“Bertrice Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history and suspense.”— Publishers Weekly Valentina had been admired, married, widowed, yet had never known love . . .  Not even at the illustrious court of Queen Elizabeth, where her innocent, violet-eyed beauty fired the hearts of England's most gallant gentry, especially the roguish Earl of Kempe and the irrepressible Lord Padraic Burke. But her innocence shattered when a deathbed confession revealed that her true father might not have been Lord Bliss but the lustful Sultan Murad of Istanbul. Determined to find the truth, Valentina sets sail for the East, a voyage of unsurpassed danger . . . and sensual discovery. Lavish, sexy, magnificent—Bertrice Small's Lost Love Found is a fitting tribute to the unforgettable heroine who rivals her famous aunt, Skye O'Malley, in grace, grandeur, and sensual daring. breathtaking appearance at Queen Elizabeth's court, Valentina's innocence was shattered when she discovered that her true father may have been the lusty Sultan Murad of Istanbul. Needing to learn more, she set sail for the East in a dangerous erotic journey toward the truth.... "Bertrice Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history and suspense." PUBLISHERS WEEKLY Despite her breathtaking appearance at Queen Elizabeth's court, Valentina's innocence was shattered when she discovered that her true father may have been the lusty Sultan Murad of Istanbul. Needing to learn more, she set sail for the East in a dangerous erotic journey toward the truth.... "Bertrice Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history and suspense." PUBLISHERS WEEKLY Bertrice Small  was the  New York Times  bestselling author of more than fifty novels. Among her numerous awards, she was the recipient of the RWA Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. She lived on the North Fork of the eastern end of Long Island, New York, until her death in 2015. Chapter 1   “It is all your fault, Valentina!” Anne Elizabeth St. Michael said, sobbing, her dark green eyes, so very like her father’s, now wet and shining with tears. “It is all your fault,” she repeated, “that my wedding has been ruined! Oh, I shall never forgive you, Val! Was it not bad enough that Robert and I had to wait so long while you made up your mind which of your many suitors you would choose?” Her lustrous brown hair, as rich with coppery highlights as her sister’s was, swung back and forth as she paced the room. “Just because you chose to have your wedding be a hole-in-the-wall affair, must I also?”   It was astounding that Aidan St. Michael, Lady Bliss, who was frankly somewhat plain, had produced the seven incredibly handsome young people now gathered together in the little family hall at Pearroc Royal. Aidan’s husband, Conn, however, had once been called “The Handsomest Man at Court,” and as he had fathered these children, their beauty was placed squarely at his door.   “Anne, I am sorry,” Valentina said quietly. “I will accept the responsibility for taking too long to choose a husband, but, my dear, I simply cannot assume the blame for the accident that killed poor Ned! If you must assign blame, then our cousin Robin is responsible, for ’tis Robin who gave Ned the stallion that killed him.” The black-garbed Valentina was a study in calm as she sat with her graceful hands holding the embroidery hoop lying in her lap. “How can one affix blame in an accidental death, Anne?” she continued. “As for your wedding, I have interceded as best I can, asking Mama that she not allow my mourning to interfere with your wedding plans. You will be married on July twenty-sixth, I promise you.” Valentina reached out to pat her younger sister, but Anne shrugged her off. “My wedding is ruined!” she insisted. “Mama has sent messengers to all of the important guests telling them not to come because although the marriage will take place, it must be a discreet event because of your mourning!”   “I cannot bring Ned back from the grave so that you may have a festive wedding celebration, Anne,” Valentina said dryly. “I regret that I have inconvenienced you, but I cannot help but wonder which is more important to you—your marriage to Robert or the fuss surrounding the wedding, which makes you the supreme center of attention.”   “You are hateful!” Anne St. Michael hissed at her sister.   “I am merely being observant,” was the reply. “Besides, Anne, times are hard. England has not had a decent harvest in four years. The government is short of money. Why, the queen has been pawning her heirlooms and jewels in order to support herself! She is so desperate that she allowed Aunt Skye and Uncle Adam to buy Queen’s Malvern, and those are not the only crown lands Her Majesty has sold.”   “What has that to do with me?” demanded Anne.   “Dearest Anne, you must learn to think of other people besides yourself,” Valentina said gently. “This entire family, all of its many branches, has earned its liv