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Saturday, March 17, 2018
DAUGHTER OF THE KING ~ Ashley York ~ Excerpt/Giveaway
A mistaken identity. A gruesome murder. The uniting of two powerful clans.
DAUGHTER OF THE KING
Award Winning Author Ashley York
Series: The Derbfine Series Book 3
Genre: Historical Romance
Publication Date: March 17, 2018
A mistaken identity. A gruesome murder. Was it self-defense? Or Regicide?
Trained as a warrior, Brighit of Clan Cruadhlaoch despises the trappings and demands of womanhood…
Selfish dreams need to be set aside for the good of the clan, but a shocking murder only causes more turmoil. Especially as she stands accused. With no one else to turn to, can Brighit find escape in the arms of her new husband or will he require she reveal her inner most secrets?
Darragh of Clan MacNaughton is expected to follow his father into kingship but has little desire for the coveted title…
His willful wife is another matter. He has great desire for her. Despite her denial, he sees her womanly virtues and it sets him afire to know her, both body and soul. Will she resist his overwhelming need to possess all of her?
PURCHASE LINKS
Excerpt
“That’s the problem with prevarication.”
“Prevarication? When did I ever lie to ye?”
“When ye fluttered yer lashes and begged me not to tell yer father.”
“It works for the other lasses, why not me? They get whatever they want. All the lads begging at their feet, telling them how beautiful they are—” She averted her gaze. “—and they’re not so very beautiful.”
Darragh managed to subdue his grin.
When she finally turned back, her expression had softened. “I do not normally prevaricate.”
He crossed his arms about his chest. “If ye say so.”
“I do say so. Ugh!” She blew an irritated breath. “I canna convince ye when ye won’t believe what I say.”
Brighit’s nose flared in irritation just before she shook her head in a most defeated way. The idea came to him in a flash, and Darragh smiled at his own thought before sharing it.
“A kiss. A kiss will convince me.” He half expected her to slap his face for even suggesting such a thing.
Only she didn’t. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at his lips before wetting her own. She was excited by the idea. Could it be she’d never been kissed before? He’d bet his favorite horse she had not, not with Sean as her father.
“Ye are willing then?” Her look told him she was not only willing but eager. With the slightest movement, he slipped his hands beneath the mantle to graze his open palms up her arms until they rested on her shoulders. Her lips glistened and the vein in her neck throbbed. With a low voice, he asked, “Would ye seal our agreement with a kiss?”
The sharpest tip of her head, barely a nod at all, but Darragh would not quibble. He slid a hand from beneath the heavy material to tunnel it under her thick, silky hair and cup her neck, the skin there still cool from her swim.
She leaned in, meeting him halfway. His mouth slanted across hers, a gentle caress, before he slipped his tongue between her parted lips. She gave as good as she got, deepening the kiss to where he was no longer certain who was doing the kissing. He was glad he hadn’t wagered his horse on her inexperience, though mayhap she was simply an extremely fast learner.
Without warning, she released him and backed out of his hold, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. Her heaving chest matched his own.
He reached for her. “Brighit, I—”
She raised a hand, shaking her head, and put more distance between them. It was a long time before she spoke again. “We will wait the fortnight.”
About Ashley York
Award-winning author Ashley York writes historical romance full of passion and intrigue set in 11th and 12th century Ireland, Scotland, and England where life was wild and survival was never guaranteed.
Whether it's in the mysterious ring forts of Éire, the Scottish Highlands, or the battle fields of Hastings her characters fight hard and play hard. Good or evil, primary or secondary, they all evoke strong emotional responses.
Passionate about history and research, York may tweak some historical facts (like the location of the Baron's Rebellion), but the flavor of the time is undeniable. With heroes and heroines you'll want to read about again and again, her stories are fresh and unpredictable but still finish with a satisfying HEA.
Official website: https://www.ashleyyorkauthor.com
Official blog: http://www.ashleyyorkauthor.com/blog
Join Ashley York's Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/p0z9z5
Giveaway
WIN $10 GIFT CARD AND MORE
Prizes up for grabs:
1. $10 Amazon Gift Card
2. One set of The Derbfine Series (3 eBooks)
Contest runs from March 17 - 23, 2018.
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Tuesday, December 5, 2017
A SCOTTISH LORD FOR CHRSTMAS ~ Lauren Smith ~ Giveaway
Genre: Historical Romance
Release Date: December 5, 2017
Quinn MacCauley, Lord Forres, is in need of a wife. When he meets the lovely Lady Rowena, he knows she'll be a good mother to his daughter and a capable household manager. But Quinn doesn't count on Rowena being the most tempting woman he's ever met. He's determined not to risk his heart, but Rowena's just as determined to give him the greatest holiday gift of all—a chance at true love.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2yJKFMC
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2itZtJH
iBooks: http://apple.co/2zL0rFC
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2ivo6FV
$20 Amazon Gift Card
An Earl by Any Other Name (Sins and Sandals – Book 1)
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2sJpV2e
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2sGpYji
iBooks: http://apple.co/2uK2KW0
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2sM8gpS
A Gentleman Never Surrenders (Sins and Scandals – Book 2)
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2x7DriE
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2vY6SUi
iBooks: http://apple.co/2v0jtcc
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Connect with Lauren
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Monday, December 4, 2017
CHRISTMAS AT THORNCLIFF MANOR ~ Sophie Barnes ~ Excerpt/Giveaway
Christmas at Thorncliff Manor
Secrets at Thorncliff Manor by Sophie Barnes Publication Date: December 5, 2017Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance
More than love is in the air … Join the Heartly family as they return to Thorncliff Manor for the holiday season where four sisters and four very handsome, very eligible bachelors, are about to enjoy a lively Christmastime filled with laughter and love. But aside from the covert matchmaking undertaken by the eccentric hostess, Lady Duncaster, the thrill of adventure is sweeping through the estate. Soon, all the guests will be entangled in a treasure hunt for a lost heirloom and secrets hidden for decades will rise to the surface as matters of the heart are finally revealed.
Will Fiona ever see the Earl of Chadwick as more than a friend? Will Emily find an unlikely love in the Marquess of Montsmouth? Can Laura recognize the man of her dreams in the Duke of Lamont? And is Viscount Belgrave able to open Rachel’s eyes to romance? The magic of Thorncliff is about to offer the last unmarried Heartly sisters a chance at their own happily-ever-afters. So sit back with a warm mug of cocoa and lose yourself in a Regency Christmas Romance…
England, 1820.
Comfortably seated at a dining room table that seemed to stretch toward infinity, Fiona Heartly considered the people who’d been invited to visit Thorncliff Manor during the holidays. Due to the group’s intimate size, only a fraction of the table had been set for the evening, while most of the chairs remained eerily empty. Pleasantly, however, five large oranges pricked with cloves and strategically placed in the center of the table infused the air with a seasonal fragrance of citrus and spice. The lady of the manor, the Dowager Countess of Duncaster, looked as formidable as ever. Placed at the head of the table, she wore an elaborate wig that had long since gone out of fashion. But she was known to have several eccentric bones in her body, so nobody ever minded. Rather, Fiona suspected she was considered all the more interesting on account of her peculiarities.
To Lady Duncaster’s right sat the Duke of Lamont, a middle-aged gentleman whose demeanor was always perfectly somber. Fiona had yet to see him smile, but then again, she had also to spend more than one minute in conversation with him. A long-time friend of Lady Duncaster’s, the pair had apparently been spending the holidays together for almost six years now. Ever since the duke inherited his title with the sudden passing of both his father and brother.
Leaning forward, Fiona glanced toward the seat at Lady Duncaster’s left. Lamont’s cousin Viscount Belgrave sat there, amicable as usual. He’d always struck her as being exceptionally kind and good natured, though not the sort of man who would ever stir an amorous interest in her. She needed someone more challenging – a scoundrel with a good heart. Not that she had any intention of marrying any time soon. As the youngest of her siblings, she knew she still had a year or two ahead of her before seeking a husband became a necessity. In the meantime, she meant to enjoy what remained of her independence – the final moments of her youth.
That particular thought had her looking directly across the table at one of her favorite people, the Earl of Chadwick. He’d always humored her hoydenish streak, and he never failed to enjoy a bit of mischief as much as she did. He’d been a part of her family for as long as she could remember – ever since her brother Christopher, Viscount Spencer, or Kip as his family called him, had brought the earl home with him for a visit one year during the school holidays. They were all exceedingly fond of Chadwick. His positive outlook on life was so infectious it was impossible to be grumpy while keeping his company.
Meeting Fiona’s gaze, he smiled warmly. A couple of seconds elapsed, and then he suddenly snatched up his napkin and started dressing his fork as if it were a lady putting on an extravagant ball gown. Fiona’s lips quirked, more so when the fork began dancing along the edge of the table.
“Oh,” Lady Duncaster said, “How utterly delightful!”
Had they been anywhere else, his behavior would have been considered incredibly improper. But here nobody minded. Rather, they all appeared quite entranced by Chadwick’s little performance, which now included a softly hummed tune as his knife swept in to partner with the fork in a waltz.
“I suppose it’s no wonder you are so good at charades and other parlor games,” Rachel observed. “Playing pretend comes so naturally to you, I almost envy your ability.” Exceptionally fond of mathematics and science, she rarely found anything amusing since all jokes were usually ruined for her on account of their nonsensical facts. But with Chadwick, she often made an exception. It seemed he had a style that appealed to pretty much everyone.
“Speaking of which,” Lady Duncaster said, taking a sip of her wine, “I would like to discuss our holiday schedule. Montsmouth has yet to arrive of course, but I see no reason why we cannot agree on a few diversions without his presence.”
Fiona instantly frowned. She vaguely recalled seeing the Earl of Montsmouth when she’d last visited Thorncliff during the summer, but he’d always lingered in the background, so she hadn’t paid him much mind. It never would have occurred to her that he might be a good enough friend of Lady Duncaster’s for her to include him in this private holiday gathering. No doubt he’d been delayed on account of the weather.
When she’d arrived that afternoon with her parents and her sisters Emily, Laura, and Rachel, snow had already begun to fall. Her other siblings, Christopher, Chloe, and Richard, had chosen to spend Christmas at their individual estates with their spouses, no doubt so they could have the privacy newly wedded bliss required. Not that Fiona minded since her brothers’ absences, in particular, would allow her to move about Thorncliff more freely and to continue her search for the treasure she still believed to be hidden there.
It hadn’t been found yet, but certain clues had, like a diamond earring linked to her own family, a code book outlining a conspiracy within the aristocracy, and a letter tying her great-aunt to the late Earl of Duncaster’s father and to some sort of strange resistance movement that had been active during the time of the French Revolution.
“Is he the gentleman who lost his snuff box in the conservatory this summer?” Laura asked, still speaking of Montsmouth.
“Yes,” Fiona’s father said.
“I find he’s always standing on the outside of things,” Lady Duncaster added, “and with both parents dead and no siblings to speak of, I thought he might like some company for Christmas.”
“How good of you to take such notice,” Fiona’s mother said, smiling.
Lady Duncaster chuckled. “Oh, I am always taking notice.” She glanced at each of them in turn, her lips curling into a secretive smile that made Fiona suspect they weren’t here by chance but that Lady Duncaster had taken particular care in selecting each of her guests. The lady regarded them each with her piercing blue eyes and then quietly asked, “How about skating for a diversion?”
The question came so suddenly, Laura looked as though she might choke on her wine. “Right now?” A touch of alarm tightened her words.
“Don’t be absurd,” Lady Duncaster admonished. Stabbing at her food, she selected a piece of meat and popped it into her mouth.
Fiona decided to return her attention to her own plate. She didn’t quite manage it, though, before catching a glimpse of Chadwick, who was now making odd expressions with his eyes. Biting her lip, she forced back a laugh and shook her head. His pout only made him look all the more ridiculous. Honestly, he could be such a child sometimes.
“I am simply trying to determine which activities you might enjoy while you’re here,” Lady Duncaster continued. “Since the lake is solidly frozen, it might be fun for all of you to go for a spin on it.”
“I would love to,” Laura said. She’d always been good at skating. Much better than Fiona, at any rate.
Lamont frowned. “I see no need to risk a broken limb.”
“It sounds as though you might have had a bad experience once,” Laura said with compassion. He paused for a moment before saying, “I simply wish to be careful.”
Laura stared at him briefly and then quietly nodded. “I understand.”
This seemed to surprise him. “You do?”
“Of course. I fell from a tree once and broke my ankle. It took forever before I chose to go climbing again.”
“At least a year,” Fiona said. She recalled the incident well enough, since she’d been up in the tree as well when the blasted branch had snapped beneath her sister’s weight.
“That was quick,” Lamont remarked.
Laura shrugged. “I realized watching my brothers and sisters enjoy the activity was worse than any fear I had of falling again.”
“Still,” Lamont murmured, “I think I’d prefer to watch the skating rather than participate in it myself.”
“Have you ever actually tried it?” Laura asked.
A look of discomfort crossed the duke’s face. He sipped his wine and then turned toward Lady Duncaster. “How about a sleigh ride?” he asked, avoiding Laura’s question. “Might that be possible?”
“As long as we get enough snow,” Lady Duncaster said. She smiled openly at everyone. “We should also try to find a yule log soon and make some more decorations. There are pine trees and pinecones out in the woods, and the ladies will probably enjoy shopping for ribbons in the village.”
“If we gather the pine before going to town, we’ll be able to estimate the exact length of ribbon we need for making garlands,” Rachel said. She glanced about the room, her gaze assessing.
“What a practical suggestion,” Belgrave murmured.
“I see no reason not to strive for efficiency when one is able to do so,” Rachel said, arching a brow. The expression made her look more like a critical matron than a marriageable young lady.
Fiona almost groaned. She’d tried to advise her sister many times before on her hair styling, clothing, and social skills, but Rachel refused to let anything but practicality and fact guide her. It made Fiona wonder if her sister knew what it meant to have fun – a thought that saddened her since having fun was so vital to her own existence.
She glanced across at Chadwick once more, unable to stop herself from smiling as she watched him tell Laura a joke. Perhaps the two would develop a tendre for each other during the next couple of weeks and eventually marry. It was something Fiona had considered more than once after noticing how animated her sister became when keeping Chadwick’s company. It would certainly be wonderful to finally make him a definite part of the family.
“So now that your three oldest children are settled, Lady Oakland,” Lady Duncaster said, “one cannot help but wonder who might be heading for the altar next.”
“Not me,” Rachel said with immediate swiftness. She glanced around before explaining, “I’ve more important matters to see to than courtship.”
“All you need is to meet the right gentleman,” Laura told her dreamily. Having embarked on her second romantic novel, she loved the idea of happy endings and forever afters.
“As I’ve pointed out before, statistics have proven it is unlikely he even exists. And if he does, he is undoubtedly so far removed from my little part of the world, meeting him would prove rather improbable.”
“Good lord, Rachel,” Laura huffed. “Matters of the heart cannot be reduced to numbers and equations. You’ll see when love strikes you. It will happen when you least expect it and probably with a man you would never have considered.”
“That is how it happened for your mother and me,” Lord Oakland said. He directed a wink and a smile at his wife.
“I was supposed to marry my husband’s friend through an arranged marriage,” Lady Duncaster put in. “He escorted me back to England from India, though, and we fell in love during the voyage.”
“And look at Spencer, Chloe, and Richard. None of them came here looking for romance,” Lady Oakland pointed out.
“I will admit, Richard has surprised me,” Rachel said. After he had lived in seclusion for five years, nobody had expected him to marry, let alone find an opportunity to meet a wife. And yet, against all odds, his wife, Mary, had captured his heart.
“It only goes to show there is hope for all of you,” their father said. “Even you, Rachel, despite your obvious resistance to the issue.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “Find me a man who will enjoy conducting scientific experiments with his wife and who would be proud of her publishing mathematical theories, and I might consider falling for him.”
“Hear, hear,” Fiona said. She’d decided to support her sister in this, for if there was one thing she truly believed in, it was finding commonality in a relationship. Without it, such a relationship would surely flounder.
Leaning forward a little, Belgrave gave Rachel a curious look. “If I might ask, what sort of experiments are you working on exactly?”
Rachel froze. Her lips parted, and it occurred to Fiona this might be the first time anyone outside the family had bothered to show an interest in her sister’s work. Rachel blinked twice, set down her fork as if doing so would help her regain her composure, and finally said, “Presently, I’m following Sir Humphrey Davy’s instructions on how to make an electric arc.”
The silence that followed was palpable, until Belgrave eventually said, “As I understand it, you will need to build a battery in order to accomplish such a goal.”
“Yes. I am aware,” Rachel said, her focus on the earl more intense now than it had been before. “I’ve purchased most of the items I require, but I am still waiting for the oil of vitriol to arrive. It should have arrived by the time I return home from here.”
“I thought your focus was mainly on,” Lady Oakland waved one hand as if the air would provide the answer, “the movement of slugs, as I recall.”
Fiona groaned and as she did so, she saw Chadwick conceal a smile. He leaned forward, narrowing the space between them as much as possible. “Parents can be so ignorant sometimes when it comes to their children.”
“I wonder what they imagined might have been in all of those boxes Rachel’s been purchasing recently,” Fiona whispered back.
“Slugs, from the sounds of it.”
Doing her best to stop from laughing resulted in a loud, indelicate snort. Fiona pressed her hand over her mouth in time to catch a look of disapproval in her father’s eyes. He frowned and shook his head, silently warning her to behave. She glanced back at Chadwick, whose expression had transformed into one of pure, innocent ignorance.
“I’ll get you later,” she mouthed.
He merely shrugged.
“—something for me to do while away for the summer,” Rachel was saying. “But it’s hardly going to get me a fellowship at the Royal Society.”
“The Royal Society?” Lord Oakland stared at his daughter. “That is quite ambitious of you since I don’t believe they admit women.”
“Someone has to be the first,” Rachel told him, as if the society’s exclusion of the female sex was only a minor inconvenience.
“I completely agree with you there,” Lady Duncaster said, “but you will likely have to make an impressive contribution of your own to even be considered. Copying someone else’s experiment is hardly going to suffice.”
“I know,” Rachel said. She set her napkin beside her plate. “Recreating the arc is only the beginning. What I plan to do is invent an electrical lamp.”
Another moment of silence descended on the room while everyone tried to process this bit of information. Fiona smiled in Rachel’s direction. Her sister might own a rigid personality, but she loved how easily she’d stunned her family and friends this evening.
“Do you think anyone would want to use such a thing?” Emily asked. “It sounds as though you’re making it more complicated for people to get light into their homes, rather than simplifying the issue. Striking a flint is such an easy task, but batteries with oil of vitriol and whatever else might be required…nobody will want to bother with that, surely.”
“Perhaps not,” Rachel said. “The only way to know is to try.”
Fiona glanced around the table and wondered what the rest of the dinner party might be thinking – if they saw how imaginative Rachel truly was. Her ability to envision the need for a new invention and her intention to try and create it were nothing short of impressive. It made Fiona wish she had such a purpose in life, something besides being a proper lady and marrying well. Recalling the Thorncliff treasure, she determined more than ever to find it over the course of the next two weeks. Doing so would be an incredible victory for her family since it would, hopefully, see her great-aunt’s jewelry returned.
“You may adjourn to the library for your after-dinner drinks, if you like,” Lady Duncaster told the gentlemen when they eventually rose from the table. “The ladies and I will take our tea in the music room in case you wish to join us there later.”
Fiona followed the group out into the hallway, her thoughts on her upcoming treasure hunt. She could scarcely wait to retire for the evening so she could set her mind more fully to the task. Perhaps if she...
The touch of a hand against her arm made her flinch, and she instinctively turned to find Chadwick walking beside her. His eyes met hers with a spark of amusement, and the edge of his mouth kicked up to form his signature smile. “I don’t believe I’ve told you how fetching you look this evening, Fiona.”
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” she replied, offering him the typical sort of rejoinder that had set the tone for their relationship over the years.
He linked his arm more fully with hers, bringing them closer until their shoulders touched. “I’ve missed you, you know.”
His voice was warm, his breath even warmer as it brushed along the side of her neck, producing a spark in the pit of her belly – a sudden awareness that had never existed before.
Unnerved by it, she tugged her arm away from his. “Yes.” Good lord. Why on earth did she sound so breathless?
Confused, she crossed her arms, hugging herself as they walked and effectively preventing further physical contact. Hesitantly, she glanced up at him, only to be met by a pair of inquisitive eyes – eyes that seemed to be filled not only with Chadwick’s usual good humor but with something else as well…something she could not quite define.
“We’ve missed you too,” she told him hastily. “A pity Kip and Richard won’t be joining us. I’m sure you would have liked to see them.”
“Of course.” A touch of humor trembled upon his lips, and for some absurd reason, it made her feel more uncomfortable than she’d ever felt before in his company. It was almost as if he knew a secret he’d chosen to keep from her, one that might see her made the subject of some wild and ridiculous joke. “But,” he added in a hushed whisper as he suddenly turned quite serious, “I was actually more interested in seeing you.”
And since they’d arrived at the music room, he did not linger to elaborate on his cryptic comment, but strode off, following the rest of the gentlemen to the library. Fiona stared after him, unable to comprehend the sudden tightening of her stomach or the pattering of her heart. He was like a brother – a dear friend and partner in mischief. Except she felt as though something between them had changed in the last second, and it bothered her to no end that she couldn’t quite figure out what that something might be.
Born in Denmark, Sophie has spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She’s lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish and Romanian. She has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all – she’s been married to the same man three times, in three different countries and in three different dresses. While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion – writing. When she’s not busy, dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading. She currently lives on the East Coast.
Saturday, December 2, 2017
LEADER OF THE TITANS ~ Kathryn LeVeque ~ Excerpt/Giveaway
Welcome to the new release book blitz for
Leader of Titans: Pirates of Britannia Book 2
by Kathryn Le Veque!
Leader of Titans: Pirates of Britannia Book 2
by Kathryn Le Veque!
Publication date: November 29, 2017
Genre: Historical Medieval Romance
It's Medieval knights on the high seas! Swords, sea, and sea-going warriors in this exciting tale!
Welcome to a brand-new Medieval series of a daring brotherhood, where honor among thieves reigns supreme, and crushing their enemies is a thrilling pastime. These are the Pirates of Britannia.
1444 A.D. - Constantine le Brecque a man of many facets. As the bastard son of Henry V, he was raised in secret to protect him from the king's enemies and lived his life knowing that his royal blood was a curse. He was, however, properly educated and trained as a knight, and one of the very best England has ever seen. But when he falls in love with the wrong woman, the course of his life is irrevocably changed....
Now, Constantine is known as the fearsome English pirate called LEADER OF TITANS, but his experience with his ex-lover wasn't enough to drive him away from women. He loves them, and loves them in droves. Passion, plunder, and pirates his is motto.
Enter Lady Greggoria "Gregg" de Moyon. A pious woman, she was given a sacred object by her husband, an object much sought after by the terrible French pirates who roam the coast between Brittany and England. When her husband is killed by the French pirates on their quest for the treasure, Greggoria must turn to Constantine for help. She knows that only a pirate of equal strength can fight off the French and save her from most certain doom.
Constantine is more than willing to help the beautiful woman with the unusual name. But when he unexpectedly falls for her, the man with more women than a Arab shiek finds that his task has just become unbearably complicated. Can he save Greggoria from the French pirates who want to see her dead? And the mysterious treasure that she is protecting... will it be his destruction?
NOTE: This is Book 2 in the Lords of the Sea pirate series, written by Eliza Knight and Kathryn Le Veque. Eliza Knight's novel, SAVAGE OF THE SEA, is Book One in this series. All books are stand-alones but much more fun if read together!
Gregoria didn’t push. She hadn’t talked to the man since yesterday and she didn’t want the first words between them to be those of her nagging at him one way or the other. She, too, watched the dogs as they frolicked about.
“They are fine animals,” she said.
He smiled. “They are spoiled,” he said. “They nearly crowded you right off the bed. I saw.”
It was her turn to chuckle. “They are a bit pushy, that is true,” she said. “But they are sweet. I am glad to have had them with me.”
He lowered his head so that he was closer to her, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just so you know, I will not share our bed with them,” he muttered. “I shall be the only one curled against your body.”
Gregoria flushed deeply. For a woman who had so vehemently swore that she would not be the man’s concubine, she seemed to have drastically changed that opinion. Having developed feelings for the man had seen to that, clouding her sense of judgment in all things pertaining to him. She’d spent the entire storm confined to bed, feeling sicker than she’d ever felt in her life, and pondering the conversation she and Constantine had where he’d asked her never to leave him. No one had ever asked her that before and it made her feel wanted and needed.
Now, it was a dilemma that had overtaken her entire being.
Hanging over her like a great, dark cloud was her entire purpose for being on the ship – betrayal. She’d come to the conclusion that she must tell Constantine the real reason for her presence. She had to untangle the lies she’d told him and pray he could forgive her. But she was terrified the man would never trust her again, and it was that fear that kept her from confessing.
Even now, as he warmed to her, speaking of the bed they would share, she was loathed to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to lose this warmth, this affection, because it was something she’d never known. She’d spent her entire life being treated with cold indifference and to finally find someone who thought she was special, who treated her with kindness and sweetness, made her realize what, exactly, she’d been missing.
It didn’t matter if she became Constantine’s concubine. The man had shown her more joy and warmth than anyone ever had.
She never wanted to lose it.
Leader of Titans
New Release Blitz Trailer
To celebrate USA Today Bestselling author Kathryn Le Veque's new release, LEADER OF TITANS, Kathryn is graciously giving away a Sterling Silver Gemstone necklace and a 7" Samsung Galaxy tablet! Giveaways ends on December 10th and the winner will be announced on Kathryn's Facebook page.
KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, a charter Amazon All-Star author, and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval Historical Romance and Contemporary Romance. She has been featured in the NEW YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY's HEA blog.
In March 2015, Kathryn was the featured cover story for the March issue of InD'Tale Magazine, the premier Indie author magazine. Kathryn was the the winner of Uncaged Book Reviews Magazine "Raven Award" for Favorite Medieval Romance (Vestiges of Valor) and Favorite Cover, all Genres (Queen of Lost Stars) for 2017.
Kathryn's Medieval Romance novels have been called 'detailed', 'highly romantic', and 'character-rich'. She crafts great adventures of love, battles, passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for both women AND men - an unusual crossover for a romance author - and Kathryn has many male readers who enjoy her stories because of the male perspective, the action, and the adventure.
On October 29, 2015, Amazon launched Kathryn's Kindle Worlds Fan Fiction site WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK. As Kindle World's FIRST Historical Romance fan fiction world, Kathryn Le Veque's World of de Wolfe Pack will contain all of the great story-telling that readers have come to expect from many of historical romance's best authors.
Kathryn loves to hear from her readers. Please find Kathryn on Facebook at Kathryn Le Veque, Author, or join her on Twitter @kathrynleveque, and don't forget to visit her website at www.kathrynleveque.com.
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Wednesday, November 29, 2017
HOW TO WOO A WALLFLOWER ~ Christy Carlyle ~ Excerpt/Giveaway
Title: HOW TO WOO A WALLFLOWER
Series: Romancing the Rules #3
Series: Romancing the Rules #3
Author: Christy Carlyle
Genre: Historical - Regency
Story Setting: London 1899
Pages: 384
Published by: Avon Impulse
Published Date: Nov. 14, 2017
An Unconventional Wallflower…
Clarissa Ruthven was born to be a proper lady, but she’s never wanted to live up to the expectations her late father set. Determined to use her inheritance to help the less fortunate women of London, she’s devastated to learn that she won’t be inheriting anything until she marries, a fate she has no interest in. Unwilling to let go of her plans, Clary works at Ruthven Publishing for Gabriel Adamson, a man who’s always hated her. She’s always returned the feeling, but as she begins to turn her family’s publishing company upside down, she finds herself unable to forget her handsome boss.
Never Follows the Rules…
Gabriel Adamson believes in order. He certainly doesn’t believe Clary should be sticking her nose in the publishing company, and she definitely has no business invading his every thought. But Gabe soon finds he can’t resist Clary’s sense of freedom or her passionate kisses and he starts to crave everything she’s willing to give him.
Especially When It Comes to Love…
When Gabe’s dark past comes back to haunt him, he’ll do anything to make sure that Clary isn’t hurt…even if it means giving up the only woman he’s ever loved.
“Don’t assume every young lady is in need of rescue. Some of us wish to be a heroine who fights her own battles.”
—Journal of Clary Ruthven
London, 1899
Whitechapel repulsed Gabriel Adamson.
Grime and smoke hung so thick in the air that he could taste grit on his tongue. Narrow lanes conspired to trap the neighborhood’s fetid stench, and its tenements loomed above his head as if they’d crush him under the weight of their cramped, miserable inhabitants.
Now that he could afford proper togs for the first time in his life, he took care selecting the finest fabrics for his tailored suits and shirts. Today, he feared every stitch he’d donned would reek from the East End’s noxious stew of ash and muck.
The rain had been on and off and on all morning, but the heavens showed no mercy in a place like this. The sky opened the moment he alighted from the hansom cab, fat drops pelting his hat like the clatter of horses’ hooves on cobblestones.
Tugging up his fur-lined collar, he lengthened his stride and ducked under the awning of a grimy-windowed shop. He stared across the lane at Number 12 Doncaster.
The building slouched toward the street, its wooden frame worn by time and eaten away by moisture. The brick buildings buttressing each side were smart and modern by comparison, though their red bricks had been smoked to an oily black too.
As he gazed up at the house, echoes rang in his head. Raging shouts and desperate cries. The thud of fists on flesh. Bone meeting bone.
Peg Delaney was a cruel woman, but she was nobody’s fool. Gabe doubted she’d still be eking out a living in the last place he’d seen her. This venture was a fool’s errand.
He drew in a ragged breath, biting back a curse.
At least he’d had the good sense not to tell Sara of his trip. He couldn’t bear to dash his sister’s hopes, nor could he stand watching her fret over their mother’s fate when she should be focusing on her future and finally securing a bit of long-delayed happiness.
When the rain slowed to a sparse patter, he dashed across the narrow lane and knocked at the door. No answer came, and he suspected the landlord was far in his cups by this hour. The man had always been a wastrel. Trying the latch, he found the door unlocked and stepped into the dark, musty vestibule, choking on memories and stale air.
A discordant strain of music—a bow scratching at violin strings—echoed from upstairs. Gabe started up the worn slats. The wood creaked under his weight.
His mother’s door stood ajar, and nausea clawed its way up his throat when he caught a hint of her cheap perfume on the air. Bracing a gloved fist against the wood, he pushed inside and held his breath. Amid dried leaves and a cascade of cobwebs, the stench of rot turned his gut inside out.
Except for a single overturned chair, the room contained no furniture. Nothing hung on the walls. No personal effects decorated the space. She’d abandoned this place long ago, and no one had given a damn about the miserable lodging room since. Water ran down the walls, leaking from loose roof tiles.
Gabe strode to the back of the room and gripped a moldy edge of loosened wallpaper. Peeling back the paper revealed a gaping hole in the plaster. Reaching inside, he scraped his fingers around in the dust and dark until he felt a rounded shape. He tugged the object forward, grasping the tiny horse head in his hand.
Years ago, he’d found the knight chess piece in the gutter and had squirreled it away like a treasure. Even now, the chiseled quartz glinted in the weak light from the room’s single, cracked window.
“Wot you after?” A woman’s gruff bark sounded from the threshold, and Gabe turned, fists balled, muscles tensed.
“Mrs. Niven.” She’d been wrinkled and gray when Gabe was young. Now his old neighbor had the aspect of a wizened crone. If wizened crones wielded a violin bow in one hand and a revolver in the other.
Squinting until her eyelids were little more than creased slits, she shuffled forward. “Is it you?”
Gabe’s pulse slowed as he watched the old woman’s drooping mouth curl up in a toothless smile.
“Ragin’ Boy.” She drew close, reeking of smoke and soiled wool. “Never fought I’d see those eyes of yours lookin’ back at me again. ’Ow many years gone now, child? Five? Ten?”
Nine and a half years. He’d left Whitechapel at sixteen and never looked back. Never intended to step foot in the godforsaken place again either.
Tipping her chin, Mrs. Niven examined Gabe down the length of her bulbous nose. “Judgin’ by those fine togs you’re sportin’, I’d wager you’re not frowin’ punches for your supper these days, are ya boy?”
“Where is she?” He wasn’t here for small talk.
“Peg? ’Aven’t seen ’er in ages, boy.”
Gabe flexed his fingers. He fought the urge to throttle the old woman every time she called him boy. Mrs. Niven was thinking of another person. A child discarded long ago. An imp who woke angry every morning and spent his days fighting, striking out at anyone, anything that stood in his way. Bloodthirsty men had once had a use for him, betting on his skills in the ring. But he’d escaped. Taken a new name. Made a new life. Never looked back.
Until now.
“You’ve no idea where she’s gone?” He couldn’t lose sight of why he’d come. If he thought of anything else, the memories would break in, and he’d lose control. Control was how he survived. Imposing order on chaos had been his salvation.
“Not a clue.” Mrs. Niven choked before bursting into a racking, hollow cough. “Wot you need ’er for?”
“I don’t need ’er at all.” Neither did Sara. This ridiculous venture was what happened when he gave in to sentiment. He needed to stop making that mistake. Reaching into his coat pocket, he extracted a silver sixpence. The woman’s rheumy eyes widened, nearly bursting from their sockets, when Gabe deposited the coin in her grimy palm. “Don’t drink it all at once, Mrs. Niven.”
He started across the leaf-strewn floor, stopped, and turned back. After extracting a calling card from his waistcoat pocket, he offered the cream rectangle to her. “Send word if you hear anything of my mother.”
Mrs. Niven was decidedly less eager to claim the slip of paper than she’d been to take his money, but she finally hobbled forward and retrieved the card from his fingers.
Gabe didn’t look back as he descended the stairs and made his way onto the rain-drenched street.
Let his mother find them if she wished. Nothing would ever compel him to return to this godforsaken place.
The downpour had diminished to a drizzle as he started down the lane, heading for the busier cross street, praying for a stray cab rattling by in search of a fare. Strangely, this area of Whitechapel had begun to transform. Run-down buildings had been replaced by newer brick structures, and a few thriving shops lined the streets. Outside of a tea room, the pavement had been painted in whitewash, and chairs were arranged outside, awaiting diners and a drier, sunnier day. If he’d possessed no memory of these streets from a decade before, he could almost be lulled into believing the neighborhood a respectable one.
At the precise moment such hopeful nonsense teased at his thoughts, a screech rent the air. A rowdy brothel had once thrived around the corner, but the sound echoing in the narrow lane wasn’t one of pleasure. More like agony. A man’s bleat emerged again, high-pitched and pained.
Gabe’s body responded like a soldier’s on the eve of battle—muscles taut, instincts sharp, pulse throbbing in his ears.
“You bloody bitch!” the man squeaked.
Gabe rolled his shoulders and tugged off his gloves. Whoever the man was, he’d chosen to menace the fairer sex, and Gabe never had been able to stomach a bully. Too many times as a child, he’d watched helplessly as his mother cowered on the losing side of a man’s fists.
Until he was old and strong enough to beat them off himself.
Rounding the corner, he expected to find a man overpowering a woman with his height and strength. A sight he’d seen a thousand times in these streets. Instead, he spotted a man bent at the waist, clutching his groin, glaring toward the entrance of the Fisk Academy for Girls, according to the sign above the door.
“I’ll smash that pretty face of yours,” the wounded blighter cried.
“I don’t think you will,” a feminine voice countered. “And don’t let me see you darken this doorstep ever again.”
A croquet mallet emerged through the doorway first, the cylinder of wood painted with jaunty blue stripes around the edges. Purple ruffles came next, the edge of a skirt kicking up as a diminutive woman stomped out to face the wounded man.
Gabe rushed forward to assist her and jerked to a dead stop.
Clarissa Ruthven.
Pert nose. Guinea-gold hair. Wavy strands glinting in a beam of afternoon sun that managed to break through the clouds.
He recognized her, yet he squinted, unwilling to believe the evidence of his eyes. Queen Victoria parading down the sodden streets of Whitechapel wouldn’t have shocked him more. What business could the young woman have in this soot-smeared place?
Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there's nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.
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