess Gerritsen. like Stephen King'S "T. Gerritsen is an automatic must-read in my house". So I was looking for the odd unread book and I stumbled on this combination that I bought without knowing exactlY what to expect of it. I don't have to tell you Tess is an author of very gory and macabre books like the Rizzoli series.
Well, was I surprised! Gerritsen writing an Harlequin romance! "In Their Footsteps" seemed to me like an undefined genre, I wasn't sure if it was a spy book or a gory crime mistery, and when I finished reading it, the first part of the book, I was not impressed. It seemed to me to be rather like an exersise in writing without being to good nor too bad.
The surprise came when I started reading the second part of the bi-logy, "Thief Of Hearts" It turned out that the main characters are the same as in the first story. A high society brother and sister. In the first half it was the story of the sister Beryl falling in love and in the second part is the brother Jordan the one who's turn's to be conquered. I was happy for that because it is easier to read a second story when you already are acquainted with the foibles of the main characters. Soon I discovered that the second part is not just funny, it's hillarious. I was cought by the narrative and finished the book in less than two days and I did enjoyed it VERY much. This is a different Tess Gerritsen. Not a violent and gory one but a very romantic female. ONE WORD OF CAUTION: it has too many kissing scenes (and only one good sex scene). Enjoy!

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## PDF Ebook The Life Cycle of a Tree, by Bobbie Kalman, Kathryn Smithyman

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Follows the growth of a tree from the time it sprouts to the time it is mature and capable of producing new seeds. This work presents photographs and illustrations that accompany explanations of: how seeds are produced; how different types of seeds look; and how trees benefit animals, people, and the environment.

• Sales Rank: #582406 in Books
• Brand: Crabtree Publishing Company
• Published on: 2002-06
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 9.25" h x 8.25" w x .25" l, .30 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 32 pages

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
The Lifecycle of a Tree
By S. Gemmill
Back in the early seventies my son had a book about the life-cycle of a tree that was extraordinary. Alas, I don't recall either the book's title or the author's name. This book is more straight-forward biology and doesn't cover how, for example, when a tree dies, it's decay feeds the forest and enriches the soil. Yet, it's informative and interesting enough for my granddaughters to read it and ask interesting questions.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Four Stars
By Qyenniebaby
Wonderful pictures

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