Passion’s Duty: Romance and the American Ranger, Book One

“[A] slow burn romance that delivers just as much heat as it does complex relationship dynamics.” BookLife 

“Readers who enjoy Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander may recognize a similar blend of romance, danger, cultural conflict, and carefully researched eighteenth-century life.” Literary Titan

Inescapable duty. Undeniable passion.

New York Colony, 1755

Irishman James Carroll is hellbent on independence. In the wilderness of the Mohawk Valley, armed service to a powerful benefactor offers a rare opportunity for a once-indentured servant. But as hostility brews between the British and the French, a beautiful trespasser threatens to shatter James’s singular focus on his one path upward.

Faith Richmond was supposed to have been a son. A disappointment to her military father, despite her quick intellect and obvious talents, she chafes at being bartered to a wealthy officer to prop up her family’s fortunes. Stranded with a surly Irishman, she revels in the gaze of this man who seems to actually want her for who she is.

War is coming. But the spark between them ignites into something neither can resist. And once they stop fighting it, there will be no protection from patron or family—even as it puts them directly in the path of French raiders bent on revenge.

Book One of the Romance and the American Ranger series, Passion’s Duty is a steamy, open-door historical romance of forbidden love and forced proximity, with a strong heroine and a hero who is worth the wait. Set at the outbreak of the French and Indian War.

Available in ebook and paperback.

Scroll down to read a sample chapter!

**Passion’s Duty is a finalist for the Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award!**

Passion’s Duty was just named a finalist for the Holt Medalion for Historical Romance!

Passions Duty is Literary Titan Winner!

Passion’s Duty is an American Fiction Awards finalist for Historical Romance and a Global Book Awards Silver Medalist!

Passion’s Duty is an Outstanding Creator Award Winner! And Faith even won herself her own special award!

Passion’s Duty is the New York Book Festival’s Romance winner!

Passion’s Duty was named a Pencraft Best Book Winner in Romance!

You can ask your local librarian or bookseller to order it for you!

Passion’s Duty: Romance and the American Ranger, Book One
eBook ISBN 978-1-960402-02-8
Print ISBN 978-1-960402-03-5
eBook ASIN B0F3W51LPM
Print ASIN 196040203X

Read a Sample

Son of a Bishop’s wet-nurse.

James glanced at David, whose eyes were narrowed as he aimed his musket at the chest of the brainless British officer. Clearly your standard purchased commission, not one of the rare few who rose to his rank through merit, walking straight into them like that.

And clearly not French. They had spotted a flash of light-colored fabric through the trees and hoped. But the man’s full British dress uniform gave away his nationality, as did the foolishness of bringing a woman in a gown the same color white of a French army uniform into the untracked woods with him. What in the hell were they doing here?

The officer swung his musket from one of them to the other.

James slowly lowered his own weapon. He had better placate the man. “We apologize if we startled you. We have been patrolling, searching for French raiding parties.”

The elegant young woman, recovering herself faster than the officer, flashed a brilliant smile at them. She was stunning, with chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. And totally out of place in this setting.

Then the officer’s shoulders squared, his musket lowered, and his chin rose. “I thought you were Mohican. Not Irish.” The man jutted his chin toward David. “Is this one Irish, too, or Mohican?”

James’s jaw tightened. Apparently, he still sounded Irish to an Englishman. And the fool thought David was Irish, too?

“Kanienkehaka,” David corrected him, not lowering his musket. And not in a mood, apparently, to simply say “Mohawk,” the word they would have recognized. Really, who could blame him?

James gestured to him to lower the musket, and David hesitated just a moment longer before he complied.

The woman’s eyes darted from himself to David and back again. She glanced at their loincloths and the gap between those and their leggings that ended above the knee, and her fair skin fired red.

James’s skin fired hot in response. And not from embarrassment. He could feel her eyes on his skin as if she had touched him.

David scratched his leg under the edge of his loincloth, exposing more male thigh flesh than the woman had likely ever seen. James swiveled his musket slightly so the butt end knocked against David’s shin.

“What brings you to the Mohawk Valley, sir?” James said. A lone British officer roaming the area, even without dragging a woman with him, made no sense.

“Are you here with Braddock?” David asked.

The officer straightened, and his nostrils flared. The arrogant ass was probably just out sightseeing before the war began in earnest.

The woman still smiled, and a few coppery wisps of her hair escaped its pins, making her look more alive than the typical sitting-room ornament.

“Can we help you find your way somewhere? The woods are perhaps not the most fitting place for your…daughter?” James asked.

The officer narrowed his eyes, clearly no happier to be addressed by an Irishman than by a Mohawk.

Before the man could speak, the woman jumped in. “Thank you very much, sir. We are traveling by carriage to Fort Hunter, but we got out to admire the woods and the wildlife, and I am afraid we wandered rather farther than we had intended. I believe that is the way back to the road?” She raised her delicate hand and pointed unerringly in the right direction.

The officer’s musket was presumably the weapon they had heard. Admiring the wildlife, indeed.

“You’ve strayed a ways,” James said.

“Scout,” said the officer, “take us to the road in haste, if you would. I wish to get my daughter out of danger.”

James almost laughed at being called a scout, but David did not. Before David could voice his obnoxiously articulate thoughts on this, James headed him off. “Sir, we are not attached to the army.” An officer would run in Johnson’s circles, and he and David represented Johnson’s household, so he’d best leave a good impression. Johnson was his ladder up, and by God, he would rise.

He forced himself to give the officer the small bow he no doubt expected. “James Carroll at your service, and this is David White.”

David snorted.

“We are very pleased to meet you both.” She was beaming at them. That was the only word for it. “This is my father, Colonel Ebenezer Richmond, and I am Faith Richmond.”

James’s muscles released a little of their tension. For all that she was an Englishwoman of obvious breeding, she behaved decently enough. Most highborn ladies didn’t around him or David. He gave her a nod.

“How did your friend here come by a Christian name?” the colonel asked.

Faith’s full lips pursed as she no doubt tried to find words to take the edge off her father’s rude ones.

“In the customary manner,” David said, before James could answer for him. “My parents gave it to me when I was baptized. I would tell you all about it, but since I was but a few days old at the time, I cannot remember over much of the day.” He gave a smile that made James tense his shoulders. David got formal when he was in a mood. “You may call me by my Mohawk name if you have a taste for the exotic. Tawit.”

Oblivious to the edge of mockery in David’s tone, or just desperate to keep her father from speaking, Miss Richmond dove into the trap. “May I ask, what does Tawit mean?”

David leaned in like he was sharing a great secret. “It is Mohawk for…David.”

The colonel turned a dark shade of red, but his daughter laughed heartily. “I deserved that, Mr. White. Please forgive my rudeness.”

David’s laugh lightened, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “So you see, they came by my name no differently than you, presumably, came by the name Faith for your daughter.”

Miss Richmond stiffened visibly, and her face braced as if against pain. An odd reaction, even if David was being an ass. Then she caught James watching and pasted on a smile. “And how did you find your way to this valley from Ireland, Mr. Carroll?” she asked.

He looked away. “The same as most Irishmen.”

Enough with airing personal histories. She wouldn’t find his as amusing as David’s.

He stepped out ahead of the party and gestured for them to follow. David fell behind to watch their rear. James could feel the lady’s eyes on his back.

The Richmonds had not been careful and could have drawn the attention of any French skulking in the area. An officer would be a prime target, and what a bunch of rough French rangers from the Canadian woods would do with a beautiful English lady made his gut churn.

Something rustled to the left, and he swung his musket off his shoulder and stepped in front of Miss Richmond. Then black and white fur flashed in the undergrowth.

He jumped backward and dragged her with him, his arm wrapped around her waist. She looked at him with wide eyes. He stared for a moment at her red lips, slightly open.

Her breath wisped across his face.

David cocked his musket somewhere to their left. Then he gasped and flew backward, dragging the Colonel with him, unbalancing him, so the colonel stumbled into James.

James yanked his hand from Miss Richmond like it had been scalded.

“Is that a badger?” asked the colonel, blustering, but poised to run like a jackrabbit.

“No,” said David.

“Is it dangerous?” asked Miss Richmond.

It took James a moment to regain his equilibrium. “Not exactly.”

Then he turned and continued leading them back toward the road, his brain too addled to explain the defenses of a skunk. Yet another animal he had been blissfully unaware of before arriving in North America.

Time to return these two to the world they actually belonged in. They had already been enough of a distraction.

A half mile later, he gestured ahead of them. “The road is just here.”

They rounded a large clump of scrubby undergrowth, thick from the sunlight the road clearing provided, and stepped out onto the rutted dirt. Not a furlong back down the road stood an open carriage with a pair of chestnuts standing in the traces, their check reins undone and their ears being fondled by the coachman.

“Driver!” the colonel bellowed.

The man jumped and spun. Seeing their party, he buckled the horse’s check reins, swung himself up on the box, and urged the horses to a brisk walk.

James let his eyes stray to Faith Richmond, who looked away and blushed. She was pretty, but he had no time for a woman, even if his loins were questioning that after holding her close, however briefly. Her blush was giving his cock ideas it had no business having.

“Mr. Carroll,” she said. No Englishman called him “mister,” and this woman was the last person he would expect to use that title for him. Yet here she was doing it twice in one evening. Perhaps she just didn’t know what else to call him. “We have purchased land along the Schoharie, and I am curious as to your opinion of the best use for land in this region.”

Shit. He and David exchanged a look.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We have purchased it from a reputable broker. We would not have land that was not legally titled.”

James stared at her. The only reputable brokers of Mohawk land were Mohawk, and somehow these two didn’t seem the type to consider that.

“That is none of their concern, my dear.” The colonel squared his shoulders and stepped closer to his daughter.

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were no threat to her. Did the colonel really think they were suddenly going to abduct her after leading them out of the woods to their driver? What a blighted fool. They would leave David’s uncle, Hendrick, to deal with the land issue.

James shook his head slightly and turned to watch the driver approach. They were an odd pair, father and daughter. He was a colonel and used to command, but she was clearly the diplomat. He glanced back at her. She had cocked her head, apparently studying him, and she blushed pink again at being caught doing it. The skin on his own neck burned in the unseasonable spring heat. She didn’t belong out here.

The carriage arrived, and the driver reined the horses to a halt.

“We thank you for your service to us,” she said, her blue eyes glinting in the setting sunlight.

The driver set the brake, climbed down from the box, and lit the lanterns at the front of the carriage. It would be dark soon enough.

James reached for Miss Richmond to help her up into the carriage. A feminine scent reached his nostrils. Roses? She smiled down at him, and he couldn’t help smiling back. Her hand was soft as velvet against his own, and he wanted to run his fingers over it, savoring the sensation. But his own work-calloused hand must feel like grit to her.

He let go as soon as her second foot touched the carriage floor.

The colonel brushed past him and climbed in next to her, blocking James’s view, and James took the hint. No staring at the colonel’s daughter.

He wasn’t about to lose his focus over a highborn English lady who thought he and David were exotic amusements. He couldn’t afford to, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

As soon as the driver was back on the box, he picked up the reins and clucked to his horses. Rested from their wait, the horses pulled away at an orderly trot.

The carriage receded around the next bend.

“That family is claiming to have bought land on the Schoharie, but my people have not sold your people any land there recently,” David said.

“Don’t call them my people.”

David raised an eyebrow at him.

He punched David on the arm. “You practically waved your giblets at her in the woods.”

“I was merely scratching a mosquito bite, as anyone would.” David pursed his lips. “A little bare skin and everyone gets in a dither. The British are odd.”

That they were. And arrogant.

He wasn’t British, but he was damned well going to make them accept him. He had sacrificed too much to allow any other result.

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