From New York Times bestselling author Jane Feather comes the first of a wonderful new trilogy, The Blackwater Brides, set in the sensually im- proper Georgian period, in which three noble brothers discover they will be forced to find brides under highly unusual circumstances. Jasper Sullivan, Earl of Blackwater, needs a prostitute. Not in the usual way, however. His wealthy uncle’s will promises to divide his huge fortune among his nephews if each rescues a fallen woman . . . by marrying her! And since Jasper’s estates were already mortgaged to the hilt before he inherited them, when he catches a pretty young prostitute trying to pick his pocket, he immediately makes his proposal. Clarissa Astley is not at all what Jasper believes. The orphaned daughter of a prosperous merchant, she is searching the seedier districts of London for her young brother, abducted by their evil guardian, who wants the little boy’s inheritance. But she needs powerful help, and the darkly handsome Earl of Blackwater is certainly that. So she pretends to be exactly what he assumed— a risky charade for an innocent virgin. But when passion flares between Jasper and Clarissa, the deception becomes even more difficult to handle. . . . Suave and debonair Jasper Sullivan, Earl of Blackwater, has the title, the looks, and the land, but he lacks money. His dying reprobate uncle will leave an enormous amount to Jasper and his brothers if each will marry and reform a prostitute. Jasper has no idea how to fulfill this order until he literally runs into Clarissa. He assumes that she is a prostitute because why else would a woman be roaming alone in Convent Gardens in 1761? But, in fact, orphaned Clarissa is searching for her young brother, worried that her uncle guardian is up to no good. She agrees to the earl’s proposition, willing to sacrifice her virtue to save her brother without telling Jasper about her true circumstances. Jasper comes to realize that his preconceived notions about Clarissa are wrong, but he still wants her. Feather launches a new trilogy with a sensuous and wild romp through bawdy London that will leave readers wanting more. --Patty Engelmann Jane Feather is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty sensual historical romances, including the Blackwater Bride series. She was born in Cairo, Egypt, and grew up in the south of England. She currently lives in Washington, DC, with her family. There are more than 10 million copies of her books in print. Rushed to the Altar Chapter One The Earl of Blackwater moved through the crowd of drunken revelers outside the Cock tavern in Covent Garden and strolled in leisurely fashion along the colonnaded Piazza. His black garments would have been somber except for the rich luster of the velvet and the soft cream of the lace at his throat and wrists. He wore no jewelry, only the blood-red ruby embedded in his signet ring. His black hair was confined at the neck with a simple silver clasp and he carried a black tricorne hat, its brim edged with gold braid. He paused to take a leisurely pinch of snuff as he gazed idly around the thronged scene. It was midafternoon of a glorious green and gold day in early October and folk were out in force, men and women of every class and occupation. Dandies lounged with painted whores on their arms. Covent Garden was a market where the main commodity was flesh, whether offered by fashionably dressed ladies accompanied by their footmen, or their less fortunate sisters standing in the doorways of the coffeehouses and the wooden shacks that crowded the outskirts of the central court, lifting ragged petticoats to display the invitation of a plump thigh. Jasper set his hat on his head as he walked, one hand as always on the hilt of his sword, both mind and body alert. The nimble fingers of a pickpocket were all too frequently encountered in Covent Garden and anywhere else in the city where crowds gathered. He had just been visiting Viscount Bradley and felt the need to breathe some fresh cool air after the viscount’s overheated bedchamber. He had found his uncle as irascible as ever, but out of bed and seated by a blazing fire, imbibing, liberally and against his physician’s orders, the rich ruby contents of a decanter of port. Father Cosgrove, quill in hand, sat at the secretaire in the window embrasure, and the rather pathetic relief he had evinced at the earl’s unannounced arrival earned Jasper’s sympathy once more. A slight smile touched his lips as Jasper recalled his uncle’s response to the offer his nephew had made to have his body transported to the family mausoleum at Blackwater Manor on his death—a response that had caused poor Father Cosgrove to seek the instant comfort of his rosary, his lips moving in silent prayer. I don’t want to rot in the company of those sanctimonious, holier-than-thou ancestors, nephew. I’ve lived my life and paid for my sins, and I’ll lie with other good, honest sinners in a good, hon