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Masque of Desire
Ellora's Cave
ISBN:
9781419913761
Genre: Paranormal/Romance
Format:
e-Book
Miranda Carter is a
very successful attorney, trick or treating is for kids; but
when a very influential client she has never met invites her
to an authentic 18th Century masquerade she quickly
suits up to
attend his masked ball at the haunted plantation Violet Hall. Violet Hall
is the home to a mysterious
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ghost of
the former owner, Aleksandr
Valquet, that has haunted the grounds for two hundred and fifty
years, waiting for his true love to return and break the curse
of his immortality; and the so called ghost has set his eyes on
Miranda.
Miranda succumbs to the masked stranger’s advance and spends an
evening of pleasure in the arms of a masked stranger, a stranger
that seems awfully familiar as her past life unfolds.
Reviews
Amy Ruttan has
burst onto the writing scene with a debut novel that rocks! Her
attention to detail, strong characters, and a clever, well-written
plot makes this story a must read. I look forward to many more
winners from this fantastic author.
~ Fallen Angel Reviews
“Ms. Ruttan has
woven a seductive, erotic tale of lost love and
redemption that will keep readers breathlessly turning the pages. A
flawless mix of past and present, you’ll be cheering Alek and Mira
on till the final kiss.”
~ Christine d'Abo, Ellora's Cave Author
Excerpt
“Welcome to Violet Hall. May I
see your invitation please?”
Miranda startled at the sound of the doorman’s Cajun accent, before
handing the liveried and powdered wigged out man her gilded
invitation. He scanned it quickly in the torch light. He smiled and
bowed, adding to the old world charm.
“Very good, Ms. Carter. Again, welcome to Violet Hall. Monsieur
Valquet asks that all guests remained masked until midnight, when
all will be revealed. If you follow me up to the house.”
A shiver passed down Miranda’s spine. All will be revealed, what did
that mean? She brushed it off as she followed the door man up the
gravel path towards Violet Hall.
As they neared the house, she paused briefly. Feeling that someone
was still watching her. She stared back and saw a marble statue of a
man. A mausoleum, an unmarked mausoleum lit up by flood lights.
The bust of the occupant of the tomb was what intrigued her. The
occupant of the tomb had been a handsome man; there was no doubt
about that. She could not tell the color of his hair, or his eyes
because he had been carved in white marble. He had a strong face,
with a delectable cleft in his chin.
She just stared up at the man’s face, mesmerized by the poignant
expression carved in marble. She felt a rush of heat flood her veins
as she stared up at the cold, marble face. It seemed familiar to
her, like she had seen that stone face before.
“Ms. Carter?” the doorman asked a few feet away.
“Do you know who this is?” she asked.
“Ah, no one knows his name, but he was the original owner of Violet
Hall over two hundred and fifty years ago. Have you never heard of
the ‘curse’ of Violet Hall before?”
“No, I haven’t,” Miranda said quickly.
“Apparently, the previous owner crossed the paths of a mad voodoo
priestess. She condemned him to sleep forever until his one true
love wakened him.”
Miranda snorted. “A reverse sleeping beauty, huh?”
“Sort of. The man disappeared two hundred and fifty years ago today.
Myths are that the original owner appears every Halloween looking
for his one true love to break the curse.” The doorman chuckled. “Of
course, it’s all a romantic myth. The mausoleum was opened; there
was a body that had obviously been in there for over two hundred
years.”
“Hmmm,” Miranda said specutaviley returning her attention to the
marble bust. “To bad it was only a myth.” As she said those words
the wind whipped through the trees, the flame in the torches around
her snapped and sparked. She felt a chill run down her spine.
“Come Ms. Carter, it’s much more hospitable inside.”
Miranda nodded and followed the doorman back down the path. The
night was suddenly silent, and all she heard was the crunching of
gravel beneath her feet. She looked back at the mausoleum, and
thought she saw the fleeting glimpse of a figure flicker in the
shadow of the crypt.
©
Amy Ruttan, 2007
All Rights Reserved
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