Author: Kleypas Lisa Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways, Book 1). Read more · Midnight Mine · Read more · Make Mine Midnight. Read more. Lisa Kleypas hot exotic young men who looked like pagan princes and had gold rings and tattoos. "Miss Hathaway," Lord Westcliff said, "to my knowledge, there. Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1). Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1). Author: Lisa Kleypas. Category: Romance,Historical,. Series: The Hathaways.
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Read Mine Till Midnight PDF. Amelia Hathaway is the oldest of Lisa Kleypas - Mine Till Midnight. Mine Till Midnight. Lisa Kleypas · Romance. Mine Till Midnight (Hathaways) [Lisa Kleypas] on raudone.info *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. When an unexpected inheritance elevates her family to the. Editorial Reviews. From Publishers Weekly. Historical romance master Kleypas reintroduces Cam Rohan, the wealthy half-Gypsy first seen in 's Devil in.
She took his hand and inspected the palm. His fingers were well tended, the nails scrupulously clean and pared neatly to the quick. Gypsies were fastidious, even ritualistic in their washing. He responded with a single nod, his gaze not moving from her face. You seem too solitary. She moved away, needing to walk, anything to break the flushing intimacy of the moment. He fell into step beside her as they crossed the village green. I never knew my parents—my mother died in childbirth, and my father was an Irish gadjo.
His family rejected his marriage and convinced him to abandon my mother. I don't think he ever knew she'd had a child. They may have decided it wouldn't have changed anything. According to my grandparents, he was a young man"—he flashed a brief, mischievous smile in her direction? One day my grandmother dressed me in a new shirt she had made, and told me I had to leave the tribe.
She said I was in danger and could no longer live with them. From what source? An older cousin of mine—his name was Noah—took me to London and helped me find a situation and a job.
He promised to come back for me someday and tell me when it was safe to go home. Of course, he was quick-tempered and a bit too ready with his fists. But he was a good man. He looked out for me. He brought the leaf to his nose, inhaling its sweetness, and gave it to her. No matter what I do, money comes to me.
That must be very trying for you. Half amused, half envious, Amelia asked, "Had you ever experienced this problem before? It's fate. There are countless charities, and many people in need. I'll find some tribe to travel with. No more account books or salad forks or shoe polish. I'll be free. The problem was, there was no middle ground. One could not be a wanderer and a domesticated gentleman at the same time. A choice had to be made.
It made her thankful that no duality existed in her own nature. She knew exactly who and what she was. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by his assertion. After all, Merripen had helped nurse both Win and Leo through the scarlet fever. Without him, Amelia was certain neither of them would have survived.
I'll go this morning. Perhaps he could help—" "No. Going downstairs, Amelia sought the help of Freddie, the boy from the village, to move an ancient chaise out to the back of the house. They set the furniture on a brick-paved terrace that opened onto a weed-choked garden bordered by beech hedges.
The garden needed resodding and replanting, and the crumbling low walls would have to be repaired.
He was robust and ruddy-faced, with a ruff of hair that stood up like a robin's feathers. But you'll have to ask my ma. It's not far—we're at the closest side of the village.
Turning at the sound of voices, Amelia saw Merripen carrying her sister outside. Win was dressed in a nightgown and robe and swathed in a shawl, her slim arms looped around Merripen's neck. With her white garments and blond hair and fair skin, Win was nearly colorless except for the flags of soft pink across her cheekbones and the vivid blue of her eyes. Delighted by the improvement in her sister's condition, Amelia smiled. But if he manages to persuade more villagers to help clean the house, you will have to forgive him, Win.
She spoke to Amelia, while her gaze remained on Merripen. But Amelia was fairly certain that Win had no awareness of Merripen as a man. To her he was a kindly older brother, nothing more. The feelings on Merripen's side, however, were more ambiguous. An inquisitive gray jackdaw flapped to the ground with a few tchacks, and made a tentative hop in Win's direction. Her curly dark hair had been pulled back into an untidy bunch, and she wore a white pinafore over her berry-colored dress. The pinafore was too young a style for a girl of fifteen, Amelia thought.
Beatrix was now at an age when she should be wearing her skirts to the floor. And a corset, heaven help her. But in the past year of turmoil, Amelia hadn't given much thought to her youngest sister's attire. She needed to take Beatrix and Poppy to a dressmaker, and have some new frocks made for them. Beatrix obeyed promptly.
She withdrew a little book and dangled it tantalizingly. She says it's a terrifying story filled with crimes and horrors and vengeful phantoms. Doesn't it sound lovely? Edwina and I don't even speak now. You have the oddest look on your face. Is something the matter? Following her sister's gaze, Amelia saw a small reptilian creature slithering up Beatrix's shoulder. A sharp cry escaped her lips, and she moved forward with her hands raised. Beatrix glanced at her shoulder. You're supposed to stay in my pocket.
I found him in my room last night. Spot wouldn't last a minute. Get rid of him, Bea, or I'm going to flatten him with the nearest heavy object I can find. One exterminates them. God knows how many other unwanted creatures are lurking in the house. Not counting Leo. But a smile rose to her lips as she reflected that fifteen-year-old girls didn't choose to be troublesome. They simply were. Lifting handfuls of her skirts to pull them away from her legs, Amelia bounded up the grand central staircase.
Since they would not be receiving guests or paying calls, she had decided not to wear a corset that day. It was a wonderful feeling to breathe as deeply as she wished and move freely about the house.
Filled with determination, she pounded on Leo's door. Grinning, Amelia went into Poppy's room. She pulled the curtains open, releasing clouds of dust that caused her to sneeze. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Amelia eased the covers away from her nineteen-year-old sister. Poppy was groggy and sleep-flushed, her cheek imprinted with a line left by a fold of the bedclothes.
Her brown hair, a warmer, ruddier tint than Amelia's, was a wild mass of tangles. Feels nice. Mine still hasn't been repaired.
I'll cover the territory quickly. Dress yourself and have some breakfast—and keep a close watch on Win. She's in Beatrix's care at the moment. Amelia walked briskly through a fruit orchard beyond the garden. The tree branches were weighted with large green apples. Fallen fruit had been half eaten by deer and other animals, and left to ferment and spoil.
Pausing to tug an apple from a low-hanging branch, Amelia polished it on her sleeve and took a bite. The flavor was intensely acidic. A honeybee buzzed close by, and Amelia jerked back in alarm. She had always been terrified of bees. Although she had tried to reason herself out of her fear, she couldn't seem to control the panic that overcame her whenever one of the dratted beasts was in the vicinity.
Despite the lateness of the season, heavy beds of watercress flourished everywhere. Known as "poor man's bread," the delicate pepper-flavored leaves were eaten in bunches by local villagers, and made into everything from soup to goose stuffing. She would gather some on her way back, she decided. The shortest route to the village crossed through a cor ner of Lord Westcliff 's estate.
As Amelia passed the invisible boundary between the Ramsay estate and Stony Cross Park, she could almost feel a change in the atmosphere. She walked on the outskirts of a rustling forest, too dense for daylight to penetrate the canopy. The land was luxurious, secretive, the ancient trees anchored deeply into dark and fertile ground. Removing her bonnet, Amelia held it by the brim and enjoyed the breeze against her face. This had been Westcliff's land for generations.
She wondered what kind of people the earl and his family were. Terribly proper and traditional, she guessed. It would not be welcome news that Ramsay House was now occupied by an ill-mannered, red-blooded lot like the Hathaways.
Mine Till Midnight PDF Details
Finding a well-worn footpath that cut through the forest, she disrupted a pair of wheatears, who flapped away with indignant chirps. Life abounded everywhere, including butterflies of almost unnatural color and beetles as bright as sparks.
Taking care to stay on the footpath, Amelia picked up her skirts to keep them from dragging through the leaf litter of the forest floor. She emerged from a copse of hazel and oak into a broad dry field. It was empty. And ominously quiet. No voices, no cheep of finches, no drone of bees or rattle of grasshoppers. Something about it filled her with the instinctive tension that warned of an unknown threat. Cautiously she proceeded up the gentle rise of the meadow. Reaching the brow of a stunted hill, Amelia paused in bewilderment at the sight of a towering contraption made of metal.
It appeared to be a chute propped up on legs, tilted at a steep angle. Her attention was caught by a minor commotion farther afield Amelia instantly realized she had stumbled into danger, even before she saw the smoldering trail of sparks move, snakelike, along the ground toward the metal chute. A fuse1? Although she didn't know much about explosive devices, she was aware that once a fuse had been lit, nothing could be done to stop it. Dropping to the sun-warmed grass, Amelia covered her head with her arms, having every expectation of being blown 37 to bits.
A few heartbeats passed, and she let out a startled cry as she felt a large, heavy body fall on hers He covered her completely, his knees digging into the ground on either side of her as he made a shelter of his body. At the same moment, a deafening explosion pierced the air, and there was a violent whoosh over their heads, and a shock went through the ground beneath them. Too stunned to move, Amelia tried to gather her wits. Her ears were filled with a high-pitched buzz. Her companion remained motionless over her, breathing heavily in her hair.
The air was sharp with smoke, but even so, Amelia was aware of a pleasant masculine scent, skin-salt and soap and an intimate spice she couldn't quite identify. The noise in her ears faded. Raising up on her elbows, feeling the solid wall of his chest against her back, she saw shirtsleeves rolled up over foreanns cabled with muscle Her eyes widened at the sight of a small, stylized design inked on his arm. A tattoo of a black winged horse with eyes the color of brimstone.
It was an Irish design, of a nightmare horse called a pooka: Her heart stopped as she saw the heavy rounded band of a thumb ring. Wriggling beneath him, Amelia tried to turn over. The strong hand curved around her shoulder, helping her. His voice was low and familiar. You were in the way of—" He stopped as Amelia rolled to her back. The front of her hair had come loose, pulled free of a strategically anchored pin.
The lock fanned over her face, obscuring her vision. Before she could reach up to push it away, he did it for her, and the brush of his fingertips sent ripples of liquid fire along intimate pathways of her body.
Cam Rohan. It can't be, she thought dazedly. Here, in Hampshire? But there were the unmistakable eyes, gold and hazel and heavy lashed, the midnight hair, the wicked mouth. And the pagan glitter of a diamond at his ear. His expression was perturbed, as if he'd been reminded of something he had wanted to forget. But as his gaze slid over her bewildered face, his mouth curved a little, and he settled into the cradle of her body with an insolent famil iarity that temporarily robbed her of breath.
His infinitely polite tone was an unsettling contrast to the intimacy of their position. What a pleasant surprise. As it happens, I'm visiting friends. And you? This is Lord Westcliff 's estate. The Ramsay estate. We've just taken up residence. What were you doing? Why do you have that tattoo on your arm?
It's a pooka—an Irish creature—isn't it? Before Rohan could reply, the other two men approached. From her prone position, Amelia had an upside-down view of them. Like Rohan, they were in their shirtsleeves, with waistcoats left unbuttoned. One of them was a portly old gentleman with a shock of silver hair. He held a small wood-and-metal sextant, which had been strung around his neck on a lanyard.
The other, black-haired man looked to be in his late thirties. He wasn't as tall as Rohan, but he had an air of authority tempered with aristocratic arrogance. Amelia made a helpless movement, and Rohan lifted away from her with fluid ease. He helped her stand, his arm steadying her. You covered a distance of fifty yards in no more than five or six seconds. Rohan's hand remained at the small of Amelia's back, the light pressure causing her blood to simmer. Easing away from his distracting touch, Amelia raised her hands to the dangling front locks of her hair, tucking them behind her ears.
And more to the point, why are you shooting them at my property? Your property? Lord Ramsay's sister. I was not informed about your arrival. Had I been aware of your presence, I would have notified you about our rocketry experiments, as I have everyone else in the vicinity.
He looked annoyed that the new neighbors had dared to move into their own residence without telling him first. But she was still off balance, and there was no stopping the flow of comments from her own mouth.
I must say the guidebook didn't warn adequately about the occurrence of rocket fire amid the peaceful Hampshire scenery. When we become better acquainted, however, I have no doubt you'll find ample reason to bring out the artillery. Not to mention steady of hands and nerves.
What a sapper he'd make. As a friend of Lord Westcliff, who shared his interest in engineering science, Swansea had come to experiment with a new rocket design in the country, where there was sufficient land to do so.
Lord Westcliff had enlisted Cam Rohan to help with the flight equations and other mathematical calculations necessary to evaluate the performances of the rockets. In her experience scholarly men such as her father were pale from spending much of their time indoors, and they had paunches and spectacles and rumpled, tweedy appearances. I find it difficult to believe the house is habitable.
It will be an excellent opportunity for you to meet some local residents, including the vicar. Heaven help her. Had the Hathaway family been well-rested, had Leo been a bit further along on the path of sobriety, had they all possessed suitable formal attire, had they been given enough time to study etiquette Amelia might have considered accepting the invitation.
But as things were, it was impossible. We've only just arrived in Hampshire, and most of our clothes are still packed away—" "The occasion is informal.
One of my sisters is somewhat frail, and it would be too taxing for her. She needs a great deal of rest after the long journey from London. It will be a much smaller affair, and not at all taxing. Cursing herself for not staying at Ramsay House that morning, Amelia forced a smile to her lips.
Your hospitality is much appreciated. A mist of sweat had accumulated on his skin until it gleamed like bronze. It landed at a distance of approximately two thousand yards. I'll go back to dig it up later. He used a handkerchief to blot his steaming, wrinkled countenance. And may I say, you took it rather well, being the target of a surprise attack. Before turning to join the captain, Lord Westcliff glanced at Cam Rohan. I know the way, and it isn't far.
She was left to stare uneasily at Cam Rohan, while the other two men departed. Besides, in light of your past behavior, I'd be safer going alone. Rohan tilted his head and regarded her curiously. Perhaps he had, kissed so many legions of women, he couldn't possibly recollect them all. But there was a flare of provoking laughter in his eyes.
The rest of my family is steeped in imagination—I'm the one who clings desperately to reality. There's no need for you to accompany me. He let her set their pace. In the openness of their surroundings, he seemed even larger than she had remembered. As they walked, the shadows of nearby branches crossed their faces. A red-tailed hawk glided across the sky and disappeared into the heavy wood. Invented to give people nightmares. Why would you adorn yourself with such a design?
I don't remember when it was done. What significance does it have? But it's been years since I've seen them. She encouraged me to believe it was real—I think she half believed it herself. She practiced the old magic. Do you mean fortune-telling?
The old magic is a belief that all of nature is connected and equal. Everything is alive. Even the trees have souls. It had always been impossible to coax Merripen to say anything about his past or his Romany beliefs, and here was a man who seemed willing to discuss anything. But I like the idea of it. Before she could object to the gentle touch, it was gone. And then he returns you home. It seemed impossible to walk with brisk efficiency on a day like this, with so much sun and soft air.
And with this unusual man beside her, dark and dangerous and charming.
How did you come to be acquainted? He's a member of the gaming club, I suppose. And friends with the owner. First, out of respect for the earl. And then there's the fact that most of them are obliged to come to me for credit at the club—which means I have access to their private financial information. His smile lingered. You see, I'm a half-breed— poshram, they call it—born of a Gypsy mother and an Irish gadjo father. And since the family's lineage goes through the father, Fm not even considered Roma.
It's the worst violation of the code for one of our women to marry a gadjo. No hope of ever being fully accepted. And yet there was no trace of self-pity in his tone. None of us have the education or breeding to carry it off. Supper at Stony Cross Manor should be a spectacle—I'm sure it will end with us being tossed out on our ears.
Lord and Lady Westcliff don't usually stand on formality. And their table includes a great variety of guests. To her, upper society resembled the ornamental tanks used for exotic fish-keeping in fashionable parlors, filled with glittering creatures who darted and circled in patterns she had no hope of understanding.
The Hathaways might as well attempt to live underwater as to belong in such elevated company. And yet they had no choice but to try. Grasping a bunch, she pulled until the delicate stems snapped. I've heard it can be made into a fine salad or sauce. The Rom call it panishok My grandmother used to put it in poultices for sprains or injuries.
And it's a powerful love tonic. For women, especially. It's a stimulant of the—" "Don't tell me! Giving him a warning glance, Amelia brushed a few stray watercress leaves from her palms and continued on her way. Her companion followed readily. She has little strength, and she tires easily. The doctor says Win may never improve, and in all likelihood she won't be able to marry or have children. Win will be completely well again.
You do like to manage other people's lives, don't you?
What are you smiling at? You make me want to—" He stopped as if thinking better of what he'd been about to say. But the trace of amusement lingered on his lips. She didn't like the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel hot and nervous and giddy.
All her senses informed her that he was a thoroughly untrustworthy man. One who abided by no one's rules but his own. Would you choose the adventure, or stay safely at home? The topaz eyes were lit by a glint of playfulness, not the innocent mischief of a boy, but something far more dangerous. She could almost believe he might actually change form and appear beneath her window one night, and carry her away on midnight wings I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself.
Not that kind, at any rate. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze to the top button of his waistcoat. Was he flirting with her? No, it must be that he was mocking her, trying to make her look foolish. And if there was one thing she feared in life more than bees, it was appearing foolish. Gathering her dignity, which had scattered like bits of dandelion fluff in a high wind, she frowned up at him. You may tell the earl that I was safely delivered.
Good day, Mr. With each step Amelia put between them, she should have felt safer, but the sense of disquiet remained. And then, she heard him murmur something, his voice shadowed with amusement, and it sounded as if he had said, "Some midnight Poppy and Beatrix were pleased and excited, whereas Win, who was still trying to regain her strength after the 46 journey to Hampshire, was merely resigned. Leo was looking forward to a lengthy repast accompanied by fine wine. Merripen, on the other hand, flatly refused to go.
Merripen's grip on a carpenter's hammer was deft and sure as he expertly sank a handmade nail into the edge of a board.
But you might enjoy yourself. If you're afraid of being treated badly, you should recall that Lord Westcliff is already acting as host to a Roma, and he seems to have no prejudice—" "I don't like gadjos. Does that mean you don't like us? Amelia let out a taut sigh. And if the evening turns out to be terrible, it's your obligation to endure it with us.
After laboriously heating water in the kitchen, the Hathaways hauled buckets up and down the stairs for their own baths. Everyone except Win, of course, who was resting in her room to preserve her strength. Amelia sat with unusual submissiveness as Poppy styled her hair, pulling it back, making thick braids and pinning them into a heavy chignon that covered the back of her head. Its design was plain with a moderately full skirt, the sleeves long and tightly fitted.
Poppy's gown was a similar style, only in red. She was an uncommonly pretty girl, her fine features lit with vivacity and intelligence. If a girl's social popularity were based on merit rather than fortune, Poppy would have been the toast of London. Instead she was living in the country in a rattletrap house, wearing old clothes, hauling water and coal like a maidservant.
And she had never once complained. I promise. You don't have to look for a rich suitor. Only one who will be kind to you. Making her way to Leo's side, Amelia muttered to him, "No more gambling, Leo. The money you lost at Jenner's would have been far better spent on proper clothes for your younger sisters. As much as she adored Leo, no one could make her as angry as he, and so quickly. She longed to administer some heavy clout on the head that might restore his wits.
You're incapable of enjoying the moment because you're always intent on tomorrow. Well, for some people, tomorrow never comes. It serves no purpose to make yourselves cross just before we are to leave.
Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1)
What if your face stayed that way? If you were honest with yourself, Amelia—" "Merripen," Win called out, "is the carriage ready now? It had been agreed that he would drive the Hathaways to the Westcbffs' residence and return for them later.
Like a word puzzle that had just solved itself in her brain, that stolen glance made a few things clear to Amelia.
Merripen wasn't attending the dinner that evening because he was trying to avoid being in a social situation with Win. He was trying to keep a distance between them, while at the same time he was desperately worried about her health.
It troubled Amelia, the notion that Merripen, who never displayed strong feelings about anything, might be entertaining a secret and powerful longing for her sister. Win was too delicate, too refined, too much his opposite in every way. And Merripen knew that. Feeling sympathetic and maudlin, and rather worried herself, Amelia climbed into the carriage after her sisters.
The occupants of the vehicle were silent as they proceeded along the oak-lined drive to Stony Cross Manor.
None of them had ever seen grounds so richly tended or imposing. Every leaf on every tree seemed to have been affixed with careful forethought. Surrounded by gardens and orchards that flowed into dense woods, the house sprawled over the land like a drowsing giant. Four lofty corner towers denoted the original dimensions of the European-styled fortress, but many additions had given it a pleasing asymmetry.
With time and weathering, the house's honey-colored stone had mellowed gracefully, its outlines dressed with tall, perfectly trimmed hedges. The residence was fronted by a massive courtyard—a distinctive feature-—and sided by stables and a residential wing. Instead of the usual understated design of stables, these were fronted by wide stone arches. Stony Cross Manor was a place fit for royalty—and from what they knew of Lord Westcliff, his bloodlines were even more distinguished than the Queen's.
As the carriage stopped before the porticoed entrance, Amelia wished the evening were already over. In these stately surroundings, the Hathaways' faults would be magnified. They would appear no better than a group of vagabonds.
She glanced over her siblings.
Mine Till Midnight
Win had donned her usual mask of irreproachable serenity, and Leo looked calm and slightly bored—an expression he must have learned from his recent acquaintances at Jenner's. The younger girls were filled with a bright exuberance that drew a smile from Amelia. They, at least, would have a good time, and heaven knew they deserved it. Merripen helped the sisters from the carriage, and Leo emerged last. As he stepped to the ground, Merripen checked him with a brief murmur, an admonition to keep a close watch on Win.
Leo shot him a vehement glance. Enduring Amelia's criticism was bad enough—he wouldn't tolerate it from Merripen. The relationship between the two men had never been what one could describe as brotherly, but they had always maintained a cool cordiality. Merripen had never tried to assume the role of second son, in spite of the Hathaway parents' obvious fondness for him.
And in any situation which might have lent itself to a competition between the two boys, Merripen had always drawn back. Leo, for his part, had been reasonably pleasant to Merripen, and had even deferred to Merripen's opinions when he had judged them better than his own.
When Leo had fallen ill with scarlet fever, Merripen had helped care for him with a mixture of patience and kindness that had surpassed even Amelia's.
Later she had told Leo that he owed Merripen his life. Instead of being grateful, however, Leo seemed to hold it against Merripen. Please, please don't be an ass, Leo, Amelia longed to beg, but she held her tongue and went with her sisters to the brightly lit entrance of Stony Cross Manor. A pair of massive double doors opened into a cavernous hall hung with priceless tapestries.
A grand stone and marble staircase curved up to the lofty second-floor gallery. Even the most distant corners of the hall, and the entrances of several passages leading away from the great room, were lit by a massive crystal chandelier. If the outside grounds had been well tended, the interior of the manor was nothing short of immaculate, everything swept and sparkling and polished.
There was nothing of newness in their surroundings, no sharp edges or modern touches to disrupt the atmosphere of easeful splendor. It was, Amelia thought bleakly, exactly the way Ramsay House should look. Servants came to take hats and gloves, while an elderly housekeeper welcomed the new arrivals. Amelia's attention was immediately drawn to the sight of Lord and Lady Westcliff, who were crossing the hall toward them.
Clad in precisely tailored evening clothes, Lord West-cliff moved with the physical confidence of a seasoned sportsman. His expression was reserved, his austere features striking rather than handsome.
Everything about his appearance indicated he was a man who demanded a great deal of others and even more of himself.
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A Husband's Regret Unwanted 2. Wired Buchanan-Renard Whitney, My Love Westmoreland Saga 2. A Kingdom of Dreams Westmoreland Saga 1.He was so careful, so gentle— The crash of a bottle on the pavement jolted her from the haze.
He didn't spend much time thinking the typical "I'm-not-good-enough-for-her" thing, which I appreciated. Rohan's fingers were nudging her face upward, his thumb brushing the tip of her chin. A proper spinster. For one of the Rom to be entrusted with the accounting of cash and credit, not to mention arbitrating controversies at the gambling tables, was nothing short of amazing. Page 46 Wise Man's Fear Plus Bonus Lord Ramsay's sister.
Impossible to save a man who didn't want to be saved. Get rid of him, Bea, or I'm going to flatten him with the nearest heavy object I can find.