{"product_id":"the-last-mermaid-isbn-9780553584974","title":"The Last Mermaid","description":"Shana Abé has entranced countless readers with her passion-filled novels of adventure, intrigue, and romance. Now the author of The Secret Swan delivers a gift from the sea: three hauntingly beautiful tales connected by a legend, a locket, and a love beyond time. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e531 a.d.: The tiny island of Kell is said to be enchanted, inhabited by an extraordinary creature who comforts shipwrecked sailors passing into the next world. Prince Aedan of the Isles believes in no such nonsense—until he awakens on Kell itself and meets the sensuous siren who rescued him from the sea. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1721: Ronan MacMhuirich, Earl of Kell, is the target of an unlikely assassin: Leila, a mysterious woman from an exotic land. But his irresistibly beautiful would-be slayer is in just as much danger as Ronan when she falls for this man with a magic of his own. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2004: What do you do when you inherit a Scottish island you never knew existed—and find yourself pursued by a handsome stranger who wants to buy it from you? That’s what happens to Ruri Kell when she accepts Iain MacInnes’s invitation to visit her birthright, and listens to a proposition as sinfully tempting as everything else about him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree seductive love stories, three passionate couples, all linked by one of the most romantic myths of all.Shana Abé is the award-winning author of nine novels, including \u003cb\u003eThe Smoke Thief\u003c\/b\u003e. She lives in the Denver area with four surly pet house rabbits, all rescued, and a big goofy dog. Please, please support your local animal shelter, and spay or neuter your pets.\u003ci\u003eChapter Three\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeila walked quickly out of the ballroom and into the violet dusk of the garden. She was moving because she had to move; she was walking because she could not stand still.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePeople were turning to look—slow down, slow down. She did not need attention now. Glancing figures in the shadows, phantom faces, the glitter of diamonds like fireflies in the dark. But she did not slow. Her heart was racing and her hands were trembling. She felt rather ill, as if her corset had been cinched too tight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf all the queer notions, of all the nights to come undone—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe could close her eyes and still see him. The man in the ballroom, the stranger watching her . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe’d never seen a man so truly, fiercely handsome. She’d never seen a face like his, clean carved lines and smoky shadows, the glint of his lashes and eyes of such devilish deep blue. He might have stepped to life from a Renaissance portrait, a painted prince of sapphire and gold, jeweled colors over jet. She had been turning, preparing to traverse the room yet again, and then . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen she had seen him, by himself across the chamber, leaning against one of those ridiculous pillars with his arms crossed, unsmiling. A short wig and tailored elegance; he was done up in black, no velvet, no gaudy lace, watching her with utter concentration. As if he knew her. As if she knew him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the oddest chill had come over her, a most peculiar weakness in her limbs. For an instant—suspended there in sapphire—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe gravel was noisy, just as she had predicted. Leila rounded a corner, heard voices, and instinctively turned the other direction. She needed air, that was all. A few minutes in the November calm to find her composure, to breathe and think and remember who and what she was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe found a gazebo of whitewashed lattice, a vine of barren ivy buried through it with lavish devotion. There was a bench inside, almost lost to the night, no one about but crickets and owls. She sat down gratefully, peeled off her shoes, and began to massage her sore feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChe would follow soon. She needed to consider what she’d say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’m fine. It was too warm. Too many beaus. Too many\u003cbr\u003eeyes. I’m fine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eFine.\u003cbr\u003eThe cold air was like truth, a hard burn in her chest. She inhaled deeply, as much as she could hold, letting it out again in a silent hiss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSilly chit, to lose her head over gold-tipped lashes and a square jaw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe chant of the owl grew louder and then soft; lovers’ whispers sidled by, not very near. And then, beneath the ghostly refrain of music still drifting from the ballroom, she heard footsteps. They paused and picked up again, coming ever closer, ending at the stairs to the gazebo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell. That hadn’t taken long.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeila didn’t bother to look up from her foot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No,” she said to her stockinged toes. “He did not come.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I see,” said a deep, sardonic voice. “Shall I offer commiseration or felicitation?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer hands stilled. She exhaled a single breath, very shallow, and looked up—and yes—oh, yes, curse it, it was he.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the tame forest of the garden, the man seemed much larger than before, almost imposing. The fading light should have softened him but instead had the opposite effect: black coat, black breeches and stockings and shoes; against the frilled white gazebo he was completely austere. Formidable. His gaze held hers, and the same singular vertigo she had felt in the ballroom threatened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith his long lashes and devil blue eyes, he seemed to see right through her, as if she were made of rice paper, or ice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeila forced her fingers to relax, tucking her feet beneath her. The air blew cool across her ankles. He seemed to notice; his lips kept the faintest smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Neither, I should think,” she said, with more assurance than she felt. “He will come soon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe smile vanished. “Madam. Forgive me.” The man looked down. “Perhaps you dropped this on the path?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer fan. She looked at it cradled in his hands. Her heart began to beat harder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes. Thank you,” she said, and held out her open palm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe hesitated, then unfurled it. “A most unusual design.”\u003cbr\u003eThe feathers nodded and waved. He turned and held them up to the light, ignoring her hand. One lean finger found the steel spine inserted in the center; he touched it cautiously, a bare prick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt would draw blood. She had filed the point herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe glanced back at her, his brows lifted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It is the fashion in Spain,” she said steadily.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Spain,” he murmured, and the smile returned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“To guard against scoundrels.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Of course.” He closed it gently. “What is a lady without her fan?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sadly defenseless,” Leila said, and stood up to take it from his hand. “I thank you again, sir. Good evening.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he was blocking the exit and showed no inclination to do otherwise, only stood there with his taut smile and a slanting, sideways look, watching her as if he expected her to say or do something more. The breeze settled just as the moon broke free of the clouds, rising ivory over the breadth of his shoulders. He was haloed in light, wild and plain and handsome at once, focused entirely on her. Leila felt, amazingly, a flush begin to creep up her throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t look at him. Walk away. Leave before Che comes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eBut she did not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My name is MacMhuirich,” said the man simply, when she did not speak or move or go. “Ronan MacMhuirich.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mr.Mac . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eMacMurray\u003c\/i\u003e,” he repeated carefully, giving the word a sort of musical note. He waited, then prompted, “And you are?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe knew what to do now, at least. Leila lifted her hand. “Doña Montiago y Luz.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe took her gloved fingers, bowing over them with full formality. She could see him more clearly now, with the moon through the trees; his coat stretched tight across his back, the black ribbon of his queue tied to a short, neat knot. His fingers pressed very lightly on hers, steady and firm, and she had the impression that this was his will more than his way; nothing about him spoke of the languor of an indoor gentleman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“How do you do,” he said in that marvelous low voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“How do you do,” she echoed, soft.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe night seemed to grow very quiet. Clouds blew high above them in silent silver tumbles. Even the owl had ceased his plaintive song.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeila wished, abruptly, that she was not wearing gloves. That she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWouldn’t \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e make a mess of her evening?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man straightened, releasing her hand. She took a step back, uneasy with herself, and him, and the sudden hush of the world. Where was Che?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Are you a friend of the duke?” she heard herself ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Not really.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The duchess, then,” she said, with a curious little twist to her heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe offered nothing further, nor did he move away. Leila felt her flush inch higher. To disguise it she concentrated on slipping her wrist through the loop of her fan, closing her fingers around the reassuring comfort of feathers and steel. With her head bowed, her eyes went to his hands, to the straight pale slash of his cuffs, distinct against his coat. His fingers laced together to form a loose cup; he appeared to be holding the starlight, letting it spill around them both.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Leila looked up again, his expression was harder, darker; it seemed to steal her very breath. Their eyes held.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a moment—a brief, dangerous moment—she let her imagination fly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOjalá—oh, how I wish . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“And you,” he asked. “Do you know Honorine?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe blinked, and spoke the lines she had rehearsed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We have a mutual friend. The duke and duchess were kind enough to include me in their festivities. I do not know many people in England.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“How fortunate,” said the man, cryptic. “And you traveled all the way from Spain to attend their delightful ball?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I am here on tour.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With your husband?” he asked blandly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I fear I will be missed,” Leila said. “Pray excuse me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe wondered if he would let her pass; she walked boldly forward and she thought he might actually let her bounce into him. But he stood back in time, bowing again, not quite so deep as before. The scent of him rose with the breeze, fresh and unexpected, not perfume but something different, something pure and strong and bright.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe ocean, she realized. He smelled of the ocean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Madam,” he called, as she reached the bottom step.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeila looked back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRonan MacMhuirich said, with great gravity, “I believe you have forgotten your shoes,” and held them up dangling by their heels.","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302491443429,"sku":"NP9780553584974","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553584974.jpg?v=1767740143","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-last-mermaid-isbn-9780553584974","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}