Whitney, My Love by Judith McNaught - a novel so rich with laughter, tears, and the power of dreams that millions of readers have returned to it again and again. Whitney, My Love. Home · Whitney, My Love Author: McNaught Judith by pressing the button below! Report copyright / DMCA form · DOWNLOAD EPUB. Whitney, My Love by Judith McNaught; 14 editions; First published in ; Subjects: England, Fiction, Large type books, Man-woman.
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Whitney, my love Whitney Stone, a hot-blooded hoyden, is outraged when her bankrupt Borrow this book to access EPUB and PDF files. Read Whitney, My Love read free novels online from your Mobile, Pc. Whitney, My Love is a Romance novel by Judith McNaught. Judith McNaught Whitney My Love epub Whitney, My Love" stands as Judith McNaught's timeless bestseller a novel so rich with laughter, tears, and the power .
Clayton Westland. Whitney is disinterested, focusing her attention on Paul. She and Paul have a flirtation, which Whitney believes leads to a serious courtship, despite her father's efforts to push her towards Mr. Martin also reveals that Mr. Westland is the Duke of Claymore and slaps Whitney, much to Clayton's displeasure. Whitney begs Clayton to keep the engagement a secret and he acquiesces on the condition that she break off the engagement with Paul.
Convinced they can run away and pay back the dowry money her father spent, Whitney reveals the situation to Paul. Instead, Paul is angry as he had already started spending her dowry money.
Resigned, Whitney accepts her status. Clayton and Whitney begin a tentative courtship, filled with passion. The beginning of the relationship is tumultuous, with the apex being a controversial rape scene. Whitney and Clayton become estranged due to miscommunication. Whitney's cousin Emily, aware of the entire story, contrives to bring Whitney and Clayton back together at Elizabeth's wedding.
Last edited by Kitten April 4, History. By Judith McNaught. Go to the editions section to read or download ebooks. Whitney, My Love Close.
Want to Read. Are you sure you want to remove Whitney, My Love from your list? Places England. Times 19th century.
Whitney, my love , Pocket Books. Whitney, My Love: Westmoreland Saga 2 June 1, , Pocket. Readers waiting for this title: Whitney, My Love August 1, , Atria. Whitney, my love , Wheeler Pub.
Whitney, My Love January 1, , Pocket. Whitney, My Love January 2, , Pocket. Whitney, my love , Severn House. About The Book One of today's best-loved authors, Judith McNaught launched her stellar career with this dazzling bestseller. Now in a special edition that features a brand-new, enhanced ending and endows familiar characters with new depth, Whitney, My Love lives on as "the ultimate love story, one you can dream about forever" Romantic Times.
Under the dark, languorous eyes of Clayton Westmoreland, the Duke of Claymore, Whitney Stone grew from a saucy hoyden into a ravishingly sensual woman. Fresh from her triumphs in Paris society, she returned to England to win the heart of Paul, her childhood love Outraged, she defies her new lord.
But even as his smoldering passion seduces her into a gathering storm of desire, Whitney cannot -- will not -- relinquish her dream of perfect love. Rich with emotion, brimming with laughter and tears, Whitney, My Love confirms once more why "Judith McNaught is truly one of the spellbinding storytellers of our times" Affaire de Coeur.
Excerpt Chapter One As their elegant travelling chaise rocked and swayed along the rutted country road, Lady Anne Gilbert leaned her cheek against her husband's shoulder and heaved a long, impatient sigh. I keep wondering what Whitney will be like now that she's grown up. She lapsed into silence and gazed absently out the coach window at the lush, rolling English countryside covered with wild pink Foxglove and yellow Buttercups, trying to envision the niece she hadn't seen in almost eleven years.
And she'll have her mother's smile, her gentleness, her sweet disposition But in his personal life, he preferred the refreshing alternative of blunt truth. He perched his spectacles upon his nose, and ignoring his wife's grimace, he began to read: "'Whitney's manners are an outrage, her conduct is reprehensible.
She is a willful hoyden who is the despair of everyone she knows and an embarrassment to me. I implore you to take her back to Paris with you, in the hope that you may have more success with the stubborn chit than I have had.
Only think of the way he shouted at her and sent her to her room right after my sister's funeral. But Martin was grieving.
Besides, as I recall, it was not for that offense she was banished to her room. It was later, when everyone had gathered in the drawing room -- when she stamped her foot and threatened to report us all to God if we didn't release her mama at once. I thought for a moment her little freckles were going to pop right off her nose.
Admit it -- she was marvelous, and you thought so too! A petite blonde smoothed her pink ruffled skirts and sighed in a way that displayed a very fetching dimple.
Glancing down into Elizabeth Ashton's wide blue eyes, Paul Sevarin smiled a smile that Whitney would have forfeited both her feet to see focused on herself "Try to be patient, Elizabeth," he said.
Whitney had been making a spectacle of herself chasing after him, and damned near everyone for fifteen miles was talking about it.
At first he had been mildly amused to find himself the object of a fifteen-year-old's languishing looks and adoring smiles, but lately Whitney had begun pursuing him with the determination and tactical brilliance of a female Napoleon Bonaparte.
If he rode off the grounds of his estate, he could almost depend on meeting her en route to his destination. It was as if she had some lookout point from which she watched his every move, and Paul no longer found her childish infatuation with him either harmless or amusing.
Three weeks ago, she had followed him to a local inn. While he was pleasantly contemplating accepting the innkeeper's daughter's whispered invitation to meet her later in the hayloft, he'd glanced up and seen a familiar pair of bright green eyes peeping at him through the window.
Slamming his tankard of ale on the table, he'd marched outside, grabbed Whitney by the elbow, and unceremoniously deposited her on her horse, tersely reminding her that her father would be searching for her if she wasn't home by nightfall.
He'd stalked back inside and ordered another tankard, but when the innkeeper's daughter brushed her breasts suggestively against his arm while refilling his ale and Paul had a sudden vision of himself lying entangled with her voluptuous naked body, a pair of green eyes peered in through yet another window. He'd tossed enough coins on the planked wooden table to mollify the startled girl's wounded sensibilities and left -- only to encounter Miss Stone again on his way home.
He was beginning to feel like a hunted man whose every move was under surveillance, and his temper was strained to the breaking point. And yet, Paul thought irritably, here he was standing in the April sun, trying for some obscure reason to protect Whitney from the criticism she richly deserved. A pretty girl, several years younger than the others in the group, glanced at Paul.
She hurried across the lawn and along the whitewashed fence adjoining the stable. Shoving open the big double doors, Emily looked down the wide gloomy corridor lined with stalls on both sides. With a puzzled glance at the flushing stableboy, Emily tapped lightly on the designated door and stepped inside, then froze at the sight that greeted her: Whitney Allison Stone's long legs were encased in coarse brown britches that clung startlingly to her slender hips and were held in place at her narrow waist with a length of rope.
Above the riding britches she wore a thin chemise. Whitney fired an amused glance over her shoulder at her scandalized friend. I'm going to wear a shirt, too. But I can't very well ride that horse without a saddle and risk having my skirts blow up around my neck, now can I? You can't mean you're going to ride astride -- your father will disown you if you do that again. Although," Whitney giggled, "I can't understand why men are allowed to straddle a horse, while we -- who are supposed to be the weaker sex -- must hang off the side, praying for our lives.
I saw it done at the fair, and I've been practicing every since. He'll think that you haven't a grain of sense or propriety, and that you're only trying something else to gain his attention. What will he say if he finds out?
She drew a long breath, then expelled it slowly as she glanced out the small window at the group waiting on the lawn. Wearily, she said, "Father will say that, as usual, I have disappointed him, that I am a disgrace to him and to my mother's memory, that he is happy she didn't live to see what I have become.
Then he will spend half an hour telling me what a perfect lady Elizabeth Ashton is, and that I ought to be like her. I wear those disgusting ruffled dresses that make me feel like a pastel mountain, I've practiced going for hours without saying a word, and I've fluttered my eyelashes until my eyelids go limp. His handsome face was taut with disapproval as his gaze moved from her bare feet, up her trousered legs, to her face.
Inwardly, Whitney faltered at his obvious displeasure, but she swung resolutely onto the back of the waiting horse. The gelding moved into its practiced canter, and Whitney worked herself upward, first crouching with arms outstretched for balance, then slowly easing herself into a standing position. Around and around they went and, although Whitney was in constant terror of falling off and looking like a fool, she managed to appear competent and grateful. As she completed the fourth circle, she let her eyes slant to the faces passing on her left, registering their looks of shock and derision, while she searched for the only face that mattered.
Paul was partially in the tree's shadow, and Elizabeth Ashton was clinging to his arm, but as Whitney passed, she saw the slow, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and triumph unfurled like a banner in her heart.
By the time she came around again, Paul was grinning broadly at her. Whitney's spirits soared, and suddenly all the weeks of practice, the sore muscles and bruises, seemed worthwhile. At the window of the second floor drawing room overlooking the south lawn, Martin Stone stared down at his performing daughter.
Behind him, the butler announced that Lord and Lady Gilbert had arrived, Too enraged at his daughter to speak, Martin greeted his sisterin-law and her husband with a clenched jaw and curt nod. When he remained icily silent, she said, "Where is Whitney? We're so anxious to see her. Below on the lawn there stood a group of young people watching a slender boy balancing beautifully on a cantering horse. Her simple remark seemed to drive Martin Stone from frozen rage to frenzied action as he swung on his heel and marched toward the door.
Or, I can spare you the humiliation, and bring her here to you. As they approached the group of young people, Anne heard murmurings and laughter, and she was vaguely aware that there was something malicious in the tone, but she was too busy scanning the young ladies' faces, looking for Whitney, to pay much heed to the fleeting impression.
She mentally discarded two blondes and a redhead, quizzically studied a petite, blue-eyed brunette, then glanced helplessly at the young man beside her. Could you tell me where she is? From her delicate perch atop the horse, Whitney's eyes followed her father's progress as he bore down on her with long, rapid strides.
Snatching the halter, he brought the cantering horse around so sharply that he jerked it from beneath her. Whitney hit the ground on her feet, lost her balance, and ended up half-sprawling.