Elizabeth Essex and “The Scandal Before Christmas”

About The Scandal Before Christmas

Lieutenant Ian Worth needs a wife by Christmas, and he can’t afford to be choosy. He has to find her, woo her, and wed her before he goes back to sea—all within a matter of days.

Anne Lesley is a shy spinster with no prospects, and nothing and no one to recommend her but her own self. She accepts the lieutenant’s hasty offer only for the comfort and security it will bring. But when a midwinter storm snows her and Ian in, they both find they got much more than they bargained for—laughter, light, and a Christmas filled with honest to goodness true love…

Look for the next novel in the sensational Reckless Brides series, After the Scandal, coming in April 2014from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Kobo

Praise for Elizabeth Essex’s Reckless Brides series:

“Nonstop action, witty repartee, and deft plotting.”—RT Book Reviews

“Deliciously sexy romance…I will read anything Elizabeth Essex writes!”

—New York Times bestselling author Celeste Bradley

“Adventure-packed, passion-filled, and totally satisfying.”—Romance Junkies

About the Author

Elizabeth Essex is the award-winning author of the critically acclaimed Reckless Brides historical series. When not re-reading Jane Austen, sipping tea or mucking about her garden, Elizabeth can be found writing, making up wonderful stories about people who live far more interesting lives than she. It wasn’t always so. Elizabeth graduated from Hollins College with a BA in Classical Studies and Art History, and then earned her MA from Texas A&M University in Nautical Archaeology, also known as the archaeology of shipwrecks. You can visit her web site at www.elizabethessex.com.

SUSANA SAYS: Lovely story of a couple who expect to make an arranged marriage: 5/5 stars

I meant to read this before Christmas, but…well…things got in the way. January was nearly half over before I got to it, and I’m so glad I did! I have to say this is not overtly a Christmas story, except for the fact that it takes place in that time period. The Scandal Before Christmas can be enjoyed any day of the year!

It is truly a delight to watch the progression of emotions as these two lonely young people fall in love. Anne goes from being plain to somewhat attractive to beautiful in his eyes as his feelings deepen. Anne tries to guard her feelings—this is a man who *nearly* offered for her sight unseen and who intends to desert her most of the year while he continues his naval career. But his touch enflames her, and she finds herself drawn into the romantic spell. But will it all collapse when Ian’s father the Viscount arrives to put a spanner in the works?

Leeds Castle: Castle of Queens

Feb10

My current WIP is a time travel set in 1817 England, featuring my favorite time-traveling lady, Lady Pendleton, in a role as deux ex machina. She’s helping my 21st century heroine (Helena) adapt to the Regency era while she searches for answers to a mystery regarding her family origins. In Chapter Seven, Helena is serving as a temporary governess to Lady P’s grandchildren in Kent, about two miles from one of the most charming castles in England, Leeds Castle. So why shouldn’t she—accompanied by the hero, of course—take the children on a field trip?

Upon learning of the fabulous maze on the property, I was all set to have my protagonists have a private interlude while the children explore the maze. Until I discovered that the maze wasn’t put in until 1987! (While I adore research, sometimes it can really be a downer!)

I toyed with the idea of doing it anyway—how many of my readers will know this? The problem is—I would know it! However, the idea occurred to me of my heroine—who had visited the castle in the 21^st century—mentioning the maze and getting blank stares from everyone, and then the current owner stroking his chin and saying what a good idea that would be! And my heroine as usual wondering if her mistakes—and she makes them frequently—might have some horrific effect on the time-space continuum. Something my intrepid Lady P doesn’t believe in.

Anyway, I thought my readers at Susana’s Parlour might enjoy the results of some of my research on Leeds Castle. It’s very visitor-friendly—I’ll be including it on my list for my own trip this summer.

Origins

Originally a Norman stronghold, the first structure was built almost a thousand years ago, in 1119. In 1278, King Edward I expanded it, creating the lake that now surrounds it and building a barbican (a fortified outpost or gateway) that spans three islands and a gloriette (pavilion or other structure built in a garden) with apartments from the king and queen. In 1519, Henry VIII remodeled it for his first wife, Catherine of Aragon.

The Queens

Catherine of Aragon, Spanish Princess

Eleanor of Castile, first wife Edward I, bought it in 1278.
Margaret of France, second wife of Edward I, was given the castle after Eleanor’s death.
Following the death of Edward II, his wife Queen Isabella held it until it passed to Edward III on her death.
Richard II gave it to his wife, Anne of Bohemia,
in 1382.Henry IV gave it to his wife, Joan of Navarre, in 1403.
Henry V left it to his wife, Catherine of Valois in 1422.
Her grandson, Henry VIII, gave it to his wife, Catherine of Aragon, in 1500.
Elizabeth I was imprisoned there during her sister Mary’s reign.
George III and Queen Charlotte visited there in 1778.

Georgian Period

Fiennes Wykeham (later Martin was added) took possession in 1793, selling the family estates in Virginia in order to make extensive renovations of the property in Tudor style, which were completed in 1823. Fiennes Wykeham was the son of Mary Fox, daughter of Charles Fox, the colorful Whig leader. This turned out to be quite fortuitous, since I had set up my hero to be a distant relative of the Melbourne family, who were prominent Whigs as well. Turns out Fiennes Wykeham was a friend of his and quite amenable to the idea of the visit to the property—still under renovation in 1817—in Chapter 7. (I love it when a plan comes together!)

Planning a Visit?

Be careful—Leeds Castle is not anywhere near the major English city of Leeds in the north. It’s near the village of Leeds, about five miles from Maidstone in Kent. There are bus tours, or you can drive or take a train/bus combination—it’s about two hours from London. You’ll find lots to do there for adults or children. In the center of the maze is the entrance to a mysterious grotto. There’s a dog collar museum—yes, that’s right—and you can even book overnights there for special events, such as an opulent Valentine’s Dinner with your special Significant Other, and a great 1920’s House Party in April. Here’s the brochure: http://user-3vovb8a.publ.com/Leeds-Castle-Dine-Sleep-Events-2014#8. There’s a golf course, a playground for children, falconry displays, and you can even punt on the moat. Click here for more information.

Banqueting Hall of Henry VIII

Tudor Courtyard

Library

Cozy room

Bedroom

Wareeze Woodson and “Conduct Unbecoming of a Gentleman”

Feb6

Wareeze will be awarding one eBook to two randomly drawn commenters during the tour, and one $50 GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

Dearest Lady Bromsworth,

Because of my deepest concern for the Laningham family, I write to ask you for the truth of the dreadful incident involving Lady Laurel Laningham. The late Lord Laningham served in the Peninsula you understand. How sad he succumbed to his wounds leaving a young wife and son behind. His grieving twin sister nearly went into a decline, or so I heard. All due to that little Corsican upstart, Bonaparte, thinking to fight all of England and our brave soldiers dying by his order.

I don’t hold with gossip as you know, but I seek the truth to still the old tabbies’ tongues about the matter. Listening to rumors is a vulgar habit, and I try to always gather the facts of a situation instead. The facts, as I understand them, are incredible, scarcely believable, thus my inquiry.

My butler informed me that dear Lady Laurel Laningham survived when a carriage over turned with her and her little son inside. She was on her way to Sussex to visit her aunt, or so it was supposed. Tis a great shame what with her being so recently bereaved and so lovely. She is not your average silly, pea-goose, either to undertake such a trip without cause. I asked myself if such could be true, and what with the condition of the roads along with the less than trust-worthy coachmen handling the ribbons, I concluded the account could be accurate.

Alarmed, I sat down at once with pen and paper to hand. He told a tale of a stranger riding off with the young Lord Laningham leaving the widow stranded in an over-turned coach. The tale becomes even more incredible at that point. You can imagine my horror and concern.

The abductor is rumored to be Lord Gladrey himself, the boy’s own guardian. That cannot be possible. I know Lord Gladrey. He is such a fine gentleman, gracious and always mindful of his family, such a dear, kind gentleman. If he did take charge of his ward, I’m certain he had a perfectly sound reason for serving Lady Laningham such a turn. It is quite natural for his cousin to appoint Lord Gladrey as guardian to his son. He and the twins are rumored to have been very close.

Please enlighten me of the facts of the situation so I’ll be able to ward off any unwelcome comments from the Ton. I dare say, you are aware of how vicious some of their tongues can become. I am more than willing to promote the proper happenings for dear Lady Laningham’s sake. I anxiously await word from you, a dear friend and neighbor of the family.

Truly Yours,

Lady Pickering

Reporter: Lord Adron Gladrey, I work for the Tribute. My editor is interested in the happenings involving an overturned coach. We understand you rode by and took charge of your ward, Lord Laningham. Why at such at time did you ride away with him before you?

Lord Adron Gladrey: I felt it necessary to protect my ward. Due to a misunderstanding, I thought he was being taken to France. The war- torn country is hardly a safe environment for my ward. I understood, his mother was careless and she wouldn’t understand the danger to my ward.

Reporter: Why didn’t you talk to her?

Lord Adron Gladrey: She left Landings as I arrived back in England. There was no time. I felt the need to rescue my ward before something dreadful happened to him. The entire incident was merely a misunderstanding. I would appreciate it if you people would let the subject alone.

About Conduct Unbecoming of a Gentleman

Recently widowed Lady Laurel Laningham flees Landings to escape her untenable position. Alone now and at the mercy of her sister-in-law, she decides to nestle under her aunt’s wings for a spell. To add to her burdens, her young son’s new guardian, Lord Adron Gladrey, has announced his intentions to take complete charge of his ward. The killer is stalking her and a devious jewel thief is stealing the family jewels. Can she convince her son’s guardian she is not a dangerous lunatic and is perfectly capable of raising her son or will he always consider her untrustworthy as a mother to his ward? Will his stubborn blindness send her straight into the path of the murderer, or will he relent in time to save her from following her husband into the grave?

Available

Amazon

Excerpt

His voice floated down to her. “Are you or the child injured?”

“I think several scrapes and bruises at most.” Laurel trembled and brushed her bonnet out of her face. She heard his quick intake of breath.

“You’re positive? You must have taken quite a tumble when the coach overturned. Possibly you’re more injured than you know.”

“Only a little shaken.” She took a deep, calming breath then continued with more force. “I’m certain we’re both fine.”

He hesitated and exhaled deeply. “A damsel in distress then. Do you perhaps have a name?”

Authority rang in his voice. She clutched Jamie a little tighter and offered him a tremulous smile. “Laurel Jane Laningham. Thank you for coming to our rescue.” She shaded her eyes with one hand, waiting for him to return the introduction.

“Let’s get you out of there. Hand me the boy first.”

He reached down into the overturned coach and Laurel lifted Jamie above her head into the waiting arms of the stranger. Her rescuer leapt to the ground with her son. A chill of foreboding curled around her. He’d said the boy. An unknown man shouldn’t know the child was a male. With every one of her senses alert, she listened intently for the stranger to return. Saddle leather squeaked and the thunder of hooves struck the ground in retreat.

Laurel screamed, “Bring my son back. I’ll see you hanged for this, you blackguard. Come back here. Help. Driver, help me.”

About the Author

I am a native Texan and still live in the Houston area. I married by high school sweetheart, and after raising 4 children, they blessed up with 8 grandchildren. AND after all these years, we still love each other. True romance is happy ever after.

Contacts

Website • Twitter • Facebook

Killarney Sheffield and “The Cracksman’s Kiss”

Jan30

Night Owl Reviews Top Pick!!!

About The Cracksman’s Kiss (formerly published as Guilty Kisses)

She almost wished it was a dream, for dreams returned and had no consequences or guilt.

When Lady Kassandra is visited by a thief in the dark of night, she finds her body awakened in a way that her husband’s touch has never stirred her desires.

However there are consequences for even a brief stolen night of passion that leave Kassie in dire straights. She turns to the only one she thinks can help her…but will he come before it is too late?

Comte Cohen Ashton’s mission is to retrieve a priceless artifact and return it to its former country of origin. He doesn’t expect to have his heart stolen by his sworn enemy’s lovely young wife or to discover a treasure of his own making that is more valuable than any other.

In the midst of a war between England and France, Cohen must save them both from their folly and Kassie must forgive herself her own sins. Can they prevail or will their fates be sealed by guilty kisses?

Available

Amazon

Excerpt

The figure crept along the corridor, his dark clothing blending into the shades of shadows, and then slipped into the parlor. A single lamp burned on the table across from the Egyptian statue. Its bejeweled eyes winked in the flickering light, as if privy to some immensely wicked secret. The cracksman moved soundlessly across the carpet and stopped before the pedestal, with bated breath, listening for any sign his presence had been discovered. All was eerily quiet in the mansion. Expelling his pent up breath, the man reached up and closed his glove encased hands around the statue. With a practiced touch he eased the archaic feline from its perch, so loving the thrill of the hunt. The quest for this treasure had been exciting, although as easy as petting its loafing namesake. Perhaps thrice as risky.

With a cocky smirk, he paused to listen before tucking the ill-gotten treasure into the satchel at his waist. Pride made him stay his retreat for the briefest second and pat the object before slinking back into the inky recesses of the hallway. The man faded into the dark corridor in the hope of making an inconspicuous exit. Without a sound, the study door opened, spilling a shaft of light into the hall across his path. Caught off guard, he darted into the servant’s stairwell. Voices breached the silence.

“…retire for the night, Bernard.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A second of frustration permeated his calm. Damn! The earl should be long in bed by now. The stairwell was not a good place to hide in case a servant happened by. They would surely raise the alarm if an intruder was spotted lurking this late in the evening. Thinking quickly, he slunk up the stairs to the second floor. A smile rode his lips. The rope and grapple in his satchel would come in handy, experience telling him it was best to be prepared for any situation. It would make climbing down from one of the windows on the second floor easy.

Topping the landing, the thief peered down the long hallway. A door closed and footsteps approached the bottom of the staircase. He eased back into the murkiness. The first room on his right would suffice as a hiding place for the moment. With a last nervous glance behind him and a twist of the door handle, he slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. It took only seconds for his eyes to adjust to the meager firelight before locking the door. A pink robe lay across the back of one of the chairs nearest the fire. The female occupant of the room must already be in bed, since the fire had burned down to glowing coals. Silently he crossed the room to the window beside the bed, freezing at a rustling sound accompanied by a soft sigh; then turning and peering at the bed. The curtains were drawn to protect the occupant from drafts. He hesitated before easing the curtain back, the light from the fire cast a pale glow on the sleeping figure. She sighed again and rolled in her slumber toward the edge of the bed.

He leaned closer. The firelight enhanced her delicate beauty as her lips parted. A blonde curl caught in the edge of her sleeping mask, slid free to caress her creamy cheek. He ducked inside the curtain, dropping it back in place.

“My lord?” she murmured, still half in dream hibernation. “I have not readied myself for you. You did not tell me you would visit tonight.”

His lips clenched together to keep his amusement in check. The woman believes I am her ancient husband, come to claim his marriage rights. The thought of the withered old earl being able to perform any matrimonial act amused him.

A slamming door somewhere downstairs distracted him from his reverie. Footsteps hurried down the hallway outside the bedroom. Has the missing statue already been discovered? The front door opened and voices carried from outside. Damn! If I try to escape out the window now they will surely catch me. I have to find somewhere to hide until I can figure out another route of escape.

“My lord?”

The woman had rolled onto her back, and now lay stiff, with her arms at her side. Good Lord! Is she waiting for the decrepit earl to make love to her?

The hounds outside began to bay. Already they are searching for my trail. I will have to lie low for a few hours until I can make good my escape, but where? A glimmer of an idea sparked, and then flamed to life. Here, with her. As long as the woman thinks I am her husband, I will be safe. No one would think to look for me with her. With the drapes pulled, can I fool the lady?

About the Author

Well, before becoming a published author I used to be a natural horsemanship trainer, farrier and English & Western riding coach. I currently live on a Canadian cattle ranch with my family, though one day have dreams of seeing the world and moving to Australia. I am still as passionate about my horses as my writing but have to work hard to balance the two these days. Which is my greatest joy? Probably my registered Thoroughbred stallion, Stamp de Gold, whom I lovingly refer to as Love Monkey. In a horse person’s life there comes that one very special equine who seems to know exactly what you want and what you are thinking. I have been blessed with two of those amazing creatures over my years of owning, training and showing, my dear departed Melderman and Stamp de Gold. For all those ‘horsey’ readers and authors out there I also have a blog dedicated to all kinds of horse info.

Facebook • Twitter • Goodreads • Blog

Current Books on Amazon

Previous Post on Susana’s Parlour

Shehanne Moore and “Loving Lady Lazuli”

Jan27

Shehanne will be awarding a $10 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About Loving Lady Lazuli

Only one man in England can identify her. Unfortunately he’s living next door.

Ten years ago sixteen year old Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief England has ever known, ruined Lord Devorlane Hawley’s life. Now she’s dead and buried, all the respectable widow, Cassidy Armstrong, wants is the chance to prove who she really is.

But not only does her new neighbor believe he knows that exactly, he’s hell-bent on revenge. All he needs is the actual proof. So when he asks her to choose between being his mistress, or dangling on the end of a rope, only Sapphire can decide…

What’s left for a woman with nowhere left to go, but to stay exactly where she is?

And hope, that when it comes to neighbors, Devorlane Hawley won’t prove to be the one from hell.

Available

Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Kobo

Excerpt

“Because I would like to be a musician.”

“So, why don’t you damn well learn to be one then and spare us good—”

“Unfortunately, as the wife of a servant of the realm, in this time of crisis, that has not been possible.”

“Wife?”

There. She’d said it. Now she would wait for the expected reaction.

Lord Koorecroft’s eyes bulged. “But I had it from Tilda you was a widow.”

And still would be having it, had Gil not gone and turned up last night—which was why Cass felt her jaw stiffen in a ghastly parody of the smile she attempted to give.

“Wait…good madam, are you saying—”

Cass squeezed back into the dark interior of the carriage. Lord Koorecroft’s jaw had dropped open. This was over if she did not press the advantage but this was the perfect opportunity to do so. To seize it though and truly make it hers as she had failed conspicuously to so far, she needed to seem a little more discreet than she was perhaps being, sitting in a carriage at a tavern door. To look, in a street bustling with afternoon shoppers and traders unloading goods from carts, a little more dignified, put upon, by the ungallant Lord Hawley. To seem driven by his vile peeping Tom persecution into behaving in ways she would normally shrink from, gallant little woman that she was.

“Yes. In—in the service of my country, there have been sacrifices. That was but one.”

“Your—”

As he worked his mouth open and shut, Lord Koorecroft seemed astonished.

About the Author

Shehanne Moore writes gritty, witty, historical romance, set wherever takes her fancy. What hasn’t she worked at while pursuing her dream of becoming a published author? Shehanne still lives in Scotland, with her husband Mr Shey. She has two daughters. When not writing intriguing historical romance, where goals and desires of sassy, unconventional heroines and ruthless men, mean worlds collide, she plays the odd musical instrument and loves what in any other country, would not be defined, as hill-walking.

Her second book featuring a hottie scottie, His Judas Bride was recently released and featured previously on this blog.

Contacts

Blog • Pinterest • Twitter • Weebly • Facebook

Furious Unravelings • Kilting the Book Facebook Page

Adrienne deWolfe and “His Wicked Dream”

Jan23

Adrienne will be awarding the following to random commenters:

a $20 Amazon Gift Card
a $15 Amazon Gift Card
a TIN-STARS AND TROUBLEMAKERS (4 full-length ebooks in a box set by best-selling Western Historical Romance authors Adrienne deWolfe, Patricia Rice, Sharon Ihle, and Patricia Hagan
a copy of the best-selling WILD TEXAS NIGHTS series by Adrienne deWolfe (3 books, total)
a copy of the award-winning VELVET LIES series by Adrienne deWolfe (ebooks 1-3) .

Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning! Click here for the Rafflecopter!

About His Wicked Dream

Haunted by scandal, Eden Mallory is determined to start over in a small Kentucky town. But she won’t soon forget the sexy, rugged doctor who rescued her from an outlaw, then rode off into the storm.

After losing his kid-brother to consumption, Dr. Michael Jones is obsessed with saving lives. He has no room for love or a wife. But the nights are lonely, and Eden haunts his dreams.

When Eden becomes his backdoor neighbor, she turns his world upside-down with her unconventional healing skills and sweet temptations. Then outlaws return, forcing Michael to confront his past if he is to save the most precious life of all.

Available

Velvet Lies Series

Wild Texas Nights Series

The Secrets to Getting Your Romance Novel Published (Series)

Tin-Stars and Troublemakers

Amazon • Barnes & Noble

Excerpt

The Dinner Guest

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?

Eden spun guiltily at that rumble of ire. She hadn’t heard Michael come down the hall. In fact, she hadn’t heard much of anything but the shrieking of her conscience and the hammering of her heart. Spying Michael’s medical books high on the shelves in the family parlor had seemed like the answer to her prayers. But guilt had made her sneak. How could she explain her interest in medical research without revealing her secret?

“M-Michael.” Thunder shook the walls, or did that quaking come from Michael’s boots? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry—”

“Of course you meant to pry. Prying is what females do best.”

He snatched the volume from her hand, and Eden winced. Looming over her, all muscle and menace, he practically steamed. She felt his heat like a furnace blast, flushing her skin and melting her nerves into a puddle.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Good heavens, what had put him in a foul mood this time? “I was just curious. About, um, respiration.”

“This volume is clearly marked A through H. Respiration would be in another volume entirely.”

“Yes, but bronchial inflammation—”

“Are you ill?”

Her pulse tripped as his gaze swept to her bodice. How could eyes so ice-blue one moment burn so scintillatingly hot the next?

She cleared her throat. “No. Nothing like that. I was just—”

His gaze snapped back to her face. “Then kindly refrain from snooping.”

She managed to gulp a breath. A sudden suspicion, one having to do with Sera and matchmaking, crept through Eden’s mind. As much as her reluctant host deserved a tongue lashing, Eden had to concede that Sera was the real culprit: she did nothing but try to marry Michael off.

Eden’s chin raised a notch. Well, it’s high time Michael Jones learns that Eden Mallory isn’t like all the other spinsters in this town.

She mustered the shreds of her decorum. “I completely understand your upset, Michael. If I’d come home after a long day’s work and discovered I was expected to entertain, I’d be put out too. If you prefer, I’ll leave.”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re my sister’s guest.”

And clearly unwelcome by you.

She told herself her hurt was ridiculous. She didn’t care one whit for Michael. Sera was the one she loved. “I don’t want to cause tension between you and Sera.”

“Sera causes tension between me and Sera.”

“Yes, well… I’m sure she believes she’s acting in your best interests.”

“By scheming to end my bachelorhood?”

Eden fidgeted. He did have a point.

“Dinner doesn’t have to be difficult,” she said, opting for a topic change. “Even though you don’t like me—”

“Who told you that?”

“Well . . . You did. Or rather, you do. Whenever you snap.”

“You shouldn’t take everything so personally.”

Did he actually mean to say that he liked her?

She had trouble hinging her jaw closed. “Well, that may be. But you have to admit, you’ve been short with me since the first day we met.”

“Are you asking me to apologize?”

“Well, no, I…” She caught herself. Why was she trying so hard to appease the cuss? “May I speak frankly?”

“When do you not?”

Ooh. Insufferable man.

“Honestly, Michael, you would try the patience of a saint. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t spend my nights dreaming up schemes to make you court me.”

“Indeed?”

“Heaven forbid. Why on earth would I waste a perfectly pleasant evening with a man who’s so unpleasant?”

“The question does give one pause.”

Her irritation climbed another notch. “You see? That’s precisely what I’m talking about. Rather than own up to your failings like a proper gentleman, you resort to sarcasm. You’re as high-handed as a tyrant. And you’re more prickly than a porcupine!”

“I see.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Anything else you’d like to share before dinner?”

Her hands flew to her hips. “Well, if you must know, I find you completely lacking in humor!”

His laughter startled her. It was a warm, rich, rumble of mirth, so utterly masculine and thoroughly frustrating, she wanted to smack him.

“That wasn’t supposed to be funny!”

“My dear Eden, are you certain you aren’t the one lacking in humor?”

About the Author

Adrienne deWolfe is a #1 best-selling author and the recipient of 48 writing awards, including the Best Historical Romance of the Year for Texas Wildcat (Book 3, Wild Texas Nights) and Doubleday’s Book of the Month Selection for His Wicked Dream (Book 2, Velvet Lies.) Adrienne is excited to announce that she will be donating a portion of her royalties from the Velvet Lies Series to urban reforestation efforts.

Fascinated by all things mystical, Adrienne writes a weekly blog about dragons, magic, and the paranormal at http://MagicMayhemBlog.com to help her research her upcoming paranormal romance series. She also writes a weekly blog featuring tips about the business of writing. She enjoys mentoring aspiring authors and offers professional story critiques with her book coaching services.

Contacts

Facebook • Goodreads • Pinterest • Twitter

Twitter (Fantasy Fiction) • Twitter (Writing News)

Regan Walker and “The Twelfth Night Wager”

Jan20

Regan will be awarding a copy of three (3) of her books, Racing with the Wind, The Holly and the Thistle and The Shamrock and the Rose to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

Interview with Regan Walker

Your new novella, The Twelfth Night Wager, begins as two men in White’s, one of the men’s clubs in Regency England, are discussing marriage (“the leg shackled state”). Then one of them challenges the other to a wager, that he must seduce, bed and leave a certain unnamed lady (and she is a lady) by Twelfth Night, or January 5^th. I found this intriguing…how did you conceive of this?

Well, in my research about the lives of men and women during that period in England’s history (from 1811-1820) when the Prince Regent reigned, I discovered they loved to wager. About almost anything. And in some clubs, such as White’s (a very old club) they kept a book where the wagers were entered. Such occurred the evening my story begins: two men drinking at White’s and one, a bit bored, agrees to an outrageous wager. He’s a rake after all, known for his conquests. How difficult could it be to seduce one widow? Seemed like an interesting beginning to me, and apparently it did to Christopher St. Ives, Viscount Eustace, too.

Is this your first holiday themed story?

No, actually I have three—all set in the same year, 1818. First is The Shamrock & The Rose, a short story that takes place around Valentine’s and St. Patrick’s Day (with an Irish hero). Then there’s the novella, The Twelfth Night Wager, that begins in October and extends through the New Year, capturing the fall season of house parties, fox hunting, pheasant shooting, Christmas and, of course, Twelfth Night. And on the tale of that comes The Holly & The Thistle, a short story that features Lady Emily Picton, introduced in the novella, and a Scot hero. All three have as a character Muriel, the Dowager Countess of Claremont, an infamous matchmaker.

What are you working on now?

Having finished the third in my Agents of the Crown trilogy, Wind Raven (which should be released early spring), I turned back to a project I started a few years ago, a medieval titled The Red Wolf’s Prize. It’s set in England just after William the Conqueror claimed the land for his own. I’m about mid way through the novel and deep into a siege scene at the moment when William faced the rebellious English at Exeter in 1068. Researching is a love of mine but going all the way back to the 11^th century is a huge challenge, I must say.

What are you reading now?

I have a blog for lovers of historical romance, Regan’s Romance Reviews, and January is Viking month. So, I’m deep into some Viking romances that I’ll be reviewing for an update of my Best Viking Romances list. I love a good Viking raid, don’t you? All those handsome, conquering hunks towering over the fair maidens. Ah yes…at least in fiction it can end happily, no?

What author or authors have most influenced your writing?

It would be the classic romance authors I still read and re-read today. All have been featured on my blog. Their books (along with those of some newer authors) can be found on my “best lists.” But my short list would be Penelope Williamson, Elizabeth Stuart, Jan Cox Speas, Virginia Henley, Shirlee Busbee, Heather Graham (aka Shannon Drake), Meagan McKinney, Kathleen Woodiwiss and Marsha Canham to name a few. They tell sweeping sagas based on solid research for a great love story. And they are the ones I want my work to be like. I want to sweep the reader away and I want her to feel like she knows the characters, like she’s traveled with them. And, in the end, I want the reader to enjoy the happily ever after.

If your publisher offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming project, where  would you mostly likely want to go? Why?

I’m thinking Istanbul. It has a fascinating history and I can so see a romance set there. And though I’ve been to 40 countries, including Turkey (more than once), I’ve never been to Istanbul. I would love it. Yet I must add that after I finish my medieval, I’m going to write the prequel to my trilogy, To Tame the Wind, and that novel begins in France in the late 18^th century. So, while I’ve been to Paris, a trip to northern France would not go amiss.

What’s your social media of choice and why?

It would have to be Facebook. I love the pictures, the conversations I strike up with my Facebook friends and the general sharing we indulge in. It’s the way I connect with readers most of the time, though some contact me via my blog, too. I spend at least an hour each day on FB and love it when my friends tell me my posts meant much to them or a particular picture I posted inspired them. I love to get new friends, too, so I encourage your followers to find me on Facebook (see below).

About The Twelfth Night Wager

On a dull day at White’s, the Redheaded Rake agreed to a wager: seduce and abandon the lovely Lady Leisterfield by Twelfth Night. After one taste of her virtue, he will stop at nothing less than complete possession.

Available

Amazon • Barnes & Noble

Excerpt

Soon he was escorted into the gilded green dining room and to his place. The other guests had already been seated. Across from him sat Alvanley and Lady Ormond, and on either side of him a lady new to him. Neither, he reflected sadly, was the beautiful blonde who occupied his thoughts.

A few places down the table he saw her sitting next to Ormond. There was a gallant on her other side with whom she was conversing. The shimmering coral gown she wore embraced her curves, modestly revealing the creamy mounds of her full breasts. Would that she was close enough he could speak to her. Close enough he could inhale her delicate scent. Memories of their morning ride assailed him—

Perhaps it was just as well she was not so close. His fervent interest in the lady might be too apparent, which would not do.

Lord Ormond, seeing the direction of Christopher’s gaze, raised an eyebrow. Christopher forced a smile and dipped his head in greeting, just as Lady Ormond sitting across from him drew his attention.

“Good eve to you, Lord Eustace.”

“And to you, my lady. And you, Alvanley.”

Introducing himself briefly to the two brunettes on either side of him, Christopher attempted to keep the conversation moving along through dinner. One was the daughter of a fellow Whig and companion of the other, who was young and apparently unattached by the way she was flirting with him. Carrying on with many women while desiring only one was proving to be exhausting. Generally he took women on one at a time. Not so this game. He was forced to at least appear to pursue several at once.

About the Author

As a child Regan Walker loved to write stories, particularly about adventure-loving girls, but by the time she got to college more serious pursuits took priority. One of her professors thought her suited to the profession of law, and Regan realized it would be better to be a hammer than a nail. Years of serving clients in private practice and several stints in high levels of government gave her a love of international travel and a feel for the demands of the “Crown” on its subjects. Hence her romance novels often involve a demanding Prince Regent who thinks of his subjects as his private talent pool.

Contacts

Website • Blog • Twitter • Facebook

Elf Ahearn and “Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower”

Jan16

Susana, I’m so pleased to be invited to post on your blog today. You do great service to us Regency romance writers and readers.

The first thing I heard when I set out to become an author was, “Write what you know.” Tough to do since the Regency occurred about 200 years ago, but I’ve always been accused of having an old soul. I feel most comfortable around antique things – furniture that shows the dents and cracks of use, books marred by the crayon scrawls of children. Signs of life thrill me. So the challenge I set myself when I wrote Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower was to make it seem “lived in.” To this end, my heroine, Claire was inspired by my sister Jenny, and the book’s hero, Flavian, by a feline who was everything she ever wanted in a man (except shedding).

Flavian was a striped tabby who walked like a truck driver but meowed like a soprano – all high and tweety. You will not find these character traits in the book, but you will find other similarities.

We always had a running tab of two to three dogs and four to five cats in the house along with four excitable girls and my excitable parents. At dinner the whole mess of us would crowd into the kitchen. My mother would feed us the human food and the animals would square off over their bowls. Dogs growled, cats hissed—but Flavian was unflappable. If he wanted Friskies, he just walked up to the bowl, nudged whoever was in the way, and got it. No fuss, no buss. All the animals respected Flavian, not because they were afraid, but because he exuded that kind of authority.

Jenny was mad for Flavian and he was mad for her. If he needed a warm lap she was there; if the night were cold, her bed was where he’d find warmth; should he need a treat, she’d give it to him, and when she required a dead mouse, he would provide it.

In the early stages of writing Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower, I thought, what would it be like if Jenny could have her ideal love without four legs and a tail? What would that man be like and how would my sweet, quiet sister, who, like Claire, is a healer, react to such a person? And so, the love story was born.

Now that I’ve confessed the origins of Lord Monroe’s main characters, for a chance at winning a free download of the novel, I’d like to know, have you ever had a pet you wished were human?

About Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower

Two years of bewildering silence have passed since Claire Albright’s passions were first inflamed by powerful, brooding, Lord Flavian Monroe. On the brink of her London debut he unexpectedly summons her, asking for help to cure his ward’s hoarding. Embroiled in a desperate attempt to curb the child’s destructive madness, Claire struggles to understand why Flavian’s kisses veer from burning desire to icy rejection. Can she reach his heart before the child’s insanity undoes their chance at love?

When he was fourteen, Flavian made a mistake so devastating it ruined all hope for happiness. Years later, he’s still paying for his sin. But before his ward’s troubled mind destroys his home and family, he must see Claire once more. Vowing to keep their relationship professional—she the healer, he the guardian—he finds the bonds of his resolve snapping. Somehow, he must content himself with the love that could have been, but he cannot resist . . . one final embrace . . .

Available at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble

A Snippet From Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower

“Claire!” Half way around the lake, he finally heard her answering call. His heart lurched when he caught sight of her. Dressed in pale green, she stood surrounded by a sea of yellow flowers. A straw bonnet shaded the perfect oval of her face. His eyes scrolled down her bodice. Between her breasts, she’d tucked a tiny bouquet of wild flowers: purple, pink, yellow, and white. He swallowed.

As he strode toward her, she said, “This spot has enough St. John’s wort to supply…” He crushed the end of her sentence with a kiss. All the frustration, all the passion he’d whipped back since she’d come to Bingham Hall, broke free the instant his mouth met hers. He tipped her till her bonnet came off and dangled by the string around her throat. His tongue parted her reluctance and demanded her participation while he explored the wet grotto of her mouth.

On the verge of lowering her to the ground, she put both hands to his shoulders and pushed. “Flavian, wait.” Her cool fingers went to each side of his face, and her gaze burrowed into the furthest recesses of his mind. He felt the question in her body, the beseeching touch of her fingertips: ‘I am the lamb, you, the lion. What will you do with me?’ He understood the question, but couldn’t bring himself to answer. Valencia’s eyes, like black bottomless pools, flickered in his thoughts. So many years ago, he’d asked that same question of her. Being a lion, she consumed him. And then, when she so desperately needed his help, he’d been powerless . . . worse, he’d been reluctant. He stepped out of Claire’s grasp. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Fire leapt in her eyes. “Not thinking?” She ran several paces away. Pointing at him, she cried, “You make a mockery of my heart. One moment your lips burn against mine, the next, you ignore me.”

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

Doubled over with frustration, she yanked on the skirts of her dress. “I don’t want your apology. I want your love.”

“You have it.” Before he could retract the words, they hovered in the air between them. All went still. Even the birds ceased their song. Claire clutched her heart. “Why would you say that?”

“I love you.” He stepped toward her, though his chest ached and his throat went dry. “God help you, but I love you.” At her feet he dropped to his knees, hat in hand. “I love you.”

About the Author

Elf Ahearn, yes, that is her real name, lives in New York with her wonderful husband and a pesky (yet irresistible) cat. She came to romance late in life because she had to meet the right guy before any of that love stuff made sense. Before meeting the man of her dreams, Elf was a journalist, a corporate communications specialist, an actor, an insurance underwriter (which amuses her friends because she can’t add two numbers together to save her life), and a Lithuanian vampiress. (Not really but if you’re still reading I wanted to give you a thrill.) Like many romance authors, Elf was nuts for horses, though now she’s turned to cats. (They’re not as easy to ride, but they eat less hay.) In fact, the temptation to write a horse story is what lured her into romance writing in the first place. (See A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing, the first book in the Albright Sisters series; there’s a really hot stallion in it.) Thanks for taking the time to read this post, and I hope you win the free download of Lord Monroe’s Dark Tower!

Elf’s Previous Post on Susana’s Parlour:

Regency Romance With a Gothic Twist:

Elf Ahearn and “A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing”

Diane Farr: Adventures in Audiobookland

Jan13

I write (mostly) romantic tales set in Regency England. But even if you know my books, you might not know that my first artistic career wasn’t on a page, but on the stage! Years of training, a degree in Drama, a move to Hollywood, an actual union card…so yeah, seriously, I was an actress. And more to the point, in addition to my stage work, I did voiceovers. I had something called “instant talent”—a knack for picking up a script and reading it “cold,” switching regional accents on command, that sort of thing.

You’ll notice I am using the past tense. I’ve been out of the business for a long time now, writing. But I’ve often thought it would be fun to record my books. And when Amazon acquired Audible, and then launched the Audiobook Creation Exchange (ACX)—bringing their expertise in self-publishing to the production of audiobooks—I knew it was just a matter of time before I jumped on the bandwagon.

I jumped in 2013.

And discovered that producing one’s own audiobook is just a tad different from walking into a studio, grabbing a script, putting on a pair of headphones and following someone else’s direction. I’d always thought that voiceover work was the easiest gig in show business. I now learned that what made it so easy was all the heavy lifting being done by the people surrounding the actor! In the brave new world of indie publishing, I had to do all the hard stuff in addition to the easy stuff.

And the easy stuff wasn’t that easy, either. I began with a novella—a lightweight bit of romantic fluff called Dashing Through the Snow—because, duh, it was the shortest piece I had. I thought of it as a sort of warm-up exercise. But I soon realized that a sustained reading of 20,000 words is a bit more difficult than voicing a 30-second commercial.

I swallowed. I breathed. I muffed my words from time to time. My voice cracked. Once I accidentally bonked the microphone with my tea cup. A couple of times I had to stop to clear my throat. All this vocal crapola had to be carefully edited out, and I didn’t have an editor. Or a recording engineer. Or a director. Or a sound technician. I had to wear all the hats. It’s tough to read out loud for hours on end while wearing multiple hats.

Oh, and did I mention that I don’t happen to own a recording studio? I have two cats, a husband and a washing machine, all reliably making noise at varying levels. The farthest point from the action in my house is the master bathroom. I closed the bedroom door and the bathroom door, huddled on a stool, and read into my newly-acquired Porta-Booth—which was balanced on a second stool, facing me.

With all this going on, I wasn’t able to tackle the gigantic problem rearing its hoary head—the one that had kept me from trying this during all the time I had wished I could. I am (a) female and (b) American. Many of my most important characters are (a) male and (b) English.

The marketing geniuses at ACX assured me that their audience wanted to hear books read by the author, no matter what. In their view, the fact that the narrator had also written the book outweighed any trifling consideration of accent or gender. So I forged ahead, perched in my bathroom with hot tea at my elbow and a microphone seated in a foam box before my face.

And then spent many an evening going over the recording with a fine-toothed comb, editing out the pops and gaps and odd noises, watching (and then applying) “how-to” videos on audio compression, and equalization, and blah-blah-blah. I got pretty good at blah-blah-blah.

Would I recommend the experience to other authors? Yes and no. Yes, if you are technologically savvy or don’t mind becoming technologically savvy. And if you like to read out loud. And if other people enjoy hearing you read out loud. And if you’re a total cheapskate who would rather do all the work yourself than pay someone else to do it for you.

If you answer “no”—or even “I’m not sure”—to any of those questions, my recommendation would be to visit ACX and offer your books to the hungry voiceover actors who may audition for you. There are actors who are willing to read your book for a share of your royalties. There are even producers who are willing to produce said actor’s work for a share of your royalties.

Dashing through the Snow went on sale through Audible, Amazon and iTunes on November 1, 3013 and I received my first royalty check yesterday—with no share deducted for anyone other than myself. So for me, was it worth the hours spent cursing under my breath and hating the sound of my own voice? I would have to say yes!

Available

Audible

About the Author

Diane Farr was first published at the age of eight when the Bakersfield Californian printed one of her poems. She has spent most of her life with her nose in a book — sometimes reading, sometimes writing. Eventually she produced eight historical romances and a novella, all published by Signet Books, a division of Penguin Putnam. Her latest adventure is a teen paranormal series: The Spellspinners. All her books are now available as e-books as well as in print.

Website • Blog • Facebook • Twitter

Killarney Sheffield and “Through Gypsy Eyes”

Jan9

Hi Susana! I’m so pleased to be visiting your parlour today.

I’m Killarney Sheffield, the author of Through Gypsy Eyes, released from Crimson Romance on April 15, 2013. Through Gypsy Eyes is my eighth published novel.

Giveaway!

I would be delighted to offer my newest re-release Stand & Deliver Your Love from BooksWeLove to one lucky commenter.

Many people have asked me just how I came up with the idea of a blind heroine and a guide animal in the form of a seeing eye pony named Jester. Like many authors I sometimes struggle with “showing” vs “telling” and developing the sensory dimensions in a novel. I started writing a short piece from a blind woman’s point of view. Obviously my character could not see the world around her but had to interpret it through touch, taste, smell and the sounds around her. It is a wonderful exercise that really helped me connect with Delilah.

The story just took off from there and refused to stay quiet until I seriously wrote her story and for me as a Canadian farm gal, a book is never complete without some kind of animal sidekick. Most people would have gone with the guide dog approach but, I hate to offend anyone here, I am just not a dog person. My whole life has been spent around show horses of various breeds and disciplines.As I was thinking on an animal sidekick I remembered an old show I saw once on Animal Planet about a lady in the USA who trained miniature horses to be guides for the blind. She used a harness similar to a dogs, put cute little sneakers on the pony’s feet for traction and house-trained them. These remarkable little creatures could do everything a guide dog could and posed less of an allergy problem.

From this simple show the idea behind Jester was born and he quickly became a most endearing character who threatened to steal the story in more than a few scenes! You can view a quick teaser of the tale here: http://youtu.be/S6qfLlbIkxA.

True to my love of critters big and small I am currently polishing another historical romance novel with suspense, adventure and paranormal aspects to it titled Love’s Magic. It is the story of a female magician and her unusual sidekick, a black Holland rabbit named Dexter.

About Through Gypsy Eyes

Delilah Daysland doesn’t see herself as marriage material. After all, who could love a woman locked in darkness?

Try telling that to Lord Tyrone Frost. He’s determined to do his duty and see her wed to a suitable gentleman, as the King commands.

Delilah has other plans. Convinced her father’s death was no accident, she must depend upon her pony Jester to guide her through everyday challenges as she seeks the truth behind mystery, murder, and deception. Though drawn to Tyrone she’s afraid to trust him, until she sees the world and love through gypsy eyes.

Sensuality Level: Behind Closed Doors

Available

Amazon

Excerpt

The pony snorted and then nickered. She strained to hear anything beyond her own movement as she kept herself afloat. Was there a slight rustle in the brush? Stilling her movement, she paid closer attention. After detecting no further sound she closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax and float in the blissful rocking motion of the current. It must be a small woodland creature out to parch its thirst on such a stuffy night. There was nothing to fear from such creatures, she was sure. A soft splash gave her pause and she rolled over. Treading water she turned to face the opposite bank. Ripples rose, slapping her chest as if something waded in the shallows. She listened again. A rhythmic sloshing made its way toward her. Alarm quickened her pulse as she concentrated on the sound.

“Jester?”

An answering nicker came from the bank behind her. She worried her damp lower lip between her teeth. If Jester is yet on the bank, then what is in the water with me? The unknown visitor slowed, treading water a few yards from her. By the noise it made she surmised it was large. Intuition told her it was not a mink or beaver come to fish. The fine hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. Crossing one arm over her breasts and paddling with the other to keep afloat she inquired, “Is someone there?”

“I thought my eyes deceived me when I spied a fair maiden floating in this pool.”

The unexpected baritone froze her movement. Delilah gasped, almost going under the surface of the water when she forgot in surprise to paddle for an instant. She scrambled for something appropriate to say under the circumstances. “I beg your pardon, sir? ‘Tis most unseemly to disrupt a lady’s swim.”

He chuckled, a low, husky sound making her picture a large, muscular physique. “Ah, you are right; however, I have yet to determine whether you are a lady or merely a figment of my overtaxed imagination.”

Heart thudding against her ribcage, she swam backward toward the opposite bank, struggling to appear calm and collected. The stranger could accost her here and no one would know to come to her rescue. How senseless I have been. Surely Jester will be no match for a man intent on harming me. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage.

“I assure you sir, I am not a figment of anyone’s imaginings, least of all yours.”

“Hmm …” the preponderance followed her. “Perhaps then you are a woodland nymph out to temp any man who passes by to try your nectar?”

Her feet touched bottom, sinking into the sand. Before she could turn and make for the bank his hands were on her waist. To her horror he cradled it in a firm, yet gentle grip.

“Release me sir, for you do offend a lady, not a nymph.” She fought a growing sense of panic as he drew her to him.

His minty breath tickled her damp cheek. “You have flesh as any maiden. Do you taste as sweet as one, too?”

Anger and shock at his boldness brought her hand down with force to slap the surface of the water. He sputtered in response to the spray splattering his face. Perhaps I might have the upper hand. “Release me this instant or I shall scream and alert my maid who sleeps on the bank,” she bluffed.

Despite the warning, he chuckled. “There is no maid, wood nymph, for I walked the whole perimeter when I spied you here.”

Is his intent to take advantage of a lone woman and defile me? What am I to do?

Summoning her little remaining courage, she tried to reason with him. “I say again, release me good sir, for my presence will be missed at the manor even as we speak.” She grimaced at the tremor in her voice betraying her fear. He shifted, his mouth brushing her ear, and she gasped at the intimate contact.

“Ah, even so I would take a moment to test your lips to see if they are as soft and sweet as your voice,” he whispered.

About the Author

Facebook • Twitter • Goodreads • Blog

Current Books on Amazon