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Let’s start with the blurb.

Can a beautiful Worthington widow find love again? Depends on who’s asking . . .

Before he died, Patience was the Earl of Worthington’s second wife. So why shouldn’t Patience be allowed a second chance at marriage, too? Of course, finding a new husband was not something the mother of four had ever planned on. But a surprise encounter with her first love has suddenly made the impossible seem possible all over again . . .

It seems like a lifetime ago that Richard, Viscount Wolverton, was halfway around the world, looking for adventure . . . while Patience, at her coming-out, was left with no choice but to take old Worthington’s hand. Richard never forgot the woman whose heart he yearned for—and now that he’s back, he’s not going to let her slip away again . . .

second-time-around_ebook

An Excerpt:

The day after Richard had been told Pae was ill, he was in the reading room at Brook’s having coffee and waiting until he could try to see her again. All he’d been able to think about was her boast that she never took a chill, and now she was sick.

If she was not better today, he would send for some fruit from his succession houses. They would be much better quality than what one could procure in London.

Another gentleman entered the room, drawing a chair up next to his.

“What is my stepmother to you?”

He glanced at Lord Worthington’s stern face and carefully folded the paper, placing it on the low table next to him. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Because she has been asking for you. She’s running a fever.”

Richard stared at the younger man for what seemed like eons before he finally understood. “I’ll come straightaway.”

As he started to rise Worthington’s hand clamped down on Richard’s arm. “I’ll ask you again, what is she to you?”

He looked straight into the other man’s eyes. “The only woman I have ever loved.”

Worthington gave a terse nod. “I was afraid it was something like that.” He released Richard’s arm. “My carriage is outside.”

Buy Links:

Amazon http://amzn.to/2mhGv9C

B & N http://bit.ly/2ctKtHw

Kobo http://bit.ly/2bYUQQG

 

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Three Weeks to Wed releases on Tuesday and the blog tour has started with a bang!! The wonderful Mary Gramlich is giving away five, count them five!! copies of Three Weeks to Wed!! Visit her page and enter! http://bit.ly/1XWhadS

Three Weeks to Wed hi res

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Welcome to Monday Excerpts!! Today we’re doing excerpts of our next release and buy links.

Mine is from A Promise of Love, book #1 in The Trevors, a novella series. The book will release in the Passionate Promises box set in February.

APassionate+Promises+Final+BOX+1000x640pril 1817, London

Lord Francis (Frank) Trevor glanced around the brilliantly lit ballroom wondering what the devil he was doing there. As the second son of the Duke of Somerset, one might suppose he would be used to the ton. And one would be mistaken. Other than the brief period of time he’d spent on the town during a university holiday, he had been acting as his father’s factor. A job that should belong to his eldest brother Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth. His father’s heir.

Frank hadn’t even had a holiday from running the dukedom’s estates. However, as soon as the Father had departed for Scotland with a few of his cronies, Mama had decided Frank could benefit from a touch of Town bronze. How the hell that was supposed to help him when he dealt mainly with crops and animals, he had no idea. He was trapped in a life he did not want and had no hope of employment outside of slaving for his father. If he even attempted to find another position, the duke would ensure he never got it. And after Damon’s marriage to Meg Featherton at Christmas, the duke had made very clear that in the future he would be making any necessary matches for his children.

Ergo, being here was a waste of time and money, though, thankfully, not his own.

A glass of wine was pressed into his hand. “Frank, you are supposed to be having fun.” His brother, Damon had a lazy smile on his face. “Not looking as if you’re facing a hanging.”

Frank took a long pull on the wine. “I’m having trouble knowing where to start. How did you manage to talk father into this visit?”

“Ah, well.” Rather than answering his question, his brother scanned the crowd. “Your mother decided it was time you were introduced to some of the ladies.”

As if he would really be allowed to choose his own bride. “Did she happen to send you a list of ladies who father would approve?”

“Ah, no.”

Damon raised his hand, and they were almost immediately joined by Meg, his wife of four months, and the young lady she had in tow. A beautiful lady with enough curves to entice a monk. Just what he needed. Even though he was immediately smitten with her, she was not for him. He had nothing to offer a woman looking for a husband, and he had his father to contend with.

“My love,” Damon continued, “we forgot that Frank doesn’t really know anyone one.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that I have a remedy?” Meg gave Frank an innocent grin.

She was up to something. The former Miss Margaret Featherton was the only female that had ever bested his father. “Miss MacGowan, may I introduce you to my brother-in-law Lord Francis Trevor. Frank, Miss MacGowan. She has been traveling the Continent, and, like you, does not know many people here.”

The woman smiled politely, but there was a hard glitter in her eyes as she held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The moment their hands touched Frank caught his breath. He took another look into her eyes and could now see they were the color of a Scottish lake, and not nearly as cold as they had been a moment ago. A hint of lavender and lemon wove its magic, capturing his senses, and his hand warmed where her long slim fingers rested in his palm. Her thick, auburn hair was arranged on top of her head, with tendrils curling down to fame her oval face. He imagined running his fingers through her silky tresses. He didn’t know how long he just stood there, but someone coughed, and he remembered he had to bow and say something.

“It is a pleasure, Miss MacGowan.” He was surprised he could speak at all, nonetheless in a normal voice.

For a moment she stared at him, as if she was feeling the same strange sensations that had attacked him. Then she grinned ruefully, a look of consternation on her lovely face. “Dear me, you would think I’d know this by now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if speaking to herself. “What do I call you?” After a moment, her brow cleared. “Oh, yes. Lord Francis.”

“I actually prefer Lord Frank.” Then, lost as he was by her flaming hair and flawless milky skin, he said the first thing that came into his head, “You do not sound Scottish.”

She laughed. A lilting sound that made him want to laugh as well. “That is because I am not. I have Scottish antecedents on my father’s side, English on my mother’s side, and a great deal of Dutch mixed in.” Her tone became defensive and challenging at the same time. “I, sir, am an American.”

American? Frank stilled for a moment. The only American woman he had heard of was . . . “From New York?” Holding her chin high Miss MacGowan nodded. “The one who was in Paris last autumn?”

“Exactly.” Her tone was as sour as a lemon. “The American heiress.” She leaned in confidingly. “You had better watch yourself, I might bite.”

Buy links:

Amazon http://amzn.to/1meg54k

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

iBooks http://apple.co/1Mp8rt6

Kobo http://bit.ly/1kaiED3

 

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Happy Sunday! We have lots of winners this week, so lets start with them.

CongratulationsCongratulations goes to Sharon Extine for winning a copy of Jenna Jaxon’s book, Angie Garn for winning a copy of my book, and Connie Fischer for winning Shannon Donnelly’s book!!

I hope you have a wonderful time reading!!

 

 

I wish I could tell you that things are slowing down for me, but I still have to finish book 3 in The Worthingtons. My title for this one is It Started with a Kiss. We’ll see if it survives my editor.

In fun news, I received my first box of ARCs for Three Weeks to Wed.

Three Weeks to Wed ARCs

Hubby had to carry them from the mailroom to our dinghy. I can tell you that the box was not light. In any event, to celebrate I’m giving away a copy to one of you. The rules are the same, just tell me you want the book. Bear in mind that this is not the final copy, so there will be errors. On the other hand, you can laugh at my spelling and punctuation mistakes.

Also, the box set is available for pre-order. It’s only .99 and I am using this opportunity to publish A Promise of Love, the first book in The Trevors.  My new novella series based on the children of the Duke of Somerset who was introduced to you in Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince. He has not improved, but I hope you will have fun reading about how his children escape him and find love and happiness.

I don’t have a blurb yet, but here is an excerpt.

Passionate+Promises+Final+BOX+1000x640April 1817, London

Lord Francis (Frank) Trevor glanced around the brilliantly lit ballroom wondering what the devil he was doing there. As the second son of the Duke of Somerset, one might suppose he would be used to the ton. And one would be mistaken. Other than the brief period of time he’d spent on the town during a university holiday, he had been acting as his father’s factor. A job that should belong to his eldest brother Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth. His father’s heir.

Frank hadn’t even had a holiday from running the dukedom’s estates. However, as soon as the Father had departed for Scotland with a few of his cronies, Mama had decided Frank could benefit from a touch of Town bronze. How the hell that was supposed to help him when he dealt mainly with crops and animals, he had no idea. He was trapped in a life he did not want and had no hope of employment outside of slaving for his father. If he even attempted to find another position, the duke would ensure he never got it. And after Damon’s marriage to Meg Featherton at Christmas, the duke had made very clear that in the future he would be making any necessary matches for his children.

Ergo, being here was a waste of time and money, though, thankfully, not his own.

A glass of wine was pressed into his hand. “Frank, you are supposed to be having fun.” His brother, Damon had a lazy smile on his face. “Not looking as if you’re facing a hanging.”

Frank took a long pull on the wine. “I’m having trouble knowing where to start. How did you manage to talk father into this visit?”

“Ah, well.” Rather than answering his question, his brother scanned the crowd. “Your mother decided it was time you were introduced to some of the ladies.”

As if he would really be allowed to choose his own bride. “Did she happen to send you a list of ladies who father would approve?”

“Ah, no.”

Damon raised his hand, and they were almost immediately joined by Meg, his wife of four months, and the young lady she had in tow. A beautiful lady with enough curves to entice a monk. Just what he needed. Even though he was immediately smitten with her, she was not for him. He had nothing to offer a woman looking for a husband, and he had his father to contend with.

“My love,” Damon continued, “we forgot that Frank doesn’t really know anyone one.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that I have a remedy?” Meg gave Frank an innocent grin.

She was up to something. The former Miss Margaret Featherton was the only female that had ever bested his father. “Miss MacGowan, may I introduce you to my brother-in-law Lord Francis Trevor. Frank, Miss MacGowan. She has been traveling the Continent, and, like you, does not know many people here.”

The woman smiled politely, but there was a hard glitter in her eyes as she held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The moment their hands touched Frank caught his breath. He took another look into her eyes and could now see they were the color of a Scottish lake, and not nearly as cold as they had been a moment ago. A hint of lavender and lemon wove its magic, capturing his senses, and his hand warmed where her long slim fingers rested in his palm. Her thick, auburn hair was arranged on top of her head, with tendrils curling down to fame her oval face. He imagined running his fingers through her silky tresses. He didn’t know how long he just stood there, but someone coughed, and he remembered he had to bow and say something.

“It is a pleasure, Miss MacGowan.” He was surprised he could speak at all, nonetheless in a normal voice.

For a moment she stared at him, as if she was feeling the same strange sensations that had attacked him. Then she grinned ruefully, a look of consternation on her lovely face. “Dear me, you would think I’d know this by now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if speaking to herself. “What do I call you?” After a moment, her brow cleared. “Oh, yes. Lord Francis.”

“I actually prefer Lord Frank.” Then, lost as he was by her flaming hair and flawless milky skin, he said the first thing that came into his head, “You do not sound Scottish.”

She laughed. A lilting sound that made him want to laugh as well. “That is because I am not. I have Scottish antecedents on my father’s side, English on my mother’s side, and a great deal of Dutch mixed in.” Her tone became defensive and challenging at the same time. “I, sir, am an American.”

American? Frank stilled for a moment. The only American woman he had heard of was . . . “From New York?” Holding her chin high Miss MacGowan nodded. “The one who was in Paris last autumn?”

“Exactly.” Her tone was as sour as a lemon. “The American heiress.” She leaned in confidingly. “You had better watch yourself, I might bite.”

Buy links: Amazon ~ B&N ~ iBooks  ~ Kobo

 

 

Generally, I close the blog down for Christmas, but in the middle of next week I have two guest authors visiting me, one between Christmas and New Year, and Collette Cameron has a lovely post she has asked me to run on New Years. Don’t forget to stop by.

On to boat news. We’ve been cruising the BVI. We left yesterday to go back to St. Thomas. For the next two days I’ll be removing everything from our house here. Yes, it finally closed!! Then we’re back to the BVI for Christmas and on to St. Martin for our anniversary and New Year.

Soldier's Bay, Norman IslandTall Ship Dec 2015

Sunrise Sea Cow BayFrom Norman to Peter and TortolaWe’ve decided to sail as far south as St. Lucia before working our way back up the island to the States. Europe has been put off for a year as we need to get things for the boat before we make the crossing. I generally pick up what I think are interesting items in each island I go to. Last year it was handmade jewelry and spices. I’ll probably do that again. I give these away at conference and contests. Since I’ll be back in the States for the summer, I’d love to meet with some of you.

Have a Merry Christmas. I may be on my way to St. Martin next Sunday, if so, I’ll be back after the New Year.

May peace and love be with you.

Ella

 

 

 

 

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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.

OnceBeloved_hires2

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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Please welcome historical author Wendy LaCapra to the blog! Wendy is going to tell you about her latest release Duchess Decadence. And she’ll give away copies of her first two books to one of you who tells her you want the book!

We begin with the cover.

DD_500

Next the blurb.

A game of chance with love on the line…

Thea Worthington, Duchess of Wynchester divides her time between social engagements and playing her luck against fickle fortune. Yet every gamble is only a bluff—a means to hide from the pain deep within her, and the loss of a babe she never held in her arms. Now Thea’s luck is about to run out. Her estranged husband has returned and seeks a reunion…

Plagued with guilt over what happened to his wife three years ago, the Duke of Wynchester has kept his distance. The duke is resolved to piece his family back together, especially now that he’s discovered his beloved brother—long thought dead—still lives. But Thea’s lovely, porcelain facade is on the verge of cracking…spurred on by the duke’s brother’s secretive, malevolent animosity.

With everything riding on her future, Thea plays a daring game of chance for love and her marriage…and this time, the dice are most certainly rigged.

And an excerpt.

He had no reason to believe that she would not behave, of course. She had given her word. But she’d not taken his request with equanimity.

In fact, he could have sworn she had responded by flirting with him.

I will behave…if that is what you really wish.

Her gaze met his from across the room. She spread her black fan and cooled her cheek’s slight flush.

Oh yes, Thea Marie. Misbehave for me.

Two warring thoughts immediately reared in response. Where the hell did that come from? And, capitol idea. The second was accompanied of a vision of her black curls, tangled and damp around her temples and then cascading in waves across his white linen pillows.

He blinked to clear his head and motioned to the conductor. As the violins struck up the next dance, Thea took the arm of a man in her group—the MP of somethingor-other, Tory, of course—and joined a group of three other couples. The feathers in her hair wafted as she stepped in time to the strains of a cotillion. The sight of her smiling at the MP was enough to make him consider rotten-borough reform.

His lips formed a thin, grim line.

Why was it he could look into the eyes of any man present and know exactly what he must do to bend them to his will, and yet know nothing of her thoughts?

He read men’s needs on their features with the ease others read newspapers. Never had he tainted his discernment with compassion, nor had he used his gift to acquire friendship. A duke’s business was to perceive, to know, and to direct, not to understand. And definitely not—his gaze briefly flit over Randolph and Harrison—to make friends.

…Or—he warmed—lovers.

Thea Marie. He concentrated, but she remained a blank page. The inner nudge that told him how to proceed was missing. Every night he stood outside her door while his conscience warred with his need. There were worse things than being uncertain whether or not your wife would welcome you into her bed, but such uncertainty was enough to drive one mad.

Well—he folded his hands behind his back—absent direction, he would focus on the main…a united front. Their collective consequence restored.

But even as his duchess played—or in this case, danced— her part with precision, he knew restored consequence would not be enough.

He wanted more.

St. Swithin. Sentiment was not only a hungry panther, it was one of those irritating crank toys—crank the needs inside your heart and suddenly a white-faced devil bursts out to play. The partners changed and Thea Marie twirled in Harrison’s arms. Her smile in that moment was genuine— rare and precious. Another surge of jealousy, directed at the man who was the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend.

Then, at the start of the next dance, she joined Lord Randolph.

…And pop goes the weasel.

Air. He needed air. He started moving.

Buy links:

Amazon  ~  Barnes and NobleItunes/IbooksKobo

 

?????????????About Wendy.

Wendy LaCapra has been reading romance since she sneaked into the adult section at the library and discovered Victoria Holt & Jane Aiken Hodge. From that point on, she dreamed of creating fictional worlds with as much richness, intrigue, and passion as she found within those books. Her stories have placed in several contests, including the 2012 Golden Heart®. She lives in NYC with her husband and loves to hear from readers. You can read about her books on her website at http://www.wendylacapra.com/ or you can sign up for her newsletter at http://bit.ly/GetWendyNews

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Please welcome historical Author Caroline Warfield to the blog! Caroline is spotlighting her latest release,  Dangerous Weakness!  And she is giving away two copies of her previous books to two of you. All you have to do is tell her you want them!

We begin with the beautiful cover.

DANGEROUS WEAKNESS2 (5)

Next the blurb.

If women were as easily managed as the affairs of state—or the recalcitrant Ottoman Empire—Richard Hayden, Marquess of Glenaire, would be a happier man. As it was the creatures—one woman in particular—made hash of his well-laid plans and bedeviled him on all sides.

Lily Thornton came home from Saint Petersburg in pursuit of marriage. She wants a husband and a partner, not an overbearing, managing man. She may be “the least likely candidate to be Marchioness of Glenaire,” but her problems are her own to fix, even if those problems include both a Russian villain and an interfering Ottoman official.

Given enough facts, Richard can fix anything. But protecting that impossible woman is proving to be almost as hard as protecting his heart, especially when Lily’s problems bring her dangerously close to an Ottoman revolution. As Lily’s personal problems entangle with Richard’s professional ones, and she pits her will against his, he chases her across the pirate-infested Mediterranean. Will she discover surrender isn’t defeat? It might even have its own sweet reward.

And last but not least, an excerpt.

As soon as the sky lightened enough to see, long before dawn, he rose and began to assemble the remains of his clothes. He pulled up his pantaloons and picked up his shirt. “Is it morning?” Lily’s voice, muffled by his greatcoat, interrupted him. “Almost. The earlier we get to the Park, the better.” He turned his back to her and examined his shirt. A particularly nasty stain covered the front. It would have to be burned. “I need help,” she murmured. At least she isn’t wailing. He pulled the shirt over his head and turned to her. She lifted her shift back into place, covering her sweet breasts, but she groped in vain to fasten her chemisette. He would have her clothing burned also. He knelt, closed the garment with a few short movements, and rose abruptly. He did not need the graceful slope of the back of her neck where she held up her glorious auburn hair to lure him to her. That dance had been done, binding him to her with silken cords. He put on his jacket and handed her hers. The tailored riding habit did not look at all alluring. Yet, here he stood, his life in tatters. They would marry of course. Not once in the entire night had he conjured a way out. They would marry. He pulled her to her feet and watched her fasten her skirt. “We may still make Chadbourn Park before anyone rises if we set out now,” he said. “Except the servants,” she retorted. “They don’t matter. We can contain the scandal.” He picked up his coat and swung it around her. She looked up then, hopeful. “We will marry of course,” he told her. “Quickly, but not so abruptly as to cause comments.” He walked toward the door, expecting her to follow. “I beg your pardon,” she called out to him. “We will what?” He turned on his heel. “Miss Thornton, you will be the Marchioness of Glenaire. That is far from ideal, and the difference in our state will no doubt cause talk. We will have to endure it.” “Why?” she demanded. “Why this ‘far from ideal’ demand? Has Lady Sarah refused you?” “Don’t be coy, Miss Thornton. You have led me into folly at every step. After last night I have no choice. I shall have to marry you. My family—” “Your family would have kittens if I married you, which I will not.” “You have respectable, if not the highest, breeding, you will show to advantage when properly dressed, and you will do well as a diplomatic hostess. My family, I was going to say, will have to deal with it.” He stalked away. “So will you.” “I will not,” Lily shouted after him. He ignored her. She isn’t a fool. She will leap at the chance to be a marchioness. Does the damned woman think she deserves poetry also?

 

Buy links. Amazon USAmazon UK ~ Amazon Canada  ~ Amazon Aus

About Caroline.

Carol Roddy - Author

Carol Roddy – Author

Caroline Warfield has at various times been an army brat, a librarian, a poet, a raiser of children, a nun, a bird watcher, an Internet and Web services manager, a conference speaker, an indexer, a tech writer, a genealogist, and, of course, a romantic. She has sailed through the English channel while it was still mined from WWII, stood on the walls of Troy, searched Scotland for the location of an entirely fictional castle (and found it), climbed the steps to the Parthenon, floated down the Thames from the Tower to Greenwich, shopped in the Ginza, lost herself in the Louvre, gone on a night safari at the Singapore zoo, walked in the Black Forest, and explored the underground cistern of Istanbul. By far the biggest adventure has been life-long marriage to a prince among men.

She sits in front of a keyboard at a desk surrounded by windows, looks out at the trees and imagines. Her greatest joy is when one of those imaginings comes to life on the page and in the imagination of her readers.

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