Amy Patrick - Crimson Crown

The Crimson Court is at a turning point.

Abigail Byler's life is about to change profoundly... or end for good. It remains to be seen what will become of the vampire queen, Imogen.

And Abbi's eternal love, Reece, faces the possibility of taking on a job he was never meant to have while living without the only girl he's ever loved.

In this fourth and final installment of the Crimson Accord series, the fates of both the vampire and human races are at stake, and it all depends on who will wear the Crimson Crown.

Enjoy the exciting conclusion to the Crimson series!

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The Crimson Accord Series

Crimson Born

Crimson Storm

Crimson Bond

Crimson Crown

The Hidden Saga

Hidden Deep (FREE download)

Hidden Heart

Hidden Hope

The Sway (FREE when you join my list!)

Hidden Darkness (Dark Court, 1)

Hidden Danger (Dark Court, 2)

Hidden Desire (Dark Court, 3)

Hidden Game (Ancient Court, 1)

Hidden Magic (Ancient Court, 2)

Hidden Hero (Ancient Court, 3)

Hidden Heir

Hampshire, England 1835

Father would positively murder me if he could see me now.

No, actually, hed have his servant Thomas do it. Heaven forbid the Earl of Pembury get his soft noblemans hands dirty.

Wills hands are definitely not soft, thanks to his work on my fathers estate and here in the stables where he cares for our horses and maintains the carriages.

And I like him dirty.

Pulling him away from the carriage hes polishing, I lead the tall, muscular young stable hand to a shadowed corner of the carriage room and press myself against him, heedless of the perspiration stains his damp chest and abdomen will leave on my light cotton summer gown.

Its not the first time Ive come to seek him out at the stables. Will grew up here at Stony Hill Park with Sadie and me. The youngest of my fathers servants, he came to work on the estate at the age of ten.

We played together as children. Now, at the age of seventeen, our games have changed.

Imogen, what are you doing?

In spite of his words, Will knows very well what I want him to do and doesnt bother resisting the pressure of my fingers on his nape.

Glancing around first to make sure were alone, he dips his head and kisses me.

His lips are hot and demanding, and the boredom and frustration of my stifling day-to-day existence fades away. There is only the taste of him and the feel of his firm body against mine and the hungry sounds hes making.

My heart is pounding, and my knees are threatening to give way. I hold Will tighter, partially for support and partially because times like this with him are always so fleeting. Its hard to get away from the house for long, and hes always working, sunup to sundown.

Lack of opportunity is why weve never gone farther than kissing. That, and the aforementioned likelihood of murder. If not mine, then certainly Wills. I dont want to endanger him, but I also cant seem to stay away.

And Father isnt home at the moment. Hes away in London on business.

Perhaps thats why Im feeling braver than usual. As we kiss, I tug at the hem of Wills shirt, freeing it from the waist of his trousers, sliding my hands underneath and greedily caressing the steamed skin of his abdomen and back.

He lets out a tortured groan and breaks the kiss, panting quietly against my lips. Imogen. Dont do that. You know we cant.

Yes, we can. I pout. I love you, and you love me. And who cares if Im a virgin?

He huffs a laugh. I believe your father, the earl, cares very much. Or he will when the grand lord you marry finds out on his wedding night hes been handed a soiled dove.

Itll serve both of them right, I spit out. My father and whichever decrepit old man he barters me to. Itll probably be some widower with children a decade older than me. And its not my fault Father mismanaged his inheritance and ran the estate into the ground.

Its a poorly kept secret the earl is approaching a state of desperation.

While large and elegantly appointed, our country manor home is on a gradual slide toward disrepair. Our town home in London is woefully understaffed as Father let go some of the help to conserve funds, and the last time Sadie and I went to the modiste in the city for new dresses, the woman carried on a not-so-discreet conversation with her assistants about how late Father was in paying his account with her.

Like many titled Englishmen, my father inherited land and homes with his prestigious title but precious little money to maintain them all.

Noblemen dont work, of course. Its considered beneath the members of first society. And there are only so many socially acceptable ways to infuse an impoverished crumbling estate with cash.

Marrying your daughters to peers with deeper pockets is the current favorite.

Still... Will says, looking at me with obvious regret. We should stop. I have work to do.

I grab the braces of his pants and pull him toward me again. Work can wait. I cant. I want you. Kiss me again. Please.

His resolve crumbles, as I knew it would, and he takes me in his arms again, kissing me with renewed fervency. Holding me tightly against him, he turns us so Im pinned between the wall and his bodyexactly where I want to be.

I renew my efforts to get his shirt off, unbuttoning it as he begins to gather my long skirts, working them upward.

Imogen?

A confused sounding female voice breaks the quiet and causes us to spring apart in surprise.

Turning toward the doorway, I glare at the person who has, all our lives, been in possession of the worlds worst timing.

My sister.

If I had my hand in the cookie tin, you could practically guarantee Sadie would wander into the cooks pantry and catch me. If I ever sneaked out of the house at night to look at the stars or hunt frogs with Will, Sadie would inevitably have a nightmare and come to my room for comfort then alert the entire household Id been kidnapped, prompting a search party.

What do you want? I demand.

Father has returned from London. Hes looking for you. He wants to speak to us both together.

My sister folds her hands primly in front of her and averts her innocent gaze as Will turns toward the opposite wall and hurriedly rebuttons his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers.

He has the housekeeper in a tizzy, and all the footmen are out combing the estate grounds for you, Sadie informs me. I thought it would be best for them not to find you... like this.

Setting my own clothing to rights, I stride toward her. Like what? Having fun? Having a life? If it were up to Father, all wed do is sit in the parlor all day writing letters and doing embroidery.