Wicked Liaison - Meara Platt Page 0,170

before returning his gaze to her, and then the air in the room changed and suddenly Hannah just knew that, finally, they were alone.

Edmund looked down at her, his lips lifting at the corners. “All is right,” he said, and Hannah nodded at him in return.

“It’s as it should be,” she said. “Always your love.”

“And always yours.”

Then their lips found one another in a searing passion – a promise of all they had been through and all that was to come.

Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history.

For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and can hardly believe that she is now living out her dream writing historical romance.

In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail.

She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and can't help but write of strong, feisty heroines.

Ellie and her husband love nothing more than spending time at home with their two sons and Husky cross. Ellie can typically be found at the lake in the summer, pushing the stroller all year round, and, of course, with her computer in her lap or a book in hand.

Hearing from readers always makes her day!

Contact her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/elliestclair, and sign up for her mailing list at http://www.prairielilypress.com/ellie-st-clair.

Visions of Love

USA Today Bestselling Author Dawn Brower

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2020 Dawn brower

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

Chapter 1

May 4, 1951

The weather had been far better than Lady Anya Montgomery could have hoped for. In a few short hours, the Festival of Britain would start, and she had to ensure everything went off without a hitch. Her very livelihood might depend upon it. All right, that was perhaps an exaggeration. Thanks to her father, the Earl of Parkdale, she was independently wealthy, but that didn’t mean she had no goals or ambition. She had been working at the British Film Institute for almost a year as an assistant to one of the women in charge. Anya had also taken several courses at the BFI Film Academy. One day, she hoped to direct and produce her own films…

She rushed into the office with a cup of coffee for her boss. Lady Vivian Kendall was on the phone, sitting on a corner of her desk. She glanced at Anya and waved her in. She had her dark hair plaited and woven into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her cobalt blue satin jacquard dress was exquisite, a full circle skirt and black petticoats underneath giving it a nice flare. She also had a black belt, t-strap heels, and gloves. Anya felt dowdy in comparison in her simple red skirt and white blouse, and simple black Mary Jane’s. She’d wanted to be as comfortable as possible for the long day ahead of her. Clearly, Lady Vivian didn’t know the meaning of comfort. Not in the practical sense anyway.

“See that it’s done,” Lady Vivian said into the phone. “I won’t accept excuses. You know how important this festival is and we cannot afford to have anything go wrong. It’s already been politicized more than it should be. This is supposed to be a celebration of all things British.” She sighed. “This is needed. The war was long and brutal and something good; as well as, fun will benefit everyone.”

Anya didn’t want to know who she was talking to. They must have imparted some awful news and she hoped it wouldn’t delay anything in the festival. They had all worked so hard to see it come to fruition. She stared down at her hand, and the opal ring her grandmother had given her. A floral leaf design had been woven on the sides of the silver metal and encircled the round opal at the top. When her grandmother had given it to her, she’d told her to follow her heart. She had kept that advice in mind when she’d taken the position at the British Film Institute.

“All right,” Lady Vivian said. Her voice filled with frustration. “Keep me updated. I’ll be down at the South Bank site soon.” She placed

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