Vanessa Kelly stops by b2b…

Today we’re welcoming two authors and two books and first one up is Vanessa Kelly with Mia Marlowe’s book. You can check out my review of it here.

‘Plaid Tidings’

PT MMBOOK BLURB: Christmas in the Highlands. . .

Not any dashing English lord’s idea of a good time. But now that Lord Alexander Mallory has won a Scottish estate in a hand of cards, he is the unlikely laird of the wild, snowy Bonniebroch.

Worse yet, the ancient pile of stones comes with a betrothal. To a fiery red-headed virgin. And a curse. Alex will have his hands full honoring the first, seducing the second and breaking the third . . . all by Twelfth Night.

EXCERPT:

December 1821
Somewhere off the coast of Scotland

The Agatha May rolled with a monstrous swell. Lord Alexander Mallory splayed his hand across the coins and banknotes in the center of the table to keep them from cascading to the plank floor. It was a good thing the table was bolted to the teak or the whole thing might have toppled over.

“That’s one hundred pounds to you, MacMartin,” he said. The stakes of this poque game were ridiculously high, but Alexander had his reasons for allowing it to spiral out of control.

Sir Darren MacMartin dabbed his face with a perfumed handkerchief. At any other time, Alexander might have had sympathy for MacMartin since he suffered so from mal de mer; the man had spent the better part of the voyage leaning over the gunwale. But MacMartin’s seasickness made it more difficult for Alexander to read him when he bluffed.

MacMartin tossed down the required bet and stared at his cards, his face immovable as Gibraltar despite the pinpricks of perspiration blooming on his brow. “So what will you do with yourself in Edinburgh, Mallory?”

“Clarindon and I will help Lord Rankin prepare for the royal progression next August,” Alex said cautiously. “What’s your interest in a Christmastide visit to Scotland?”

“I’ve an estate there which requires my immediate attention,” MacMartin said, frowning at his cards. “Bonniebroch. Means ‘lovely tower,’ or some such silly thing. All in all, it’s a tidy barony, though.”

Alexander already knew that. The estate was the whole point of the game.

“So while you’re in Scotland, you’ll go by Lord Bonniebroch instead of Sir Darren?” Alexander asked.

“I should, especially once the king arrives next summer, in order to show that I hold honors on both sides of the border. He likes that sort of thing, I’m told,” MacMartin said. “I suspect Lord Rankin picked you for this assignment because of your Scottish connections. Should smooth the way, what? If memory serves, your mother was a MacGregor, wasn’t she?”

Alexander’s mouth tightened. The man knew damned well she was. His friend Clarindon tried to change the topic of conversation, but MacMartin returned to worry it like a dog on its last bone.

“Surely that whole sorry business doesn’t still distress you, Mallory. My apologies, if it does. Didn’t mean to bring up . . . I mean, I didn’t think you’d be bothered after all this time.”

Of course, you did. Distracting other players from their hands was MacMartin’s gaming strategy. Alexander waved away the false apology. Besides, it really shouldn’t matter anymore.

Except that it did. And for a blinding second, he was four years old again, weeping over the bit of unconsecrated ground that was his mother’s grave.

“Stop your sniveling,” his father had growled at him. “She doesn’t deserve your tears. Remember, your mother chose to leave us.”

Alexander ran a hand over his eyes and consigned the memory back to the vault where he kept all such disturbing recollections. Occasionally, they crept out to torment him, but he always shoved them away. Someday he hoped he’d be able to make sense of his mother’s end, but he doubted it.

Clarindon tossed in his hand, leaving just MacMartin and Alex still playing. Alexander upped the bid by another two hundred pounds.

“I shall give you my vowels,” MacMartin said as he pulled out a scrap of paper and began to scribble an IOU.

“Sorry, old chap,” Alexander said. “We agreed to a cash in hand game.” Then he purposely scratched his nose, the gesture he’d been using as his tell throughout the game and hoped Sir Darren would rise to the bait.

The man scowled furiously, twisted off his signet ring and slammed it down on the pile of bank notes. It was a barbaric piece, fashioned of heavy gold with a cabochon ruby carved intaglio style. “I will not allow you to buy this pot. That ring signifies the title and estate of Bonniebroch, which is better than cash. Now throw down.” He tossed his cards onto the table face up.

“Three queens,” Alex said with a gulp. “A formidable hand.”

Sir Darren flashed an oily smile. “Show your cards, sir.”

Alex laid them down one at a time, four eights in a lovely row, which handily beat three queens. Then he picked up the signet ring and slipped it on his forefinger. It was much heavier than he expected.

Scottish titles at the rank of baron weren’t dependent upon bloodlines. They could be bought, sold or won in a game of chance, as Alex had just done. The estate at Bonniebroch would give him the pretext he needed to remain in Scotland till the royal visit next August. And would mask his true purpose for being there.

Sir Darren stared at the cards in disbelief. Then he rose shakily to his feet, his eyes narrowing. “Enjoy your winnings while you can, Mallory, much good may they do you.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a threat. Do you feel yourself ill-used? If it’s satisfaction you crave, as soon as we reach dry land, I’m at your disposal.”

“My satisfaction will come from seeing how poorly you fare as Lord Bonniebroch,” MacMartin said. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Alex chuckled. “Warn me of what? Is the ‘tidy barony’ nothing but a tumbled down croft with sheep grazing on the roof?”

“You may laugh now. You won’t be laughing after you’ve spent a few nights with the weeping woman. You may not believe in Scottish curses, but I promise you, they are real. Clarindon, I bid you good day.” He bowed to Alexander’s friend and weaved from the cabin, looking greener around the gills than usual.

“Hope he makes it to the rail this time,” Clarindon said as he helped Alex scoop up the impressive pile of winnings. “What do you make of his talk of curses?”

“We’re within spitting distance of Scotland, aren’t we?” Alex glanced out the porthole, catching a glimpse of the hazy coastline of his mother’s homeland before another swell washed over the heavy glass. “I’d only be surprised if there was no talk of a curse.”

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PTTB MM

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Vanessa KellyAUTHOR INFO: Vanessa Kelly is an award-winning author who was named by Booklist as one of the “New Stars of Historical Romance.” Her sensual, Regency-set historical romances have been nominated for awards in a number of contests, and her second book, Sex and The Single Earl, won the prestigious Maggie Medallion for Best Historical Romance. Her third book, My Favorite Countess, was nominated for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Regency Historical Romance.

Vanessa’s next series, The Renegade Royals, is due to hit the shelves in November with an introductory novella,Lost in a Royal Kiss. Book One in the series, Secrets For Seducing a Royal Bodyguard, will release in January, 2014.

Social media: Website  /  Facebook  / Twitter  /  Vanessa’s blog

Mia Marlowe stops by b2b…

Today we have two authors, two friends that are sharing their love of each others work. And while Vanessa Kelly is telling you about Mia Marlowe’s book, here’s Mia Marlowe telling you about Vanessa’s book….AND you can read my review of it here.

HMB VK‘His Mistletoe Bride’

BOOK BLURB: Blame It On The Mistletoe–

When Major Lucas Stanton inherited his earldom, he never dreamed his property would include the previous earl’s granddaughter. Phoebe Linville is a sparkling American beauty, yes, but with a talent for getting into trouble. Witness the compromising position that forced them into wedlock. Whisked away to Mistletoe Manor, his country estate, it isn’t long before she is challenging his rules–and surprising him in and out of bed–

Phoebe has no intention of bowing to Lucas’s stubbornness even though he offers all that she wants. His kisses and unexpected warmth are enticing, but Phoebe is determined to show the earl of Merritt what real love is all about. And if that takes twelve nights of delicious seduction by a roaring fire, she’s more than willing to reveal her gifts very slowly–

EXCERPT:

The maid led her downstairs and through a simply ornamented entrance hall to the door of the drawing room.  “There, miss.  They’re waiting for you.”

Phoebe nodded, suddenly so nervous her knees shook.  She silently ordered the starch back into her muscles and opened the door.   What she saw brought her up short.

Mrs. Tanner sat in a low chair by the fireplace.  A very tall, broad shouldered man stood opposite her, on the other side of the chimneypiece.  He was very handsome—quite the handsomest man Phoebe had ever seen.  And when his attention, narrowed and intense, jumped to her it struck her with an almost physical force.

Alarm skittered along her nerves.  Absurdly, she had the impulse to back out of the room as quickly as she could.

Silly.  Why be afraid of someone you have never met?

But as they stared at each other, she sensed some ill-defined peril, and she instinctively knew something dreadful was upon her.

Mrs. Tanner rose from her seat, momentarily splintering the tension.  “Phoebe, please come in.  This is a member of your grandfather’s family, Major Lucas Stanton, come to welcome thee to London.”

Phoebe slowly entered into the room, trying to shake the notion that she was approaching something awful and irrevocable.  The guarded expression on Mrs. Tanner’s face did nothing to dispel that impression.

Major Stanton took a step forward, looming—and looming seemed the only correct description—over her.  He was broad across the chest and shoulders, and every part of him looked hard and muscular.  Phoebe did not make a habit of dissecting the male figure, but he wore a well-tailored dark coat, pale, skin tight breeches, and tall leather boots, all of which showed off every line of his impressive physique.  Just looking at that brawny, masculine strength made her body hum with tension.

Cheeks flushing, she fixed her gaze on his face.  She found it disconcerting too, since his hard-cut, impassive features served as a stark contrast to eyes the color of a stormy sea.  The emotions she thought she perceived in their depths struck her as dangerous as the gales that had bedevilled her trip across the Atlantic.

“Major Stanton,” said Mrs. Tanner, “This is Miss Phoebe Linville.”

Phoebe stared up at him a moment longer, transfixed by his slashing cheekbones and the granite line of his jaw.  All the men she knew were farmers and shopkeepers, simple men who dressed plainly and looked nothing like this man.  Next to them, he resembled…well, she did not know what.  But she knew she had never met anyone like him, though they had yet to exchange even a simple greeting.

His gaze, somber and wary, turned to one of puzzlement, jolting her into motion.  The poor man must think she was a wordless half-wit.

Though Quakers generally made it a point not to bow or curtsy before those of higher station, she dipped low, ignoring Mrs. Tanner’s tsk of disapproval.  Why risk offending the first relative coming to greet her?  “Major Stanton, thank you for coming to meet me.  It was kind you to do so,” she said, offering her hand in greeting.

His big hand closed around hers and he lifted it to his lips, brushing a lingering kiss across her sensitive skin.  The breath seized in her throat.  Quaker men did not go around kissing hands, much less making a show of it.

Fortunately, he returned her hand and her lungs recommenced function.

“Phoebe,” said Mrs. Tanner, sounding horrified, “please sit.”

Her friend nudged her to a sturdy, brown-colored sofa next to the fireplace.  With a severe nod, Mrs. Tanner indicated to the major that he should take the seat facing them.  He did not bother to repress a low sigh as he carefully settled on a small caned chair that gave an alarming creak in response.  The sofa would have been a more appropriate choice for his large frame, but Mrs. Tanner clearly intended to punish him for his forward behavior.

“Major Stanton, how is my grandfather?” Phoebe asked impulsively.  “Did he ask you to fetch me?”

The swift glance he exchanged with Mrs. Tanner brought Phoebe’s anxiety rushing back.  Its chokehold tightened when the older woman reached over and took her hand in a comforting clasp.

“Phoebe, thee must prepare for unfortunate news.  But I ask thee to remember that the Father’s hand is in all things, and that he will watch over thee always.”

Fear swept through her.  “What are you talking about?”

When Mrs. Tanner hesitated, Phoebe shook off her restraining hand and jumped up.  The major rose immediately.

“Please, sir,” she implored.  “Take me to my grandfather.”

Compassion softened the grim lines of his face.  He struck her as a man not much given to that tender emotion, so whatever the cause it must be dire.

He stepped closer, reaching out to take her hand in a gentle grip.  “Miss Linville, you must sit.”   He had a firm, deep voice that held a compelling note of authority.  As it washed over her, she had to resist the impulse to automatically obey.  He smiled, as if to soothe her, and one finger stroked lightly over the back of her hand.  “I’m certain you should have a cup of tea before we have any further discussion.”

Unnerved by his touch, she pulled her hand away.  “I do not want a cup of tea.  I want you to tell me about my grandfather.”

He ran a thoughtful gaze over her face, as if taking her measure.  “Very well.  Miss Linville, it grieves me to inform you that your grandfather—my great uncle, Lord Merritt—died from an infection some weeks ago.  I didn’t write to you, since my letter would not have arrived prior to your departure.  I hope you will believe I would have spared you this trip, if it at all possible.”

A strange buzzing noise arose in her ears, then her knees buckled and she sank onto the sofa.  Her heart throbbed in her chest, straining against the shock.  For a terrible moment, she could not draw a breath.

Mrs. Tanner gasped her name and Major Stanton let out a low curse.  Swiftly, he came down on one knee before her and gripped her shoulders, holding her steady.  Until he touched her, Phoebe had not realized she needed someone to keep her upright.

“Hold her while I get some water,” exclaimed Mrs. Tanner as she rushed from the room.

“Steady on, Miss Linville,” Major Stanton murmured in her ear.  “Just lean against me.”

Coming up onto the sofa, he eased her into his embrace, resting her head against his broad chest.  As if controlled by some unseen force, her eyelids fluttered shut as, for the first time in her life, she found herself in the arms of a man other than her brother or father.  Her morals registered a faint objection, but her body wanted nothing other than to collapse against that solid wall, her cheek nestling comfortably against the soft wool fabric of his coat.  Tumult swirled in her brain, but his gentle embrace staved off the screeching panic that hovered at the edge of thought.

The door opened.  Footsteps hurried across the floorboards, as Mrs. Tanner rustled up to them with a glass of water in her hand.  “Major, thee must allow me to tend to Miss Linville.  Please let her sit up.”

Phoebe flinched at the note of censure in her friend’s voice.  Mrs. Tanner had every right to be offended because Phoebe had no business clinging to a man, no matter what the circumstances.  But she could not help shrinking further into his embrace.  Her stunned brain had latched onto the idea that as long as she remained in his arms she would be safe, that all the hurtful things in the world could not harm her.

Ridiculous, whispered the voice of reason.  She started to pull away, but Major Stanton gently adjusted his hold to keep her close.  Phoebe had to bite down on the whimper of relief that almost escaped her lips.

“I assure you, Mrs. Tanner,” he said, “I will release my cousin as soon as I know she won’t keel over in a dead faint.”

Phoebe frowned.  She never fainted.  And now that her wits were slowly returning, she felt the first flush of humiliation that she had allowed a perfect stranger to hold her so intimately.  Pushing herself upright, she began to withdraw from his arms.  For a second he resisted, keeping her fast in his embrace.  And, for a second, she did not want him to let go.

***   ***   ***

BUY LINKS: Amazon  ·  B & N  ·  Book Depository  ·  B-A-M  ·  Chapters  ·  IndieBound

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*One lucky Commenter will end up with ‘His Mistletoe Bride’ by Vanessa Kelly

GIVEAWAY: US/ Canada, print or Kindle copy!

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us what you liked about this Excerpt and why…

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3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

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Mia MarloweAUTHOR INFO: Award winning author Mia Marlowe writes historical romance for Kensington Publishing and Sourcebooks. Her debut title received acclaim from romance luminaries. #1 New York Times bestseller Victoria Alexander says Mia’s Touch of a Thief has “adventure and heat and everything I want in a great story!” UK’s BooksMonthly has crowned Mia Marlowe “the queen of saucy historical romance.”

Mia learned much of what she knows about storytelling from singing. A classically trained soprano, she won the District Metropolitan Opera Auditions and shared a stage with Placido Domingo. As she prepared for operatic roles, she devised back stories for her characters. Since she’s worn a real corset, and had to sing high C’s in one, she empathizes with the trials of her fictional heroines. But in Mia’s stories, they don’t die in a Parisian garret. They get to live and keep the hero!

Social Media: Website / Facebook / Tweeter

‘Plaid Tidings’ by Mia Marlowe

PT MMSTORY: Christmas in the Highlands. . . Not any dashing English lord’s idea of a good time. But now that Lord Alexander Mallory has won a Scottish estate in a hand of cards, he is the unlikely laird of the wild, snowy Bonniebroch. Worse yet, the ancient pile of stones comes with a betrothal. To a fiery red-headed virgin. And a curse. Alex will have his hands full honoring the first, seducing the second and breaking the third . . . all by Twelfth Night.

REVIEW: First, before you read this story, please get the novella which precedes it [‘Plaid to the Bone’ which I’m reviewing right after this one] and the reason behind it is the main plot of the curse that was cast in the novella and is affecting our hero and his heroine.

I’m a huge Mia Marlowe fan, and ‘Plaid Tidings’ proves once more that her writing is filled with wonderful prose, but what draws me more than even that is her characters. They are so well-rounded and well liked, even the secondary ones, like our heroines constant companion, who is a GHOST!

This is also a sweet, sensual and very entertaining romance.   I have no doubt that you’ll love the hero, Lord Alexander Mallory who wins a Scottish estate in a game of cards and unbeknownst to him, a betrothal with it!

Meeting Lucinda MacOwen was a hoot! I adored her courage, her astuteness and wit. It was such a pleasure watching these two do the ‘dance’ and just the anticipation and sexual tension that grew between them alone is worth the read.   ‘Plaid Tidings’ is one of many novels that I’ve read so far from Ms. Marlowe and as usual, she never fails to deliver. I highly recommend it, especially at this time of year. It has a wonderful Yuletide feel that you’ll love. I promise!

*ARC provided by the author

PTTB MM‘Plaid to the Bone’ 

BONUS STORY: A bride comes to Bonniebroch. . . But Cait Grant is hardly dreaming of wedded bliss. For political reasons, she must marry Adam Cameron, laird of Bonniebroch. And then, as a duty to her clan, she must murder him. . .

If only her new husband weren’t so devilishly handsome. If only she didn’t have to play the loving wife for one long, languorous month. If only she didn’t surrender to his softly sensual touch, she would be able to fulfill her duty. If only she didn’t fall in love. . .

BONUS REVIEW: This novella is a must read before you go to ‘Plaid Tidings’ (Spirit of the Highlands). I am so glad I read it in order because it explains a lot about the curse that is put on the people of Bonniebroch.

I love anything with a setting in Scotland, so this was just a perfect story to take me there.

Ms. Marlowe sure did a great job of painting the picture of the sixteenth century Scotland with all its political turmoil of young King James V.

I fell in love with Adam Cameron, laird of Bonniebroch, and his intended, Cait Grant, and went through her personal agony right along with her as she makes her choices. I also fell in love with a secondary character of Farquhar, and I must say Ms. Marlowe threw me a curve ball with that character.

This novella has a little bit of everything in it. A bit of magic, romance, good guys, bad guys and a most awesome hero you’ll find in the sixteenth century. Great read and very entertaining.

Melanie for b2b

*Book bought from Amazon.

‘Lord of Devil Isle’ by Mia Marlowe/Connie Mason

BOOK BLURB: Is Eve Upshall jumping from the frying pan into the fire when she lets a half-naked stranger pull her from the stormy sea? Captain Nicholas Scott is a rogue who takes advantage of every situation, whether it’s salvaging priceless loot or seducing a proper lady. And he makes it very clear he plans to take advantage of his new find in the most delicious way possible.

Eve’s whole future depends on everyone believing she is the soul of propriety. But with Nick refusing to transport her to her prospective bridegroom, and the balmy Bermuda nights whispering of unimaginable pleasures, how can any woman resist the lure of the … Lord of Devil Isle.

EXCERPT:

“Nicholas reached over to brush an errant lock off Eve’s cheek, but she shied like a whipped pup.

“Easy, lass,” he said, as he tucked the strand behind her ear. Her cheek was soft, but lightly grained with salt from her time in the sea. “Check your bearings. You’re safe now.”

Nicholas opened his sea trunk and pulled out a dry shirt. He thought about offering her one, but she’d been given an opportunity to find dry clothes and dismissed it. Besides, she was now thoroughly engulfed in his heavy oilskin coat. Pity. He’d have enjoyed the show till the muslin dried.

“I’m deeply grateful for your assistance this night, and in truth, I’ve never seen such a reckless display of courage. Nevertheless,” she said primly, “you owe me an apology, Captain.”

“Indeed? For what offense?”

Her cheeks flamed. “For kissing me without permission.”

He laughed. “That was hardly a kiss, lass. It just seemed a shame to waste a pair of lips at the time.”

He considered her for a moment. Fashion favored a little pink bow of a mouth, but this wench’s red lips were a wide, full ribbon, slanting sensually across her oval face.

Nick decided little pink bows were overrated.

He leaned forward, bracing himself on the arms of her chair. “Now this,” he said simply, “is a kiss.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but it only made his job easier. He slanted his lips over hers, capturing her with ease. She was rigid with surprise at first, but he expected that. He also fully expected the way her mouth softened under his in the next heartbeat. Her lips were dusted with sea salt, but he slid his tongue past them to search out the honey inside.

Damn, she was sweet. She made some noises, but they didn’t sound like the usual moans of pleasure he coaxed from his mistress. He tried to tease her tongue into chasing his back into his mouth, but she played coy.

Her hands found his chest, raking her nails across his skin.

Encouraged, he deepened the kiss.

And then the little minx grasped a few of the dark hairs that whorled around his nipples and yanked them out!

“Ow!” He jerked away from her, rubbing his chest.

“The next time you force something into my mouth without my permission, I will bite it off,” she promised with an evil glare.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Mia Marlowe

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