Posts Tagged ‘Ella Quinn’

It’s time for Monday Excerpts! Let’s do the first instance in your hero’s point of view. Don’t forget to post your buy links.

miss featherton's christmas prince_ebookHere is mine from Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince!

Damon Hawksworth lounged against a convenient pillar in Lady Cowper’s crowded ballroom. A glass of wine dangled from his fingers. Directly across from him, another brittle smile appeared on Miss Margaret Featherton’s normally happy countenance. Her latest suitor, the Earl of Tarlington, was nowhere to be seen and had not been for the past two days or so. Rumor had it that he had gone to the Continent. The only question Damon had was whether she had given the man his congé or if it had been the other way around. He rather thought something had occurred to cause her to break it off with Tarlington. His godmother would know. If anyone knew the inner workings of the ton, it was Almeria Bellamny.

Ever since Rupert, Earl of Stanstead’s wedding, when Damon’s she had introduced him to Miss Featherton, he had developed a fascination for the lady. Her intelligence was sharp, and several times he had seen her hold back a witty retort. Her beauty was not at all in the usual mode. Her mouth was too wide for the current fashion, yet it complimented her high cheekbones and finely arched black brows. Her thick, dark chestnut hair almost begged him to run his fingers through her tresses as they tumbled down. Yet for some reason, the feature he was most fond of was her completely straight nose with a rounded tip. More importantly, she was poised beyond her years. He doubted she had ever been a missish young lady. Even when they had argued over an interpretation of poetry, she had always appeared in complete control and secure in her knowledge.

Now, her polite smile belied the look of despair in her blue eyes. It was as if she was slightly adrift and was only going through the motions until she could retire to the country. Well, with Tarlington gone, Damon wasn’t fool enough to wait until some other gentleman snatched her up. He would gladly rescue her and help her on the path he wished for them. Dancing was a start. She would have held the best sets for Tarlington, and now they would be Damon’s.

Pushing himself off the pillar, he handed his glass to a passing footman and crossed the room.

“Miss Featherton?” He bowed. “Would you by chance have a free dance?”

Her beautiful eyes, the color a mountain lake, were shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept much recently. “You may have the supper dance, my lord.”

“I am honored.” He bowed again before taking his leave.

This was worse than he’d thought. Whatever had happened between Tarlington and Miss Featherton, she was not unaffected, and that was an unwanted dilemma. Damon would have to see how the set went before he formulated his strategy for winning her.

Buy links:

Amazon http://amzn.to/1FbRDE1

Apple http://apple.co/1LFhzg2

B&N http://bit.ly/1KWU6nE

Google http://bit.ly/1EsPLvs

Kobo http://bit.ly/1FbSi8l

Now it’s your turn to show them what you’ve got!!

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Happy Sunday! Let’s start with the winner of Pamela Nowak’s book! Congratulations goes to Liette Bougie!

For members of my newsletter list, I’ll be including an exclusive excerpt from Chapter Two of Three Weeks to Wed, book #1 in The Worthingtons. If you’d like to read the excerpt. You can sign up for my newsletter here. Three Weeks To Wed revise

I hope you are all much warmer than I’ve been this week. We have no heat on the boat, and the heater I ordered has not yet arrived.

We are about an hour south of Annapolis by water (or fifteen minutes by car) and were under a hurricane threat until Friday morning.

Camp Letts

This view hasn’t changed much at all this week, although, on Wednesday we did see children braving the wind, cold, and, eventually, rain.

Camp Letts 2

I’ve been through a number of hurricanes and a typhoon, but never on a boat before. Suffice it to say that despite my apparent sangfroid, “Honey, we’ll be fine here. If need be, we will just go a little upriver.” I had a hard time concentrating on anything but the weather, and very little writing was accomplished on, A Promise of Love, a novella that will be published in February as part of a boxed set. I did manage to scribble this.

Before assisting her into the town coach, Frank kissed the palm of Jenny’s hand, closing her fingers around it. “Until this evening.”

She wished she did not have to leave, but at least she’d see him soon. “Until then.”

Once she was settled, he shut the door, and Geoff used his cane to tap on the roof. The carriage lurched forward, and they were soon traveling through Town. She glanced out the window, wishing again that she had not had to leave, but perhaps a little distance would do she and Frank good. At his brother’s house, it would have been hard to stay away from him. And, if she was honest, out of his bed. Now that temptation was gone. After all, she had only met him last night. Normally, she was slow to take to a new person, but he had captured her interest almost immediately.

“You seem quite taken with Lord Frank,” Sarah said.

Jenny wasn’t sure if she was ready to share her feelings yet. Her aunt might think it was too soon to feel so much for a man. She gave herself an inner shrug. It was her life and her decision. “I am. He has asked if he could court me, and I gave him permission.”

Across the short expanse of the coach, Geoff barked a laugh and held out his hand. “You owe me a guinea, my love.”

Sarah fished a coin out of her reticule, handing it over.

“You wagered on me?” Jenny couldn’t believe what had happened. “You never gamble.”

A blush stole up Sarah’s neck into her cheeks. “Yes, well, I did not think I would lose. Therefore, it was not wagering.”

We went to a sailor’s conference over this weekend and were able to commiserate with the other sailors in the anchorage. We’re now just experiencing high winds.

Hopefully, the winds will die out tomorrow, and we will be able to make out way up to Annapolis for the sailboat show.

How was your week?


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Hooray!! You did it! I’m so thrilled that 348 of you have signed up to read Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince!! As promised, here is an exclusive excerpt!

miss featherton's christmas prince_ebookAfter dinner, Meg sought out Daphne, yet Meg’s gaze strayed to the door each time she heard a sound that could be the gentlemen joining them. At first she attempted to tell herself she was waiting for Amanda, who had not joined them for dinner. Yet the truth was Meg could not be still until Hawksworth arrived.

She encouraged Daphne to talk about her new house, the baby she was sure would be a boy, and, of course, her husband, who was perfect in every way. Several times she started to say something, then blushed and changed the subject. It was then that Meg remembered, with more than a little irritation, that her friend would be holding back some information because she was still unwed. When she was eighteen, and even nineteen, she had accepted the idea that maidens should be kept in the dark when it came to relations between men and women. But the past year had made her impatient with that way of thinking. Although to be fair, it was her miserable experience with Swindon and Tarlington that caused her change of mind.

The door opened, and all their heads turned toward it. Preceding the gentlemen were the Hillers and the Grantvilles. Then all her attention was riveted on Hawksworth. He and Fotheringale headed directly to her and Daphne.

Fotheringale took his wife’s hand. “Forgive us for being so long. Sir Randolph received a letter about more riots that have taken place.”

Meg looked at Hawksworth. “Where?”

“In the north. With the laws the government has, it is no wonder, but Lady Bellamny will not appreciate our bringing that debate into her drawing room on Christmas Eve.”

As far as Meg was concerned, it was this type of discussion that ought to dominate the conversation, but he was right. It would not be welcome.

Footmen started snuffing the candles, and a huge, shallow silver bowl filled with brandy and raisins was set on a round table that had been placed in the middle of the room. The purpose of the game was to pick out the raisins and not get burned as one ate them.

She placed her fingers in Hawksworth’s hand, and rose. “It is time for Snap Dragon.”

“That bowl is large enough to accommodate everyone.” He wasted no time in finding a place at the table. The Fotheringales were on one side of them and the Culpeppers on the other side. Across the table, Amanda wiggled her fingers at Meg, and mouthed, “I will tell you soon.”

Soon the only light in the long room came from the fireplaces at either end. Then the brandy was lit, creating an eerie blue blaze.

Meg gave a shiver of delight as she reached out and plucked a burning raisin from the bowl. Hawksworth got two of them, handing one to her. Then she did the same.

“You’re very good at this.” His voice was warm with praise.

“So are you.” Even though the fire burned off most of the alcohol in the brandy, the flavor was still strong.

Shrieks of laughter filled the room, as he leaned close to her. “A passionate game.”

Oooh, she was going to murder him right here. Not wanting anyone else listening, she kept her voice low. “We have already had this discussion.” Easing herself out of the circle, she murmured, “I need some air.”

Hawksworth caught up to Meg at the end of the long terrace. “What is it about passion you do not like?”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before turning to face him. “What has passion to do with anything?”

He prowled slowly toward her. The torches reflected the fire lurking in his eyes, making him more dangerous than ever before. She took a step back toward the wall, and before she knew it her back had hit the cold stone.

“If you do not want love, you must at least have passion.” Bracing his hand on the wall next to her cheek, he leaned forward until his breath caressed her face. It was sweet with raisins and brandy.

Nervously, she licked her lips. Would her breath smell the same? “I want . . . I want . . .” Oh God! Why was it so difficult to articulate what she desired and that it did not include him? “I do not need passion. I want respect from a man who will never betray me.” Not someone who made her head spin and stirred strange feelings in her body and heart. “I want a calm life and children.”

“Children.” He spoke the word as if it had made his argument. “And how do you plan on getting children?”

How dare he mention what went on between a man and a woman? Her sister-in-law had given Meg some information. Still, an uncomfortable heat rose in her neck and face as she realized that he probably knew much more about the subject than she ever would.

Unable to stop the threadiness in her voice, she forced the words out. “In the usual way.”

Before she knew it, his lips were next to hers. “You have no idea.” The tip of his tongue trailed languidly along her bottom lip, and her knees began to turn to marmalade. “Will you lie in your cold bed with your nightgown on while your husband ruts?”

She should be shocked. No one had ever talked to her like this. The image Damon brought up held no appeal. Mary had said when a man and woman loved one another . . . But that was not something Meg would have.

His wicked tongue moved from her mouth to her ear, as he whispered, “Or do you want to scream as he takes you to heaven and back?”

How weak did he think she was? Despite her shock, she managed to answer. “I never scream.”

Damon chuckled, a low, sinful sound. “I’d make you scream and enjoy doing it.”

She was sinking, and she had to find a way to fight back before she lost the argument and herself. “You will never have the opportunity.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing white. “Afraid of what you might feel?”

“Do not be ridiculous. I feel nothing for you, or any other man. I refuse to.”

“Poor Meg.” His finger caressed her jaw. The palm of his hand cupped her cheek, as she had dreamed about doing to him, and he pressed his lips to hers.

His mouth was open and hot, but not wet. She opened her lips to tell him that she had not given him permission to use her name, but his tongue invaded, and conquered, and she was lost in the heat that speared through her from her breasts to her thighs as he explored her mouth.

She should pull away. She should slap him. Instead she slid her arms up over his shoulders, allowing her fingers to play with his soft, waving hair as she pressed her body to his.

He slanted his head, and Meg moaned. Even through the layers of muslin and velvet, she felt the hard warmth of his chest. His arms wrapped around her, and his legs pressed against hers. Then his tongue stroked hers, insisting she return the caress. An urgent throbbing started low in her belly. She should stop, but she didn’t want to.

This was what she would be giving up by marrying Lord Throughgood. He would never hold her like this, kiss her like this. No one had ever kissed her as Hawksworth did. Other than on her hand, Tarlington had not even attempted a kiss.

She gave a small sob, and he lifted his head, capturing her gaze with his fathomless dark eyes. “That is passion.”


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After a week without internet, it’s going to take me a week to catch up from being at my mother-in-law’s, so lets just do blurbs and buy links today.

Here is mine from Three Weeks to Wed, book #1 in The Worthingtons.

In the first book of her dazzling new series, bestselling author Ella Quinn introduces the soon-to-be Earl and Countess of Worthington—lovers who have more in common than they yet know. The future promises to be far from boring…

Three Weeks To Wed reviseLady Grace Carpenter is ready to seize the day—or rather, the night—with the most compelling man she’s ever known. Marriage would mean losing guardianship of her beloved siblings, and surely no sane gentleman will take on seven children not his own. But if she can have one anonymous tryst with Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, Grace will be content to live out the rest of her life as a spinster.

Matt had almost given up hope of finding a wife who could engage his mind as well as his body. And now this sensual, intelligent woman is offering herself to him. What could be more perfect? Except that after one wanton night, the mysterious Grace refuses to have anything to do with him. Amid the distractions of the Season he must convince her, one delicious encounter at a time, that no obstacle—or family—is too much for a man who’s discovered his heart’s desire…

Buy links: Amazon ~ Apple ~ BAM ~ B&N ~ Google ~ Kobo


Now it’s your turn!!

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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.


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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I apologize for  posting late. We had some interesting seas as we sailed down the Chesapeake Bay to Solomons, Maryland. But, let’s get started! As always, we begin with the winner of Friday’s guest author, Caroline Warfield! Congratulations go to Glenda and Julie Fetter!!

On to book/author news. Sadly, I will be paring down the information on my blog and moving it over to my website. I do have several good reasons for this, the main one being that I have a webmistress, and it’s easier for her to just maintain one site. I will still be blogging on Friday, Sunday, and Monday. The good news is that I’ll be adding stuff to the website, so I hope you’ll stop by. I am also working on increasing my mailing list. My subscriber numbers are abysmally low. Ergo, several of my author friends have agreed to run a contest to help me increase the readers subscribed. It will take place in November after I get back down to the Caribbean. More news on that later.

I finally finished my copy edits for Three Weeks to Wed and am back to working on my novella, A Promise of Love. The novella will be released in a boxset with several other authors. I’m really excited about the novella and the series which I’m calling The Trevors. It’s about the children of a curmudgeonly duke who, unsurprisingly, wants to control his children’s lives. Once I finish it, I’ll post the blurb and an excerpt.

On to boat news. We’ve been in Annapolis for a few days, went down the Rhodes River, and are now in  a  slip at a Navy marina in the Solomons.

Harbor before fireworks






Rhodes River







Tomorrow, we’re renting a car and heading for southern Illinois to see his family. Unfortunately, there is no internet there, so I’ll be popping into the library every once and a while. We’re taking Alicianna puppy and Raphaella. This will be interesting as Alicianna hasn’t been off the boat for more than 24 hours before. Alicianna Aug 2015

Raphaella 3.15Raphaella, having lived with use in Europe, is a seasoned traveler. We’ll see how it goes.

Because I cannot count on having an internet connection to post as usual, I’ve decided to have a contest, so don’t forget to stop by.

What have you been doing this week?









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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.


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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