Archive for the ‘Guest Author’ Category

Please help me welcome Alina K. Field to the blog! Alina is celebrating the one year anniversary of her Regency novella, Rosalyn’s Ring. The sequel, Bella’s Band will be released in the fall of 2014.

Alina will award a $10 Amazon gift certificate to one lucky commenter.

First we’ll start with the cover for Rosslyn’s Ring.


Now the blurb:

Rosalyn Montagu has reluctantly fallen into her elderly benefactress’s tidy London life of do-gooder spinster. But when a young woman from the district of Rosalyn’s childhood is put up for auction in a wife sale, Rosalyn seizes the chance to rescue her—and to recover a treasured family heirloom, her father’s signet ring, purloined by the woman’s vile innkeeper husband.

Intent on liberating the young wife, Rosalyn braves a precarious Christmas Eve journey in the company of a mysterious nobleman. She soon finds she is not the only determined buyer attending the sale. Her rakish opponent not only succeeds in thwarting her purchase—he reveals himself as the man who took everything that should have been hers, everything but her father’s ring.

The newly anointed Viscount Cathmore has accepted there is no way to avoid living his wealthy father’s dream of accession to a social class he disdains, but he has drawn the line at marrying a blue-blooded miss. Then he meets Rosalyn, a provoking beauty with an upper crust manner, a larcenous streak, and enough secrets to rouse even his jaded heart, including the truth of her identity—she is the woman whose home he has usurped. But more mysteries swirl around Rosalyn’s lost inheritance, and Cathmore is just the man to help her uncover the truth.

An excerpt:

Rosalyn Montagu has just been outbid in the sale of her maid’s cousin, the wife of a seedy inn-keeper, Ned Morgan. During the fight that broke out at the end of the sale, Lord Cathmore witnessed Rosalyn stealing the innkeeper’s ring. The crowd has disbursed, and Lord Cathmore has departed in his carriage. 

The horses had only picked their way as far as the edge of the road when the front door of the inn opened and they heard Morgan’s unmistakable bellow. A bundle of black fabric flew out of the inn, followed by a smaller dark mass and a hard, dark object. The larger bundle stood, brushed itself off, and shook out the snow-damp mantle. A glint of copper sparkled in the twilight before she pulled up her hood and extinguished the shimmer. She found her valise, straightened, stared hard at the coach, and turned decidedly in the opposite direction.

Foolishly, away from the village and her only chance of shelter. Rosalyn, or whoever she was, had lied, he supposed, about her purpose in visiting Glen Murray. And lied about the maid being Mindy’s cousin, since neither Mindy nor the maid had exchanged a word or a glance. The auction was a chance to pick pockets, perhaps. The maid would stay behind to warm Morgan’s bed and then pick him clean, while her supposed mistress waited elsewhere.

Hamish had not grown up here, but since his father had acquired the estate, he had become acquainted with the area and most of the families. There were no towns or villages or even hovels for miles in the direction Rosalyn was heading. If Morgan had caught Rosalyn stealing, she was lucky to get away with her life, but she would surely freeze to death before she reached shelter.

His instincts roused, the way they had through torments at school, his business endeavors, and, especially, his brief military career.

“Stop, Cheevers.” He clambered down from his wet seat.

Oh heavens, it was so cold. Rosalyn wrapped her cloak tighter, and then patted again the slight lump in her pocket. She had feared it lost when that vile man had tossed her into the snow. As soon as she could, she would fasten the band around her neck with a ribbon.

She must find some kind of shelter. The town was the other way, she knew, and as soon as the new Lord of Brockton had moved his dawdling self down the road, she would turn back to the village.

Rosalyn heard trudging behind her. Fear flashed through her. Morgan would kill her, she had no doubt, if he noticed the ring missing and if he found it on her.

Rosalyn flipped back the hood of her mantle and glanced over her shoulder.

Cathmore. The insufferable man would not leave her alone. His long legs carried him far faster through the drifts then she could move.

She turned on him. “What do you want, sir?” she shouted.

“You will freeze to death.”

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, her feet were swept from under her, and he was carrying her back across the yard.

“We know we shall not have to worry about your virtue,” he said ignominiously.

Rosalyn squirmed. “You will put me down now!”

“I will not.”

“You will not take liberties with me.”

“Will I not?” He smiled at her, a smile of calculation that chilled her more.

“I will throw myself upon your Mrs. Sullivan.”

“You may try, but I warn you, she is an excellent judge of character.”

Rosalyn choked and fought tears. It had come to that. She had let a man she’d only just met kiss her, a man not her husband, and she had kissed him back and then committed a theft.

No one else would see that she had stolen back her father’s promise. He was right. Mrs. Sullivan would not see it her way. This lord had ruined her reputation in one afternoon. He had ruined the last Montagu.

She must find a way to escape him, or he would take the very last thing she had, what was left of her innocence. Her hand rested on the hard knot of the ring, and she prayed for the promised luck.

Buy link: Amazon


Alina_K._FieldAbout Alina:

Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but she found her true passion in reading and writing romance. Though her roots are in the Midwest, after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and a blue-eyed cat who conned his way in for dinner one day and decided the food was too good to leave. Visit her at:







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It is always my great pleasure to welcome, NYT bestselling author, Grace Burrowes to the blog!!  Grace is here to tell us about her latest book, The Captive, and give away one copy. All you have to do is say your want it!!

I finished it last night and was not at all surprised that it is on the USA Today Bestseller list!!

Here is the fabulous cover!!


Now the blurb.

He’ll never be free…
Captured and tortured by the French, Christian Severn, Duke of Mercia, survives by vowing to take revenge on his tormentors. Before the duke can pursue his version of justice, Gillian, Countess of Greendale, reminds him that his small daughter has suffered much in his absence, and needs her papa desperately.
Until he surrenders his heart…
Gilly endured her difficult marriage by keeping peace at any cost. Christian’s devotion to his daughter and his kindness toward Gilly give her hope that she could enjoy a future with him, for surely he of all men shares her loathing for violence in any form. Little does Gilly know, the battle for Christian’s heart is only beginning.

And if you still are on the fence about this book, an exclusive blurb.

Gillian, Lady Greendale, and Christian, Duke of Mercia, are discussing—among other fraught topics—safety in the wake of an attempt to poison him.

“You’re safe, Gilly. The footmen or I attend you wherever you go, and the entire staff has been warned to watch for strangers.” Christian sounded very sure of Gilly’s safety, but what of his own?

“The staff has been been…protective,” Gilly said. “Discreet, but protective.”

“You’re surprised?”

Yes, she was. Also relieved—and ashamed. “I left my slippers in your bedroom that first night.”


The great lout was genuinely perplexed. “Below stairs, they know.”

“That we share a bed? If you say so.”

“I don’t like that they know.” She hated that they knew, hated that they might think her guilty of every weak, wanton behavior Greendale had accused her of.

Christian’s gaze narrowed, more closely approximating the ducal sphinx Gilly had barged in on weeks ago in London. “Will you pretend you don’t like what we do?”

She would have moved out from under his hands, but he only let her turn, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “The question is sincere, my lady. I would not for the world impose on you.”

The wretch, saying such things out loud.

“I like what we do.”

“Then is it me? Perhaps you’d rather disport with a different partner?”

Behind the arrogance of the question, Gilly heard a hint, a well-hidden, ducally disregarded hint of vulnerability. She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest. She had licked, kissed, and nuzzled her way over most of this chest, and had found it delicious.

“I will never disport thus with another. I promise myself every morning I will not disport thus with you again, at least not until matters are settled between us.”

His hold on her loosened. “I do not understand your dilemma. I have determined you need time to sort it out yourself, and this sits ill with me, but as a measure of my regard for you, I do not force the matter.”

“Oh, no, you do not force the argument, you merely—”

“Yes?” He slipped his hands down and cupped her bottom, which meant she took notice of his male flesh growing hard between them.

“Even arguing arouses you.”

“Everything about you arouses me.”

Buy Links for print and ebook can be found at:


About Grace:

graceburrowes-headshot-01Grace Burrowes grew up in central Pennsylvania and is the sixth out of seven children. She discovered romance novels when in junior high (back when there was such a thing), and has been reading them voraciously ever since. Grace has a bachelor’s degree in Political Science, a Bachelor of Music in Music History, (both from The Pennsylvania State University); a Master’s Degree in Conflict Transformation from Eastern Mennonite University; and a Juris Doctor from The National Law Center at The George Washington University.

Grace writes Georgian, Regency, Scottish Victorian and contemporary romances in both novella and novel lengths. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and Novelist, Inc. and enjoys giving workshops and speaking at writer’s conferences. If you’d like Grace to speak or present at your conference, contact her here. Giving back to the industry is a large part of the fun of being published!

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Please welcome Regency author, Christi Caldwell, back to the blog. Christi has a new book out and she’ll be giving away a copy to one of you who tells her you want the book!

The winner will be announced on Sunday News!

Without further to do, I give you the cover of Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous!


Now the blurb.

Geoffrey Winters, Viscount Redbrooke was not always the hard, unrelenting lord driven by propriety. After a tragic mistake, he resolved to honor his responsibility to the Redbrooke line and live a life, free of scandal. Knowing his duty is to wed a proper, respectable English miss, he selects Lady Beatrice Dennington, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, the perfect woman for him. Until he meets Miss Abigail Stone…

To distance herself from a personal scandal, Abigail Stone flees America to visit her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. Determined to never trust a man again, she is helplessly intrigued by the hard, too-proper Geoffrey. With his strict appreciation for decorum and order, he is nothing like the man’ she’s always dreamed of.

Abigail is everything Geoffrey does not need. She upends his carefully ordered world at every encounter. As they begin to care for one another, Abigail carefully guards the secret that resulted in her journey to England.

Only, if Geoffrey learns the truth about Abigail, he must decide which he holds most dear: his place in Society or Abigail’s place in his heart.


And if you need more, an exclusive excerpt!

In desperate need of a drink, Geoffrey took a step toward a liveried servant bearing a tray full of champagne when his black Hessian boot suddenly snagged the hem of a young lady’s skirt.

The tear of fabric ripping blended with the din of conversation around them.

The lady gasped, and pitched forward. Even as the glass of ratafia in her hand fell to the floor, her hip collided with the passing servant who teetered on his feet. The young man’s serving tray tilted precariously, and for an infinitesimal moment Geoffrey believed the servant had steadied his burden.

But the servant’s tray slipped from his fingers. Champagne flutes careened to the floor, and sprayed the bubbling liquid onto the gown of several matrons standing nearby, who cried out in shock and scurried off.

“Pardon me,” Geoffrey murmured to the servant, and then returned his attention to the woman he’d inadvertently sent reeling. A mere five or so inches smaller than his six foot frame, she stood taller than most of the ladies present. “Forgive me. Are you all…?”

She smiled up at him.

His question died upon his lips as he gazed down at the woman who’d unwittingly beckoned from across the ballroom mere moments ago. His eyes traveled the high planes of her cheekbones, the gray irises of her eyes, her full, red lips.

…and then her slipper met the moisture upon the marble floor. Like one of the skaters at the Frost Fair on the River Thames, she slid forward, into a nearby pillar. “Ouch.”

Geoffrey’s arm shot out and he sought to steady her.

“Thank you,” she said. She shook out her sea foam green skirts and unlike the horror that wreathed the faces of the surrounding ladies, wry amusement fairly glittered in her gray-blue eyes. “I am uninjured,” she assured him.

His eyes widened and with alacrity, he released her.

She cocked her head to the side. “Are you injured?”

Her flat accent did not possess the clipped proper tones of a proper English lady. He blinked. “Injured?”

“You appear unwell, sir.”

By God…

“You are an American,” he blurted.

A mischievous smile played about her lips. “I am.” She looked around and then back to him. “Never tell me you’re scandalized by me being an American?”

He was scandalized by the wicked direction his mind had wandered that involved an American woman. If his mother was outraged at the prospect of a Scott assuming the Redbrooke title, what would she say to an American lady having garnered Geoffrey’s attention?

“Ahh, you do smile,” the young woman said.

Geoffrey frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Alas, it is gone,” she said with a long, exaggerated sigh.

Geoffrey became aware of the appalled stares of Polite Society’s most respectable peers, trained upon him. From across the room, his mother, who stood alongside Lady Tisdale, glared with blatant disapproval. It was the much needed reminder of past failings and inner weaknesses that had wrought much agony upon his family. By standing here engaging this…this…stranger, in the midst of Lord and Lady Hughes’s ballroom, he opened himself up to public censure. His intentions were marriage to Lady Beatrice, and any hint of untoward interest in another would not be countenanced by the Duke of Somerset or his daughter.

Geoffrey folded his arms across his chest. This American upstart might have a face and body to rival Helen of Troy, but possessed the uncouth manners one would expect of an American. “Miss,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “We’ve not been properly introduced, therefore, any discourse between us is highly improper.”

Her lips twitched, with, he suspected, mirth. “I would say toppling over the host’s servant and spraying his guests with champagne and glass is also improper, but you’ve done that, sir.”

Geoffrey felt heat climb up his neck, and resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly tight cravat, shamed by the accuracy of her charge. He did not create scandals. Not anymore. He was proper. And poised. And…

She arched a brow.

Well, in this instance he’d created a small scandal. Still, he needn’t raise further eyebrows by talking to the vexing miss.

Even if he wanted to.

He needed to go. Immediately. Anywhere but within mere inches of the lady who smelled like lilacs and lavender and now champagne. “Again, forgive me for causing you distress.” He bowed deeply and beat a hasty retreat.

Geoffrey had made a fool of himself once over a young lady. He’d not be so foolish again.

Buy Links:

Barnes and Noble


About Christi:

Twitter Picture ChrissyChristi Caldwell is the best-selling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!


When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home chasing around her feisty five-year-old son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!



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I’m also so happy to have the fabulous Miranda Neville on the blog!! I know you’ll help me give her a huge welcome!

Miranda’s spotlighting her latest book, Coming June 24, 2014: Lady Windermere’s Lover  (Book 3 of The Wild Quartet)

She’ll also give away a copy to on of you who tells her you want the book! We haven’t done a giveaway for several weeks, so let’s make this a good one!

Don’t you think this cover is gorgeous!


Now for the blurb:

Damian, Earl of Windermere, rues the day he drunkenly gambled away his family’s estate and was forced into marriage to reclaim it. Now, after hiding out from his new bride for a year, Damian is finally called home, only to discover that his modest bride has become an alluring beauty—and rumor has it that she’s taken a lover. Damian vows to keep his wife from straying again, but to do so he must seduce her—and protect his heart from falling for the wife he never knew he wanted.
Cynthia never aspired to be the subject of scandal. But with her husband off gallivanting across Persia, what was a lady to do? Flirting shamelessly with his former best friend seemed like the perfect revenge . . . except no matter how little Damian deserves her loyalty, Cynthia can’t bring herself to be unfaithful. But now that the scoundrel has returned home, Cynthia isn’t about to forgive his absence so easily—even if his presence stirs something in her she’d long thought dead and buried. He might win her heart . . . if he can earn her forgiveness!
And finally an exclusive excerpt!

 The awkward first meeting between Lord and Lady Windermere, after he returns from abroad, is interrupted by the Duke of Denford. Damian believes him to be Cynthia’s lover; all Cynthia knows is that Denford and her husband have been on bad terms for years.

“Clearly I have much news to catch up with since I’ve been away,” Windermere said, for all the world as though he were on the best of terms with the friends of his youth. “Can I persuade you to join us for dinner one evening, Julian? I am engaged with Grenville tonight, but tomorrow perhaps. Unless you have another engagement, my lady.”

“If I did, my lord, I would cancel it. It would ill become me to amuse myself elsewhere when my husband has been restored to me after so long.”

“Excellent. Shall we say seven o’clock then? Unless you prefer to keep country hours.”

“I am no longer the country mouse I was when you left me at Beaulieu, my lord. I would not dream of sitting down to dine a minute earlier.”

“I can see that you are not. You have become quite worldly, my lady. Admirably so.”

If someone had told Cynthia back at the Birmingham Academy that one day she’d be sitting between an earl and a duke, she’d have called him a fantasist. Keeping up with the byplay between the two men tested her newly developed sophistication. One man had never wanted her, the other said he did. Too bad that the former was the husband to whom she owed loyalty, however undeserved.

She looked at Julian, who had been following the exchange with the wry twist of the mouth that both fascinated and exasperated her, then turned back to her husband. Windermere had a singularly beautiful smile, as she remembered to her cost. In her experience he deployed it seldom and almost never with genuine intent. What he directed at her now sent her heart thudding against her ribs, but it did not reach his eyes. She knew it was a meaningless curve of the lips.

She inclined her head with a graciousness that was wholly feigned. “Why thank you, my lord. Your praise overwhelms me. I live only to please you.”

“What do you say, Julian?”

“How could I possibly resist such an invitation.” He swept a bow of matchless urbane mockery. “A demain, Cynthia,” he said, and stalked out like the sleek black cat he resembled.

She didn’t miss the flash of emotion that crossed Windermere’s face when Julian used her given name, nor the thoughtful look that pursued him out of the room.

“You are very cordial with Denford,” she said. “I had heard you disliked him.”

“And knowing that, you pursued his acquaintance? Such a loyal wife.”

Her behavior did prick at her conscience, though logically Windermere’s had been worse. “I pay little attention to gossip. I am glad I did not allow rumor to keep me from a friendship that obviously you don’t object to. I am delighted to see you and Julian on such good terms.” Her sunny smile felt like a death grimace. “I have lived quietly in your absence without entrée to the ton. Caro, Denford, and their friends welcomed me. Now that you are home, I look forward to expanding my circle with your other acquaintances.”

“I suppose you are ambitious to be received in more fashionable circles,” he said with a sneer. She’d never heard Windermere speak so rudely, and it caused her fierce satisfaction that she’d rippled his glassy calm. She didn’t know why he was upset, but that was nothing new. Since the moment he’d slipped the ring on her finger, pleasing her husband had proved impossible.

“Only for your sake,” she said with a careless wave, intended to convince him—and herself—that his ill opinion meant nothing to her. “I haven’t forgotten you telling me a wife is important to a diplomat’s career.”

He walked over to her chair and extended one elegant finger to tilt her face upward. Her heart skipped a beat when, for an instant, she thought he was going to kiss her, as a man might be expected to do after a year apart from his wife. But those perfect lips came within a foot of hers and no closer. She made herself meet him eye to eye, wishing she could read his thoughts. They were engaged in an unspoken struggle she didn’t entirely understand.

“What?” she whispered finally.

“You have changed,” he said.

“Just as you requested. I tried to become the wife you wanted.”

Buy links:  Amazon     Kindle    Nook/Barnes& Noble    Kobo    iTunes  


NevilleColorSmallerAbout Miranda:

Miranda Neville grew up in England but as a long time resident of the United States she considers herself bilingual in American and British English. She has written eight historical romances for Avon, including the popular Burgundy Club series and the current Wild Quartet. Publisher’s Weekly has described her work as a “mix of hilarity, mystery, and passion.”  She can be reached on  Facebook, Twitter, or through her website.



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Please welcome historical author, Jennifer Bray-Weber to the blog!! Jenn is here to spotlight her latest book, Mutiny of the Heart!! She’ll also be giving away one copy of the book to one of you who tells her you want it!!

With out further to do, let’s take a look at the cover!



Oh my! Where is my fan when I need it? On to the blurb!

Navigating the high seas as the female captain of a pirate ship means always being on your guard—especially when one takes a temptingly handsome slave on board.

Captain Joelle Quint believes the slave claiming to be a cartographer can help her decipher the map her father left her when she was a child. She’s spent years trying to unlock its truths, hoping that it holds the answers to a dark family secret.

Sloan Ricker has no intention of remaining captive. When the fiery, red-headed captain offers him his freedom in exchange for solving her map, what begins as an opportunity to escape becomes a struggle to make the beautiful, intriguing Joelle his mistress in more ways than one.

Amidst a battle with the Royal Navy and a first mate’s jealousy, Joelle also fights her growing lust. And as much as he’d like to deny it, Ricker’s desire for Joelle has overcome his initial disdain. To get the answers, independence and love that they both long for, Joelle and Ricker must relinquish control to each other…or die trying.

 Now for the excerpt!

Captain Quint was a dangerous woman—in more than just cunning. She had Valeryn. The first mate had been punishing Ricker for kissing her. Ricker had gotten a great deal of satisfaction knowing he burrowed deeply under Valeryn’s skin. He was an arsehole. All the extra work he forced upon Ricker, all the malicious sneers, amounted to Ricker’s stronger will to drub the bastard within an inch of his life. He would relish the moment he and Valeryn bled.

“We’ll likely need to careen her,” Joelle said, turning her attention back to the charts. “Making us vulnerable.”

“This part of the bay’s coastline is woodsy.” He pointed to a bend in the shore on the map. “You can hide well there. The problem might be the sand. The Black Cove River lets out there. The sand will be soft and hard to dislodge from, even in high tide.”

She was contemplating a decision. What, he wasn’t sure. Though he could hazard a guess. What to do, where to go should they need to escape…

“By the looks of the leak, Captain, your ship will not make it to a friendlier port.”

Rissa bucked again, delivering on his point. A saber clattered to the floor.

“Too many more jolts like that and the only place we’re going is the tomb of Davy Jones,” she groused.

They both bent for the sword. Ricker reached it first, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt. Their eyes locked. He had her weapon and she gauged his face for his next move. A burnished eyebrow slowly arched upward, a daring curve coiled her lips. No fool, he had little doubt she’d have a ball wedged in his brain from the pistol hung at her waist should he try something stupid.

Frankly, he was far too distracted. Bending low, she presented him with a crippling peek of the ravine between her breasts, swaying with the ship’s rocking movements. Holy Mother! He licked his bottom lip, smiled and slowly handed her the handle.

“You want to run me through,” she said, her tone forthright, her smile heated.

“Aye,” he answered. “To the hilt.” Over and over again.

“’Tis a pity, then. You won’t make it out alive.” She rose, too graceful for the lurching vessel, with a wicked arch to her back. The minx.

“The satisfaction and pleasure of the attempt would be worth it, I think.” He, too, rose without stepping back, being at the risk of injury to the proximity of the sword’s blade.


She adoringly eyed the sword’s tip, testing its sharpness with her finger, before gliding her gaze back to him.

Damn all, the seduction fluttering under those coy, deadly lashes drove a hard spike below his belt.

“The taste.” He paused, picking his words carefully, and enjoying the titillation of her waiting, of her expectations. “The taste of freedom can be overwhelming. Even if the undertaking means certain death.”

“To conquer what holds your tethers at any cost still requires strategy.”

“Perhaps, but not if the opportunity suddenly arises without warning. ’Tis difficult to stay the course.”

“Has an opportunity arisen?” She ran a finger along the edge of the sword’s blade, light from the lantern catching on the smooth, polished metal. The suggestion was killing him.

“Several times over.”

She ever so slightly shook her head, her drying hair curling at the ends, bouncing. “What has kept you at bay?”

“The taste—” his gaze landed upon her mouth before delivering his bitter taunt, “—has been sour.”

Her coquettish smile faded, gone like the flash in a pan. She expelled a disgusted huff. Quint swiveled, securing the saber back onto the wall.

“Be forewarned, Mr. Ricker. I am quite skilled at survival. I shall, nevertheless, be careful not to allow further opportunity.”

Ricker suddenly wished he hadn’t gone head to head with the saucy captain. He underestimated her. If he didn’t ignore her overwhelming allure and what she did to him, how his body reacted around her, he’d never regain his freedom. Fire and brimstone! He may have won this battle, but he feared he would lose the war.

Buy links: 

Carina Press ~ Amazon ~ B&N

About Jenn:

GH026+(2)Award-winning, multi-published author Jennifer Bray-Weber has always wished for real life to mimic adventuresome tales. As if being a mother of two wasn’t enough adventure, she writes pirate historical romances and dabbles in erotica fantasy romance. Her next two books in the Romancing the Pirate series are scheduled to release early in 2014. Connect with Jennifer and join her mailing list for sneak peeks, excerpts, and free giveaways.










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Please welcome historical author, Jane Lark, to the blog. Jane has given me her latest book, THE SCANDALOUS LOVE OF A DUKE, book three in Jane Lark’s Kindle best-selling Regency romance series! to spotlight. She will also give a signed paperback copy of The Illicit Love of a Courtesan, the first book in the series, to one of you who tells her she wants the book!

Let’s have a look at the cover!

002 The Scandalous Love of a Duke High Res

Now the blurb:

Isolated by life and choice, John Harding, the Duke of Pembroke, sees an angel in a pale mauve dress across a room and is drawn closer as lust grips firm and hard in his stomach. The wheat-blonde hair escaping her dull dove-grey bonnet and caressing her neck lures his eyes to a spot he’d like to kiss. She speaks with animation her hands moving. Then as if she senses his gaze the stranger turns and looks at him.

A rush of pain and longing spilled from Katherine’s heart into her limbs. It was so long since she’d seen John but her reaction was the same as it had been more than half-a-dozen years before. She loved him, secretly, without hope, but a chasm of years and status stood between them.

Exclusive excerpt

Katherine picked up the Bibles the children had been working with and set them aside. Then she turned towards the small altar in the chancel chapel where she’d led the Sunday school.

She was looking for something to do to pass the time while the congregation dispersed and she waited for Revered Barker to drive her home. Her gaze caught on the open side door. John stood there watching her, his athletic silhouette framed in the arch of sunlight.

She had not forgiven him for kissing her, nor for forcing her to admit she had wished him to do it. Neither was a gentlemanly act. He had changed.

Ignoring him, she turned to the storage cupboard. She felt his presence so keenly she could sense him smiling behind her. She’d heard him singing amidst the congregation as she’d worked with the children. He had a beautiful voice. It rose above that of everyone else with perfect clarity.

How could a man who was now so steely hard and disgracefully arrogant still sing like an angel?

She pressed a palm against the slates to make them straight when they were already perfectly aligned.

“Are you hiding, Katherine?”

Her heart thumped. “Working, John.”

His boot heels rang on the glazed medieval tiles and she spun about when she heard him get too close.

He was two feet away, his pale eyes gleaming yet unfathomable. “I was waiting to speak with you, your parents have left. I thought… You are not hiding from me, are you?”

“No,” she breathed, knowing she coloured.

His gaze swept across her face clearly assessing her as she had not been able to assess him because his features were set like marble.

“There is no need for you to fear me, Katherine.”

She lifted her chin. “I am not afraid of you, John.” I am afraid of myself.

“I would never hurt you.”

Her chin lifted another notch. She hurt for him anyway. She had ached for him for seven years. Hiding was the only way to escape more pain.

He did not move, his pale gaze holding hers as though he could hear the words she did not speak.

“I have thought about you since the funeral.” His voice whispered back off the cold bare stone. “I know I said sorry to you yesterday, Katherine, but I really do not think I am. I wanted to kiss you, too. Why should either of us feel regret?”

She dragged a deep breath into her lungs. “John, do not do this.” She stepped back and hit the shelves.

He caught her arm to stop her fall, but did not let go.

“Do what? Admit I am attracted to you. I am, as you are to me.” His head was bowing before he’d even finished speaking.

Their lips touched.

It was different than yesterday, it was gentle, hesitant and reassuring, and without conscious thought her hands slid over his shoulders, one settling behind his neck, half holding his mouth to hers.

When his lips opened and his tongue slid across the seam of hers, she could not help but part hers and kiss him back as he was kissing her.

Their tongues weaved an intricate dance and she felt her body press against his, as the shelves dug into her back.

His hand supported her, slipping to the first curve of her lower back and her shoulder, but then his kiss became more ardent and his tongue pressed deep into her mouth.


They flew apart and she knew she must be crimson. The back of her hand pressed to her mouth wondering how swollen her lips must look and then her palms pressed to her hot cheeks before trying to tuck wisps of her hair back beneath her bonnet.

Reverend Barker’s long, confident footsteps could be heard as he walked briskly up the aisle.

Her hands ran quickly over her gown, smoothing out creases which were not there. She felt dishevelled but it was not an outward turmoil, it was an inward one.

She looked at John. He did not look contrite at all.

Oh John, what are you trying to do to me?

Buy links:

Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Kobo

About Jane:

JaneLark (2)Jane is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult romance and author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Novel,’The Illicit Love of a Courtesan, as well as a Kindle overall Top 25, bestselling author.

She began her first historical novel at sixteen, but a life full of adversity derailed her as she lives with the restrictions of Ankylosing Spondylitis.

When she finally completed a novel it was because she was determined not to reach forty still saying, I want to write.

Now Jane is writing a Regency series as well as contemporary, new adult, stories and she is thrilled to be giving her characters life in others’ imaginations at last.

You might think that Jane was inspired to write by Jane Austen, especially as she lives near Bath in the United Kingdom, but you would be wrong. Jane’s favourite author is Anya Seton, and the book which drew her into the bliss of falling into historical imagination was ‘Katherine’ a story crafted from reality.

Jane has drawn on this inspiration to discover other real-life love stories, reading memoirs and letters to capture elements of the past, and she uses these to create more realistic plots.

‘Basically I love history and I am sucker for a love story. I love the feeling of falling in love; it’s wonderful being able to do it time and time again in fiction.’

Jane is also a Chartered Member of the Institute of Personnel and Development in the United Kingdom, and uses this specialist understanding of people to bring her characters to life.

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As we head into summer, I thought I’d give you some beach or garden reading, so please welcome Emma Kaye to the blog. She is here to tell you about her book, In Her Dreams, a Regency time-travel which takes place in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, and is part of  an anthology called Timeless Escapes: A Collection of Summer Stories.

Here is the cover.


Now for the blurb:

Author Winnie Boyle finds more in the U.S. Virgin Islands than the inspiration she sought for her latest novel. When she reads from an old journal she finds on the beach, she’s transported to another time and place—literally. She assumes it’s all just a dream when she finds herself in Regency England. Surely the gorgeous Viscount Bastian Caulfield and his sweetly innocent sister couldn’t be real.

The dream quickly turns to a nightmare when she can’t wake up and realizes something sinister is at work. Someone’s trying to kill Bastian and Winnie’s been brought back in time to save him. How? She has no idea. But time’s running out.

Can she escape this crazy dream with her mind and body intact? Because it may be too late for her heart…

And an excerpt:

His gaze raked her from head to toe, pausing at her midsection where the dangling ruby-red gemstone on her belly ring matched the polka dots on her barely-there bikini.

She wasn’t as brave or brazen as the heroines in her novels. They’d have stuck out their chest and propped a hand on their hip before asking the beast if he liked what he saw.

She crossed one arm across her stomach, the other over her breasts.

But damn it! She was on vacation.

Or dreaming.

Why should she be embarrassed? Her bathing suit wasn’t exactly modest, but she’d seen worse.

Only, she wasn’t on the beach. Standing next to two fully dressed people—actually, two overdressed people—was unnerving. Not to mention how the image of him in his own clinging bathing suit was seared on her brain.

Red crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks as he watched her squirm. He dropped his gaze. “Jane. Who is this person and why is she practically naked?”

Jane threw the dressing gown over Winnie’s shoulders. Winnie shrugged into it, tightening the waist with a vicious yank on the belt. Pissed at herself for feeling so self-conscious. She clutched the neckline together with a trembling hand.

“The spell brought her here.” Jane ran over to her brother and grabbed his hand. “She’s here to protect you.”

Winnie reared back in surprise. “I’m what?”

Bastian’s laugh sounded like a bark. Short and surprised. “This is the result of that spell you cast? I can think of little she can do for me that is suitable to be discussed within your hearing.”

Jane tilted her head and gave a small frown, Bastian’s words apparently lost on her innocent ears.

Winnie wasn’t quite so innocent. Fury boiled up within her. “Excuse me? Holy crap, this is one messed-up dream.”

“You will guard your tongue, miss.” Bastian grasped Jane’s hand, pulling her to his side and slightly behind as if to block her from Winnie.

“Oh, I’ll guard my tongue, as soon as you do. I’m surprised I didn’t dream you up some manners.” She pinched the flesh of her bicep viciously and winced at the pain. “Okay. That was supposed to wake me up.” Why can’t I wake up? “How did I get here and why are you all dressed like it’s the nineteenth century? Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Holy crap. Not a dream. Breathe. She had to breathe. She sucked air through her nose and released it in a gush. Again.

Buy Links:

Because I know that you want to know, here is a short description of all the books in the anthology and a link to their contest!

Escape to the Virgin Islands where the bonds of marriage are renewed, friends become lovers, and new love is given a chance to thrive.

Ruth A. Casie ~ Second Chance by the Sea

Married for ten years, a couple at odds find their marriage was never registered. Will an impending disaster be the final straw that breaks them up or will it rekindle their love and send them back to the altar for a second chance?

Lita Harris ~ Chasing Fireflies

Soured on love by a recent breakup, a travel agent with a fear of flying and open water takes a trip to the Virgin Islands. She meets a boat captain who challenges her fears. Will she survive her breakup and find happiness in the arms of another man?

Emma Kaye ~ In Her Dreams

When an author escapes to the Virgin Islands to work on her latest book, she’s swept back in time to Regency England and must decide whether the love she finds with an English lord is real or only in her dreams.

Nicole S. Patrick ~ Poseidon’s Strength

A beloved hero’s death leads his sister and his best friend, who have never seen eye-to-eye, to discover that helping family can be their happy medium, and possibly lead them to uncover a love that’s meant to be.

Julie Rowe ~ A Pirate’s Vacation

A doctor grieving the death of her husband, buys a B&B in the Virgin Islands in need of a lot of fixing. Her old flame arrives to help with repairs, but will she let him heal her shattered heart?

Click here to enter the contest.

About Emma:

HeadShot reduced sizeEmma Kaye is married to her high school sweetheart and has two beautiful kids that she spends an insane amount of time driving around central New Jersey. Before ballet and tennis classes entered her life, she decided to try writing one of those romances she loved to read and discovered a new passion. She has been writing ever since. Add in a playful puppy and an extremely patient cat and she’s living her own happily ever after while making her characters work hard to reach theirs.

Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Goodreads





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While I’m running hither and yon today, Victorian author Sandra Schwab will entertain you!! Please give her a warm welcome to the blog!!

Four years ago I fell in love with nineteenth-century periodicals. It all started quite harmlessly when in 2010 I was invited to speak at the annual conference of the Research Society for Victorian Periodicals. I had already done some research on the satirical magazine Punch, in particular on the artist Richard Doyle, who worked for the magazine in the 1840s. But it was at that conference that I really fell in love with Victorian periodicals. After my return home I got lucky and found a reasonably priced collection of all Punch volumes from 1841 to 1891 online. I bought it—155 pounds of Mr. Punch! When the packages finally arrived, I was so happy that I burst into tears (which might have disconcerted the postman a little…).


Since Mr. Punch moved into my sitting room, much of my academic research has focused on the 1840s. It was only recently that I realized I could use this research for my creative work as well. Thus, the idea for my new series about the writers and artists working for the fictional magazine and my series,  Allan’s Miscellany was born.

The upheavals that shook the publishing world in the early nineteenth century were just as momentous as the changes that are happening in our time. Thanks to the rise of the middle classes, technological improvements, and higher literacy rates, the market for periodicals grew exponentially: It is estimated that about 4000 periodicals were launched between 1790 and 1832. In other words, there was suddenly a mass market for newspapers and magazines.

The latter covered every topic under the sun: there were sporting magazines and art magazines and music magazines and magazines about botany and horticulture. The Lady’s Magazine, or Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex (1770-1847) was the first to explicitly target a female readership. In terms of content, the magazine set the example for other women’s magazines that followed: it contained articles on various subjects as well as fiction, poetry, music (on fold-outs), exemplary biographies (often illustrated), sometimes short descriptions of the latest dresses and fashions (with plates), and a pattern for decorative needlework.

What was missing, though, was a recipe section and a column with domestic advice. The reason for this was that the magazine was targeted at upper-class women who had servants to do all the household work for them. In this, too, the magazine set the model for other women’s magazines of the early nineteenth century: they were all expensive and they were all meant for an upper-class readership. This changed only in the 1850s and 60s when the older ladies’ magazines disappeared and were replaced by new periodicals targeted at middle class women. The most famous and most popular of these was Samuel Beeton’s The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine (1852-79).


There were often more general magazines, often referred to as “miscellanies” because they covered a variety of different topics and contained book reviews, theatre reviews, articles on literature and science, opinion articles, and poetry. I imagined Allan’s Miscellany as one of these periodicals.

In The Bride Prize, the first story of the series, Allan’s Miscellany is only a few months old, and the staff consists of a grand total of two people: William MacNeil, editor and writer, and Robert Beaton, writer and chief — well, only — artist. Robbie knows that they need a big break if the magazine is to survive, and so he drags Mac to what must have been one of the strangest (and quirkiest!!!) events of the period: the Eglinton Tournament of 1839, where a group of noblemen donned medieval armor to joust like knights of old.





It’s 1839, and Lord Eglinton’s tournament in Scotland is the most anticipated event of the year: he and some of his noble friends will don medieval armor and joust like knights of old.

Does this mean a revival of true chivalry? Miss Florence Marsh thinks it might.

Or is the tournament mere tomfoolery and the greatest folly of the century? Mr. Robert Beaton thinks it is.

But when Flo and Robbie meet at Eglinton Park, they’ll soon learn that a dash of romance can make the greatest differences look rather small and that true love might find you in the most unlikely place.

An excerpt can be found here.

Buy links:

Regular edition:

Amazon US ~   Amazon UK ~ Kobo

B&N will follow soon

Enhanced edition:

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK

Kobo and B&N will follow soon


About Sandra

Schwab2Sandra Schwab started writing her first novel when she was seven years old. Thirty-odd years later, telling stories is still her greatest passion, even though by now she has exchanged her pink fountain pen of old for a black computer keyboard. Since the release of her debut novel in 2005, she has enchanted readers worldwide with her unusual historical romances.

She lives in Frankfurt am Main / Germany with a sketchbook, a sewing machine, and an ever-expanding library.

Link up with Sandra on any of her social medial sites!

website: http://www.sandraschwab.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ScribblingSandy

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/SandraSchwab.Author


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Collette has a new book coming out, so I had to have her back on the blog! Naturally, she’ll give a copy of the book to one of you who tells her you want it.

Without further to do, I give you the cover.

TheEarlsEnticement3_850 3rd


And the blurb:

She won’t be tamed.

A fiery, unconventional Scot, Adaira Ferguson wears breeches, swears, and has no more desire to marry than she does to follow society’s dictates of appropriate behavior. She trusts no man with the secret she desperately protects.

He can’t forget.

Haunted by his past, Roark, the Earl of Clarendon, rigidly adheres to propriety, holding himself and those around him to the highest standards, no matter the cost. Betrayed once, he’s guarded and leery of all women.

Mistaking Roark for a known spy, Adaira imprisons him. Infuriated, he vows vengeance. Realizing her error, she’s appalled and releases him, but he’s not satisfied with his freedom. Roark is determined to transform Adaira from an ill-mannered hoyden to a lady of refinement.

He succeeds only to discover, he preferred the free-spirited Scottish lass who first captured his heart.

If you need more convincing, here is an excerpt:

Casting one last look over her shoulder, she opened the heavy door. She deftly nudged the bulky bundle onto the landing with her foot. With the buckets looped over one arm, she made quick work of lighting the lantern. Then, she shoved her way through the partially open doorway. Seldom used hinges squeaked and groaned in protest. She swallowed.

Had no one opened it since . . .?

Grimacing, she laid a shaky hand across her knotted middle. Possibly not.

She edged the thick wooden slab shut. It closed with a portentous thunk. One hand on the cold, stone wall for balance, she turned and peered into the blackness. The heavy air settled around her, its cool dampness thick and suffocating. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Adaira closed her eyes, fighting to draw air into her lungs.

The lamp sputtered and hissed. Her eyes flew open. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.

Please, don’t go out.

The flickering stopped. The weak flame leaped to life. The orangey-red fought against its glass constraints before yielding to the inevitable. Adaira’s nose twitched at the acrid smell of burning oil.

She’d not be surprised if bats weren’t hanging by their horrid little curled toes on the beams far above her head. She cast a hurried glance upward. Nothing. Thank God. Rats and mice she tolerated. But bats? No. Not since she’d hidden in a cave when she was eight and disturbed a colony of the little flying devils.

Her gaze raked the stairwell once more. Blast, but it was black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat.

There was a time when the darkness hadn’t bothered her. Back then, she used to visit the lower chambers regularly. Well, truth to tell, she’d sneaked into them to avoid her lessons from the time she was twelve until four years ago.


Collette CameronAbout Collette:

Award winning, Amazon best-selling, and multi-published historical romance author, Collette Cameron, has a BS in Liberal Studies and a Master’s in Teaching. A Pacific Northwest Native, Collette’s been married for thirty years, has three amazing adult children, and five dachshunds. Collette loves a good joke, inspirational quotes, flowers, the beach, trivia, birds, shabby chic, and Cadbury Chocolate. You’ll always find dogs, birds, quirky—sometimes naughty—humor, and a dash of inspiration in her novels. Her motto for life? You can’t have too much chocolate, too many hugs, or too many flowers. She’s thinking about adding shoes to that list.

Connect with Collette:

Website     Blue Rose Romance Blog   Twitter   Facebook

You can connect with Collette on Goodreads, LinkedIn, and Google+ too. Go to her website for the links, her email address, and mailing address.

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Please welcome debut author Ally Broadfield to the blog! Ally is going to tell you about her Regency romance, Just a Kiss. She’ll be giving away some swag as well!!

As always we’ll start with the lovely cover.



Now the blurb:

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


And the excerpt:

Charlotte studied the man standing next to Elizabeth. Something about him instantly drew her to him, something in his confident bearing and the way a mischievous smile played across his lips. Laughter danced in his eyes.

Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Lord Marley, may I present Miss Charlotte Lightwood.” She gestured to Charlotte. “Charlotte, this is Lord Marley.”

Lord Marley took her hand, sending an unfamiliar sensation buzzing through her. They both froze for an instant before he bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Lady Lightwood has assured me you are available for the next dance. Please soothe my nerves by confirming she is not mistaken.”

Elizabeth nudged her, and in a whisper that could surely be heard on the other side of the ballroom, said, “Lord Marley is one of the most eligible bachelors on the market this season. He requested the introduction, though I can’t imagine why.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I am not engaged, my lord.” She surreptitiously glanced around them to see if anyone had heard Elizabeth.

Lord Marley clenched his jaw before leading her onto the dance floor. When the warmth of his touch penetrated the fabric of her gown, she inhaled the scent of sandalwood with a hint of citrus, and her pulse thrummed. She couldn’t prevent herself from flashing him a smile. The noise of the ballroom faded into a harmonious cacophony as they settled into the waltz.

Overly wealthy, overly charming, overly good-looking, he could have any woman he desired. As she lacked both title and dowry, she could think of no reason why Lord Marley would have any interest in her. She narrowed her eyes.

Lord Marley nodded to the couples surrounding them, but when he met her gaze, his serene countenance disappeared. “Why do you look at me with such abhorrence? I assure you I have no nefarious designs upon your person.”

“I’m certain you have no designs, nefarious or otherwise, upon my person.”

He smiled widely, but made no response.

She lifted her brows. “Which begs the question, my lord, why did you request to dance with me?”

He deftly swung her away from a collision with an encroaching couple. “Miss Lightwood, you are one of the most beautiful and sought-after ladies in attendance. I merely seek my turn to be the object of your attention. You must stop frowning at me or everyone shall think I’ve said something inappropriate.” His knee brushed against her leg through the thin silk of her gown, and the intimate touch sent a shiver through her.

Though she couldn’t discern what he might want from her, she knew she couldn’t afford to alienate one of the richest and most powerful men in London. She softened her expression and immediately became lost in his clear blue eyes.

His gaze captured and held hers for several heartbeats before he cleared his throat and spoke again. “I have a proposition for you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t fathom anything he might offer that would be proper for her to accept.

“I thought perhaps we could be of assistance to one another.” He studied her face as if waiting for a response.

Charlotte swallowed. “Please continue.”

“I have heard that you are coming out under less than ideal conditions.” He inclined his head, and she nodded in agreement. Less than ideal was certainly one way to put it. “I propose to show you my favor, which will attract the attention of other suitors.”

She stiffened. “They will think you are courting me.”

His smile widened. “Exactly, and they will view you as a potential match because of my regard.”

An image of Horace popped into her head. “I agree to your proposition.” She held her breath, hoping her quick response hadn’t made her appear desperate.

Lord Marley laughed, a sound as crisp and refreshing as the first autumn breeze. “Wait. I haven’t finished yet.”

Her stomach dropped, and she took a deep, steadying breath. “Of course there’s more. What do you expect from me in return?”

“You needn’t look at me with trepidation. I saw you speaking with Princess Tarasova earlier, and thought you might be willing to assist me with my plans to court her.”

His words left an indelible gash on her heart. Of course he couldn’t actually court her, and the princess was an obvious choice for him, but it still hurt to hear him say it so pragmatically. “What, precisely, do you expect me to do?”

He shrugged. “Give me some insight into her, what she likes and dislikes. Provide me with the type of information that will assist me in winning her hand. Information that other suitors won’t have.”

She studied him before responding. She would be foolish to refuse him, but she felt a pang of guilt over feeding him information about the princess, the only person who had made any attempt to show her friendship since she’d arrived in London. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her kindness, Charlotte would have run from the ball after those girls made such disparaging remarks about her. On the other hand, Lord Marley’s attention would attract the notice of other men and could be her only chance to avoid having to marry Horace. “I believe I shall need more time to consider your proposition.”

“Naturally,” he agreed.

The music had stopped, and they were the only ones still standing on the dance floor. Lord Marley took a step back from her, tucking her arm through his and escorting her to Elizabeth.

“Until we meet again, Miss Lightwood.” He bowed and kissed her hand. Excitement fluttered in her stomach.

The moment he left her side, three other gentlemen approached Elizabeth for an introduction. After more than an hour of nonstop dancing, Charlotte had to acknowledge that Lord Marley’s plan could work.


Buy Links:

Amazon ~ Barnes & Noble ~ Entangled Publishing (for all options)


bio pic largeAbout Ally:

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


Social Media Links:

Website: http://allybroadfield.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/allybroadfield

Twitter: http://twitter.com/abroadfield



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