Praise for Veiled Promises
“This is neo old-school romance done well…this book was a treat to read. It was like drinking fine brandy after having had nothing but weak tea. MacNish has a strong and distinctive style.”
—Ellen Micheletti of AllAboutRomance.com
“Veiled Promises is an excellent book, but as a debut it is phenomenal. Congratulations, Ms. MacNish.”
—Wendy Livingston of TheRomanceReader.com
“MacNish’s debut romance, a lushly written, richly detailed Georgian historical, pushes the boundaries of the genre with a story of love, revenge, jealousy, and secrets that can be quite dark, but is also refreshingly different with its complex, realistically flawed characters and compelling plot.”
—John Charles of Booklist
Praise for Veiled Desires
“There’s nothing veiled about the emotional power and dark sensuality of MacNish’s sequel to Veiled Promises. With strong characters playing out a plot that delves into the deepest parts of the human soul, this is a tale to keep you riveted.”
—Kathe Robin of the Romantic Times book club
“Following her debut, Veiled Promises (2005), which told the story of the romance between Rogan’s parents, MacNish now gives readers another delectably intense and edgy tale of passions and peril, revenge and romance.”
—John Charles of Booklist
Also by Tracy MacNish
Veiled Desires
Veiled Promises
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
VEILEDPASSIONS
TRACY MACNISH
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
For Katrina Campbell,
and an enduring friendship so strong it became family.
May you always remember
the sweetest moments,
the warmest touches,
and the very best of times.
There are the sisters family gives you,
and there are the ones you find yourself.
I’ve been doubly blessed.
Thank you for being my best friend.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, 1939–2007, for inspiring my love of romance and setting a standard to which I will always aspire.
As always, heartfelt thanks to my mentor, Brent Monahan, who continues to teach and motivate; Mary Sue Seymour, my agent, who manages to turn this business into something gracious; my editor, Audrey LaFehr, for continued enthusiasm and the opportunity to tell Kieran’s story—thank you; Peter Schulman, who listens to me talk about my books with unending patience and unflagging support; and Tracy Tappan, whose warmth and generosity make Rome seem much, much closer. As ever, thanks to Aislinn, for being the very best combination of sister and friend. I love you, Sass.
Again, best for last, my little family circle, Randy and Ethan. Without both of you, I have nothing.
1
Venice, 1777
There are those who grow cold over the course of time, a slow, subtle erosion that takes place over many years until they are no longer the person they once knew.
But not so for Kieran Mullen. She could pinpoint the precise event that had changed her, and she guarded the secret of that night the way a wolf guards its kill.
However, released by the costumes and festivals of Carnivale, she found a tiny reprieve from her self-imposed prison.
Kieran accepted a man’s proffered hand and let him sweep her back onto the floor and into his arms.
She did not know who he was; he wore a white, beaked plague mask, a cloak, and a tricorn. His identity was concealed, as was her own. He could be a butcher or a king; Kieran did not know, and she did not care.
The dance ended, and as Kieran went looking for her sister-in-law, Emeline, a man in a leopard mask with a spotted cape bowed before her, and outstretched his hand. With abandon, Kieran accepted his invitation and whirled back onto the floor. He smelled of wine and sweat, tanned fur and raw silk, and Kieran laughed behind her mask as he twirled her once, twice, three times.
A chorus of castratos sang, their high voices soaring over the orchestral music, combining with the sounds of hundreds of conversations, laughter, and clinking glasses. Costumed people danced and drank, sweeping across the marble floor, butterflies dancing with ghouls, mermaids taking the arms of men in tricorns and animal masks. The heavy air reeked of a party, redolent of melting wax and candle smoke, perfumed bodies and spilled wine, simmering food and cured meats.
The dance ended, and Kieran declined another. Her head was hot beneath the wig and her face sweated behind her mask. She needed to step into one of the rooms that had been set aside for the women, so they might remove their masks.
She found Emeline, seated by an open window.
“Are you unwell, Emeline?” she inquired as she drew near.
Emeline’s gold mask turned to face Kieran, and her eyes, visible in the jeweled openings, looked glassy.
“I was quite fine, until suddenly I began to feel fatigued and dizzy. I think I am overheated.”
“Come with me, and we’ll get you out of the mask and wig. You need a drink of water.”
Emeline nodded and made to stand, but sat back down abruptly. “I fear I will faint.” She reached for Kieran’s hand and gripped it. “I have been feeling this way intermittently since we left England. I told myself all was well, just seasickness. I dared not hope, but now cannot dare ignore it. I am certain there is another child, and I fear what will become of me, being so far from home, and facing the voyage.