Barbara Bettis: The Heart of the Phoenix

One lucky commenter will win an e-copy of The Heart of the Phoenix . All comments also qualify as entries for Susana’s September Giveaway, a necklace from London’s National Gallery (see photo at right).

About The Heart of the Phoenix

Some call him a ruthless mercenary; she calls him the knight of her heart.

Memories

Lady Evelynn’s childhood hero is home—bitter, hard, tempting as sin. And haunted by secrets. A now-grown Evie offers friendship, but Sir Stephen’s cruel rejection crushes her, and she resolves to forget him. Yet when an unexpected war throws them together, she finds love isn’t so easy to dismiss. If only the king hadn’t betrothed her to another.

Can Be Cruel

Sir Stephen lives a double life while he seeks the treacherous outlaws who murdered his friends. Driven by revenge he thinks his heart is closed to love. His childhood shadow, Lady Evie, unexpectedly challenges that belief. He rebuffs her, but he can’t forget her, although he knows she’s to wed the king’s favorite.

And Deadly

When his drive for vengeance leads to Evie’s kidnapping, Stephen must choose between retribution and the loved he’s denied too long. Surely King John will see reason. Convict the murderers; convince the king. Simple. Until a startling revelation threatens everything.

Amazon • The Wild Rose Press

Excerpt

Evie could tell Stephen was angry now by the way he glowered and roared in that whispery sort of way no one else could hear, but left her with no doubt of his displeasure.

“Your betrothed.” He bent and scooped her off the floor.

“What? What about him?”

“That’s the identity of the illustrious lord who’s sharing passage with us.”

“You’re drunk. And put me down. I’m perfectly capable of getting up on my own.”

“Be quiet. You have blood on your leg.”

“Of course I do. I tripped and fell trying to answer your pounding when you could easily have opened—” His words finally penetrated her throbbing head. “I’m bleeding?”

Oh, blast. The contents of her—empty—stomach churned. She attended the villagers’ hurts, bound the cuts and scrapes of servants and their children. The sight of their blood bothered her not a whit. But her own? Black spots danced at the corners of her vision, becoming larger and larger until she heard Stephen’s voice.

“Evie, Evie. What the hell?”

His voice echoed so far away. If she didn’t know better, she’d vow he sounded alarmed. Perhaps she’d close her eyes for a moment. As the ringing in her ears crescendoed, she recalled his words. Betrothed.

Her betrothed was on board?

Dear Lord, just let me die.

About the Author

Award winning author Barbara Bettis has always loved history and English. As a college freshman, she briefly considered becoming an archeologist until she realized there likely would be bugs and snakes involved. And math.

She now lives in Missouri, where by day she’s a mild-mannered English teacher, and by night she’s an intrepid plotter of tales featuring heroines to die for—and heroes to live for.

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Historical Tidbit: Dover

Most of us are used to reading of Dover as the port closest to the continent and the one used most frequently. However, in the Middle Ages, it wasn’t always the port of choice. When King John left Normandy for England where he was to be crowned on Ascension Thursday, 1199, he landed at Shoreham on the country’s southern coast. Evidently, Shoreham was a popular port during those years. According to one source, one of the first things John did when he landed in Shoreham two days before his coronation was visit the church of St. Nicholas.

Here’s a modern photo of St. Nicholas’ Church, although one can see some of the medieval touches at the top.

Maggi Andersen: What a Rake Wants (The Spies of Mayfair Series)

Aug28

Interview With Maggi Andersen

Susana: What inspired you to start writing?

Maggi: I needed little inspiration I remember writing at a very young age. When I had the time to devote to a career in writing, I took it up seriously.

Susana: How long have you been writing?

Maggi: I began 15 years ago. I wrote my first book for my master’s degree. It was a murder mystery titled Murder in Devon.

Susana: What advice would you give to writers just starting out?

Maggi: Patience is something writers need in spades, although these days it’s not nearly as bad as it was years ago, when we had to post everything and wait months for a reply. It takes time to find your voice and learn your craft though. Don’t be too hasty sending off your work. Make sure it’s as perfect as you can get it. Put it aside for as long as you can and then look at it with new eyes. You’ll be surprised at the mistakes you’ll find, and what you can see to improve it. Wait a few weeks if you can. Another example of why we need patience! J

Susana: Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

Maggi: No, never. I don’t believe in it. If I run out of ideas, I just start writing. The creative brain kicks into action and something will come. You can always edit the first draft. You can’t edit a blank page.

Susana: What comes first: the plot or the characters?

Maggi: When I first began writing it was plot driven, but now the characters drive the story. Sometimes, without me at the wheel.

Susana: Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Maggi: I tend to be a bit of both. I know the ending. It’s not hard it’s a romance! I plot a scene ahead but that can change as the characters lead me off somewhere surprising. I like the panster element in my writing because it can go off on tangents I would never have thought of plotting the story. A spy story or mystery needs more plotting. I like to end up with a reasonable first draft.

Susana: Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

Maggi: Flynn, Lord Montsimon is playing the game of a rake due to the hurt he suffered as a child in Ireland. It takes a woman like Lady Althea Brookwood to show him his true feelings and melt his heart. My inspiration for Flynn came from Errol Flynn, the Australian actor. Despite his racy reputation, Flynn was known to be a cultured gentleman. I love his movies, who doesn’t like Captain Blood?

Susana: Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?

Maggi: I’m writing another Regency series, The Baxendale Sisters. The first is Lady Honor’s story. The book is titled: Honor’s Debt.

Susana: What are you reading now?

Maggi: Not a historical. Slow Hand by Victoria Vane. It’s great!

Susana: What author or authors have most influenced your writing?

Maggi: Surprisingly, Harlan Coben. A suspense writer can learn a lot from the way he crafts his stories. My love of historials came from Georgette Heyer, Victoria Holt, Eloisa James and Jane Austen. I like Julia Quinn and Anna Campbell too.

Susana: What is your work schedule like when writing?

Maggi: I spend long hours at my desk every day. (My husband is retired from the law and does the cooking). I don’t write at night, I join him to watch something on the television or read.

Susana: What did you want to be when you grew up?

Maggi: I dreamed of living in an English country village while writing. (My artist mother was born of English parents, and this was her dream too) I now live in a quaint, Australian country village in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, where tourists come to see the spring gardens. And I spend my days writing, so I guess I’ve come close to living my dream.

Susana: What is your favorite food? Least favorite? Why?

Maggi: My love of all kinds of cheeses, which comes from my Danish father. Least favorite, any kind of offal. I remember my Dad loved brains and my mother would cook them for him on his birthday. Yuk!

Susana: What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?

Maggi: My first job was in a bank, and for a creative person like me, I found it difficult and boring. I can balance a check book though.

Susana: Is there a writer you idolize? If so, who?

Maggi: I’d have to say Mary Stewart who died recently in her 90s. She was a poet and wrote the first romantic suspense novels. I have her entire library.

Question for the Readers: What problem didn’t occur to Althea when she chose the gown she wore?

About What a Rake Wants

King George sends his private investigator, an Irishman, Kieran Flynn, Lord Montsimon, on a mission, the reason for which is unclear. Is it a plot against the Crown? Or something entirely unrelated? Flynn’s inquiries lead him to the widow, Lady Althea Brookwood. Known amongst the ton as a rake, Flynn is rarely turned down by a lady, and when Althea refuses not just him but many other men, he becomes intrigued.

After her neighbor, Sir Harold Crowthorne informs Lady Althea that he means to take her country property, Owltree Cottage, by fair means or foul, she must search for help. The first man she turns to is promptly murdered and the second lies to her. That leaves Flynn, Lord Montsimon, a man she has been studiously avoiding. But Montsimon is decidedly unhelpful, and more than a little mysterious. Her only option is to seduce him. Lady Althea has little confidence that she will succeed, especially as before her husband was killed in a duel, he often told her she was quite hopeless at intimacy.

When a spy is murdered, Flynn wonders just what Althea knows and what her involvement might be with the man the king wants Flynn to investigate.

Amazon Kindle • Amazon Print

Excerpt

(Lord Montsimon and Lady Althea Brookwood are forced to share a bed for the night.)

The attic room had a low, sloping ceiling. A green hook rug covered the floor and a jug, basin, and towels had been placed on the tall dresser. A straight-backed chair sat in the corner and the bed against the far wall. Mrs. Fletcher’s description of the bed had been accurate: the small wooden bedstead was covered in a bright quilt and not designed for two. Althea stared at it, her throat tight with dismay, as Montsimon shut the door. His nearness in the small space was overwhelming.

Seemingly unaffected, Montsimon peeled off his coat and sat on the feather-filled mattress, which sank visibly under his weight. He looked annoyingly at home. He tugged at his cravat then undid the buttons on his shirt to reveal a strong throat and a glimpse of dark chest hair. She took in the male strength, the cleanliness and beauty of him and turned away to fuss with her cloak before hanging it over the chair.

“Would you help me off with my boots?”

“I’m hardly a valet,” she said, sounding peevish.

“Not as strong, but we shall manage,” he said with a grin. His waistcoat joined his coat on the chair. How much was he going to remove? She wished her breath would slow.

Althea took hold of the mud-splashed, black leather Hessian boot and pulled. It didn’t budge.

“Perhaps a bit harder?”

Annoyed by his manner, she gave a violent yank. The boot slid down Montsimon’s well-defined calf so fast she fell onto her derriere on the hard plank floor.

“Are you all right?” His grin widened as he leapt up.

“Perfectly.” She waved his hand away and climbed to her feet, resisting a rub of the damaged area. “Your other foot if you please.”

“If you’re sure?” he asked with a burst of laughter.

With a dismissive scowl, she planted her feet and taking a firm hold of the boot, eased it down more gradually. It slid off his leg without further mishap. There was something disturbingly intimate about his broad chest encased in white linen, the form-fitting grey trousers and his big stockinged feet. Had she ever seen Brookwood this way? He always came to her chamber dressed in his banyan and slippers. And she had dreaded the sight of him.

Montsimon stood, ducking his head under a beam. “You’ll never manage that dress on your own.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m keeping it on.”

“Such a pretty gown was meant for a drawing room, not for sleeping in.”

“Nevertheless, I shall sleep in it.” She perched on the chair and took off her shoes.

He frowned. “Give me a look at those.”

“Why?” She handed them to him.

He turned a shoe over in his big hands. The sole of one had worn through. “These are about to fall apart. I had no idea you wore such flimsy shoes.”

“They are meant for drawing rooms, my lord. As is my dress.”

“That gown will look like a rag in the morning. As you have nothing else to change into, you will have to bear it until we return to London.”

Why did he so often make sense? She brushed down her skirts, which were already dreadfully crushed, and was forced to agree. She wasn’t a shy, green girl; she just didn’t want to inflame Flynn’s passions. It would take very little, she suspected. But her underwear covered her and was perfectly modest. “The bed is too small. A gentleman would sleep in the chair.”

His eyebrows flew up. “It’s made of wood.”

“Obviously.”

He flapped a hand in dismissal. “I intend to sleep in that bed, my lady. Where you choose to sleep is entirely up to you. I’m going downstairs to wash at the pump. While I’m away, you can undress and hide beneath the covers.” He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Again, do you require help to undo those impossible little buttons at your back?”

“Odd that this problem didn’t occur to me when I chose to wear it.” Her lips puckered in annoyance. While they were arguing, what remained of the night was passing. She turned her back. “If you will.” If he treated her like a servant, she would do likewise.

Her hair had begun to escape the topknot, and she swept it up out of the way, scattering pins. She tingled under the gentle touch of his fingers as they moved down her back. Her gown fell away. “What are you doing?”

“Unlacing your stays. You can’t sleep in this uncomfortable garment!”

“I had intended to,” she said, pulling away as he tugged at the laces. Too late, she felt them give.

“You have lovely hair, Althea,” he said softly.

His use of her name was very seductive. Her pulse skittered alarmingly. She spun around, clutching the bodice of her dress to her chest as her stays slipped to the floor.

Montsimon looked her up and down, warm approval in his gaze.

She backed away from him, longing for the shelter of darkness. “Once I’m in bed, shall I blow out the candle?”

“If you wish.” Montsimon closed the door behind him.

About the Author

Maggi Andersen lives with her lawyer husband in a quaint old town in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia. She began writing fiction after raising three children and studying for a BA and an MA in Creative Writing.

When not creating stories, Maggi reads, enjoys her garden, goes for long walks and feeds the local wildlife. Her six kookaburras (Australian Kingfishers) prefer to be hand fed.

An Amazon bestselling Regency author, Maggi writes in several genres, contemporary and historical romances and young adult novels. Having grown up reading Enid Blyton and Georgette Heyer, Maggi’s romances are filled with adventure, mystery or intrigue, but always with a happy ending.

Her latest releases:

The Spies of Mayfair Series

A Baron in Her Bed

Taming a Gentleman Spy

What a Rake Wants

Website

Historical Tidbit

Did you know that in the fifteenth century, only a few could afford glass windows? They became more common in the sixteenth but were still expensive. When people moved they took their windows with them! Tudor windows were small pieces of glass held together by strips of lead in a criss-cross or lattice pattern. To make a pane of glass, a blog of glass was blown into a cylinder-shaped bubble, which was placed on a cooling table. Then afer the bubble cooled, it was cut in half producing a small piece.

The poor, however, still had to make do with strips of linen soaked in linseed oil.

Hardwick Hall, owned by Dowager Countess of Shrewsbury, was famous for its Tudor windows. It inspired a rhyme: “Hardwick Hall more glass than wall.”

Marlow Kelly: A Woman of Honour

Aug25

Marlow will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour. Click here for the Rafflecopter. Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About A Woman of Honour

Duncan Campbell wakes to discover he is imprisoned with a woman in his enemy’s dungeon in the Highlands of Scotland. The disenchanted warrior hopes his last few moments on earth will be spent in the arms of the sweet-voiced Isabel. If only she will cooperate.

Isabel Douglas has no intention of obliging the crude captive. The penniless noblewoman considers herself too tall and thin to be desirable. She intends to become a nun. But first, disguised as a boy, she must deliver an important letter to Scotland’s hero in hiding, King Robert the Bruce.

Together, the pair make a daring escape that plunges them into the bleak countryside in the middle of winter. In the struggle to survive, they learn the true strength of their feelings for each other. But when Duncan’s animosity towards the king becomes evident, Isabel must decide between her heart and her country.

Excerpt

Duncan Campbell drifted into consciousness and opened his eyes to absolute blackness. He lay perfectly still on the cold, dirt floor listening. A small rustle of fabric echoed in the darkness. He cocked his head, getting a sense of the sound’s location, then rose to his feet.

“Tell me who you are before I tear you apart,” he roared, seizing his opponent. Whoever it was didn’t answer, just silence. A fist punched him on the nose. Pain ricocheted through him, and he grabbed his face. In the dark, he lost his balance and fell in the dirt, cradling his head in his hands.

“Oh my, are you all right?” asked a small voice.

“No, I’m not.”

“You threatened me, and I wanted to give you fair warning I will fight back if you touch me.”

The lyrical voice stunned him. A woman? She spoke Gaelic with a strong, lowland accent. He shook off the pain and asked, “Where am I?”

“Dunstaffnage Castle. Don’t you remember your capture? I’ve heard of people getting a bump on the head and not remembering their own name. Is that what happened to you? Did you bump your head?”

Lord, she was talkative.

“Is it?”

“I remember I was hit from behind scouting the bast….Are we in the dungeon?” He rose to his feet.

“Yes.”

He grunted. On the bright side he hadn’t gone blind. On the other hand they were in a dank, windowless cell with no hope of escape. There wasn’t even a sliver of light coming through the door.

About the Author

After being thrown out of England for refusing to drink tea, Marlow Kelly made her way to Canada where she found love, a home and a pug named Max. She also discovered her love of storytelling. Encouraged by her husband, children and let’s not forget Max, she started putting her ideas to paper. Her need to write about strong women in crisis drives her stories and her curiosity regarding the lives and loves of historical figures are the inspiration for her characters.

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The Frost of Springtime: Rachel L. Demeter

Jul14

Rachel will be awarding a $15 Amazon gift card and 5 autographed bookmarks via rafflecopter during the tour (US ONLY). Click here for the Rafflecopter. Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About The Frost of Springtime

To rescue her was to rescue his own soul.

On a cold Parisian night, Vicomte Aleksender de Lefèvre forges an everlasting bond with a broken girl during her darkest hour, rescuing her from a life of abuse and misery. Tormented by his own demons, he finds his first bit of solace in sheltering little Sofia Rose.

But when Aleksender is drawn away by the Franco-Prussian war, the seasons pass. And in that long year, Sofia matures into a stunning young woman—a dancer with an understanding of devotion and redemption far surpassing her age.

Alongside his closest friend, Aleksender returns home to find that “home” is gone—replaced by revolution, bloodshed, betrayal—and a love always out of reach. Scarred inside and out, he’s thrust into a world of sensuality and violence—a world in which all his hours have now grown dark, and where only Sofia might bring an end to the winter in his heart.

Inspired by the 1871 Paris Commune, The Frost of Springtime is a poignant tale of revolution, redemption, and the healing power of love.

Goodreads

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Excerpt

Sofia saw the memories buried within his eyes. Gunshots. Screams. Rolling cannons and the faded cries of despair. They lodged inside Aleksender, battling for his soul.

Sofia rose from the ground and tentatively crouched behind him. Remaining silent, her hands sunk below the material of his dress shirt and encouraged him with gentle caresses.

“Disease and death were everywhere. Men with boils and rashes the size of saucers. Anyway, we almost managed to escape. It was a good mile away that we were spotted. They were corrupt soldiers, nothing but hungry dogs with a taste for blood-lust. We were tied at the wrists and ankles, crammed inside a tent. Whether it was days or weeks, I cannot say.” Scoffing under his breath, he spat, “The fools demanded answers. They demanded our plans. Strategies. We refused each time. Even so none of us knew anything.”

“Oh, Alek. Why didn’t you tell them? To think you could have avoided so much pain.”

His shoulders lifted into a dry shrug. “I suppose we took a morbid delight in their frustration.” His voice was icy, harsh and void of all emotion. “And besides—it was the prospect of whipping information from our skin that kept us alive. But we were eventually returned to the camp. Bloodied, battered and burned—but alive.” Aleksender passed fingertips through his hairline. “Till this day, I have no idea what changed their minds …” Aleksender sighed and gave an afterthought, “Word had spread of their rather unorthodox methods, so to speak. According to rumor, they’d paid dearly.”

“I pray they burn in hell,” Sofia gasped. “Every last one of them!”

Aleksender laughed, amused by her goodhearted blasphemy. “Ah, Sofia, ma chérie. You do wonders for me.” And then a sudden thought came to his mind. “Christophe was there with me.”

“In the tents?” Sofia murmured, her heart reaching out to both heroes.

Aleksender merely nodded.

Although she’d never had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Cleef, his name inspired a strange twinge of nostalgia inside her gut. Aleksender had often spoken of his dear friend—a rather admirable man of big ideas and too little restraint. From what she knew of the roguish skirt-chaser, she’d always admired him very much.

“Such wonderfully brave men,” she crooned, caressing one of many scars. “You have a soldier’s heart.”

Cloaked beneath the darkness, Sofia’s fingertips moved over his back in hypnotic motions, not leaving an inch of him unloved. “Do they pain you much?”

“No,” he hoarsely answered, “they are no bother.” His body trembled within her arms. “Not any longer.”

Between tentative kisses and muffled sniffles, she whispered, “To think of the pain you endured. The cruelty—your suffering.”

Aligning their two bodies, Aleksender cradled Sofia’s face between his palms and sweetly stroked her skin. Sofia’s toes curled against the barrier of her slippers. It was intoxicating. By far the sweetest moment in her nineteen years of life. With a last kiss, he whispered into her mouth, “Pain is in the mind. And, in my mind, ma chérie … I was with you.”

Additional Excerpts

About the Author

Rachel L. Demeter lives in the beautiful hills of Anaheim, California with Teddy, her goofy lowland sheepdog, and high school sweetheart of ten years. She enjoys writing dark, edgy romances that challenge the reader’s emotions and examine the redeeming power of love.

Imagining stories and characters has been Rachel’s passion for longer than she can remember. Before learning how to read or write, she would dictate stories while her mom would jot them down for her. She has a special affinity for the tortured hero and unconventional romances. Whether sculpting the protagonist or antagonist, she always ensures that every character is given a soul.

Rachel strives to intricately blend elements of romance, suspense, and horror. Some common themes her stories never stray too far from: forbidden romance, soul mates, the power of love to redeem, mend all wounds, and triumph over darkness. Her dream is to move readers and leave an emotional impact through her words.

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Lily’s Leap: Téa Cooper

Jul3

It’s all about the dress.

My heroines seem to spend most of their time galloping around on horses and getting themselves into all kind of scrapes. Their day-to-day clothes are very much based on those worn by some of the more notorious female characters of Australian history.

Mary Ann Bugg was the sometime wife of one of Australia’s more famous bushrangers, Captain Moonlight. Newspaper reports of the time describe her as looking like a young boy, wearing moleskin trousers, a thick shirt, a monkey jacket, knee length boots and a cabbage tree hat. The type of clothes a stockman of the day wore.

Both my heroines in Lily’s Leap and Matilda’s Freedom are fiercely independent women, born and bred in the Australian bush. Although Lily grew up with many of the privileges of wealth, Matilda is the daughter of convict parents.

Nevertheless, as we all know, at some point every girl needs a party dress.

After a week on the road with a motley crew of bushrangers Lily arrives at her aunt’s house in Sydney and she has to conform. I chose this example from the Powerhouse Museum Collection as “her” dress.

A few years later Matilda borrows it when she arrives in Sydney with only the clothes on her back after her family’s farm has been destroyed by fire.

It’s fun to slip a little bit of reality into a story.

This dress has an interesting history. It belonged to a Sarah Thomas. She brought it with her from England when she arrived in Australia with her husband as a free settler in the late 1830s.

Women’s day dress, 1840 – 1850 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney. Photo: Sue Stafford

Sarah Thomas was an interesting individual and obviously (like me) had a preference for checks! She made herself this skirt en route to Australia and wore it until her death in 1878 which, since she had ten children, is pretty amazing! You can find out more about Sarah, her story and her skirt here.

Check taffeta skirt worn by Sarah Thomas, c. 1839 Collection: Tongarra Museum, Photo: Rebecca Evans

Excerpt from Lily’s Leap

Lily pushed back the blankets and peered around her in horror. The sun streaming in through the fine lawn curtains told her it was long past dawn and the time the horses should have been loaded. She reached her hand out to the pot of tea next to a cup on the bedside table. It was cold to the touch.

Shouting a string of curses she’d picked up from Jem, she scampered from the bed searching for her riding breeches, and failing to find them threw the checked silk taffeta dress over her head and shook her hair back while she fumbled with the mass of intricate buttons. With a pair of slippers clasped in her hands she ran down the stairs barefooted.

‘Good morning, Lily.’

She ignored her aunt’s greeting. Panic laced her chest tighter than the hurriedly fastened buttons of her unaccustomed dress. “The horses. Are we too late? They should have been loaded hours ago.”

And from Matilda’s Freedom

His blood warmed as she approached and he saw the way her breeches hugged the sculpted curves of her thighs.

‘Good morning. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’ She turned to greet the horses and threw a smile at him over her shoulder.

The outline of her buttocks as she turned away from him took his breath away. She was not even remotely self-conscious and looked more comfortable now than in the tartan dress she’d worn on the evening they’d first met. Her supple fingers caressed the neck of her bay mare, and the horse whinnied its approval.

Kit understood why.

Note: Matilda is helping celebrate Lily’s release, and for a short time, Matilda’s Freedom is only 99¢ on Amazon!

About Lily’s Leap

From Escape’s Queen of Australian historical romance comes a story about a privileged member of Australian’s squattocracy, a bushranger, and a very special horse.

Born into the rough, but privileged society of the Australian colonial landowners, Lilibeth Dungarven finds herself married, widowed, and, much to her distress, back under her father’s thumb, all before her twenty-first birthday. Determined not to forgo her dream of breeding the perfect racehorse, Lilibeth ignores propriety and sets out to restore the family’s flagging fortunes.

When Captain Tom and his mismatched band of bushrangers stumble across a mob of the best horses they’ve ever seen, and the daughter of the famed Dungarven horse stud, they know their fortunes have changed. Their catch is worth a king’s ransom. All they have to do is hold her for seven days. How hard can it be to control the pampered daughter of a colonial upstart?

Harlequin Escape • Amazon • Amazon.aus • iTunes • Kobo

Reviews

“Forget work, forget all your responsibilities and slide into this delicious story … a well-written book by a talented writer … since I doubt I’ll be visiting Australia, it was a treat to feel like I was there, herding horses to market across the Australian Outback. The landscape assumes the position of a character in this exciting romance; playing a pivotal role in Lily’s adventure. A fabulous read by a very talented Aussie author … I have no hesitation in HIGHLY recommending Lily’s Leap.”

http://mywrittenromance.com/2014/06/06/lilys-leap-by-tea-cooper-review

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/946141614?book_show_action=false&page=1

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/961167774?book_show_action=true&page=1

Excerpt

Hunter Valley, Australia 1848

Lilibeth Dungarven’s cry of pure pleasure soared skywards as the massive black stallion rose to clear the fallen tree, sending the horrors of the last four years scuttling into the dirt of the ancient land.

Clenching her knees against Nero’s heaving flanks she bent low, ducking the overhanging branches framing the bush track, her cheek pressed to the warmth of his muscular neck. When the erratic pounding in her chest settled she drew Nero to a shuddering halt and pushed the damp curls back from her forehead.

A pair of black cockatoos, disturbed by her madcap gallop, shrieked their annoyance and resettled in the whispering casuarina trees. The crack of their beaks as they threw the mangled nuts to the ground filled the silence. Below her the ribbon of sandstone road weaved its way towards Payne’s Crossing and she shielded her eyes from the sun, searching for her mob of horses.

A glint of reflected sunlight drew her eye to a mounted figure in the middle of the road. Despite the hat pulled low shadowing his face, the stockwhip crack of his words registered deep in her belly.

‘Bail up! Guns down and off the horses.’

‘What do you think you…?’ Constricted by the tension in her throat her words petered out. No one would dare steal such a valuable mob of horses. They were branded. Everyone in the colony knew the Dungarven brand. To lose them was unthinkable. Years of breeding — the first pure Dungarven bloodlines. Months proving herself capable of managing the sale and the trip to Sydney. And now a hold up! It would not happen. Not if Lilibeth Dungarven had any say in the matter.

About the Author

Téa Cooper lives in a stone cottage on one hundred acres of bushland, just outside the time-warp village of Wollombi, NSW Australia. When she isn’t writing, Téa can be found haunting the local museum or chatting to the locals, who offer a never-ending source of inspiration.

Lily’s Leap is Téa’s second Australian historical romance set in Wollombi. Her first, Matilda’s Freedom is available now.

In October, Jazz Baby, a 1920s rags to riches story set in Sydney will be released and in February 2015, Forgotten Fragrance, Book I of a family saga entitled From the Ocean to the Outback. At the moment she is working on a parallel time-line series called The Adventures of Miss Abigail Wynter. She has also written three contemporary romances.

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Renee Reynolds and A Marquis For All Seasons

Jun26

Renee will be awarding a replica of the locket and chain worn by the heroine in the book, and a copy of A Marquis For All Seasons (choice of print or ebook; print will be autographed) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US ONLY). Click here for the Rafflecopter. Click on the banner to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About A Marquis For All Seasons

Lady Miranda Leighton and the Marquis of Stafford, Roman de Courtenay, have a similar problem: their families want them to find a spouse. Together they hatch the perfect scheme: they will pretend an attachment and trick their families in their pursuit of one last season of unencumbered entertainment. Yet, in each other’s constant company, they find their ruse giving rise to some surprisingly very real feelings. What happens when you set out to fool society, but only end up fooling yourselves?

Excerpt

“Let us take each day as it comes, and decide entertainments best suited to our attendance closer to the events,” Lord Stafford suggested with a resigned air. He sighed, suddenly weary at the drastic turn his summer was taking. His time would not be his own, it seemed. At least Lady Miranda did not ask him to undertake the ridiculous, such as a trip to Tattersall’s, a gambling hell, or Almack’s. He could well manage a few parties and the occasional turn through Hyde Park. He grinned suddenly. “We shall woo our families with the idea that we woo each other,” he quipped.

Miranda groaned, rolling her eyes but grinning in response. “And we shall have the most fun possible in the process.”

“Yes, well, that remains to be seen. I suppose it depends on one’s definition of ‘fun,’” he returned as his brows drew together in thought.

“And in one’s ability to experience it. I give you leave to pay me as many pretty comments as necessary,” she teased.

“Then, I give you leave to swoon, but no more than twice, and only after conveying your raptures over the delicacy of my words.”

Miranda squeezed his arm in delight as they neared the gazebo. “I’m not ashamed to admit it: I plan to enjoy our ruse immensely.”

“While I plan to suffer all for the greater good.”

“As long as you ‘suffer all’ with a besotted air, you may suffer as much as you see fit.”

About the Author

Author Renée Reynolds grew up all over the world as the daughter of a globe-trotting Marine father and spirited and supportive mother. Their family motto was you can never learn too much, travel too much, or talk too much.

She majored in majors in college, and after obtaining a host of degrees she decided not to use any of them and instead writes about what she cannot do – go back in time to dance at balls, flirt with lords, gentlemen, and scoundrels, and gallop unfashionably down Rotten Row during the most fashionable hour.

After dodging a few Collinses and Wickhams, Renée happily snared a Darcy. Her HEA turned out to be in Texas, where she resides with “the hubs, the kiddos, a boisterous menagerie of indoor and outdoor animals, and a yard of meticulously maintained weeds.” She has happily tagged on this addendum to the family motto: you can never read too much, too often, or too late at night.

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What to Wear When Saying “I Do” to Your Beau: Regency Wedding Gowns by Katherine Givens

Jun5

Recently, I have been busy researching Regency weddings for one of my current manuscripts.. The simple family affairs are the prime setting for romance. From the announcement of the wedding banns to the olden churches, I have been captivated. One of my fascinations throughout my research has been for the Regency wedding gown. Who can blame me? Have you seen how beautiful these gowns are?

The silver lace dress worn by Princess Charlotte in 1816 when she married Prince Leopold.

The wedding gown worn by Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte.

Queen Victoria is accredited as having started the tradition of wearing white. However, she was not the first bride to wear a white wedding gown. She started the trend of no other color doing for wedding gowns, but contrary to belief, white was a popular choice throughout the Regency era.

A fashion plate of a white wedding dress from the June 1816 issue of Ackerman’s Repository.

The color and shade of the wedding gown depended on the bride’s tastes. The gown could be an array of colors, but contrary to what many believe, white was a popular choice. White muslin was a fashionable choice for dresses throughout the Regency era, and so it only makes sense this favorite prevailed in wedding ceremonies. Other pale shades, such as pink and yellow, were also prevalent throughout the era.

Simplicity was the rule. The shape of wedding gowns was loose fitting with high bodices. Lace, silk, and satin were particular fabrics to be used. Slippers adorned the feet, and jewelry was utilized as well. Veils did not come into popularity until later in the nineteenth century, but flowers and herbs were woven into the Regency bride’s hair. The flowers and herbs symbolized nature and beauty.

A Wedding Gown from 1818. The flowers in her hair were popular for the time period.

The wedding gowns of the Regency were breathtakingly gorgeous. The silks, laces, pale hues, and whites and silvers were all a part of the simplicity celebrated in the era. Perhaps it is the beauty that comes from the simplicity that has me so fascinated with the wedding fashions? How about you?

About Katherine

Katherine Givens is a museum employee with a secret. Few know the truth of her greatest passion, but those closest to her know she loves to write historical romances… Alright, maybe more than a few people know she is a writer. Anyone who will listen to her can glean this from a conversation.

So, Katherine Givens is a museum employee who wishes she had a devilish secret or a jaw-dropping double life, but the characters in her manuscripts often do. From the withdrawn duke mesmerized by his quiet maid or the savage viking eager to ravish a Christian girl, her heroes are always bound to have a secret or two. It is often up to the headstrong heroine to unravel the mysteries surrounding the man that has captured her heart.

Katherine is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of America PRO. She has two novellas, one already released and another upcoming. In Her Dreams (Harlequin Australia’s Escape Publishing) was released October 1, 2013, much to her delight! Love Amidst the Egyptian Sands (Red Sage Publishing) will be released on January 1, 2015.

Katherine loves to hear from readers! She can be found at these places:

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Wareeze Woodson and “An Enduring Love”

May12

Wareeze will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and an ebook of An Enduring Love Worth Keeping will be awarded to two randomly drawn commenters during the tour. Click on the banner to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About An Enduring Love

Born and raised in Latvia, Rebecca Balodis marries Rhys Sudduth, an English diplomat. Shortly thereafter, he is summoned home to attend his father’s death-bed. Rebecca cannot accompany him at the time and becomes trapped in the turmoil plaguing her country. He is informed she died in the upheaval.

Nearly four years later, she escapes and arrives in London with their son in tow. Arriving in the middle of his sister’s ball is very awkward, especially since Rhys plans to announce his betrothal to a young debutante later in the evening.

Trouble, tangled in suspense and danger, follow her from Latvia. Can this pair ever find or even recognize an enduring love? Is it worth keeping?

Excerpt

The gangplank of the Dragon’s Stirr had been lowered ready for Latvian passengers to board. The creak of the ropes tying the vessel to the dock rasped Rebecca’s nerves, reminding her that soon Rhys would sail back to England without her. Devastated by the thought of such a loss and at such a time, she swallowed hard. How can I bare to let him leave me behind?

Standing on the dock in the mid-day sun, she tried to hold back her sobs and for a moment, she feared her knees might give way beneath her. She clinched her jaw, trying to hold steady and caught the lapels of Rhys’s finely tailored jacket with trembling fingers. A rising ocean breeze stirred his dark hair and swirled her skirts about her ankles as he placed his hand over hers.

When Rebecca gazed into Rhys’ deep blue eyes, Gorgi Weister’s words intruded. Sudduth is almost believable when he claims undying devotion. I admire his talent. Her chest burned with apprehension and she gulped a deep breath. What if Weister is correct? Does Rhys wish to abandon me as Weister implied?

Weister’s sly innuendoes and the sound of his mocking laughter circled in her mind, but she pushed such negative views aside. Guilt for allowing a moment of doubt to fester filled her with shame, but that too, she brushed aside. Ne! I refuse to believe Rhys would desert me. Although we have only been married a few months his love is strong and will endure forever, as will mine. Nevertheless, doubt crawled into her head, impossible to completely deny. Still, why would a government official such as Gorgi Weister attempt to stir trouble with lies? It made no sense!

About the Author

I am a native of Texas and still live in this great state. I married my high school sweetheart, years and years ago. We raised four children and have eight grandchildren, and grandchildren are Grand. At the moment, all my children and my grandchildren live within seventy miles of our home, lots of visits. My husband and I still love each other after all these years the stuff romance is made of, Happy Ever After!

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Were They Waltzing in 1811? Ally Broadfield and Just a Kiss

May8

Ally is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card and some surprise swag. Click here for the Rafflecopter. Through May 9th.

Thank you for inviting me to your Parlour today, Susana. I’m delighted to share a bit about my debut release with you. One of the many reasons I like to write historical romance set during the Regency is that the social rules provide a perfect framework within which to tell a story. And of course, we have Jane Austen’s wonderful stories to serve as an authentic guide to the period.

One area that is not quite so clear is date when the waltz was introduced to Regency society. Though Just a Kiss takes place early in the Regency period, I wanted to have my characters waltzing. The other dances of the time, such as the quadrille and country dances, didn’t lend themselves to private conversations and close proximity like the waltz. Could my characters have danced the waltz in 1811? Perhaps.

The waltz became fashionable in Vienna in the 1780s, and according to Nancy Mayer, the Regency Researcher, Byron said the waltz came to England in 1811. In an article entitled The History of the Waltz from JaneAusten.co.uk, it is said that, “While the English Country Dance is most associated with Jane Austen’s novels, many will be surprised to discover that by the early 1800′s the waltz had also made it’s [sic] way across the channel and was being danced by the more progressive of the Beau Monde.” All Things Austen states that that waltz arrived in England in “…about 1812 , but bits and pieces of the dance had been trickling in for years and adopted as figures in other dances, while the music for waltzes was often played, not as an accompaniment to the waltz but as the background to country dancing.” Certainly the waltz had not been performed at Almack’s by 1811, but I believe it is possible, and even probable that it was danced at private parties. Which is lucky for my hero and heroine, because they waltz several times during the story.

Resources:

http://www.janeausten.co.uk/the-history-of-the-waltz/

http://www.regencyresearcher.com/pages/dance1.html

Olsen, Kirsten. All Things Austen: An Encyclopedia of Austen’s World, Volume I. Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2005.

About Just a Kiss

Charlotte Lightwood has one season to find a husband or she’ll be forced to marry her guardian’s loathsome cousin. With no title or dowry, she doesn’t have much hope of making a good match. Sebastian Wilkinson, the Earl of Marley, has been the most eligible bachelor on the marriage mart for more years than he cares to count and is very aware of his duty to marry a woman who will add to the wealth and stature of his title. Sebastian makes Charlotte an offer she can’t refuse: he will pretend to court her to help her attract more suitors in exchange for her advice about which ladies he should pursue. As they work together, their mutual attraction grows. When they realize they just might be perfect for one another, they must decide whether to bow to the dictates of society or follow their hearts.

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About the Author

Ally lives in Texas and is convinced her house is shrinking, possibly because she shares it with three kids, five dogs, a cat, a rabbit, and several reptiles. Oh, and her husband. She likes to curse in Russian and spends most of her time letting dogs in and out of the house and shuttling kids around. She writes historical romance set in Regency England and Imperial Russia.

She loves to hear from readers and you can find her on her website, Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter, though she makes no claims of using any of them properly.

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Book Trailer

Cheryl Holt’s Reluctant Brides Blog Tour

Apr24

RELUCTANT BRIDES…When love is the key and dowry the bait, who can predict what a woman might do?

Click here for the Rafflecopter.

DAY FOUR

At Miss Peabody’s, there had been few chances for privacy, and with modesty expected at all times, Rose rarely had the opportunity to be totally alone and do whatever she liked. She couldn’t recall when she’d previously shed every stitch, and there was a heady freedom in the act that surprised her.

She slipped into her robe, relishing how the slinky material slithered over her bare skin. She didn’t tie the belt and let the lapels flop open so her front was visible.

In the mirror, she studied herself, and it wasn’t vanity to acknowledge that she was pretty.

Her eyes were green, merry and arresting, her face heart shaped and inviting, with two pert dimples curving her cheeks. She was five feet five in her shoes, her body shapely and rounded in all the right spots, and she prayed Mr. Oswald would be pleased with the bride he’d found.

Her hair was an unusual shade of auburn, and when she was younger, she’d fussed and fumed and hid it under scarves and bonnets. Every other girl in her world had seemed to be blond, but she wasn’t, and the odd difference had vexed her.

But as she’d grown older, she’d realized the color was striking and remarkable, and she told herself she’d inherited it from her deceased mother whose features she didn’t recollect.

There was a brush on the dresser—another of her mother’s belongings. She pulled the pins from her chignon, the lengthy tresses swinging down her back, then she grabbed the brush and began tugging the bristles through her hair. As she wandered toward the bedchamber, she quietly mused, “Oh, I hope he likes me.”

“I’m sure he will,” a male voice replied. “He’s never met a female he didn’t try to seduce.”

She halted, frowned, her mind struggling to register the fact that someone had spoken. Had she imagined it? It was an ancient mansion. Were there ghosts?

She tiptoed to the door that separated the two rooms and peeked out. Her brush fell to the floor with a muted thump. Frantically, she yanked at the lapels of her robe, tied the belt with a tight knot.

She wasn’t hallucinating. A man—a very handsome, very roguish man—had made himself at home in her bedchamber. He lounged on the chair by the bed, slouched down, his legs stretched out.

He was about her same age of twenty-five, but there was a hard edge to him, as if he’d seen trouble in his life, as if he’d persevered through adversity. But there was mischief lurking too, as if he would engage in any tomfoolery and enjoy it very much.

His hair was dark, worn too long and in need of a trim, and his eyes were incredibly blue, his gaze curious and bored. He hadn’t shaved so his cheeks were shadowed, giving him a reckless, negligent air.

Attired in a flowing white shirt, tan breeches, knee-high black boots, his color was high, as if he’d been out riding.

He appeared lazy and windswept and dangerous, and she probably should be terrified, but she sensed no menace. He was watching her as intently as she was watching him.

“I believe you’ve wandered into the wrong room,” she sputtered.

“I don’t think so,” he responded. “This has been my room since I was a boy. I’m positive I’m not mistaken.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she firmly said. “The maid brought me here directly from the coach. I’m certain she wasn’t mistaken. She was very clear. This is my room.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers. “You have to leave.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Listen, Mr.—”

“Talbot. James Talbot.”

“I’m only newly arrived at Summerfield, and I’m not dressed. If you were any sort of gentleman, you’d do as I’ve requested.”

“There’s the rub for you, darling. I’m not a gentleman, and I’ve never aspired to gallant tendencies.”

“You sound proud of it.”

“I guess I am.”

“What type of person would boast of low character?”

“My type, I suppose.”

“I say it again. Go away!”

“No.”

There was a decanter of liquor on the table next to him, and he poured himself a glass and sipped at the amber liquid. He looked vain and imperious and completely in the right, and she had no idea how to proceed.

As an orphan, then a spinster schoolteacher at an all-girls academy, she’d had very restricted interactions with men. It was a rare occasion when a male crossed her path. She’d never been kissed, had never walked down the lane with a sweetheart. She’d never ordered a man to do something and had him do it.

How did a woman make a man behave? Rose had never been told how it was accomplished. In her humble and somewhat limited opinion, men were obstinate, arrogant, and overbearing. They shouted and blustered and acted however they wished. Women had few weapons to fight against their worst conduct.

She should have hurried into the dressing room and put on her clothes, but she was already sufficiently unclad and didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. Her other option was to stomp out, to summon help, but she didn’t dare inform the servants that there was a stranger in her room.

She hadn’t met Mr. Oswald yet. If he learned of the scandalous exchange, what would he think? Her betrothal would end before it began.

She pulled herself up to her full height and mustered her most condemning expression.

“Mr. Talbot, we’re at an impasse.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I’m not in any condition to receive you.”

“I see that.”

His hot gaze took a slow meander down her body, lingering at several spots where he had no business lingering, and her cheeks flushed bright red. She’d never been ogled, and she scowled and stood even straighter.

“You must depart,” she fumed. “I’ll repair myself, and then we’ll call on the housekeeper to resolve our quarrel. I’m sure she knows to which rooms we’ve been assigned.”

“I wouldn’t agree to that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need that old biddy scolding me because I’m sitting in my own room. Nor do I need her to tell me where my bed is located.”

“Mr. Talbot! Please!”

“I love it when a woman begs.”

About Cheryl Holt

Cheryl Holt is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-nine novels. She’s also an Amazon “Top 100” author.

She’s also a lawyer and mom, and at age 40, with two babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial fiction writer. She’d hoped to be a suspense novelist, but couldn’t sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking a detour into romance, where she was stunned to discover that she has an incredible knack for writing some of the world’s greatest love stories.

Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards. She is particularly proud to have been named “Best Storyteller of the Year,” by the trade magazine, Romantic Times BOOK Reviews.

Her hot, sexy, dramatic stories of passion and illicit love have captivated fans around the world, and she’s celebrated as the Queen of Erotic Romance, which is currently the fastest selling subgenre of women’s fiction. Due to the ferociousness of some of her characters, she’s also known as the International Queen of Villains.

She received degrees in music, languages, and education, from South Dakota State University, and her juris doctorate was obtained at the University of Wyoming. Her colorful and chaotic employment history includes such variety as public school teacher, cook, bartender, lobbyist, and political activist. She also did brief stints in metro-Denver as a deputy district attorney and administrative law judge.

Cheryl lives and writes in Hollywood, California.