In 898 AD she wasn’t just from another land.
Wrecking a marriage is generally no problem for the divorce obtaining, Lady Malice Mallender. But she faces a dilemma when she’s asked to ruin her own. Just how businesslike should she remain when the marriage was never consummated and kissing her husband leads to Sin–a handsome Viking who wants her for a bed slave in name only?
She came from another time.
Viking raider Sin Gudrunsson wants one thing. To marry his childhood sweetheart. Only she’s left him before, so he needs to keep her on her toes, and a bed slave, in name only, seems just the thing. Until he meets Malice.
One kiss is all it takes to flash between two worlds
But when one kiss is no longer enough, which will it be? Regency London? Or Viking Norway? Will Malice learn what governs the flashes? Can Sin?
Where worlds collide can love melt the iciest heart?
As she stared at the blackened blades of grass inches beneath her nose, Malice did her best to stop her jaw from dropping but it did it anyway. A bed slave? Had she ever heard of such a thing? No, although she had a fairly good idea what it entailed. How shocking was that? Worse than anything Strictly had ever done. Fortunately it would not be her. After all, she was disguised as a boy.
Beside her, Gentle lumbered to her feet. “Sir—”
“Yes. I know. You’re a cook—”
“Yes, I am a cook–”
“Who cooks for all the good sisters here. Well, that’s good to know but I don’t need a cook.”
“I’m the cook who gave that order.”
Malice edged her head around. Then she edged it back. How dreadful to be so desperate. Last night she’d been desperate too, in all kinds of ways. But to go telling a man you’d done something you hadn’t, in order to be his bed slave…well…she had never been that desperate where a man was concerned, had she?
Of course the poor soul had a face only a mother could love. And maybe not at that. This was certainly proving interesting. What was Sin going to say to that? Would he be as good as his word?
“You? Gave that order?”
Finally Mother Bede spoke, in a honeyed tone too. Was she going to offer herself instead? It hardly mattered, so long as it wasn’t Malice herself.
“Gentle, you cannot take the blame. It is a sin to lie.”
“Oh I’m not lying, Holy Mother. You are.”
What? What was this man? Handsome? That women were queuing to get into bed with him? She lifted her head, squinting through the mist.
When not cuddling inn signs in her beloved Scottish mountains alongside Mr Shey, or spending time with her family, Shehanne Moore writes dark and smexy historical romance, featuring bad boys who need a bad girl to sort them out. She firmly believes everyone deserves a little love, forgiveness and a second chance in life.
Shehanne caused general apoplexy when she penned her very first story, The Hore House Mystery—aged seven. What hasn’t she worked at while pursuing her dream of becoming a published author? She also loves playing various musical instruments, decorating and hearing from readers, not necessarily in that order.
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