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The Harlot’s Daughter
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The Harlot’s Daughter
Blythe Gifford
Her vulnerability made her dangerous…Lady Solay's eyes met those of a hard-edged man. His implacable gaze sliched through her and, for an instant, she forgot everything else. A mistake. She had no time for emotion when so much depended on her finding favor at court.Lord Justin Lamont couldn't look away from the late king's scandalous–illegitimate–daughter. Head held high, she walked as if the court adored her. No matter the pain in her eyes, Justin resolutely snuffed out a spark of sympathy. He must guard against her bewitching charms…
The Harlot’s Daughter
Blythe Gifford
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my mother, a trailblazer.
And with great thanks to Pat White,
who kept me going.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Author’s Afterword
Chapter One
Windsor Castle,
Yuletide, 1386
The shameless doxy dragged the rings right off his fingers before the King’s body was cold.
They used to whisper that and then look sideways at her, thinking that a ten-year-old was too young to understand they slandered her mother.
Joan had understood even then. It was all too clear the night the old King died and her mother, his mistress of thirteen years, gathered their two daughters and fled into the darkness.
Now, ten years after her father’s death, Joan stood poised to be announced at the court of a new King. Her mother hoped Joan might find a place there, even a husband.
Foolish dreams of an ageing woman.
Waiting to be announced, she peeked into the Great Hall, surprised she did not look more outdated wearing her mother’s made-over dress. It was the men’s garb, colourful and garish, that looked unfamiliar. Decked in blues and reds, gold chains and furs, they looked gaudy as flapping tournament flags.
Blythe Gifford
Her vulnerability made her dangerous…Lady Solay's eyes met those of a hard-edged man. His implacable gaze sliched through her and, for an instant, she forgot everything else. A mistake. She had no time for emotion when so much depended on her finding favor at court.Lord Justin Lamont couldn't look away from the late king's scandalous–illegitimate–daughter. Head held high, she walked as if the court adored her. No matter the pain in her eyes, Justin resolutely snuffed out a spark of sympathy. He must guard against her bewitching charms…
The Harlot’s Daughter
Blythe Gifford
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my mother, a trailblazer.
And with great thanks to Pat White,
who kept me going.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Author’s Afterword
Chapter One
Windsor Castle,
Yuletide, 1386
The shameless doxy dragged the rings right off his fingers before the King’s body was cold.
They used to whisper that and then look sideways at her, thinking that a ten-year-old was too young to understand they slandered her mother.
Joan had understood even then. It was all too clear the night the old King died and her mother, his mistress of thirteen years, gathered their two daughters and fled into the darkness.
Now, ten years after her father’s death, Joan stood poised to be announced at the court of a new King. Her mother hoped Joan might find a place there, even a husband.
Foolish dreams of an ageing woman.
Waiting to be announced, she peeked into the Great Hall, surprised she did not look more outdated wearing her mother’s made-over dress. It was the men’s garb, colourful and garish, that looked unfamiliar. Decked in blues and reds, gold chains and furs, they looked gaudy as flapping tournament flags.
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