All I Desire - Softcover

Dubbed the "Queen of Historical Romance," Rosemary Rogers was born in Ceylon (now known as Sri Lanka). She is the beloved author of fifteen bestselling romances for Avon Books, including such classics as Wicked Loving Lies, Surrender to Love, and Midnight Lady, and her novels have been translated into eleven languages. Rosemary Rogers left an indelible impression on the world with her passionate Steve and Ginny series -- Sweet Savage Love, Dark Fires, and Lost Love, Last Love -- and continues to touch the hearts of readers every year. She lives in Connecticut.

Even though it was early April, Angela Lindsay shivered in a cold wind that blew icy air into her bedroom and banged the loose shutter in a loud clatter over her window. Fierce gusts blew her hair into a coppery tangle over her face as she leaned out to grab the shutter, and she muttered a curse she had heard her cousin Simone use. "Merde!" What a-wretched night, not fit for man nor beast.

Stretching farther, at last she succeeded in wrenching the shutter away from greedy fingers of wind to fasten the latch firmly. Then she pushed the hair from her eyes and into a Clumsy twist on the nape of her neck, and moved back to stand before the welcoming fire. What cold winds. Every winter into spring they swept down from the Vosges Mountains near the border between France and Germany, cutting to the bone and making her long for the warmth of summer.

She stared into the flames, her violet eyes narrowed against the bright glare. The wind rattled the shutters in a relentless rat-a-tat-tat. Curling he her arms around her slender body, she stood shivering on the small hearth rug. A glimpse of her blurred reflection in the polished brass firedogs showed a distorted image that seemed all red-gold hair atop bare feet. He toes curled into the warm wool of the rug, and her fine cambric nightdress shifted around her body as she held out her hands to beat them at the fire.

Oh, it is so cold here, she thought. I would much rather be in the soft sunshine in the south of France where the sea winds blow off the ragged rocks and over my face ... they will smell of salty water and adventure, of places I have not seen and may never see. Oh, there is so much I want to see and do in life, yet I have always been so isolated from the world....

It was true. The school she had attended was remote and secluded, set in France's Lorraine countryside that was so beautiful but so desolate at times. And the good sisters of the convent were very strict with their pupils; daughters of good families were exposed to the refinements of religion and classical studies. Angela spoke three languages and even a smattering of Greek; had studied philosophy, geography, and world history; and yet she still felt naive and untutored.

After leaving school, she had discovered just how naive she was when, she was allowed a holiday in Paris with her Tante Marie and cousins. In the city there were so many different places to go! And one afternoon when Tante Marie napped, Angela made the startling discovery of another side of fife she had never dreamed existed. It was Cousin Simone who suggested the reckless exploration, and Angela and her cousins had slipped from the house for a daring venture into the haunts of Paris. Simone was older by two years, and quite intrepid; it had been her idea for them to go into a cabaret escorted only by her younger brother, Paul. Of course, they had not remained long, but long enough for Angela to, be intrigued by what she saw inside.

It was a revelation.

There was an entirely different way of living than what she had known, and since that day she felt as if she had only scratched the surface with her few travels beyond the quiet village of Saint-Die.

Why had Maman chosen to come here to live? But she knew the answer to that, of course. It was revealed in the recent letter she had received. It was still wrapped in a square of linen and kept close, for she cherished the letter greatly. But since it had come, her life had altered in finite ways that she did not quite understand.

It was a complete mystery to her why her mother refused to speak of her father, why she had never talked of the land across the ocean where she. had lived so briefly and where Angela had been born. During the years, Angela's questions had remained unanswered, and always she had felt a vague sense of displacement, as if she should be somewhere else. But perhaps the answers were in the letter after all, for John Lindsay had seemed to pour his heart into the inked words. Oh, the reasons were not stated plainly, of course, but they were there nonetheless, between the lines of bold flowing script that her father had written to her.

When first she had read his last letter, she had been filled with excitement and had run to her mother with it to beg to be allowed to visit him in America. Mignon Levasieur Lindsay's reply had been a curt and unqualified refusal.

"It is far too unsafe there, Angelique. Everywhere, there are dangerous men-heathens and criminals who are no better than wild animals-and I was afraid the entire time I stayed in that horrible land. No. You will not go, for you are far too young."

"I am almost the age you were when you visited New Orleans and met my father," Angela had pointed out, but it made no difference to her mother, as she had known it would not.

But it was true. And her father wanted to see her now, for he had not seen her since she was a baby. Did he not promise to keep her safe? To see that she, had everything she needed? He would have sent for her much sooner, he wrote, but until recently there had been a civil war fought in America and it was too dangerous for her to come. Now the war had ended and it was safe again, and the country was growing more prosperous than ever. He lived on a beautiful estate in the foothills where it was very warm, with miles and miles of open land ringed by mountains. Oh, it sounded so beautiful, so wonderful, and she wanted badly to go.