ISBN: 9781419913761

Masque of Desire Ellora's Cave 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 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. Read Excerpt | Read Reviews | BUY

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

“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