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Informationen zum Autor Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of several Regency-set historical romance series, including the Royal Brotherhood, the School for Heiresses, the Hellions of Halstead Hall, the Duke's Men, and the Sinful Suitors. When she's not writing in a coffee-fueled haze, she's traveling with her husband, caring for her adult autistic son, or indulging in one of her passions: jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, music, and costume parties. With more than nine million books in print in twenty languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world. She always dreams big. Klappentext Includes excerpt from: How to woo a reluctant lady. A Hellion In Her Bed Chapter One London March 1825 In the nineteen years since that fateful night, Jarret had grown a foot taller and had learned how to fight, and he was still gambling. Now, for a living. Today, however, the cards were meant to be only a distraction. Sitting at a table in the study in Gran’s town house, he laid out another seven rows. “How can you play cards at a time like this?” his sister Celia asked from the settee. “I’m not playing cards,” he said calmly. “I’m playing solitaire.” “You know Jarret,” his brother Gabe put in. “Never comfortable without a deck in his hand.” “You mean, never comfortable unless he’s winning,” his other sister, Minerva, remarked. “Then he must be pretty uncomfortable right now,” Gabe said. “Lately, all he does is lose.” Jarret stiffened. That was true. And considering that he supported his lavish lifestyle with his winnings, it was a problem. So of course Gabe was plaguing him about it. At twenty-six, Gabe was six years Jarret’s junior and annoying as hell. Like Minerva, he had gold-streaked brown hair and green eyes the exact shade of their mother’s. But that was the only trait Gabe shared with their straitlaced mother. “You can’t consistently win at solitaire unless you cheat,” Minerva said. “I never cheat at cards.” It was true, if one ignored his uncanny ability to keep track of every card in a deck. Some people didn’t. “Didn’t you just say that solitaire isn’t ‘cards’?” Gabe quipped. Bloody arse. And to add insult to injury, Gabe was cracking his knuckles and getting on Jarret’s nerves. “For God’s sake, stop that noise,” Jarret snapped. “This, you mean?” Gabe said and deliberately cracked his knuckles again. “If you don’t watch it, little brother, I’ll crack my knuckles against your jaw,” Jarret warned. “Stop fighting!” Celia’s hazel eyes filled with tears as she glanced at the connecting door to Gran’s bedchamber. “How can you fight when Gran might be dying?” “Gran isn’t dying,” said the eminently practical Minerva. Four years younger than Jarret, she lacked Celia’s flair for the dramatic . . . except in the Gothic fiction she penned. Besides, like Jarret, Minerva knew their grandmother better than their baby sister did. Hester Plumtree was indestructible. This “illness” was undoubtedly another ploy to make them toe her line. Gran had already given them an ultimatum—they had to marry within the year or the whole lot of them would be disinherited. Jarret would have thrown the threat back in her face, but he couldn’t sentence his siblings to a life with no money. Oliver had tried to fight her edict, then had surprised them by getting himself leg-shackled to an American woman. But that hadn’t satisfied Gran. She still wanted her pound of flesh from the rest of them. And now there were fewer than ...
