The Missing Marquess of Althorn (Book3)
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh (Book4)
The Mystery of Miss Mason (Book5)
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (Book6)
Hyacinth (Book 7)
A Midnight Clear (Novella)
The Lyon’s Den Series
Fall of the Lyon
Tamed by the Lyon
Lady Luck and the Lyon
The Lyon, the Liar and the Scandalous Wardrobe
Pirates of Britannia Series
The Pirate’s Bluestocking
Also from Chasity Bowlin
Into the Night (Novella)
About Chasity Bowlin
Chasity Bowlin lives in central Kentucky with her husband and their menagerie of animals. She loves writing, loves traveling and enjoys incorporating tidbits of her actual vacations into her books. She is an avid Anglophile, loving all things British, but specifically all things Regency.
Growing up in Tennessee, spending as much time as possible with her doting grandparents, soap operas were a part of her daily existence, followed by back to back episodes of Scooby Doo. Her path to becoming a romance novelist was set when, rather than simply have her Barbie dolls cruise around in a pink convertible, they time traveled, hosted lavish dinner parties and one even had an evil twin locked in the attic.
Website: www.chasitybowlin.com
Ghostly Lady of Braemore
Susan King
Prologue
December 1819
Scotland
“Braemore, are youready? Come join us.” A light knock at the study door, a sweet voice, and Miss Elinor Cameron peered inside. “Edgar and I are off to the old tower.”
Sir Gavin Stewart, 7th baronet and laird of Braemore Castle, professor of history, and happier lately than he could remember, smiled to see his fiancée. Sea-blue eyes, dark curls framing a lovely face, that bright, kind smile… Despite the morning’s grim task, he felt a rush of love and contentment.
“Not quite yet, my dear. I am still sorting through my father’s things. Go ahead if you and your brother want to explore the old tower again. Mind the ruins—and the ghosts,” he added, shifting papers on the desk.
“I do enjoy a chance to spy the ghosts here!” She leaned around the door’s edge. “Though Edgar is not so eager as I.”
“Your twin does not have your affinity for such.”
“Thanks to my Highland grandmother, who passed along knowledge—perhaps learned from my seventh great-grandmother, burned as a witch.” She dimpled as he put a finger playfully to his lips. “Braemore—Gavin,” she amended; the names they had used as children came easily now, “do come soon.”
