Quotes:
“Once you’ve read a Liar’s Club book, you crave the rest in the series!”
--Romantic Times Magazine

“Filled with suspense and romance!”
--The Best Reviews

Under the covers:
“Ethan Damont originally appeared in the first draft of my first novel, FALLEN. He was eventually cut in favor of Eric Calwell, another handsome secondary character. Still, I dearly loved Ethan and saved those few pages that contained him, tucking them away into my files for four years. I resurrected him to play a supporting role in THE CHARMER and this time he refused to go away. Instead, he came out swinging, demanding his own book and his own lady-love. What could I do? Ethan’s irresistible!”

Excerpt:
Evidently what Lady Jane Pennington's mother had often told her was true. One never knew when one would be glad one wore a fresh pair of knickers. Thank goodness she'd donned a brand new pair this evening. When one was hanging upside down from a tree, the condition of one's knickers and garters became of vital importance.

Jane stopped trying to fight back the skirts that hung over her face and arms and hung quietly by her knees from the tree branch, swinging only slightly in a pensive manner. The ground--too far down to simply let go and fall. The branch--impossible to grasp when her upper body was sheathed in her own inverted skirts. "'The new silhouette is very narrow, my lady'," Jane quoted the absent dressmaker viciously to herself. "’Elegance first, my lady'."

The worst of it was that it was all for nothing. The glimmer in the window was long gone now and she hadn't seen anything worthwhile. Taking a deep breath, she swung her body back and forth, reaching upward at the top of each arc to grasp for her limb with both hands. Her fingers slipped on the crumbling bark the first and second times. She swung upward once more.

The branch let out a threatening crack at her burst of activity. Jane froze. Her moment of inattention allowed the layers of muslin to cover her once more. The thick limb had seemed sturdy enough when she'd clambered up onto it. If her formal dancing slippers had not been so slick and useless that she'd been unable to keep her footing, she would have been fine.

She was still fine at the moment, but if she didn't find a solution to her problem soon, she was going to have to face a fate that currently ranked somewhat worse than death.

She was going to have to call for help.
***
Ethan Damont left Lord Maywell's lovely ballroom with his pockets full of Lord Maywell's lovely money. Since he'd been assured by reliable sources that Lord Maywell was a very bad sort of man, Ethan had even enjoyed the evening's card game. The refreshing thrill from a pastime that had mostly left him cold for the last year put an additional spring to his step as he crossed Maywell's expansive grounds.

Sauntering down the gravel walk leading to a rear wall that hopefully wouldn't be too high to manage, Ethan heard a sound that made him freeze in place. Somewhere, not a dozen yards away, a woman was cursing softly and creatively. A woman? Out in the dark alone? Ethan's lips twitched. Who said she was alone?

He began moving again. Far be it from him to interfere in someone else's mischief. Female companionship was something else that had lost its previous glow this past year--at least as far as the sort of women Ethan had once fancied. There had been a time he'd liked his entertainment enthusiastically shameless, the more so the better. Wine, women, and song. When money ran thick like honey through his fingers, he'd had no trouble finding playmates aplenty. And when times were lean, his charm had been enough for at least an occasional tumble.

Then one day the wine turned to vinegar, the women became loud and blowsy, and the song began an discordant resonance deep within him. It suddenly felt as though he could see far, far into his future--and all it held was more of the same. He'd kept up the pretense for a while, but then lost interest even in that. Ethan could honestly claim that his life was devoted to the redistribution of wealth--into his own pockets. He wondered without much interest if it was going to be a very long life. Then he heard it. Sniffle. "Oh, no," he groaned to himself. "Not that." His spine weakened. He tried to stiffen it by sheer will.

Sniffle.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, slumping in resignation. Turning around, he retraced his silent steps until he was opposite where he believed the woman to be. The hedge was old growth and sparse between the thick gnarled trunks. Ethan wriggled through with commendable lack of noise.

The grounds here were dark, but Ethan could see the black trunks of trees silhouetted against the better lit area nearer the house. Finally, Ethan was treated to such a sight that he simply had to pause. With a deep breath, he took a moment to appreciate it fully. Long, bestockinged, truly superior legs were wrapped firmly around a jutting tree branch. It was damned erotic, that's what it was.

He stepped closer. In the light from the house he could see the milky gleam of thigh skin peeking over the tops of the pair of rather battered stockings. The calves that were crooked over the limb looked plump and fully strong enough to hang on to him--er, the tree branch--all night long. There was nothing else to see but yards of muslin swathing the rest of her. No problem there. Ethan had ever been a leg man.

The branch the Ethan had just been envying gave out a loud, groaning crack! Ethan lunged forward, grasped the muslin bundle by what he judged to be a waist and tugged the whole lot, legs and all, into his arms. His damsel in distress let out a yelp of surprise and sent an elbow deep into his stomach.

"Oof!" That had hurt! Just for that, Ethan put her down far more slowly than he otherwise would have. After all, one truly didn't get this sort of view every day. With his arms wrapped around her, the act of turning her over caused a few "unavoidable" liberties to be taken.

"So sorry. Do forgive me," Ethan said without much urgency. He let the luscious legs down first and watched wistfully as the muslin shifted allegiance and tumbled down to hide them. He was left with a struggling, protesting bundle of fallen hair and slapping hands.

"Get--off! Oh! Oh!" The woman gave him a last hearty shove and Ethan released her.

"You're welcome," he drawled and dipped a low ironic bow, then turned to walk away. Heroism never paid. "I do hope the branch doesn't fall on your head," he called to her, his tone not terribly concerned.

Red-faced and gasping, Lady Jane Pennington, well-known Society heiress and recent rescuee, straightened and brushed her hair partially out of her eyes. The light of the house was behind her, shining on a broad back that was swiftly disappearing into the darkness.

Oh, thank heaven he was leaving! If one could catch fire from embarrassment and humiliation, she would certainly be a living torch right now. The fact that someone had seen--oh, she could die! Still, a lifetime of taking pride in her good manners forced the words from her throat. "Thank you, sir," she said. The words choked a bit, but fair was fair.

He turned to look at her, then slowly stalked back toward her. Jane abruptly doubled her embarrassment as the light fell onto his face. He was not only tall and strong, but manly and handsome, as well. He came close, then closer still. Jane backed a step in alarm. Her hair still hung over her eyes and her face was in shadow, but it wouldn't do to be recognized. The fellow came so near that she had to tilt her head back to look into his face. Her breath caught at the impact of his fine face and form. So near...

Only then did a shiver of alarm pass through her. She was alone, in the deserted garden at night with a man who had seen her drawers. Even the most gallant of rescuers might gain the wrong impression. His gaze was narrowed as he cast it down on her. "I'd rather an honest get-thee-gone than that grudging thanks, gazelle," he said, his voice low. Then he plucked a leaf from her hair and tucked it into his weskit pocket. "My token, fair maiden," he said mockingly.

Then he turned his back on her and strode away. Just as he stepped into the deeper darkness of the rear garden, the stranger sent her a flashing, wicked grin over his shoulder and pointed up to "her" tree.

"Nice limbs," he called. With an insouciant salute, he turned away again and was gone.