Each title is judged by five separate judges during the preliminary round. Finalist are announced in mid-March. Winners are announced at the annual award ceremony, held on the last day of RWA's National Conference, which is normally held in July. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Literary award for romance fiction. Retrieved The Guardian. Although," his eyes twinkled, "here it was, my very first time causing a female to swoon, and it was through clumsiness.
She laughed and reached for the hem of her skirt, squeezing out the excess water. And thought, with a flutter, that she'd been rescued by a fabulously handsome rogue. A stranger, someone who couldn't possibly know anything of her family's recent misfortunes. He wouldn't know anything about the rumors, or care that they were true-that some crony of her uncle had won Tethering, her beloved home.
How wonderfully refreshing to talk to a new, unknown person. She couldn't think when that had last happened. Doubtless it was just the heat of the day.
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He stood up spryly, towering above her for a moment before he turned toward his horse and began rooting around in his saddlebags. He was tall and slim in his white shirt and dark breeches that hugged well-muscled legs, and the spread of his broad, angular shoulders made her stomach do a little flip. Having apparently found some water, he turned and came back toward her, holding out a silver flask of unusual design.
Sitting on his haunches near her, he watched her lift it, as though he wanted to be certain she was well enough. When she put the flask to her lips, she was startled by the thought that this man's lips had been there too-or would be. She assures me that her young daughters will turn into tiny trolls if allowed to become too hungry, though, disappointingly, I have never witnessed the transformation.
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He sat down on the grass across from her, and she opened the packet and wondered if she should get off his coat, but he didn't seem concerned about it. He was watching her with light dancing in his eyes, and she liked that. And then she reminded herself that she no longer had the right to flirt with him, or any man. That her days of such spontaneous fun were in the past. The girl who'd laughingly bested all the village gentlemen in ring toss at the fair and never gone unpartnered at any dance had put all of that away. He was a stranger.
It was not as if her contact with him would last any longer than the few minutes they were in each other's company. Before the hour was out, she would certainly be back at Blossom Cottage, the dower house, darning socks and pulling weeds. What would be the harm in enjoying his admiration for this little bit of time?
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It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to feel anything toward a man. She took a bite. When had she last tasted anything so good? They weren't exactly starving at home, but they had run out of jam and sugar ages ago. She was being bold. How did she dare? She'd trained herself over the last three years not to consider men and the fun and playful times she'd once enjoyed. And with all the work she had to do at Tethering, she'd been able mostly not to care, or at least, to forget.
But if a man like this one lived in Longwillow, she'd be tempted. Someone like him wouldn't live in a small village like hers, though. His whole demeanor spoke of sophistication and affluence, of a confident readiness for challenge. I will guess that you are Ah, but of course she looked like a servant, because who else would wear such old clothes? Her dress must be a good four decades old. When Uncle Jonathan had died unexpectedly-and ignominiously-a few weeks earlier of a stroke after losing their estate in a London gaming hell, there'd been no money for mourning clothes.
Felicity had found some gowns in the Tethering attic that had belonged to a departed relative who shared her medium height and dyed them black. They looked acceptable. She was not well dressed, but the intensity of his gaze told her that he found her attractive.
A seductive feeling. Prettiness hadn't been on her mind for ages. She consumed the rest of the first roll and started on a second. Apparently he was content with her answer.https://thestdybosectcu.ga
Mischief by Moonlight (Mischief, #3) by Emily Greenwood
She leaned over her bent knees and nibbled on the roll. And the stream is swollen with the recent rains. It's not as simple a matter as it might look. He flicked a glance toward the stream.
I believe I might vow to gather three times the amount you had without getting so much as a drop of water or mud on myself. A ripple of pleasure traveled through her. I should like to see such a feat.
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But the rocks are all covered over with moss and water, and I've already gathered all the watercress within reach. He merely lifted an eyebrow and sprang to his feet-he seemed taut, like a bouncy spring, full of energy and strength-and disappeared over the side of the stream bank. She came up on her knees for several moments to watch him unobserved as he picked his way among the stepping-stones, hopping as sure-footedly as a twelve-year-old boy.
She sat back down and finished the second roll and told herself that when the third was done, she would get up and leave, before this fascinating stranger discovered anything of substance about her. The last sandwich was almost finished when the black top of his head reappeared, then his face, wearing a boyish grin in irresistible contrast with his manliness. The stranger put an arm on the top of the bank and hopped neatly up.
He came and knelt down next to her and presented the watercress with an elegant flourish, as if it were a bouquet for his lady.
She laughed and accepted the enormous handful he'd picked. Oh, she'd forgotten the fun that gentlemen could be.
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