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Please welcome Amara Royce back to the blog! She’s here to tell us about her new book and she’s giving away on copy. All you have to do is tell her you want it!


First the cover.


Now the blurb.

In bustling Victorian London, a desperate woman turns to the last man who would ever want to come to her aid…

Years ago, when Helena Martin escaped to London with a dashing captain, she had no idea she was endangering her entire village. Little did she know, the arranged match she fled was the little town’s last chance at prosperity. Now, with her beloved grandmother’s health failing, Helena must face the damage she wrought. And she must do it with an unlikely escort: her jilted fiance’s brother. 

Daniel Lanfield is undoubtedly attracted to Helena—and furious with her. Though it was unintentional, her thoughtlessness has caused great misery to their village. Yet Daniel is uniquely positioned to help her return home, and strangely compelled to keep her close along the way. For no matter what their pasts, the desire between them now is ever-present…


And an excerpt

As her friend spoke, she froze, a chill spreading downward from the crown of her head to engulf her. Daniel Lanfield. It couldn’t be. There must be plenty of Lanfields in England. After so many years and so many miles, what were the odds that one of the Marksby Lanfields would visit London—would be here at this place and this time? Inconceivable. They were devoted to the village and to their family’s business and held a disdain for anything metropolitan. Still, with dread sinking into her skin, she turned to look fully at the man beside her.

He looked nothing like the boys—young men—she remembered, but much change was bound to happen over a score of years. No, she was wrong. He did look like the boy who was supposed to be her brother-in-law. His brown eyes could be Daniel’s eyes. The shape of his face was perhaps broader from time and age but still that same strong square that marked the Lanfield men. His broad shoulders and his bearing reminded her of the elder Mr. Lanfield. The fall of curling hair beneath his cap, that was what had always distinguished him from his brother Gordon, who’d kept his straight hair closely cropped. This could be Gordon’s brother. Please, heavens, let it not be him.

“Someone should stay with you to make sure you don’t suffer a relapse,” he said, his accent nostalgically familiar and his faint smile achingly conscientious. She couldn’t deny it any longer. While his older brother had been rather distant and stern, Daniel had always been the kind one, the attentive one, the one to reach out to help others. The polite concern and deference in his eyes now said he didn’t recognize her. Best to keep it that way.

“No, no, sir. You should feel free to go about your business. You too, Mrs. Clarke—I’m sure the boys need more attending than I do. Now that I am free of those chaotic masses, I will be quite well.” She had to make him leave before he figured out who she was. Averting her eyes, she said pointedly, “I do not do well in the presence of large groups of people. I would be much better off by myself.”

Marissa nodded and said a hasty good-bye to Mr. Lanfield, exchanging cards with him and insisting he dine at the Clarke household as an expression of gratitude.

“Far be it from me to cause you discomfort, Mrs. Martin,” he said after Marissa left them. “I’d not feel right, though, leaving you unattended. ’Tis no trouble to spend a few moments in your company while you indulge your sons. This visit to London has been filled with activity—meetings, dinners, interviews. Today’s been my first chance to breathe all week.”

“You are not from London?” She shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t encourage conversation, but she craved information about her childhood home. It had been so long.

“Does it not show? I’m but a country bumpkin from a small village to the north, near the city of Bradford. Surely, I must stand out like a pig amid a herd of sheep.”

“Not at all,” she replied honestly. His speech and mannerisms were as cordial and appropriate as any of her husband’s business associates had been. He didn’t have the smoothness of a metropolitan industrialist, but his forthright demeanor held its own appeal. And that voice, the stretch and twist of the vowels…it stirred a deeply buried longing for the home she’d given up when she ran off with Isaiah, breaking her engagement with Gordon. If this truly was his brother, Daniel, she prayed he wouldn’t realize her identity. “But I really think I would benefit from some quiet. I hope you understand.”

“Aye, of course. ’Twas a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Martin. I wish you well.” He stared at her a fraction too long for her comfort. She nodded and was relieved when he finally turned and walked away, his gait slow and hesitant, as if he was reluctant to go.

She put her bonnet back on and had just finished tying the ribbons when she felt a strange awareness and looked up. He hadn’t gone far, it turned out, and he looked at her with a puzzled expression. Then, to her chagrin, he began walking back in her direction. She calculated what she could do, where she could go, before he returned, but there was no way to escape without being obvious.

“Mrs. Martin,” he said, coming to stand before her again. “Forgive me if this seems intrusive, but I can’t help feeling that perhaps we have met before. May I know your husband’s name and, if I may be so bold, his occupation?”

Now she had a choice to make: tell him the truth and risk his recollection, or lie and risk him later finding out the truth from Marissa, assuming he accepted her dinner invitation. Despite that one long-ago promise she’d broken, she strove to maintain her integrity in all things, and this could be no different.

“My husband was Captain Isaiah Martin,” she said formally, a tendril of pride wreathing through her. Even now, she sometimes couldn’t believe he’d chosen her to be his wife those many years ago. And she couldn’t believe how fortunate she’d been to choose him as well. “When he retired from the military due to injury, he worked in various capacities for what is now the LNWR.”

Daniel Lanfield blinked twice, gave the curtest of nods as his expression turned ominous, and then turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

So apparently he hadn’t forgotten her.

His reaction was better than she’d expected.


Buy Links: Amazon  ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Kobo ~ iTunes ~ Google Play

About Amara.

Amara's photoAmara Royce writes historical romances that combine her passion for 19th-century literature and history with her addiction to happily ever afters. She teaches English literature and composition at a community college in Pennsylvania. When she isn’t writing, she’s either grading papers or reveling in her own happily ever after with her remarkably patient family.


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For your reading pleasure!!

Originally posted on Angelyn's Blog:

"Other men might envy Sir Nugent; they could not despise him, for his pedigree was impeccable, his fortune exceeded sixty thousand pounds a year." Sylvester, HeyerOther men might envy Sir Nugent; they could not despise him, for his pedigree was impeccable, his fortune exceeded sixty thousand pounds a year.”

In Maria’s estimation, marriage served only to increase Adelaide’s extravagance.

“..(Adelaide) has wedded a man so wealthy, that Mexico and Peru seem to be at his command; so much the worse, perhaps, for her, for she is naturally extravagant, and will think his riches inexhaustible.”

— “Letter from a Young Married Lady to her Sister in the Country,” La Belle Assemblée, August, 1818

Surely Heyer’s Ianthe was based on Adelaide, and the preposterous Sir Nugent Fotherby on the man who could bail out entire nations–the Honorable Frederic Cleveland.

Nine years older than his teenage bride, Cleveland owned over thirty “blood” horses, possessed an extensive country estate and funds enough to support the staggeringly expensive habits of a sporting Corinthian:

“..he is fond as ever of his dogs and horses; he is a…

View original 171 more words

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Welcome to Monday Excerpts! I’m neck deep in copy-edits and a novella I have to finish before the end of the week. So, it’s a free for all. Post any excerpt you’d want, or a blurb, and buy links if you have them.

Here is mine from Three Weeks to Wed.

Three Weeks To Wed reviseGrace shut the door of her chamber behind her and leaned against it. For years Matt Worthington had been nothing more than an infatuation, but now, he was rapidly becoming so much more. It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel angry at the hand fate had dealt her. Yet, now, now she could do something just for herself. She would not leave here, leave him without knowing what it would be like to know joy with a man.

“What if someone finds out? Everything you’ve worked for will be for naught?” Her conscience popped up, just when Grace had thought it had given up.

Even with her family around, there were still times when she was so lonely she thought she’d die of it. Not being able to marry was the one thing she had never got over. “Am I to have no joy of my own? I just want one night. One night to last me the rest of my life, that’s all I’m asking.”


“So be it.” Her hands trembled and her stomach lurched. If only she wasn’t so ignorant.

“So much for your grand plans,” her conscience sneered. “You don’t have any idea how do to go about this.”

“I am sure he’ll help. How hard can it be, after all?”

“He’ll recognize you. Then where will you be?”

“He won’t. Other than that one dance, when Lady Bellamny made him ask me, I am sure he never took a second look at me. I was just one of many girls who came out that year.” He certainly did not remember her now.

“So you say. What if you get with child?”

“Would you cease! It must be fate. After all, what were the odds that we would both be here at the very same time with no one else in the inn?”

Wishing she had something nicer to wear, Grace gave up arguing with herself and washed her hands. When she had returned to the parlor, she called for wine. By the time Worthington arrived, she’d calmed her jangled nerves, and her conscience had decided to leave her to go to perdition in her own way.

Pre-order links:

Amazon http://amzn.to/1J7gQ2M

Apple http://apple.co/1OpLwDi

BAM http://bit.ly/1Mmkzkt

B&N http://bit.ly/1NyUZcm

Google http://bit.ly/1Ltl1HP

Kobo http://bit.ly/1UP4iZR

Now it’s your turn!!



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Please welcome historical author Laura Trentham to the blog!! Laura is here to spotlight her latest release An Indecent Invitation  . And she’ll give away a copy to on of you who tells her you want the book!

We begin with the cover.



Now the blurb.

Lady Lily Drummond understands only too well the danger of spy work. Her father, a preeminent master spy, has been missing for months, and her brother barely survived his final mission for the Crown. Lily is still determined to help find her father, no matter how hard her brother and his best friend try to keep her in the dark.

Busy trying to untangle the web of deceit surrounding the Earl of Windor’s disappearance, Crown spy Gray Masterson also has to ensure Lily Drummond, the gangly, awkward child who was his constant shadow growing up, doesn’t get herself ruined at her London debut. But the girl with scraped knees and elbows has evolved into a lush, sensual beauty surrounded by a bevy of suitors.

Realizing Lily is going to investigate on her own if he doesn’t let her join the hunt for her missing father, Gray assumes he can give Lily a few minor tasks to pacify her, but he quickly learns she is a valuable asset. Moreover, she fairly crackles with life and warmth—things he craves after his dark years in service.

Warning: This book contains spies, scandals, naughty liaisons in houses of ill repute, men who think they know everything and women who know they do not


And an excerpt.

Lily slyly watched Gray confront Montbatton and then execute a courtly bow to Lady Abbott. How long before her reckoning? Only a few minutes had passed. Not nearly long enough for her heart to slow. He approached—not with angry mincing steps or even hurried anxious ones, but in a casual loose-limbed saunter.

Had he discovered her deception?

Gray had been lanky in his youth, but he’d always possessed an unusual agility and grace. Seemingly never feeling awkward in his body, he moved with a compelling confidence that had only grown more telling over the years. A broad, deep chest and narrow, lean hips complemented indecently muscled legs. Not that she had made a close examination, heavens no, but she could hardly miss them flexing during their dance.

Perhaps he wasn’t the tallest or the most handsome man in attendance, but there was something about him. In fact, several ladies’ heads turned when he passed them by. Not that he noticed, because his gaze pinned her like an insect on display.

Not smiling nor frowning, his face revealed not a single clue to his mood. He stopped directly in front of her, cocked one foot in front of the other and clasped his hands behind his back. A purely masculine stance that, along with his silence, set her nerves jangling.

She tucked several escaped tendrils back into pins and then opened and closed her fan a few times. Unable to tolerate another second of the increasing tension, she yielded, feeling somehow as if she’d lost the first skirmish of a war. “We meet again, Mr. Masterson. Mayhap did you learn anything interesting?”

His eyes, vibrantly green and arresting even partially shielded behind his spectacles, shimmered with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. “I learned Montbatton is indeed in pursuit, and you should expect an offer. He informed me most vehemently to pass that information on. Lady Abbott thought it highly amusing I didn’t know your name. And lastly, I discovered Lady Lily should be in the corner with her chaperone.”

“Very impressive, but did anyone reveal my name?”

“Absolutely no one.” A single eyebrow arched above the rim of his spectacles.

Her shoulders, which at some point had bunched toward her ears, relaxed, and she tapped her fan against her lips to stem a victorious smile. “And I was so looking forward to another dance. Mayhap I’ll help you find your wayward friend instead. Over here did you say?”

A dark-haired matron in a red dress occupied the corner in question. She sat upright in a chair next to a ficus and, at first glance, appeared to be serenely observing the tableau of couples on the dance floor. The only indications she was soundly asleep were her closed eyes and slightly agape mouth. Her Aunt Edie was quite possibly the most worthless chaperone in all of England, which suited Lily perfectly. She’d no desire to relinquish the relative freedom she enjoyed in the country.

“That’s certainly not your debutante,” Lily said. “Come, let’s stroll while we look.”

“God’s teeth, that’s most likely her chaperone. Sound asleep while Lily runs wild.” Gray sounded truly aghast.

“Yes, your friend might be in the company of the worst sort of rogue who inappropriately whisked her away.” A cough covered her spate of giggles.

“Indeed.” His tone turned solemn. “She’s a highly impulsive chit not used to male attention. No doubt, she’d be easily lured into an indiscretion by a charming smile or prestigious title.” He tutted. “They’d only be after her dowry, poor thing.”

She sucked in a huge breath, ready to unleash her tongue, but his next words ripped the air from her lungs.

“Would you care to take a turn in the gardens as I haven’t earned a dance?”

“What about your friend? Shouldn’t you find her? What if she waits for you?” Her words spilled out too quickly. How many times had Rafe told her to never enter the gardens with a gentleman? At least a hundred. Although it was only Gray. If any man could be trusted, it would be him. Wouldn’t it?

“I was to surprise her tonight. She doesn’t even know I’m attending. We won’t be long, just a breath of fresh air. It’s rather stuffy, isn’t it?”

“I suppose a very brief turn in the garden wouldn’t hurt. It is awfully close in here.” Lily snapped her fan open and cooled herself with frenzied flicks of her wrist. Was it the crush of people or his suggestion making her feel so heated?

He offered his arm with a slight inclination of his head, and she tentatively laid her hand on his forearm, glancing up at him under her lashes. His faint smile seemed sly and had her biting her lip.

He guided her out the doors before her waffling conscience had a chance to protest. Instead of staying on the balustrade, safe with the other couples and smoking gentlemen, he led her down the steps and into the greenery, his hand clamped over hers, barring protest.


Buy links: Samhain ~ Amazon ~ B&N ~ Kobo ~ Apple



About Laura.

LauraTrentham_photo credit Steven Huskins_smallI was born and raised in a small town in Northwest Tennessee. Although, I loved English and reading in high school, I was convinced an English degree equated to starvation! So, I chose the next most logical major – Chemical Engineering- and worked in a hard hat and steel toed boots for several years. Now I live in South Carolina with my husband and two children. In between school and homework and soccer practices, I love to get lost in another world, whether its Regency England or small town Alabama.



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Another wonderful post from Angelyn!

Originally posted on Angelyn's Blog:

The canezou is a type of spenser--this one is in black satin and part of a "fancy mourning dinner dress." From the December issue of La Belle Assemblée, 1818. The canezou is a type of spenser–this one is in black satin and part of a “fancy mourning dinner dress.” From the December issue of La Belle Assemblée, 1818.

“You read in the papers, no doubt, the wedding of the dashing Adelaide Worthington, with the Hon. Frederic Cleveland..”

— Letter from a Young Married Lady to Her Sister in the Country

La Belle Assemblée; August, 1818

Having left the out-of-the-way society of her “good aunt Charlton,” Adelaide went to live with another aunt, as dashing as the former was dull. Lady Worthington was the sister-in-law of the gel’s father, and had a daughter of her own, “lovely and gentle.” Under the aegis of Lady Worthington, Adelaide soon received a very eligible offer of marriage.

Maria tells her sister that she’d been compelled to attend the wedding as Adelaide’s “bridewoman,” a duty that filled her with dread:

“I know you are…

View original 327 more words

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Happy Sunday!! Let’s start with the winner of Christy Carlyle’s book, One Scandalous Kiss! OSK_Cover Congratulations goes to Barbara Holmes!!

This has been a slow week. After re-provisioning, we left Newport on Friday, sailed down to Judith Point and waited for our departure on Friday. Judith Point, RI

We were up early Friday morning and, after getting a confirmation on our weather window, started sailing south. We had great winds and were able to make the passage in 30 hours instead of 44 hours!! We are now waiting for the tide to turn so that we can sail up to Philadelphia where we’ll spend a couple of days. Philadelphia holds a lot of meaning for me. My mother was born there, and my Brennan and Quinn sides of the family landed there from Ireland. Hubby as never been, so this should be fun for him.

How are you spending your Labor Day weekend?



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Please welcome Christy Carlyle to the blog! Christy is here to tell us about her new book, One Scandalous Kiss! She will also be giving away a copy to one of you who tells her you want it!

P.S. If you don’t see your comment, please be patient. It is probably in moderation.

As always, we begin with the lovely cover.


Now the blurb.

Can one kiss change everything?

When a scheming marquess’s daughter offers her one hundred pounds to publicly kiss a nobleman, a desperate Jessamin Wright agrees. She believes the money will save her failing bookstore and finally free her from her father’s debts. But when Jess bursts into an aristocratic party and shocks the entire ton, she never expects to enjoy the outrageous embrace she shares with a grim viscount.

Lucius Crawford, Viscount Grimsby, has never met, or kissed, anyone like the beautiful suffragette who unsettles him with a single touch. He has always strived for control and avoided passion at all costs. Lucius is determined to protect his title and restore the estate he’s unexpectedly inherited, but Jess’s appearance in his life poses a threat to his plans and his heart. After a country house party brings them together once more, neither can resist temptation, and both find that one scandalous kiss just isn’t enough.


And last, but not least, the excerpt.

“Will this cause you a great deal of scandal, my lord?”

He opened his mouth and then caught himself on the verge of reassuring her. What power did this woman wield? In the space of seconds she’d once again turned his—quite justified—ire into an urge to put her mind at ease. And was he truly to believe the effect of her actions concerned her now? She should have thought of that before letting him taste the sweetness of her mouth.

No, this bluestocking wasn’t at all what she seemed. Lucius’s desire to suss her out grew with every moment that passed between them.

“No, Miss Wright. I’ll be returning to the country soon. I haven’t a care for what they say about me in London.”

It wasn’t true, but he wished it was.

He’d spent the last two years attempting to put Hartwell’s finances in order and secure the future of the estate. Preferring the rational, logical rows of figures and facts in his ledger books to London society didn’t mean he was immune from scandal. Though he could easily ignore what the gossips might say, he couldn’t deny that any kind of ignominy would reflect on the earldom, and his own future heirs. He did not yet hold the title of Earl of Dunthorpe, but protecting the family name had now fallen to him.

She didn’t look like she believed his lie anyway. He’d never mastered the art of falsehood.

“What of you? What will your family have to say about your behavior this evening?”

She swallowed hard, dipping her head, and then blinked up at him. She seemed confused, as if she didn’t take his meaning. Or perhaps it was too difficult to contemplate. Shouldn’t she have considered her family before behaving in such a shocking manner?

“Come now. Your family. Your father. Perhaps an older brother. Tell me I won’t be receiving a call from them demanding I marry you to save your reputation?”

“No, of course not!”

Her exclamation bounced off the carriage walls, and it was Lucius’s turn to blink. He’d meant the comment as a jest, infusing his tone with as much mirth and irony as he could muster. But he joked and teased rarely. Apparently he was as ghastly at it as he was at acknowledging beady-eyed women in a crowd.

“My father and mother are dead. I have no brothers or sisters.”

The words were plain, simple. Perfectly understandable. Yet there was more behind them, a well of loneliness and need that resonated in Lucius, as familiar to him as his own name.

“You’re an orphan.” Lucius rarely spoke words with the sort of care he took in stating the truth of Miss Wright’s circumstances. A foolish impulse made him wish to confess that he was an orphan too. Not in the same way, of course. His father was alive. But if your mother was dead and you’d been estranged from your father most of your life, did that not qualify you as an orphan?

Miss Wright seemed to take his words as gently as he’d intended. She glanced down at her hands before reaching out to run a long, slender finger over the beveled glass of a pocket watch she’d pulled from her skirt. When she finally met his gaze, she seemed as resolved as she’d been the moment she’d walked up to him in the gallery.

“Yes, I suppose I am, though I’m not a child. And my father only died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pity me.”

The fury in her gaze was familiar. He’d stared back at it in his own looking glass for years.

“I require no one’s pity, my lord.”

No. When you’d lost everything, pity was the last thing you desired. He’d learned that truth at nine when his mother ventured out on a trip, leaving him behind because he was ill, and a carriage accident took her life. His world became bleak, colorless, and in his child’s mind he believed fate had dealt him its worst. But being banished to Scotland two months later because his father could not bear the sight of him—that had been worse. And the pity he’d seen in the faces of his mother’s family, worse still.

The carriage slowed to a stop too soon for Lucius’s taste. He’d asked the coachman to take the longest route to the address Miss Wright had offered before returning him to his sister’s house in Belgrave Square.

As soon as the carriage stopped moving, Miss Wright looked about her like a wary bird, just landed on a foreign branch. She leaned forward to get a glimpse out the carriage window.

“This is the address you gave, Miss Wright. But there is still the matter of providing the explanation I require.”

Indignation wasn’t there when Lucius searched his heart and mind. He didn’t pity Miss Jessamin Wright. He’d abide her command on that count. But her honesty and unfortunate circumstances called to him, triggering emotions that had nothing to do with discovering why she’d approached him, why she’d given him the most singular experience of his life.

His desire to hear her explanation came from a different impulse now, a curiosity about her life and history.

“I have already explained, my lord. It was a mistake. I behaved rashly. Abominably. I’ve apologized and you’ve accepted. Will that not suffice?” Her uniquely appealing voice turned petulant for a moment, and Lucius had the distinct sense it was not a manner she often assumed.

“No.” It gave him a perverse satisfaction to see her eyes widen again, and then something like fire begin to kindle there.

“Well, I beg your pardon, my lord, but it must. I can offer no further explanation for my actions.” She turned away from him to emphasize her refusal.

He expected her to grasp the knob on the carriage door and disappear from his life just as abruptly as she’d entered it. But then she turned back and leaned toward him, her voice quiet and pleading.

“Can you not forget this night, my lord? Or if not the night, just that moment. That …” She struggled to form the word. “That kiss. Can you not forget?”

He moved toward her, their bodies inches apart in the confines of the carriage. He felt her breath whisper across his face, just as he had in the gallery.

“I am not certain I can, Miss Wright. Can you?”


Buy Links.  Amazon ~ B&N  ~ iTunes ~ Kobo


About Christy.

CCauthorpicFueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.




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