The Bejewelled Bride
BETHANY glanced around her. The scenery on the high mountain pass was awesomely bleak and beautiful in the pearly grey light of an early February afternoon. For the first few miles, while the pass had run fairly straight and level between rock-strewn fells, she had seen a black Range Rover in the rear-view mirror. But over the last half mile or so it must have turned off into a side valley, because now she had the road to herself.
When she had set off to Bosthwaite earlier in the day to visit Mrs Deramack and look at some antiques, she had taken the main road but had taken this lonely route back especially to see more of the wild and rugged grandeur she remembered well from her one previous visit to the Lake District.
As she drove however, she thought back to that wonderful visit and remembered a lean, good-looking face with brilliant eyes and a mouth with the kind of male beauty that tied her insides in knots.
A face that had stayed fresh in her mind for the past six years. Quiet and shy, she had been just seventeen at the time and on a family holiday with her parents. Returning from the west coast of Scotland, they had decided to spend on ... read full excerpt from The Bejewelled Bride ebook
