By Judith McNaught
"In this vintage novel of 2 willful fanatics stuck in a breathless event of deception and betrayal, number one *New York occasions* bestselling writer Judith McNaught has created a robust and unforgettable masterpiece.
The Countess of Havenhurst possessed a unprecedented gentleness and fierce braveness to compare her beautiful attractiveness. yet her attractiveness is shattered while she is found within the hands of Ian Thornton, a infamous gambler and social outcast.
A dangerously good-looking guy of mystery wealth and mysterious lineage, his voyage to Elizabeth's center is fraught with intrigue, scandal, and a venomous revenge.
Destined for every different, but cautious of every other's explanations, Elizabeth and Ian interact in a dance of suspicion and keenness that checks the very soul in their star-crossed love. As a twisting direction of secrets and techniques takes them from London's drawing rooms to the mysterious Scottish Highlands, Elizabeth needs to research the reality: is Ian basically a ruthless fortune hunter at heart?
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Additional resources for Almost Heaven
The Irish henchmen were outside. The duke was leaning over, one hand on his side as if in pain. Fiona pushed him toward the open coach door first but he held back, motioning her to go forward. "Please, Hester, into the coach," Fiona begged. But Hester didn't move. " she demanded. "Why is he with you? " "It's a long story," Fiona started, taking Hester's arm and attempting to direct her up the step into the coach. " Hester stepped back. " she demanded enunciating each syllable. She was a woman accustomed to having her way.
Fiona smiled. Her earlier shyness fled in the face of her purpose. She slid her hand in her pocket and palmed the vial as she walked toward him. Still sitting in his chair in front of the table, he watched her approach, his eyes alive with interest. Looking past his shoulder, she could see the lip of his wine glass. She sat on his lap. The duke brought his legs up to support her weight. His hands went right for her waist. Fiona smiled down at him. She pushed that lock of hair back from his forehead and slid her arms around his neck, the vial in her right hand.
I don't think so," she said, backing away from him. He grabbed the front of her coat and attempted to yank her into the coach just as a pistol shot filled the air. Thomas had come out of the inn and stood ten feet away. The duke came back into the coach, his hand losing its hold on Hester. But it wasn't him the shot had hit. It was the courtesan. Thomas had missed, again. Hester's eyes widened. " she repeated and then fell to the ground. "Drive," the duke shouted at the coachman as the Irishman cursed his bad aim.