Spotlight on Anna Cowen and…

UNTAMED!

BOOK BLURB: Outspoken and opinionated, Katherine Sutherland is ill at ease amongst the fine ladies of Regency London. She is more familiar with farmers and her blunt opinions and rough manners offend polite society. Yet when she hears the scandalous rumours involving her sister and the seductive Duke of Darlington, the fiercely loyal Katherine vows to save her sister’s marriage – whatever the cost.

Intrigued by Katherine’s interference in his affairs, the manipulative Duke is soon fascinated. He engages in a daring deception and follows her back to her country home. Here, their intense connection shocks them both. But the Duke’s games have dangerous consequences, and the potential to throw both their lives into chaos…

EXCERPT: 

The Duke of Darlington was sitting in the bow window at Whites, when the Earl of BenRuin entered. The man was huge – almost ugly with it.

‘We’ll need another pot of coffee, after last night,’ Darlington said to Jewellyn, who sat beside him comparing three silk handkerchiefs.

‘Mother says the daffodil yellow makes me look consumptive, but the pale is just so joyless.’

‘Your mother knows best, darling.’ He took another sip of coffee, and didn’t look around. But he felt BenRuin’s eyes on him. He heard a hush follow the Earl through the room as he made his way over.

‘Darlington.’ BenRuin spat his name with a thick Scottish R.

He looked up and smiled sunnily. ‘What ho, old boy!’

BenRuin looked as though he wanted to crush Darlington’s throat and stop him from ever speaking again. Something woke, and shivered through Darlington, and he despaired because it was not fear.

He brushed a speck of lint from his cuff. ‘Coffee?’

BenRuin stared at him. ‘I am going to kill you,’ he said slowly, every word clear. Men looked up from their papers, frowning. BenRuin gripped the back of an empty chair, his hand a powerful, blunt instrument.

Darlington lowered his cup and wondered that his hands didn’t shake at all. He had been waiting so long for this. A month ago he had been given an old iron key that unlocked his father’s private papers with his father’s things. The key might as well have unlocked this sick, loose delight in him. It had brought him to this moment.

He screwed up his brow, and turned to Crispin, who sat at his feet on an ottoman. ‘Was I supposed to meet this man in a duel today?’

The boy looked back at Darlington with perfect trust, undiminished by the slight confusion on his face.

‘I don’t think so. No one’s come to see me about being your second. Unless—’ Crispin flushed and turned to Hopwell, across the table. ‘Hopwell, you rotter, you’ve not been approached, have you?’

Hopwell drew himself up. ‘And if I had? Are you the only one who could possibly represent him?’

‘But you know that I—’

BenRuin’s face clearly spoke his frustration – his disbelief that these boys, these butterflies would ignore him. His huge frame bunched and he threw the chair at the wall so hard it broke. Muted conversations broke off, and a footman’s half-sobbed apologies limped alone into the silence. Men rose from their seats, but left a wary space around BenRuin. Darlington couldn’t look away from BenRuin’s pale eyes.

He smiled as if his patience was wearing out. ‘Why do you suppose you want to kill me, old boy?’

‘You.’ BenRuin forced a couple of heavy breaths through his nose, like speaking the words was a feat of strength. ‘And my wife.’

‘Ah.’ Darlington let understanding dawn in his voice and spread his manicured hands out before him. At last. At last they had come to it. All this violence was his for the taking. ‘Look, she told me it was one of those marriages, you know. That you both found pleasure where you could.’

For a moment BenRuin couldn’t speak, like Darlington had cut his tongue out of his mouth. Then, ‘Stop talking,’ he said.

‘But I’m sure she…wait, so you’re back from your trip to South America, then? Did you collect any interesting new specimens?’

‘Stop talking,’ BenRuin said. ‘Stop.’

Crispin leapt up, relief clear in his smile, his voice. ‘You’re thinking of Lady Drysdale, Your Grace!’

‘Of course!’ The Duke placed slim fingers against his brow and made an apologetic face at BenRuin. At last. ‘All a misunderstanding, old boy!’

‘Call me old boy one more time,’ BenRuin said, his brogue making him almost unintelligible, ‘and I won’t wait to hear your explanation.’

‘Explanation?’ He had begun to shake with a kind of excitement. ‘Lady Drysdale and I had an understanding, and I don’t see that it’s any of your concern!’

‘And your carriage – in my driveway?’

He had forced a proud man to say this in front of other men. It was despicable. He would do it again in a heartbeat for what he wanted – needed.

‘Which driveway would that be, old – er.’ Darlington leaned down to Crispin and said, ‘Do you know who he is? I’m not sure what name to address him by.’

And then it came. So fast that for a moment his whole body felt the shock of not being ready. Of needing a moment to think.

BenRuin came at him, all muscle and murderous intent, his eyes fixed on Darlington’s face.

And Darlington was greedy, his whole being a gruesome invitation. Everything he normally hid flared to life within him.

BenRuin saw it. He faltered.

The men who had leapt into action had their arms about BenRuin, their hands gripping him wherever they found purchase. BenRuin’s knife never reached Darlington’s throat.

Darlington felt so bereft that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

A man was hurrying through the room. Perhaps someone had sent a boy to find him, because he spoke in BenRuin’s ear and BenRuin listened. Tension leeched out of BenRuin’s huge body, and he began to shake, like a horse after a hard race.

He pointed a finger at Darlington. ‘I’ll not hang for the sake of seeing your pretty blood,’ he ground out. ‘This time. But the next time you trespass against me, you will know what I mean to do.’

BenRuin left, and Darlington fluttered his hands about his throat, and went into mild hysterics and allowed Crispin to fuss over him.

REVIEW: You’re either going to love it or hate it. I don’t think there’s a middle of the road for this novel. I more than loved it! I adored the hero, heroine, plot…oh and the prose is so good that it borders on poetic. It brings to mind Julie Anne Long’s and Grace Burrowes’ writing.

As soon as I was done with it, I had to Tweet the author. My Tweet was “I am in awe of it. It’s intriguing, clever & exciting; romantic & sensual; breathtakingly delightful!”

This was one of those stories that made you unknowingly hold your breath, and then slowly exhale as you go from page to page. At the end of it, it brought to mind two movies I am such a fan of: “Pretty Woman” and “An Interview with a Vampire”.

“Pretty Woman” because of its ending as the heroine ‘rescues’ the ‘hero’, and “An Interview with a Vampire” because for some reason the Duke reminded me of Lestat [no he wasn’t a Vampire, just the characterization].

Let me also say that if you’re a stickler for historical detail, you might have to suspend your disbelief and ignore a couple of things in it [notably reform of the Corn Laws and Parliament’s involvement in the divorce] to enjoy the rest of the story. I had no problem with it.

Story’s prose and especially characterization of the hero and heroine, was what engaged me emotionally.

It really was a breath of fresh air. For a change we have an author that gave us a cross-dressing hero instead of a heroine, and the result was entertaining, intriguing and engaging.

It was a risk, but I think it paid off big time!

I recommend it whole heartedly!

ARC courtesy of NetGalley.

You can buy Untamed at Amazon | Kobo | iTunes | Google | txtr | JB HiFi | Sainsbury’s | Destiny Romance (ePub)

AUTHOR IN HER OWN WORDS: I started writing when I was eight and my heroine thought the likeliest place to buy a horse was the pet shop.

I stopped writing when I was fifteen and my teen angst was too much, even for me. Also, boys.

Now I’m An Adult, and I’ve never wanted to work so hard at anything.

I live in a beautiful flat in the middle of Melbourne with special k – husband / coffee mogul / love of my life. We’ve started having weekly managers meetings where he says things like, “This is work, so there are no feelings, okay?” and I quake in my writerly boots. I couldn’t have done any of this without him.

This blog is where I think out loud about writing. I break down the things I watch and read – I try to figure out how they work, or don’t work. It tends to centre around love, romance, gender, feminism and writing.

I hope you enjoy the conversation!

You can catch Anna on: Tweeter / Website

Spotlight on Anna Campbell and…

These Haunted Hearts: A Regency Ghost Story

BOOK BLURB: On one fateful wedding day at Marston Hall in 1818, four linked destinies hover in the balance.

Josiah Aston, Earl of Stansfield, wakes to discover he’s seventy years dead and he alone can free his beloved wife Isabella’s tormented soul. But first he must convince her to trust him against all the evidence…
Lady Isabella Verney, beautiful and tempestuous, married the man of her dreams, only to die violently on her wedding day. Every clue points to Josiah as the murderer…

Is true love strong enough to defeat ancient malevolence forever?
Miles Hartley, Viscount Kendall, is society’s ideal catch, but what does that matter if he can’t convince Calista Aston that he loves her? When an age-old curse strikes, only by proving himself worthy of her faith can he save their happiness…

Lady Calista Aston, noted bluestocking, fears she loves Miles Hartley not wisely, but too well. On her wedding day, her doubts place her at evil’s mercy. When death and disaster loom, is it courage or mad folly to believe that Miles loves her in spite of all her faults?

On one fateful wedding day at Marston Hall in 1818, will the lovers emerge triumphant or will darkness conquer all?

EXCERPT:

The Chinese Bedroom, Marston Hall, Norfolk, May 1818

Calista watched Miles at the window. The light limned him, turned him into a being from another world. The magnificent sight made the breath catch in her throat. He wore a loose white shirt and breeches. She’d never been so aware of his height or the lean strength of his body.

He turned and at last she saw the smile that tilted his mouth. His eyes focused on her and the smile faded, replaced by an expression that looked like awe. He tautened into stillness as he surveyed her from her loosened hair to her bare toes peeping beneath the white hem of her simple night rail.

The moonlight was so bright, she saw his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. She could almost imagine that he found her as breathtaking as she found him. His expression smoothed the sharpness from her uncertainty. The clamorous babble of thoughts in her head quietened to a low hum of need.

“You’re undressed,” he said huskily.

It seemed foolish to blush when they both knew she was in this room to offer herself to him, but heat flushed her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

His joyous smile made her toes curl against the Turkish rug at her feet. “Or not, as the case may be.”

“Or not.”

She waited in an agony of pleasurable suspense for him to seize her, ravish her into delight so that she had no chance to remember the dictates of propriety. But he approached slowly, as though afraid if he moved too abruptly, she might vanish. By the time he stopped in front of her, she trembled with apprehension and desire. Her body felt too small a vessel to contain the storm of emotions raging inside her.

He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. His touch always turned her knees to custard. Now, when the bed and all it portended filled the shadows behind him, the glance of his hand set her burning. If such a seemingly innocent touch had this effect, she’d most likely combust into ashes before they were done tonight.

Calista bit her lip and stood in shaking stillness as he trailed his hand across her neck and shoulders. His touch felt like a discovery rather than a seduction. Although of course she was seduced. Her heart thundered and her breasts tightened against the thin lawn of her nightdress.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, running his hand down her side then up again.

A tremulous sigh escaped her. This tender wooing lured her deeper and deeper into the turbulent waters of desire. She should move, speak, do something to encourage him. But his touch was so delicious, she found herself unable to do anything beyond accept this worship. His scent was spicy, clean. Familiar, yet with a musky tinge that awakened her senses.

Through the haze of pleasure enveloping her, she managed to send up a silent prayer. That the reverence she read in his face would last. That he’d still love her after he’d taken her to bed. That he’d look at her like this in the morning when she stepped inside the Marston parish church to pledge herself to him for the rest of her life.

REVIEW: This is a short but sweet and very suspenseful story of two couples fighting for their love.

I was spellbound by the suspense and read the story in one sitting. Its Gothic feel gave me goose bumps!

My heart went out to both couples as they were fighting this curse.

Josiah Aston, Earl of Stansfield can’t remember how he died, but one thing he does remember is how much he loves Lady Isabella Verney, his bride…

Lady Calista Aston is sure of her love for Miles Hartley, Viscount Kendall, her future husband, but she’s full of doubts about his feelings for her. She somehow feels unworthy of his love and believes he would be better off without her…

I highly recommend this tension and suspense filled gem. You’ll be hooked from the first page to the last. Promise!

*Book purchased from Amazon.

AUTHOR’S BIO: Anna Campbell has written six multi award-winning historical romances for Avon HarperCollins and her work is published in eleven languages. Always a voracious reader, Anna decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. Once she discovered the wonderful world of romance novels, she knew exactly what she wanted to write. Anna has won numerous awards for her Regency-set romances including Romantic Times Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence (twice), the Aspen Gold (twice) and the Australian Romance Readers Association’s favorite historical romance (four times). Her books have twice been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award and three times for Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year. In 2012, Anna launches an exciting new publishing venture with Grand Central Publishing. She launches her first series, “Sons of Sin”, with SEVEN NIGHTS IN A ROGUE’S BED in October 2012.

Keep in touch with Anna at: Website / Facebook / Twitter / Romance Bandit / Harper Collins / Goodreads

GIVEAWAY: Tell us if you believe in ghosts and why. One lucky commenter will get an eCopy of this book.

Children and Animals in Books by Anne Gracie

W.C. Fields said “Never work with children or animals,” and for a lot of people that holds true for romance books, too. Some readers really dislike having children or animals in books, others love them. Me? I say it’s all in the execution. Sweetly lisping precocious bratty-type children? Little saintly critters? Generally no — though I have written several books with children. Animals? Well, I’m a sucker for animals.

The reason W.C. Fields said this was that children and animals generally attract the audience’s attention away from the star — him. And it’s true. There are no children in THE AUTUMN BRIDE, but there are animals — specifically kittens. I started with my heroine’s sister rescuing a cat and a litter of young kittens from a building that was going to be demolished. That was it. It was just meant to be a slight plot complication. But kittens have a way of attracting attention…

When Abby discovers elderly aristocratic invalid, Lady Beatrice Davenham living in squalor and at the mercy of her rapacious neglectful servants,  she’s invited by the old lady to move in with her. Abby and her “sisters”, calling themselves the Misses Chance and pretending to be Lady Beatrice’s nieces, move in, sack the servants and set about improving life for Lady Bea and themselves. It all works beautifully until Lady Beatrice’s nephew Max returns from the Far East and demands to know who these impostors are. So we’re all set for a confrontation — right?

Remember how I said animals upstage the stars?

“My nieces, Max,” said Aunt Beatrice with a smile that had a lot in common with the look the little cockney had given him. Lying through her teeth and daring him to deny it.

But why? “Damn it, Aunt Bea—”

“Later, Max,” she said airily. “Thank you, girls. My nephew and I have much to catch up on. Featherby, perhaps a cup of tea in half an hour.”

Max waited with folded arms as the girls bustled about gathering things—magazines and bits of lace and fur and fabric lay scattered all over the counterpane—and examining him surreptitiously from beneath lowered eyelashes….

(snip)

Why the hell had his aunt claimed them as her nieces? Was it some kind of blackmail? Or threat?

The women were still fussing over the bits of fabric, sorting them in a manner calculated to annoy him.

“That will do,” Max snapped. “Collect it later.” He moved to sit on his aunt’s bed.

As he did so, five women and a butler shrieked.

“What the—”

Lady Beatrice snatched up a tiny white kitten from the spot where Max had been about to sit and cradled it to her bosom. “Max, you could have killed her.”

“Well, how was I to know you’d taken to keeping cats? I thought it was a bit of fur.”

“It is—attached to a kitten. This is Snowflake, and over there is his brother, Marmaduke.” A small tortoiseshell kitten emerged from under a magazine, regarded Max and yawned extravagantly.

See? They upstage. But Max, being a hero, rallies, of course, and takes the kittens in his stride…

He reached out to pat the white ball of fluff, and a small black missile flew out and attached itself to the fabric of his sleeve. It clung determinedly, growling.

“What the—” Max picked his assailant off his sleeve. Black as soot, black as sin, the tiny piece of fluff sat on his palm and stared back at him, undaunted, then clamped needle-sharp teeth down on his thumb.

“Ouch!”

“This is Max,” his aunt said. And then, bewilderingly, “Stop it, Max! That’s a very bad habit.”

Max frowned at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Mischance, repressing—not very successfully—a smile, came forward and removed the kitten from his grasp. “Yes, Max,” she said sternly addressing the kitten, face-to-face. “A very bad habit.” The kitten gave her nose a few exploratory pats.

“You named that kitten Max?” Max said.

“Yes.” His aunt beamed up at him.

“Why?” He looked at the small, scruffy kitten, now resting against the soft bosom of a deceitful woman. The creature was too young to know the dangers of that.

“Because he is bold and dashing and handsome, of course,” said his aunt.

“Because he is always off adventuring and never where he ought to be,” said Miss Abigail Chance at the same time. With a pointed look, damn her cheek. What did she know of his business?

She held the small black kitten against her bosom, caressing it behind the ears. Max the kitten purred blissfully, like a rusty little coffee grinder.

Max the man glowered.

See? The poor man hasn’t a chance. Not only are there five women to deal with — all of them lying in their pearly white teeth — there are kittens. . .

W.C Fields would sympathize.

So what about you? Are animals in books a problem for you? Or are you an animal lover? And if so, what’s your favorite animal? Tell us for a chance to win one copy of my book!

*INTERNATIONAL Giveaway

For Anne’s Bio, click on her pick. You’ll love it!

Places to find Anne Gracie:

Website / Blog / Facebook / Tweeter /

THE AUTUMN BRIDE available now at: Amazon /  B&N

‘The Autumn Bride’ by Anne Gracie

STORY: Governess Abigail Chantry will do anything to save her sister and two dearest friends from destitution, even if it means breaking into an empty mansion in the hope of finding something to sell. Instead of treasures, though, she finds the owner, Lady Beatrice Davenham, bedridden and neglected. Appalled, Abby rousts Lady Beatrice’s predatory servants and—with Lady Beatrice’s eager cooperation—the four young ladies become her “nieces,” neatly eliminating the threat of disaster for all concerned!

It’s the perfect situation, until Lady Beatrice’s dashing and arrogant nephew, Max, Lord Davenham, returns from the Orient—and discovers an impostor running his household…

A romantic entanglement was never the plan for these stubborn, passionate opponents—but falling in love may be as inevitable as the falling of autumn leaves…

REVIEW: This story opens up in 1805 with our young hero Max finding out that he’s come up in the world and is to inherit a title of Lord Davenham from his uncle. That however wasn’t the worst of it. Along with that title, he is informed that not is he only broke, but he is in so much debt that the only option left to this young man was to get himself off to India and work hard at amassing wealth so that he can pay-off all of those creditors and have enough left over to reestablish and restore his own name.

Before he embarks on this trip and in order to accomplish this personal goal, he now must offer a pound of flesh to only one man who is shrewd and smart enough to accept it as a bargain and for the future benefit to both of them. As he leaves England, he makes sure that his solicitors will be taking care of his elderly Aunt, Lady Bea, who is residing in one of the property’s he refused to sell because it has been her home for many years.

It’s now 1816 and while Max is still in India getting rich, our heroine Abigail Chantry has been putting up with a lot of abuse in a few positions she’s had as a governess and the only reason she did, was that she loved their children.

In her latest position, she gets some disturbing news about her only sibling and her request to be allowed to offer aid to her younger sister falls on deaf ears of her employers and is threatened with eviction if she disobeys them. Abby is left with no choice but to ignore the uppity couple she’s working for, secretly rescuing her sibling and a couple of young girls that were helping her with that task. Not long after her employer kicks her out and now all four girls are dependent on Abby’s skill and wits for their survival and that’s when she meets Lady Bea, alone and woofly neglected in her town house, wishing for death to take her.

Anne Gracie does it yet again! She created a wonderful story of a unique, strong willed and very witty heroine. She then sets out to play a matchmaker for her with a man who is duty bound to marry another and tries to ignore his desire for Abby. Add to the story a motley crew of supporting characters that are given smart, witty and frankly brilliant dialogue, and what you have is a heartwarming and funny, romantic and sexy, memorable love story.

I promise you, the pacing is such that by the time you come to that last sentence at the end of the book, you’ll be surprised and sad it’s over. This promises to be another of her wonderful series and I for one can’t wait for the second book to come out!

*Book provided by publisher through NetGalley.

‘The Forgiven Duke’ by Jamie Carie

STORY: Tethered by her impulsive promise to marry Lord John Lemon – the path of least resistance – Alexandria Featherstone sets off toward Iceland in search of her parents with a leaden heart. A glimpse of her guardian, the Duke of St. Easton – the path less traveled by – on Dublin’s shore still haunts her.

Will he come after her? Will he drag her back to London, quelling her mission to rescue her treasure-seeking parents, or might he decide to throw caution to the wind and choose Foy Pour Devoir: “Faith for Duty,” the St. Easton motto. The Featherstone motto Valens et Volens: “Willing and Able,” beats in her heart and thrums through her veins. She will find her parents and find their love, no matter the cost.

The powerful yet wing-clipped Duke of St. Easton has never known the challenge that has become his life since hearing his ward’s name. Alexandria Featherstone will be the life or the death of him. Only time and God’s plan will reveal just how much this man can endure for the prize of love.

REVIEW: First, there are three books in this series and none are stand alone. Once you’re done reading the first, which ends with a cliffhanger, you have to go to the second and third to find out what happens next.

This is the second book of this series and it starts off right at the ‘cliffhanger’ of the first one as the Duke catches the glimpse of his charge and a man she’s with on the ship bound to Iceland, of whose destination, or for that matter the man’s identity, the Duke is unaware of and must now find out.

Let me start by saying that I just loved the first book, ‘The Guardian Duke’, very much and thought it such a clever ending, albeit very frustrating because there was no happy ending for our Duke and his charge.

As I kept reading this book, the only thing I felt was irritation at the heroine for her indecision about the two men she’s deliberately and stubbornly dangling on a string.

I also felt that what seemed a clever idea to end the first one with a cliffhanger, now rendered the second book less relevant and reduced it as ‘filler’ until the third came along and tied it all together.

As for the characters, and I am including everyone  here, they all now felt forced and placed in situations that were unbelievable and uncharacteristic of their own selves.

In all honesty this second book was riddled with plot holes and I should have hoped that the Editors would have pointed it out to the author. Ms. Carie without a doubt has a talent for storytelling, but it definitely needs some ‘tuning’ and ‘tweaking’.

Now of to the third one and my hope is that the last one is more in tune with the first book…

*Book provided by the publisher through NetGalley.

‘Sweet Deception’ by Heather Snow

BOOK BLURB: In the dark, the greatest lover can become the most dangerous conspirator…

Lord Frederick Aveline, otherwise known as Derick, has successfully kept up appearances as an English nobleman.  What no one knows is that he’s a full-blooded Frenchman—a double-agent for the British against the French.  But there is something else no knows about Derick.  Deciding to leave behind his days of espionage, he’s arrived home to Derbyshire to finish one final order of business: to find and expose a dangerous traitor in the midst.

But Aveline castle holds its own share of secrets—including murder, and an unexpected lure in Emma Wallingford.  Brilliant and feisty, her loyalty lies with acting as the town’s magistrate, and she doesn’t welcome an unanticipated, though appealing, intrusion like Derick.  As the two of them are drawn closer, the sordid past of Derick’s family comes to light, as does the true nature of his arrival.

But when deception, however sweet, is the name of the game no one can be trusted, and every love—and every life—is at risk.

EXCERPT: 

This excerpt comes from the middle of the book. Emma has lured Derick on a picnic to one of their childhood haunts, where she hopes to seduce the only man she’s ever loved—and who she’s recently discovered didn’t desert her but has lived the last fourteen years as a spy in an ugly war—into coming back home to Derbyshire to stay. With her…

***

 “My God,” Derick said, his voice soft with wonder. “I feel as though I’ve just passed through an enchanted tunnel and been transported back in time.” His gaze fixed on the landscape before them, on the babbling creek that wound through the vegetation until it pooled at the mouth of the cave, some thirty yards ahead of them. He leaned forward in his saddle, as if most eager to get to their destination.

Derick turned to her then and Emma caught her breath. The afternoon sun hung in the sky behind him, casting its light around his head in golden rays. The black of his hair shone in dark relief, the rays lending a glow to his skin and casting shadows that highlighted the chiseled beauty of his features. But it was the boyish grin that had stolen the air from her lungs. Yet at the same time, her heart expanded in her chest until she felt like bursting. This was the Derick she knew, the Derick she’d always loved. Emma had to look away lest she blurt the words too soon. While she knew what was best for him, she expected it would take him some time to come to the inevitable conclusion.

“Then you’re glad you let yourself be tempted?” She phrased it as a question, but it really wasn’t.

His smile faded and his eyes darkened a little, as if he’d been reminded of something he’d rather not think on. When his smile returned, it didn’t seem as genuine as it had a moment before. “Depends on how good those pastries are,” he said, then urged his horse ahead to the cave.

Emma allowed Derick to secure her mount alongside his as she spread out the blanket and basket she’d brought. She picked the softest ground she could find that wasn’t damp from the abundant rains—a soggy blanket seeped through with cold water wouldn’t be at all a good spot for seduction. She had to settle for a rockier patch than she would have liked, closer to the mouth of the cave but it was still near enough to the creek to enjoy the soothing rhythm of the running water.

When she had everything arranged just so, Emma closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, basking for a moment in the perfection of the day.

“It’s more lovely than I remember.”

Emma’s eyes flew open at Derick’s low voice, just near her ear. His emerald gaze was fixed not on the picturesque scene around them, but on her. Those eyes, always so sharp, that seemed to take in everything at once, roved her face, her body. They grew heavy-lidded. A feeling like gooseflesh, only hotter, skittered over Emma.

Unprepared for the intensity of the moment, outside in the brightness of day no less, Emma stammered. “It—it is.” She took an involuntary step back, then stopped herself. Quit being a ninny, Emma. Isn’t this what you wanted? Yes. Yes it was. She took in a breath, and resolved to play this coolly, as if they were just two old friends having a picnic—at least until she got up her nerve to kiss him.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” she said brightly. “Only it’s a shame that it’s too cool this summer to swim, as we used to.”

Derick blinked, a slow dip of his lids followed by several rapid ones. He, too, took a step back. “Yes.” And then he laughed, though it sounded a little forced to Emma’s ear. “Although if you think I’d be so easily badgered into merman service these days, you’d be disappointed.”

Emma blushed, remembering the imperious commands she used to give him when she’d insisted he play ‘mermaid princess’ with her when they were children. “It was only fair, given how often I had to play Lancelot.” She hadn’t minded so much when they were very young, but as they’d approached their teens…“When what I really wanted was to be your Guinevere.”

Derick’s head tilted, his eyes contemplative.

Emma felt her own eyes go wide. Dear God, had she said that last bit aloud? Damn her loose lips. She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the picnic blanket before he could comment on her blunder. “No worries about merman service, today, however,” she said. “In fact, I intend to service you.”

Derick’s step faltered and his muscled arm went tense beneath her hands. A strange choking sound reached her ear.

Had she said something wrong? The way Derick bit his lip as if trying mightily to keep in a guffaw or two certainly indicated she had. She thought back.

“Serve you, I mean.” A wry smile twisted her lips. In her nervousness, she’d magpied the incorrect verb tense.

Laughter burst from Derick’s lips, but his eyes sparked with something more than amusement. “What?” she asked, her smile twisting down a fraction. So she’d bungled a verb. Was it truly that funny?

But Derick only laughed harder, placing his hand over hers on his arm and resuming their walk to the blanket. “Nothing,” he said, still snorting a bit. “Service away.”

Emma left Derick to get settled on the blanket while she knelt before the basket. As she pulled out two crude cups, one of the bottles of wine, wooden plates, a round of cheese and the pastries she’d wrapped in cheesecloth to keep them warm, she was acutely aware of Derick’s regard. Although she wasn’t facing him, it was as if she could feel his gaze on the sensitive skin of the back of her neck. It set off a slow burn.

When she turned with her bounty, however, Derick’s face was raised to the sun much as hers had been earlier. Seated on the blanket, leaning back on his hands, one long leg stretched out before him, the other bent at the knee, he . . . lounged. He seemed relaxed. At ease. And yet . . .

Emma had a sense that he could spring to full alert at any moment. Just like his ability to move so quietly that she rarely heard him before he reached her, she imagined he’d acquired the facility of constant readiness as a means to survive during his years as a spy.

Her gaze traveled over him, taking advantage of the view while his eyes were closed. There was so much about him, about the time he was away, that piqued her curiosity. Who was this man? She remembered what he’d wanted out of life as a boy, but given the much different life he’d led since then, what was important to him now? What drove him? How had he changed, beyond just the raw physicality that had erased any soft lines from his body? Beyond the natural maturity that comes with age?

Part of her itched to pepper him with questions, to learn all. But she had years to rediscover Derick, a lifetime. For now, it was enough for them to have an afternoon out of time.

“Your pastries, good sir.”

An easy smile crossed Derick’s face as he pushed off of his hands and leaned toward her. He accepted a pastry with ill-concealed delight and Emma moved to pour him a cup of wine.

“If these taste half as good as the ones I used to filch from your cook, I shall soon be in raptures,” he said, turning the sweet so that a corner was poised near his mouth, ready to be devoured.

The look of pleasurable anticipation on Derick’s face made every bit of her fumbling about in the kitchens this morning worth it—even her burnt finger. She soothed that finger with her tongue nervously, waiting to see what he thought of her efforts.

Derick’s even white teeth bit into the crust, and his jaw moved to chew. The movement slowed, as if he were savoring the taste in his mouth. And yet . . . if he were savoring, why had his lips just pursed into an almost grimace? And why had his eyes widened? And why did his hand fly up to his mouth to cover a choking cough?

“You don’t like them?”

“No, I—” His words dissolved into a fit of coughing. “I mean, yes, of course I do. They’re just—different than I remember.”

Emma frowned. “You don’t like them.”

He choked again, frantically motioning for the cup of wine in her hand. Emma handed it over, and he took a great swallow. Then another.

“No,” he said when he’d drained the cup. “No, I don’t like them. In fact”—a chuckle rumbled in his chest—“I’d rather eat the mud pies with kelp filling you used to make from the creek floor.”

“But you used to love them!” she cried, dejected. Had she gotten them wrong?

His brows waggled with an amused sort of sympathy. “Maybe I liked them so much then because they were filched. Ill-gotten gains always taste much better than ones that come honestly.” The look on his face told her he was scrambling to spare her feelings.

“They should be perfect. I followed the recipe precisely.” She reached out her hand. “Give me that.” She took the pastry and raised it to her lips, taking a generous bite.

“Argh.” She gagged. She didn’t even bother trying to swallow. Instead, she turned and dove back into the basket, snatching a square of linen so that she could discreetly spit the offensive dessert out of her mouth. “I must have mixed up the salt and sugar.”

Derick’s laughter boomed, sending a white-bibbed dipper flying from his perch on a rock in the middle of the creek with an indignant zit-zit-zit.

“What? The kitchen is not where I am most skilled. And they do look alike,” she insisted, in her own defense.

“Oh, Emma. The look on your face. Didn’t you taste them?”

She wrinkled her nose, sitting back on her heels. “I didn’t need to. I measured every ingredient twice, just to be certain. It should be like plugging numbers into an equation. They should have turned out perfectly.”

“Oh, they did,” he said, rising to his own knees to reach for the bottle of wine. “Perfectly horrid.” His chuckles had become mostly silent, but they still shook his chest in irregular spurts.

Emma couldn’t help sharing in his amusement. It was . . . infecting. She’d never been good at laughing at herself, but somehow she wasn’t able to berate herself with him looking at her so. Still, she tried. “I suppose I’ve spoiled your day, now, haven’t I?”

He sat back on his own heels, facing her, both of them on their knees. In one hand, he still held the wine bottle, but the other reached out and cupped her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm . . . she couldn’t help it.

“No, Emma,” he whispered, his voice and expression gone soft and serious. “You’ve made it.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Heather Snow

Facebook & Tweeter

*One lucky Commenter will end up with this print or eBook! 

Giveaway US & CA only!

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us which ‘Book’ would you like to ‘Push’ and why…

2) Subscribing to our Blog…

3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

All three are required for a TRIPLE chance to win in the Grand Giveaway!

However, if you’re already a follower and our FB buddy, all you need do is…COMMENT on the upcoming posts and you’re all set to go.

*Clicking on the author’s name/pic will give you their contact info, website or bio. 

*Clicking on the cover of the book/s will take you to Amazon.

‘Forever a Lord’ by Delilah Marvelle

BOOK BLURB: Lady Imogene Norwood lives a sheltered life of quiet respectability and routine…until she debuts at her first Season. There among London’s elite she meets the wild and broken Lord Atwood. And the very shy English rose suddenly realizes that a little chaos might just be what her heart desires. 

Lord Nathaniel James Atwood doesn’t believe true love exists. Since scandal tore him away from his family at an early age, he has spent his life fighting for what he wants. That attitude has made him a rising star in bare-knuckle boxing, and now leads him back to London to reclaim the life that was stolen from him.

But upon meeting the innocent Imogene, his beliefs are trounced…as guarding his heart against her proves to be the fight of his life.

*SPOILER ALERT*

The following excerpt is in the middle of the book and our hero has just thoroughly compromised our heroine in the midst of their discussion of his contract negotiations…

EXCERPT:

“Atwood tucked her head against his chest but said nothing. She still clung to him, unable to move. Pulling away from her, his large hands curved down the length of her arms with digging fingers until they dropped away completely.

He eyed her. ‘I didn’t force myself on you, did I?’

Her cheeks bloomed with heat. She brought a trembling hand to her hair, sweeping long sections of it away from the sides of her face. ‘No.’ Sweeping a hand over his mouth, he fisted that same hand and dug it against his teeth.

After a long moment of silence, he grated out past that fist, ‘You are inevitable, you know that?’

Why was he biting his hand?

‘You don’t appear to be in the least bit pleased by my inevitability.’

He dropped his hand back to his side and gave her a sidelong glance of disbelief. ‘No. I’m not. And I’ll tell you why. Because I feel like I was put into a situation I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get out of. For Christ’s sake, the last thing I wanted was to be married again. And to you, no less. To you.’

She stiffened, her womanly pride prickling. To her, no less? What did that mean? What was so wrong with her that he felt a need to emphasize it aloud with so much vile annoyance? And after he had indulged himself to the brim? She knew she was odd and couldn’t speak well when it was needed most but did he really have to-

It stung. More than she wanted it to.

‘Leave,’ she choked out. ‘My brother will- ’ She wanted to add much, much more to the sentiment, but was too upset and her throat too tight with emotion. Her tongue was already feeling heavy and set to stutter.

He quirked a dark brow. ‘Your brother will what?’

 

 

She whipped a forefinger to the parlor entrance, knowing that if she spoke, it would only be in broken fragments that would make her look half-witted. And she was not going to be upstaged after that hip-grinding, breast-tweaking display her brother had to witness.

Nathaniel stared. ‘Why the devil are you so miffed?’

Oh, she would show him miffed, making her feel like a piece of fat he’d cut off the mutton when she was giving them all an opportunity of a lifetime. Just because she was naïve to the ways of men didn’t make her naive to the ways of being demeaned. Shaking her finger rigidly at the direction of the parlor entrance, she hoped to God he would just go and spare her the humiliation of having to use words.

Lines of concentration etched his brow. He angled toward her. ‘Is this about your stutter?’

Her eyes widened. Oh, God. He knew. Her own brother had tattled about her stuttering as if she were some medical aberration in need of pity.

His countenance notably softened. ‘Imogene. I’ve been through far too much to judge. Believe me. I don’t care what it sounds like. Say whatever you need to.’

He felt sorry for her. Henry had no doubt even asked the man to play governess to her until the championship. It was…humiliating. Like she was being passed from one set of panicked hands to another.

Nathaniel eyed her. ‘One of the boys in New York had a stutter.’

This just kept getting worse. She was now being compared to some American boy. Hardly a compliment.

Taking on a pensive look, he added, ‘I have an idea. Seeing we have four months of this ahead of us, why not deal with it now?’ He lifted his shaven chin and undid his cravat, tossing it aside.

She scrambled back, her throat tightening all the more. What was he doing?

He casually undid the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘You and I are going to play Devil’s Dare. It’s a game men and women play in the Five Points. The idea is that I have to get you to take the Devil’s Dare through verbal bribes before all of my clothes are removed and I’m forced to walk into the street naked. The Devil’s Dare is this- you have to say something. So for each bribe I issue and each bribe you reject, a piece of my clothing is removed until I’m forced to walk into the streets in nothing but my goodwill. Now I know you like me well enough not to let me walk into the street naked. Or at least, I hope you do. Are you ready?’

She gaped. Was he being serious?

‘Imogene, I will buy you a necklace made of rubies after I get my seven thousand.’

She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. What was he doing?

‘Clearly, you reject.’ He shrugged off his coat from each muscled arm and let it fall to the floor.

‘Imogene, I’m not one for fawning, but I’ll take you into a garden and pick flowers for you. Would you like that?’

Mother of heaven. Why was he-

‘Clearly, you reject.’ Holding her gaze, he shrugged off his waistcoat. It rustled to his booted feet.

‘Imogene, I’ll dance with you on the rooftop of whatever house we move into during our four-month marriage.’

He didn’t expect her to play along, did he?

‘Clearly, you reject.’ He yanked out his linen shirt from his trousers, letting it fall past his hips.

‘Imogene, I will do something I have never done for a woman. I will take you shopping and hold all of your parcels.’

She clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.

‘Clearly, you reject. I’m also running out of clothing, so you better take up the next offer.’ He yanked off the linen shirt with a ripple of solid movements that exposed the menacingly well-sculpted muscles of a broad chest and arms that visibly shifted and tightened against scars that bespoke years of fighting. He tossed the shirt.

She gasped, her heart pounding in disbelief, and glanced toward the opened doorway and back again at that bare chest, dreading Henry might come in and shoot them both.

‘Imogene, I will always listen to whatever you have to say. No matter how you say it or why you say it.’ Holding her gaze, he dragged his hands down toward the front flap of his trousers, planning on doing away with them next.

Oh, dear God. She had to save him and herself.

‘I accept!’ she choked out.”

 

FEATURED AUTHOR: Delilah Marvelle

Facebook & Tweeter

*One lucky Commenter will end up with this print or eBook! 

Giveaway INTERNATIONAL!

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us which ‘Book’ would you like to ‘Push’ and why…

2) Subscribing to our Blog…

3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

All three are required for a TRIPLE chance to win in the Grand Giveaway!

However, if you’re already a follower and our FB buddy, all you need do is…COMMENT on the upcoming posts and you’re all set to go.

*Clicking on the author’s name/pic will give you their contact info, website or bio. 

*Clicking on the cover of the book/s will take you to Amazon.

‘To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood’ by Bronwen Evans

BOOK BLURB: To live happily ever after…

Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, longs to find his soul mate. Now that his two best friends, both reformed rakes, are happily married, the need becomes an obsession. When they challenge him to find a wife by the end of the season or marry his neighbor, the innocently alluring Lady Amy Shipton, he can’t believe his luck. He wins, either way. But a darkened garden, a case of mistaken identity, a drunken kiss, and a dropped emerald earring, leads Henry on a Cinderella hunt. He knows the woman he held in his arms could be the one he’s searched for all his life. He just has to find her.

Lady Amy Shipton is determined to marry for love instead of sharing her husband like her mother did. So why did she let her handsome neighbor and romantic fantasy, the Sinful Saint as he’s called for his bedroom prowess, seduce her in his garden? And what can she do when in the middle of their passionate encounter; he whispers another woman’s name. Now Henry is hunting the owner of the earring Amy left behind, and she’s determined to retrieve it before her identity is revealed. She’s not about to give her father the ammunition he desperately wants to force her down the aisle.

EXCERPT: 

The following afternoon bloomed into a glorious sunny day, and yet even though the sun shone, Henry had no idea how he was going to woo Amy. However, God must have listened to his prayers because Henry found himself partnered with Amy for Sabine’s torturous treasure hunt. They had ten items to collect, with some of the clues more like a foreign language than Queen’s English. Still, he was determined to make the most of the opportunity Sabine had gifted him. An afternoon in Amy’s company.

Unfortunately, Amy didn’t look so happy about the situation. For the life of him he couldn’t fathom why she bristled every time he came near. It seemed logical to deduce her heart favored another. It must be Le Comte. Bloody damn Frenchman.

The guests, in their pairs, were sent out in different directions. The two of them had been sent toward the formal gardens near the back of the property. The manicured grounds overflowed with rose bushes, citrus trees and Sabine’s favorite flowers. The centre piece of the large expansive hedged-row gardens was a bubbling fountain, very similar to the smaller version of his fountain in his garden in London, and in the distance was the summer house.

“The first clue says, ‘Look in the green where water meets the Gods’. Whatever can Sabine mean?” Amy stood at the top of the garden stairs and surveyed the acreage before her.

He put his hand up to his brow to shade the sun. “The fountain looks very familiar.” Amy’s face flushed a pretty pink color. She could hardly admit she recognized the fountain’s design or she’d be admitting to him that she’d been in his garden. “The fountain in my garden is similar, although much smaller, but I do believe the focal point is Aphrodite.”

Amy clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Water meets the Gods must be the fountain, and the look in the green is,” she spread her arms wide, “the garden.”

Clever girl. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She slipped her hand over his arm and smiled, her joy in puzzling out the clues touched him. If she was determined to win, he’d help her.

“What is the prize if we win,” he asked her.

“Apparently the winner gets to choose whatever prize they wish.”

“As a gentleman, I insist that if we win you may choose. What will you choose?”

She smiled at him and said, “That’s easy. I’d like to name Orsini Rose’s foal.”

His heart thudded in his chest at such a simple request. Orsini Rose was Marcus’s prime breeding mare and his wedding gift to Sabine.

At his silence she said, “You think my prize strange.”

“No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I hope the birth goes well. Foaling sometimes ends in tragedy, especially if it’s the mare’s first foal. Are you aware of that?”

She plucked a rose and twirled it under her nose. “Death is part of life isn’t it? Life is not all roses, there are also thorns.”

“True. Sometimes you don’t appreciate the rose because of the thorns.” He added wistfully, “I didn’t really appreciate all my brother did for me, and our family, until he was gone.”

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. To make light of life and death…”

He plucked the rose from between her fingers and tapped her nose with it. “The day is too beautiful to be morbid. We have a prize to win.”

She laughed gaily and the mood lifted. “Come on, we should hurry. Games are played to win, Lord Cravenswood. It might be the only time I ever get to name a thorough-bred.”

He couldn’t agree more with her sentiments. Games were played to win and he meant to win their private game. More pointedly he meant to win her heart.

They reached the fountain and both had to shield their eyes from the water’s glare. They stood staring around them trying to ascertain where the next clue could be found.

“I see it,” Amy cried. She pointed at the statue in the middle of the fountain, “there’s a piece of paper tied around Aphrodite.”

She looked at Henry expectantly and he gallantly offered, “I’ll retrieve the clue, shall I?”

“That would be super, thank you.”

With a sigh he sat on the edge of the fountain. “You’re going to have to help me remove my boots.” She chewed her bottom lip, looking adorable. “I’m not ruining my best boots for a silly treasure hunt.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll do it instead.” She sat beside him and said, “Look away.” She shooed him with her hand. “Hurry, we don’t have time to get those boots off. I’ll get the clue.” Amy stared pointedly until he turned his head away. He heard her slippers plop to the ground and the rustle of skirts as she removed her stockings. Then a squeal as her feet hit the cool water.

Unable to help himself, Henry turned at the excited sound. The sight of creamy skin greeted him and made his throat dry and his groin heat.

Amy waded determinedly toward Aphrodite her skirts hiked up and her long, slender limbs on display. The sun gave her white skin a sparkling glow. She looked like a pagan goddess. His own flesh and blood Aphrodite. She was exquisite.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Are you peaking? Stop it.”

He could no more stop drinking in the arousing sight of her than he could stop breathing. “Amy,” he said, his voice raw with need. “Do you know what a stirring sight you are? You’re a water nymph.”

He couldn’t look away. She grabbed the clue from the statue and turned to wade back.

She would not look at him. It was scandalous the amount of flesh she was displaying but she liked to win and it was not only a test of brain-power but of speed. They had to beat the other teams. When she reached the edge of the fountain she risked at quick glance at him.

His hand was extended to help her from the water but that would mean letting her skirts get wet. He saw her predicament and swept her into his arms, lifting her clear of the water.

Amy should shout, protest, tell him to put her down but the words died on her lips. She could only watch dazed as he carried her to the grass and gently slid her down his body until her bare feet touch the fresh earth. All thoughts of winning the treasure hunt vanished like a ghost racing the dawn.

Her breath came in short, rasps.

She couldn’t look away from the blatant desire etched on Henry’s handsome features. They stood looking at each other, heat and need rising with each blink of their eyelashes.

Henry’s eyes darkened as he cupped her face. “So, beautiful,” he whispered.

The look in his eyes was one she would never forget. Such longing. More and more she wished she knew his heart.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Bronwen Evans

Facebook & Tweeter

Tell me what and where Amy’s clue was hidden, and I’ll draw one lucky winner who’ll receive an eBook copy of ‘To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood’. Open internationally.

The Wicked Wagers Blog Tour runs Monday to Friday for the whole month, and you can WIN copies of all my books and $30 Amazon or B&N gift card (International)… Simply visit each blog post and follow the instructions…

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us which ‘Book’ would you like to ‘Push’ and why…

2) Subscribing to our Blog…

3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

All three are required for a TRIPLE chance to win in the Grand Giveaway!

However, if you’re already a follower and our FB buddy, all you need do is…COMMENT on the upcoming posts and you’re all set to go.

*Clicking on the author’s name/pic will give you their contact info, website or bio. 

*Clicking on the cover of the book/s will take you to Amazon.

‘Captive of Sin’ by Anna Campbell

BOOK BLURB: He pledged his honor to keep her safe . . .

Returning home to Cornwall after an unspeakable tragedy, Sir Gideon Trevithick comes upon a defiant beauty in danger and vows to protect her whatever the cost. He’s dismayed to discover that she’s none other than Lady Charis Weston, England’s wealthiest heiress—and that the only way to save her from the violent stepbrothers determined to steal her fortune is to wed her himself! Now Gideon must hide the dark secrets of his life from the bride he desires more with every heartbeat.

She promised to show him how to love—and desire—again . . .

Charis has heard all about Gideon, the dangerously handsome hero with the mysterious past. She’s grateful for his help but utterly unwilling to endure a marriage of convenience—especially to a man whose touch leaves her breathless. Desperate to drive him mad with passion, she would do anything to make Gideon lose control—and fall captive to irresistible, undeniable sin.

EXCERPT:

Winchester, early February, 1821

“Good God, what have we here?”

The man’s deep voice pierced Charis’s pain-ridden doze. She flinched, stirring from her cramped position. For one dazed moment, she wondered why she was shivering in fetid straw, instead of snuggled in her bed at Holcombe Hall.

Blazing agony struck and she stifled an involuntary moan. And a curse for her rank stupidity.

How could she forget the danger long enough to fall asleep?

But she’d been blind with exhaustion when she’d stumbled into the stable behind the sprawling inn. Unable to manage another step even though she hadn’t come far enough to be safe.

Now she wasn’t safe at all.

The light from the man’s lantern dazzled her bleary eyes. She discerned little more than a tall shape looming outside the stall. Choking with panic, she clawed upright until she huddled against the rough planking. Blood pulsed like thunder in her ears.

Muffling a whimper as she moved her injured left arm, Charis crossed shaking hands over her torn bodice. Scenting her terror, the big chestnut horse that filled most of the space shifted restively.

As the man lifted the lantern to illuminate Charis’s corner, she shied away. Beyond the ring of yellow light that surrounded him, menacing shadows thickened and multiplied up to the high pitched ceiling.

“Please don’t be frightened.” The stranger made a curiously truncated gesture with one black-gloved hand. “I mean you no harm.”

The rich baritone was sheathed in warm concern. He made no overt movement toward her. Charis’s crippling fear didn’t subside. Men, she’d learned from cruel experience, lied. Even men with velvet voices, smooth and cultured.

A sharp twinge in her chest reminded her she hadn’t drawn breath since he’d found her. The air she sucked into her starved lungs reeked of horse manure, hay dust and the sour stink of her own fear.

She turned her head and really looked at the man. Her throat jammed with shock.

He was utterly beautiful.

Beautiful. A word she’d never before associated with a male. In this case, no other description sprang to her churning mind.

Beauty as stark and perfect as this only stoked her alarm. He embodied the elegant world she must relinquish to survive.

Despite her terror, her attention clung to the slashing planes of forehead and cheekbones and jaw, the straight arrogant prow of his nose. He was tanned, unusual in February.

With his intense, compelling features and ruffled hair, black as a gypsy’s, he looked like a prince from a fairytale.

Charis no longer believed in fairytales.

Her eyes darted around the narrow stall. But he blocked the only exit. Again she cursed her idiocy. With her good hand, she fumbled beneath her for a rock, a rusty nail, anything she could use to defend herself. Her trembling fingers met nothing but prickly straw.

Unblinking she watched him set the lantern on the ground. His movements were slow and easy, openly reassuring. But if he wanted to snatch her, he now had both hands free. Her sinews tautened as she prepared to scratch and punch her way out.

In the charged silence, the rattle of her breathing deafened her. It even masked the wind’s constant wail. The powerful horse shifted again and gave a worried whicker, tossing its head against the rope that tied it facing toward the corridor.

What if the nervous beast started to kick or buck in this confined space? The horse’s hooves looked huge, sharp, deadly. Dread settled like a stone in her empty belly. With every moment, her refuge’s unsuitability became more apparent.

Why, oh, why hadn’t she kept going, no matter how tired and hurt? Even sheltering in a hedgerow, she’d be safer than here.

The man stepped into the stall, his black greatcoat swirling around his booted ankles. Shrinking back, Charis prepared to wrench free of grabbing hands. Fresh sweat chilled her already icy skin. He was so much bigger and stronger than she.

But he merely snagged the animal’s halter with a firm grip that brooked no rebellion. “Hush, Khan.” He stroked the gelding’s nose as his voice softened into alluring music. The man’s tall body conveyed an assured confidence that was almost tangible. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

The complex mixture of authority and care in his tone should have calmed Charis. Instead it slipped down her spine like glacial ice. She knew all about men who believed they ruled the universe. She knew how they reacted when their wishes were thwarted. Her furtive search for a weapon grew more frantic.

Khan, foolish, trusting creature, quieted under his master’s murmured promises. For the man must own the beast if he knew its name. Nobody could mistake the stranger for a groom. His manner was too effortlessly aristocratic, his clothing too fine.

She found no weapon.

She’d have to make a dash for freedom and hope her stiff, tired legs carried her. Surreptitiously, she pushed upward. Even this small movement sparked agony. Every muscle ached and her arm felt like it was on fire. She locked her teeth to muffle her whimpers.

“There’s no need to run away.” He didn’t glance up from the now docile horse.

“Yes, there is,” she surprised herself by saying, although she’d resolved not to address him. Her swollen face thickened her voice into unfamiliarity. But her upper-class diction marked her as an object of interest. Memorable. Noticeable.

A target.

Clumsily she struggled to her feet. She felt less vulnerable standing. In her awkward rise, she bumped the wall and bit back a sharp cry. Battling dizzying pain, she cradled her throbbing arm against her.

Her ungainly lurch spooked Khan who sidled and snorted. Her father had been a connoisseur of horseflesh. Charis had immediately recognized Khan for the high-bred aristocrat he was.

Much like the man holding the beast’s head.

“I know you’re afraid.” At first, she thought he spoke to Khan. His attention remained on the horse. “I know you need help.”

Help to hand her over to the law, she thought bitterly. “Why should you care? You’re a stranger.”

“That’s true. Although when you chose my horse’s stall, you also chose me.”

“That was just chance.”

At last, he looked directly at her. Surely it was only a trick of the lamplight that his eyes shone so dark and brilliant above those dramatic cheekbones. “All things in life are chance.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Anna Campbell

Facebook & Tweeter

*One lucky Commenter will end up with this print or eBook! 

Giveaway INTERNATIONAL!

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us which ‘Book’ would you like to ‘Push’ and why…

2) Subscribing to our Blog…

3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

All three are required for a TRIPLE chance to win in the Grand Giveaway!

However, if you’re already a follower and our FB buddy, all you need do is…COMMENT on the upcoming posts and you’re all set to go.

*Clicking on the author’s name/pic will give you their contact info, website or bio. 

*Clicking on the cover of the book/s will take you to Amazon.

‘His Mistletoe Bride’ by Vanessa Kelly

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.

FEATURED AUTHOR: Vanessa Kelly

Facebook & Tweeter

*One lucky Commenter will end up with one print copy of this book.

Giveaway INTERNATIONAL!

Won’t you join our celebration by:

1) Telling us which ‘Book’ would you like to ‘Push’ and why…

2) Subscribing to our Blog…

3) ‘LIKE’ -ing us on our Facebook!

All three are required for a TRIPLE chance to win in the Grand Giveaway!

However, if you’re already a follower and our FB buddy, all you need do is…COMMENT on the upcoming posts and you’re all set to go.

*Clicking on the author’s name/pic will give you their contact info, website or bio. 

*Clicking on the cover of the book/s will take you to Amazon.