Archive for May, 2015

Please welcome historical author Judith Laik to the blog! Judith thought her book, A The Lady Protests, would be finished by now, but has had to push off the publication until later in June. But, she has decided to share with us some of her writing process! Judith will give away either the new book or reader’s choice of one of her other books. All you have to do is leave a comment telling her you want it.

Sometimes, or all the time, an author needs visual inspiration to see what their characters look like. And that is what Judith did.  So, she is sharing with you the pictures she found of her secondary her heroine Arietta Foxworth.

Mauzy Mackenzie from Soap Opera Magazine

Mauzy Mackenzie from Soap Opera Magazine

This is a photo of her secondary hero Jasper Linton (although Jasper is a little more blonde).

Jared Padelecki

Jared Padelecki

Eventually, actually, probably pretty quickly, Judith’s thoughts about her characters and story will produce a cover something like this.


Now the blurb.

A Lady in Charge

Since the death of her musician stepfather, Beatrice Foxworth has struggled to hold her remaining family together: her innocent, head-in-the-clouds stepsister, Arietta; and her devastated mother. When Arietta is abducted, Beatrice must save her from ruin – or worse.

A Pleasure-seeking Gentleman

Philip Hollesley carelessly promised a friend to oversee his naïve younger brother’s first essay into London bachelorhood. When Jasper Linton elopes with an unsuitable young woman, the last thing Philip wants to do is become involved. But he gave his word, so it’s up to him to chase down the young fool before he can tie the knot in Gretna Green.

Adversaries turned Reluctant Allies

But there never was so strange a pursuit. Beatrice and Philip, chaperoned by her matchmaking mama, discover an odd assortment of humanity is also tracking them: a rejected lord, an aging demimondaine and her aristocratic lover, a group of rowdy young bucks, and a mysterious man.

The Lady Protests

Beatrice and Philip can’t agree on anything – except the necessity to overtake Jasper and Arietta – and to fight their inconvenient attraction to each other.


And an excerpt.

As Jasper paid for two meat pies, Arietta spotted something moving in the alley and nearly moved away from the corner, suspecting a rat or other vermin. The creature didn’t move like one, however, and she peered as it slunk closer.

It crawled under the cart and looked fearfully at Arietta. She realized it was a small dog, the tan color of the dirt in the street, with a matted coat, and, even through the mats and dirt, she could see it was terribly thin. Two bright black eyes shone through the hair falling in its face, and a pink tongue lolled out of its mouth.

With her pie in hand, Arietta bent down, and the dog darted away, just a few feet, then stopped, staring at the pie. “You poor ragamuffin,” she said in a coaxing voice, “do you want some pie?” She broke off a piece and held it out to the dog, who looked at it suspiciously, but longingly.

“That beast been hanging about for days. It’s just a nuisance, but nobody’s been able to catch it,” said the pie lady.

“Come here, love, and I’ll give you some pie,” Arietta wheedled. A stump of a tail wagged doubtfully, and the dog came forward a foot or two.

Jasper said, “The thing is filthy, probably has fleas. You should let it be.”

“No, he’s starving, poor puppy. And he’s so afraid. Come here, baby,” she pleaded again, and the dog crawled closer, merely a couple of feet from her outstretched hand. “Just a little more and the pie is yours.” She waved the bit of pastry slowly so as not to startle him, and he came all the way to her hand and snatched the tidbit, then ran as if afraid to be trapped.

He stopped just a few feet away, looking back at the rest of her pie. “Yes, you can have more if you come back,” she said, breaking off another bite and holding it toward him.

He moved towards her more boldly, but still snatched the bite and ran off. This time, Arietta went toward him. He retreated, and she bent down again with her hand out. He came forward, to discover she didn’t have any treat in her hand this time. As he sniffed, her hand settled very gently on his head and stroked him softly. She offered him more of the pie, with her hand resting in her lap, and he climbed up to take it from her, not retreating this time, but looking at the rest of her pie.

She closed her arm around him and cuddled him against her, feeding the rest of the pie to him, then standing with him in her arms. He wiggled a little bit and she reassured him with soothing sounds. “We need to take him with us,” she said, looking up at Jasper. “He obviously has no one to care for him.”

Jasper groaned. “We can’t take him. How can we care for him on the road?”

“It’s no harder than caring for ourselves. He won’t be any trouble. Could you buy me another pie? I’m still hungry.”

With a quiet curse under his breath, Jasper obeyed, and they headed back to the inn. “I strongly doubt the innkeeper will let you bring him inside. He’s filthy and no doubt flearidden.”

“You already pointed that out. He needs a bath, obviously. I’ll ask the maid to bring up a tub. Once he’s cleaned up, I’m sure he’ll be quite presentable.”


An hour later, Jasper reflected that Arietta’s airy words had proved utterly false. Not only was the dog trouble, he was a damned pestilence. And the bath that would make him presentable had turned out to be near-impossible.

He looked around their room at a scene of chaos. The tub full of muddy, cooling water, puddles of water dotting the floor, Arietta’s dress and his own clothing soaking, and the dog lying, in his mud-bespattered glory, on the white coverlet of the four-poster bed, which was now spotted with paw prints all over its surface.

The mutt lay panting, an expression that looked very like a laugh of triumph.

Arietta, on the other hand, appeared about to cry. She glanced at him, took a deep breath, and said, “We are not going to let one small dog get the best of us.” She marched over to the bed, picked up the dog, and carried him, squirming in her arms, back to the tub.

“Here, you hold him, and I shall find something to tempt him to behave.” She handed over the wet bundle, and started for the door. The terrier growled at Jasper and, with teeth bared, leaped at his face. Jasper threw his head back, his grip on the dog loosening.

As Arietta departed the room, Jasper’s nemesis squirmed out of his arms, dashed through the open door, and down the stairs. Screams and crashes sounded from below. Jasper and Arietta raced down the stairs.

A party of passengers from a stagecoach had arrived at the inn, and were refreshing themselves while the horses were changed. From the spatters of mud on their coats, the dog had bounced off them all, as well as the barmaid, who had dropped a tray with a teapot and cups on the floor.

At that moment the front door opened, and the coachman started through it. Arietta yelled, “Close the door! Don’t—” But it was too late. A brown streak flashed through the opening.

“Oh, no!” Arietta ran to the door and looked out, Jasper following in time to see the dog run down the street in front of the inn and around a corner, disappearing.


About Judith.

headshotI live on a mini-farm near Seattle with my husband, daughter, some horses (only two are ours), two cats, and a number of Collies — we’re a dog show family.

Our vintage farmhouse needs constant upkeep, which we can barely keep up with, since it always needs new paint or new fences or…Luckily the most recent thing we repaired is the plumbing, so that’s working pretty well these days. With us living out in the country, we experience frequent power outages. There’s nothing more romantic than huddling under blankets in front of a cozy fire in the fireplace, with more blankets blocking the drafts from the other rooms in the house. The downside is that without power the well doesn’t work, either.

My husband and I like to get away as often as we can, taking off for a few days at the ocean or the lake. I usually bring my laptop with me on these excursions, working on whatever my current writing project is. I love to travel to more faraway places also. Our big adventure this year will be a family trip to my husband’s birthplace, Estonia. I think his relatives are a little taken aback by the thought of being inundated with seven of us, but we’ll manage.

My favorite destination, though, is England. My most recent trips there, in 2003 and 2005, were with groups equally fascinated with the Regency period, and we visited many sites with associations to that time. Heaven! There’s nothing like actually seeing the locations where my stories took place, even if altered to varying degrees by the 200-some years since those events happened. As a bonus, the gift shops at many of the museums and historic sites have more lovely books that I would never have come across at home!

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Yes, this is Friday, and normally I would have a guest author. However, I decided to slid her to tomorrow in order to take part is a celebration of historical romance. If you are on Facebook or Twitter, you might notice that some of your favorite historical authors are posting with the hashtag #whyIreadhistoricalromance. Please share the posts and tell us why you read historical romance. After all, in what other genre can you get a cover like this?

Three Weeks to Wed

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It’s finally here, and I’m all over the place!! I’m also giving away books! Please join me. I’ll post the links here and on my Facebook page as they become live!!

Just to make things more interesting, I’m giving away five copies of A Kiss for Lady Mary. All you have to do is leave a comment telling me why you love historical romance!

For more chances to win a copy of Lady Mary, check out Tasty Tours http://bit.ly/1F9JLYq


Lady Mary Tour

5/26/15 Miss Ivy’s Book Nook Take II

5/26/15 Romance Divas  http://bit.ly/1J2ahm4

5/26/15 Readers Entertainment http://bit.ly/1cXEmaf

5/26/15 Romance at Random

5/26/15 Mary Gramlich http://bit.ly/19RLRsp

5/26/15 SOS Aloha http://bit.ly/1Kk4TcL – Giveaway

5/26/15 Karen’s Killer Book Bench http://bit.ly/1cg0ege

5/26/15 USA Today HEA http://usat.ly/1HHZZZJ

5/26/15 Fresh Fiction

5/26/15 Shelley K Wall http://bit.ly/1Rkx4ML

5/27/15 Manic Readers

A Kiss for Lady Mary



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Memorial Day

Flanders field

I struggled between posting my usual Monday Excerpts, after all, I do have a release tomorrow. But my heart wasn’t in it.  Instead, I’m going to discuss what Memorial Day means to me.

It has nothing to do with placing flags or flowers on gravestones or crosses, or other outward displays. It is deeply personal. During the 70’s when I was in the Army I participated in a joint German-American memorial day. It was a reminder that both sides lost many brave men and women. Years later, I visited Flanders Field and was startled by the number of crosses. I also visited Verdun, went through the preserved trenches, and saw mock-ups of whole villages that were decimated by war. Since then we have lost many more soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines, as well as others who served.

SoldierWhen one is in the military, death comes on a regular basis. It can occur in combat and in training accidents. One of the guys who introduced my husband and me died in El Salvador when his helicopter was shot down. It was a long time ago, but I still grieve for him. After all, if he hadn’t shove me toward my husband, and said, “She’d be happy to join you.” We would probably never gotten together.

Recently, several other old friends and soldiers have died. This time it was heart disease and cancer rather than enemy fire and parachute jumps.

Tomorrow, I’ll get back to book stuff. Today, I’ll give thanks for those who have lived and mourn those who never came home.


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Happy Sunday! This has been a much quieter week than last week was. Let’s start with the winner of Ashley York’s The Gentle Knight. Congratulations goes to Jenna Jaxon!!

The big book news is that A Kiss for Lady Mary releases on Tuesday!!  As usual, I’ll be doing the blog tour circuit. I can’t tell you how lonely that can be, so please, please, please, stop by some of the sites and say hi. There will be some giveaways as well.

5/26/15 Miss Ivy’s Book Nook Take II

5/26/15 Romance Divas

5/26/15 Readers Entertainment

5/26/15 Romance at Random

5/26/15 Mary Gramlich

5/26/15 SOS Aloha

5/26/15 Karen’s Killer Book Bench

5/26/15 USA Today HEA

5/26/15 Fresh Fiction

5/26/15 Shelley K Wall Blog

5/27/15 Manic Readers


A Kiss for Lady Mary



Buy Links: Amazon ~ B&N ~ iTunes

On to boat news. As you know, we had to divert through the Bahamas on our way up from the Caribbean. They charge a yearly fee that is quite large. Now that doesn’t sound too bad, but in order not to lose your fee you have to return within ninety days of departing. So we made a quick trip to the west end of Grand Bahama. We’d meant to stay for a few days, but the weather report had us leaving the next day. Fortunately, we didn’t run into any squalls and arrived at the Ponce de Leon inlet the next afternoon. We are now in St. Augustine until after Lady Mary releases. Unfortunately, these are the only photos I took.

The first is traveling down the ICW. We would have preferred to sail, but the wind was on our nose.

Traveling down ICW






City Marina St. Augustine

The second is our mooring in St. Augustine. I can’t wait to see the city again. It’s been years. The best part is that they have a Spanish Tall Ship in.

How has your week been going?








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Please welcome historical author Ashley York to the blog. Ashley is here to promote her latest book, The Gentle Knight!! She will give a copy of the book to one of you who tells her you want it.

As always we’ll start with the cover.


Next the blurb.

A medieval soldier returns home to find his lover died in childbirth just as his own mother had. Believing he is cursed, Peter of Normandy turns from love. When he must give escort to an Irish princess more noble than many knights, he struggles with his decision to live a solitary life. Can he take the chance that his love won’t be a death sentence and possibly make them stronger?

Padraig MacNaughton’s death bed decree rips his daughter, Brighit, from the shelter of her protective clan in Ireland. Forced to take vows at a Priory in England, she finds herself in the hands of lecherous mercenaries with their own agendas. Dare she trust the Norman knight to see her safely to her new life as a nun? Even when she finds in him the fulfillment of all she’s ever wanted?

Or will honor and duty eclipse their one chance for happiness?

And an excerpt.

The barrenness of the countryside would take Brighit some time to get used to. Perhaps it was only this area, but it seemed nothing like her home which was so lush and green. She missed her family. A tightness began to build in her throat but Brighit refused to acknowledge it. A splashing sound came to her from just beyond the tree stand.

She glanced back the way she’d come. The need to return immediately or confront Ivan’s wrath had her clenching her teeth. That splash sounded very much like the lake Lachlann had mentioned. A chance to clean her face and hands in a refreshing body of water rather than with a soaked cloth? The heat in that confined carriage was making her wilt. She sniffed and confirmed her stench was overwhelming. Before even thinking it through, she headed in the direction of the sound.

Brighit paused on the barely discernible path. Sure she heard rustling, she glanced behind at the open field she’d come from. It was empty. Nothing behind her that could make such a sound. Was it a deer perhaps? Taking a few steps farther, the small rise gave way to the breathtaking sight of a small lake. The top glistened like glass without a ripple to disturb its surface.

The slight breeze carried the pungent aroma of honeysuckle and lavender. The plants would be a wonderful thing to find and put in with her few belongings. Each night she would be surrounded by the smell of flowers. Without another thought she headed through the bushes to her right, careful to not make a sound in case the deer were still nearby. Movement along the banks drew her attention and she froze.

A man stood there dripping wet and naked. He pushed his hair away from his face. A handsome face with a strong jaw and a thick brow. She followed the movement of his hands, sloshing the water off his chiseled body. Blond hair spanned his broad chest and across his rippled torso, leading down his muscular legs, glistening in the fading light. His tarse was visible even from this distance. She looked long and hard. Her breathing became labored. Magnificent.

He turned in her direction. She ducked. She held her breath and shivered in the bush, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly. When she ventured another peek, he was gone. Disappointment welled up inside her gut. She’d wanted nothing more than to sit and watch him, imagine how it would feel to run her hands down his expansive chest and firm body as he had done, to appreciate the rippled strength there. She blew out the breath she’d been holding and licked her dry lips. That certainly wasn’t going to happen, not in this lifetime—as a nun. A small bush of purple flowers brushed her hand and she snatched it. Lavender. The sun was dropping below the hills in the west and she needed to get back. Enough of these wasted desires.

Desire made things happen. It was her grandfather’s favorite saying. As the seventh son, he had been a man of some notoriety among Irish nobility. He was given the Celtic Princess, Faighrah, to wed. When he sired his own seventh son, the other leaders turned to him for guidance, for wisdom, in return for unfailing loyalty. The belief always that the seventh son of the seventh son of the seventh son had a special anointing from God. No evil could befall him.

Brighit was no son and evil seemed a little too close. Ivan had told her he would not hesitate to make up a lie about who she was. Even saying she was his wife. Others would believe him because he was a man. Perhaps a little more protection from the same God who made her a female was not asking too much.

Buy links:

Apple    Kobo    Amazon    Barnes and Noble


About Ashley.

headshot Ashley YorkI have wanted to be a writer since the sixth grade. My first story was a mystery and I discovered that my classmates loved it and it kept them guessing. I was a voracious reader, even at a young age, and loved the history in the novels I picked up. I was so enthralled with that history that I decided to get my MA in History. The early medieval period is my favorite, as you can tell from the novels I write.

Although all my works are fiction, I often like to incorporate authentic places, events, and people to increase the reader’s enjoyment. One of the more valuable lessons I have learned as a writer is the importance of using real history with the flair of artistic license. You’ll discover a world of fiction wrapped around historical people and events! I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I delight in writing them.

I live in New England with my husband, two cats and a yellow Labrador named Caledonia. I can be found at http://www.ashleyyorkauthor.com



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It’s been awhile. On the other hand, it’s hard to post when one doesn’t have an internet connection.

Let’s have a free for all. Post anything you like from a book you’ve already released, or are about to release. If you’re not published, post an excerpt of what you are querying or working on. Buy links and social media links are welcome and encouraged.

Here is mine from A Kiss for Lady Mary which releases on May 26th! A Kiss for Lady Mary

Kit looked out the window as Mary and the rest of the ladies returned. Her chin had a mulish cast, and he wished he knew what the others had said to her.

“Have you told her how lovely you think she is?” Marcus asked as he glanced out the window.

Kit dragged his gaze from her. “That would be forward.”

“Good God, man.” Huntley dropped his head into his hands. “Every woman likes to be complimented.”

That wasn’t fair. Kit did flatter her. He sniffed. “I do. I tell her what an excellent job she’s done with Rose Hill.”

“We could just take him out and shoot him now,” Rutherford said to no one in particular. “It would put him out of his misery and ours.”

“It’s a good thing”—Marcus gave a rueful smile—“you have us here to help you.”

Huntley refilled Kit’s glass. “When being courted, a lady wants to be told she is beautiful and desirable, not that she is a good land steward.”

“They also need to be kissed.” Rutherford shook his head in disgust when Kit scowled. “I think you’re making a mistake. The normal rules of polite behavior do not apply to courting, but if you’re not going to kiss her, then you must figure out some way to be more attentive. She probably doesn’t realize you’re even interested in her.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss Mary. Her lips drew him like a siren’s call, but he’d made a habit of correct behavior, and his friends’ advice went against everything he considered honorable. On the other hand, he was becoming desperate, and they could be right. What if he had given her the wrong idea?

“Very well.” Kit took a swallow of the sherry. “I will do as you suggest. If she slaps me, I’ll blame it on you.”

“Here they come.” Huntley grabbed the tumbler from Kit’s hand. “Now tell her how much the fresh air agrees with her. That she has roses in her cheeks or something like that.”

The door opened and the ladies strolled in, all of them but Mary with broad smiles for their men. Kit moved toward her, took her hand, and gave her his most charming smile. “How lovely you look. The fresh air agrees with you.”

God, he sounded like an idiot.

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Thank you.”

Well, perhaps not so much of an idiot. She seemed to enjoy the accolade, and she hadn’t even looked as if she wanted to hit him. This wasn’t so bad after all.

Buy Links: Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ B&N ~ Apple

Now it’s your turn!!

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I know it’s Monday, but after I returned from RT I discovered the screen on my laptop had died. This has far reaching consequences as I cannot access my blog calendar from my tablet. So please bear with me, I could not put the post off for another week.

We will start with book winners!! Please help me congratulate

Patricia Wissore who won Sheri Cobb-South’s Baroness in Buckskins!

Glenda Martilloitti for winning Susana Ellis’s Waterloo collection!

Linda Thum who won Julia Justiss’s The Rake to Reveal Her!

And Isis the 12th for winning Cara Elliott’s Sinfully Yours!

Ladies, the authors have been notified and will be contacting you.

As you know Hubby and I had only planned to be out for about a week. Well, that didn’t happen. We ran out of wind, had a problem with one of the engines, and the wind thing caused us to motor a lot more than we thought we’d have to. The result was that we ended up diverting through the Bahamas and running into weather. That caused a delay of several days. When we finally got to Florida that Sunday was Mother’s Day and I was on my way to the Romantic Times Booklover’s Convention in Dallas. Where, by the way, I had a great, if exhausting, time!

One of the best things about the convention was catching up with old friends, meeting new ones,  and having a meeting with my publicists about the release of the next series, The Worthingtons. You remember. The one that begins with this cover!Three Weeks to Wed

Just before I left for RT, I received the cover for my Christmas book, Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince, the last book in The Marriage Game for a while.

miss featherton's christmas prince_ebook

Here is the blurb.

Ella Quinn’s wealthy, titled bachelors think they’re immune to romantic notions. Yet no matter how they try to evade it, love somehow finds a way…

       In the two seasons since her triumphant debut, Meg Featherton’s heart has been tested to its limits. Her first suitor: a criminal. The second, a cad. For her third act, Meg vows to leave love completely out of the marriage equation. She has set her sights on a newly made viscount whom she could take or leave. However, now she must avoid his handsome, roguish, irresistible best friend like the plague. It’s no easy feat, as they are all attending the same house party…

          Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth, cannot imagine why Miss Featherton seems so damn disinterested—or why he cares so terribly much. Certainly Meg is a fine wifely prospect for a man in his position, but more than that, he finds he longs for her as he has never done for another woman. She may be determined to protect her heart, but Damon is equally set on winning her over, one delicious kiss at a time…

And an excerpt.

Featherton House, London, Late Autumn 1817, London.

Miss Margaret Elizabeth Lucinda Featherton, second daughter of Viscount Featherton, glanced down at the missive in her lap. The letters were rounded, much like a child’s would be, but the spelling and grammar were correct.

Dear Miss Featherton,

I pray this letter arrives in time to save you from making a horrible mistake. Lord Tarlington is not what you think him. I do not expect you to take my word for it. However, if you go to number twenty-three Basil Street in the neighborhood of Hans Crescent around seven in the morning, you will find the evidence for yourself.

A Friend

The first time she had received such a letter the warning had concerned her last suitor, the Earl of Swindon. She shuddered at how close she had come to marrying such a monstrous man. A heaviness lodged in her chest making it hard to breathe. What would she discover about Tarlington?

The following morning at half past six, Meg and her maid, Hendricks, sallied forth as if taking their usual early stroll in Hyde Park. However, instead of walking down Charles Street toward the Park they headed in the opposite direction to Hay Hill, then on to Bond Street and hailed a hackney.

The day was cool, but sunny. A clean crisp scent which reminded her of just harvested apples, unusual for London, filled the air. Trees were showing off their brilliant autumn colors. It was all together too pretty a day for their mission. Meg was tempted to go back and hide in her chamber as if she had never received the missive. Yet if she did, she could end up wed to a man as bad as or worse than Swindon.

Twenty minutes later, she and her maid were situated two houses down from twenty-three Basil Street. The town house consisted of three stories and a cellar area. Flowers in pots stood on either side of the well maintained front door. The brass knocker gleamed as if it were polished regularly.

Hendricks drew back the leather shade, keeping watch on the house as Meg pressed back against the thin, poorly cushioned squabs. She resisted the urge to pleat her skirts, which would surely draw a rebuke from her maid, and waited.

Wondering if, yet again, she had fallen in love with a fiend.

After several minutes, she shifted on the hard bench. Two women carrying baskets hurried past the coach, staring at the vehicle as they went. If Meg and Hendricks remained here much longer, they would begin attracting attention.

Frustrated with waiting, Meg blew out a puff of air. “Do you see anything yet?”

“No.” Her maid started to shake her head then stopped. “Oh, wait. The door is opening.”

Finally. She slid to the other side of the hackney and glanced out the window. A handsome gentleman with curling dark-blond hair stepped out of the town house holding an infant. Lord Tarlington smiled down at the woman standing next to him who clutched the hand of a small child still in skirts. For a moment the smile appeared to be the same as the ones he had given Meg on numerous occasions. Then his smiled deepened and his face lit with love as he embraced the woman before kissing her and handing her the baby. As the woman’s hand rose, a glint of gold on her the third finger of her left hand appeared.

Married! The cur was already wed!

It’s not on pre-order yet, but I’ll let you know when it is.

As you know, A Kiss for Lady Mary releases next week. I have five copies to give away for signing up for my newsletter. The names will be picked randomly and announced next Sunday.

On to boat news. We have been anchored in Lake Worth, off the Palm Beach Sailing Club for the past ten days or so. As soon as the grill arrives, we lost ours crossing the Bahamas, we’ll head to Ft. Pierce. Let me know if you are in the area. I’d love to meet you. After that we’re going to Daytona, St. Augustine, Jacksonville, and Fernandina Beach.

Here are some photos I took in the Bahamas and at RT.

Swimming Pigs

Swimming Pigs








Pig swimming 2






Arriving Lake Worth 2015-05-04










Facinator I made for my granddaughter

Facinator I made for my granddaughter










Elizabeth Boyle and me

Elizabeth Boyle and me









Cover Model

Cover Model

What have you been doing lately?

Have a great week!!



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Sunday News will be back next week with lots of book winners and other stuff!


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Please welcome bestselling author Cara Elliott back to the blog!! Cara is here today with her new release, Sinfully Yours!! She will give away a copy to one of you who tells her you want it!

First the beautiful cover.

Sinfully Yours-CElliott

Now the blurb.

Proper young ladies of the ton—especially ones who have very small dowries—are not encouraged to have an interest in intellectual pursuits. Indeed, the only thing they are encouraged to pursue is an eligible bachelor. So, the headstrong Sloane sisters must keep their passions a secret. Ah, but secret passions are wont to lead a lady into trouble . . .

After an eventful Season, Anna Sloane longs for some peace and quiet to pursue her writing. Though her plots might be full of harrowing adventure and heated passion, she’d much prefer to leave such exploits on the page rather than experience them in real life. Or so she thinks until she encounters the darkly dissolute-and gorgeously charming-Marquess of Davenport. Davenport has a reputation as a notorious rake whose only forte is wanton seduction. However the real reason he’s a guest at the same remote Scottish castle has nothing to do with Anna . . . until a series of mysterious threats leave him no choice but to turn to her for help in stopping a dangerous conspiracy. As desire erupts between them, Davenport soon learns he’s not the only one using a carefully crafted image to hide his true talents. And he’s more than ready to show Anna that sometimes reality can be even better than her wildest imaginings . . .

And an excerpt.

Anna’s steps quickened as she passed by the room reserved for the ladies and ducked around a darkened corner. From a previous visit to the townhouse, she knew that a set of French doors in the library led out to a raised terrace overlooking the back gardens. It was, of course, against the rules for an unchaperoned young lady to venture outdoors on her own. But she had chosen the secluded spot with great care—the chances of being spotted were virtually nil.

The night air felt blessed cool on her overheated cheeks. “Thank God,” she murmured, tilting her face to the black velvet sky.

“Thank God,” echoed a far deeper voice.

A pale plume of smoke floated overhead, its curl momentarily obscuring the sparkle of the stars.

“It was getting devilishly dull out here with only my own thoughts for company.”

Speak of the Devil!

Anna whirled around. “That’s not surprising, sir, when one’s mind is filled with nothing but thoughts of drinking, wenching and gaming. Titillating as those pursuits might be, I would assume they grow tiresome with constant repetition.”

“A dangerous assumption, Miss Sloane.” Devlin Greville, the Marquess of Davenport—better known as the Devil Davenport—tossed down his cheroot and ground out the glowing tip beneath his heel. Sparks flared for an instant, red-gold against the slate tiles, before fading away to darkness. “I thought you a more sensible creature than to venture an opinion on things about which you know nothing.”

Anna watched warily as he took one . . . two . . . three sauntering steps closer. Quelling the urge to retreat, she stood her ground. The Devil might be a dissolute rake, a rapacious rogue, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

“Sense has nothing to do with it,” she countered coolly. “Given the rather detailed—and lurid—gossip that fills the drawing rooms of Mayfair each morning, I know a great deal about your exploits.”

“Another dangerous assumption.” His voice was low and a little rough, like the purr of a stalking panther.

Anna felt the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.

He laughed, and the sound turned even softer. “I thought you a more sensible creature than to listen to wild speculation.”

“Indeed?” Feigning nonchalance, she slid sideways and leaned back against the stone railing. Which was, she realized, a tactical mistake. The marquess mirrored her movements, leaving her no way to escape.

“I—I don’t know why you would think that,” she went on. “You know absolutely nothing about me.”

“On the contrary. I, too, listen to the whispers that circulate through the ton.”

“Don’t be absurd.” She steadied her voice. “I am quite positive that there’s not an ill-word spoken about me. I am exceedingly careful that not a whiff of impropriety sullies my reputation.”

“Which in itself says a great deal,” drawled Devlin.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Am I?” He came closer, close enough that her nostrils were suddenly filled with a swirl of masculine scents. Bay rum cologne. Spiced smoke. French brandy. A hint of male musk.

Her pulse began to pound, her breath began to quicken.

Good Lord, it’s me who is an idiot. I’m acting like Emmalina!

Shaking off the horrid novel histrionics, Anna scowled. “You’re not only an idiot, Lord Davenport, you are an annoying idiot. I’m well aware that you take perverse pleasure in trying to . . .”

Cocking his head, he waited.

“To annoy me,” she finished lamely.

Another laugh. “Clearly I am having some success, so I can’t be all that bumbling.”

To give the Devil his due, he had a quick wit. Biting back an involuntary smile, Anna turned her head to look out over the shadowed gardens. Flames from the torchieres on the main terrace danced in the breeze, their glow gilding the silvery moonlight as it dappled over the thick ivy vines that covered the perimeter walls.

She shouldn’t find him amusing. And yet like a moth drawn to an open fire . . .

“What? No clever retort?” said Devlin.

Anna willed herself not to respond.

“I see.” Somehow he found a way to inch even closer. His trousers were now touching her skirts. “You mean to ignore me.”

“If you were a gentleman, you would go away and spare me the effort.”

“Allow me to point out two things, Miss Sloane. Number one—I was here first.”

The marquess had a point.

“And number two . . .” His hand touched her cheek. He wasn’t wearing gloves and the heat of his bare fingers seemed to scorch her skin. “We both know I’m no gentleman.”

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About Cara.

Cara ElliottI started creating books at the age of five, or so my mother tells me. And she has the proof—a neatly penciled story, the pages lavishly illustrated with full color crayon drawings of horses and bound with staples—to back up her claim. I have since moved on from Westerns to writing about Regency England, a time and place that has captured my imagination ever since I opened the covers of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” (Clearly I have a thing for Men in Boots!)

I have a BA and an MFA in Graphic Design from Yale University and now my work as a writer lets me combine my love of the printed word with my love of art. I’m very fortunate in that research for my historical novels allows me to travel to interesting destinations around the world—however, my favorite spot is London, where the funky antique markets and used book stores offer a wealth of inspiration for my stories.



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