Download A Historical Christmas Present (Capital Theatre, Book 2.5) by Lisa Kleypas, Lynsay Sands, Leigh Greenwood PDF

By Lisa Kleypas, Lynsay Sands, Leigh Greenwood

This trio of ancient vacation romances, choked with heat, pleasure, and love, gains Lisa Keypas's "I Will," during which a Georgian bluestocking will get the current of an entire life while a rakish noble asks for her hand in marriage. Original.

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Extra info for A Historical Christmas Present (Capital Theatre, Book 2.5)

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A file. ” The slap of the file on the flat of his palm provides a point of emphasis on each word. Jackson’s self-preservation instinct kicks in. “Messiah,” he says quickly. ” Gregor smiles. ” The others start to whisper: Messiah, Messiah, Messiah. “Thank you, brothers. And I shall be your Messiah. Trust in me and I shall—” Hands grab at his arms and legs. Several Skineaters drag the preacher into a chair and hold him there. ” Someone clamps his skull in a vice-like embrace. Gregor balances the file between his thumb and index finger as if it were a precision surgical instrument.

Then footsteps plodding up the stairwell. “Someone just made tribute,” Charlie says. ” Charlie holds his hands out to Albert. The blood-soaked rags are unfurling in wet strings. ” Albert peels the covering from Charlie’s hands. ” Most of Charlie’s fingers are missing. The crudely hacked-at stumps weep thick yellow pus. The tips are the mottled gangrene-green of a rotting potato. “Edward takes our body as currency. We give him pieces of ourselves, he repays us with pieces of bread and meat. ” “It’s like the warlords used to do in feudal Japan.

First he killed half the inmates. ” A sound of grinding gears from the roof, followed by savage hoots from the upper tier. “That sound,” Charlie cocks his head. ” Charlie just grunts. “Anyway, Lazarus, one day he’s gone. Told Edward he was going down to the basement to tunnel out. ” Charlie shudders. “That’s where he is. Down in the basement. ” “Nope. ” He pauses. “But I hear him sometimes. At night. This sound, this scritch-scritch-scritch, like nails on a chalkboard. ” Charlie leans in. He whispers, as if to speak overloud would rouse a sleeping beast.

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