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Posts Tagged ‘Historical Romance’

Usually we focus on the heroine and hero, but I though it would be fun to let our secondary characters shine today. If you have buy links or social media links, please post them as well.

A Kiss for Lady MaryHere two of mine from A Kiss for Lady Mary. Lady Eunice Phipson, is my heroine’s aunt and Mr. Brian Doust is the local vicar.

Mr. Doust twined her arm with his, drawing her close. “Invite me, and I’ll try to discover his intent.”

She gazed up at him. “You would assist in this the conspiracy?”

His eyes warmed. “My lady, I would have thought that by now you’d have realized there is very little I would not do for you and those who matter to you.”

“Oh my.” Warmth rose in her face. How long had it been since she’d blushed? “You have me acting like a girl again, and I must tell you, my salad days are long past.”

He raised her fingers to his lips, kissing them one by one. “I think you are the perfect age. I would be honored if you will call me Brian, and may I call you Eunice?”

This was more than she had expected and everything she had wished for. Pulling his head down to her, she pressed her lips to his. He moved slowly, gently at first; then she touched her tongue to the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth to receive her. Frissons of pleasure shot through her as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. She threw her arms around him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Who would have thought a rector could kiss like this?

Their tongues tangled and caressed. He tightened his arms around her. Oh, God. How could she have lived so long alone?

Buy Links: Amazon US ~ Amazon UK  ~  Amazon France ~  Amazon Germany   ~ Amazon Canada ~  Barns & Nobel  ~ Kensington ~ iTunes ~ Kobo

Now it’s your turn!

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Happy Sunday!! Well, this has been a busy week! Let’s start with the winners.

Congratulations to:

D Foster for winning a copy of CheryDuchess by Mistakel’s book, Duchess by Mistake!

 

 

 

Aleen Davis for winnLady of the Flames Cover LARGE EBOOKing a copy of Barbara’s book, Lady of the Flames!

 

 

 

AMurder In Hindsight2nd bn100 for winning a copy of Anne’s book, Murder in Hindsight!

 

 

 

As for my books, It looks as if the next series will be titled “The Worthingtons.” So, harking back to a few weeks ago, if you had “The Worthingtons” in your title, you’ve won a book. You can pick any book in The Marriage Game series.

I can’t resist posting the cover art for the first book, Three Weeks to Wed. Sneep Peak Three Weeks to WedMoving on to The Worthingtons, I finished the second book in the series. My editor and I were conversing via email, and we touched on the idea of having novellas in between some of the full length books. I think it’s an interesting concept. What do you think?

We are still in St. Martin. Yesterday we went to the market, the bakery across the street, and a few shops. It appears fans are back in style, which thrills my historical heart. Unfortunately, they were quite pricy.

Fruit market 2015-03-28 Fans 2015-03-28 la boulangerie et patisserie 2015-03-28 At anchor Port du Marigot 2015-03-24

How have you been?

Ella

 

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Please welcome back the fabulous Barbara Monajem!! Barbara is here to tell us about her latest book, Lady of the Flames!! And she will give away a copy to one of you! All you have to do is leave a comment saying you want the book.

Before we get to Barbara’s post, we’ll take a look at the lovely cover!

Lady of the Flames Cover LARGE EBOOK

Now to Barbara’s post.

And the moral of the story is….

I never meant to write a story with a moral! Not that I have any objection to fables and such, but that’s not how I think of a romance. A romance is centered around love and what that means to the hero and heroine, and what they have to overcome to get their happily ever after.

So it took me by surprise when reviewer Eileen Dandashi said Lady of the Flames has a moral. I’m paraphrasing her a little, but basically, it’s, “Don’t be in a hurry to believe gossip about someone you know and trust, even when the confidante is your closest friend.”

Um, yeah. A misunderstanding is bad enough, but when it’s due to gossip or downright lies, it’s harder to combat. Both Lord Fen, the hero, and Andromeda, the heroine, base their actions over a number of years on lies told by family and friends. Add a touch of magic, and more complications ensue!

(Anyone who knows my books also knows I love slipping in a little magic. Or in this case, a lot!)

Here’s the blurb:

Magic is fraught with peril—but so is love.

Lord Fenimore Trent’s uncanny affinity for knives and other sharp blades led to duels and murderous brawls until he found a safe, peaceful outlet by opening a furniture shop—an unacceptable occupation for a man of noble birth. Now Fen’s business partner has been accused of treason. In order to root out the real traitor, he may have to resort to the violent use of his blades once again.

Once upon a time, Andromeda Gibbons believed in magic. That belief faded after her mother’s death and vanished completely when Lord Fenimore, the man she loved, spurned her. Five years later, Andromeda has molded herself into a perfect—and perfectly unhappy—lady. When she overhears her haughty betrothed plotting treason, she flees into the London night—to Fen, the one man she knows she can trust. But taking refuge with him leads to far more than preventing treason. Can she learn to believe in love, magic, and the real Andromeda once again?

And an excerpt:

Years ago, she’d felt no need to talk when with Fen, but now it was uncomfortable, like conversing with a stranger. Then, they’d had more in common; now they lived in different worlds. She took a sip of coffee and ate a sausage roll. She sipped some more coffee. She gazed around the room and finally found something to say.

“Did you carve the figures on your looking-glass frame?” she said. As a boy, he had whittled constantly. “They seem so…familiar somehow.”

“They should,” he said with a sudden smile. “I carved it from my memories of the fairies and hobgoblins back home.”

“Fairies and hobgoblins?”

“At your father’s estate,” he said. “Surely you remember Cuff the bedchamber hob, and Heck the buttery spirit, and all the rest.”

“My mother told stories about them,” Andromeda said, nostalgia filling her again. “I must say, I like the way you’ve imagined them.”

Fen frowned at her, his smile fading, his eyes perplexed. “I didn’t imagine them,” he said. “I saw them.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “That sounds like something my mother would have said.”

“Because she saw them, too.”

Andromeda began to be annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fen. She made up stories based on tales she’d been told as a child.”

Fen shook his head. “You saw them when you were small. You saw Cuff and Heck and the others. We both did.”

“No,” Andromeda said. “We saw movement out of the corners of our eyes and said they were fairies, but we were just playing games.”

Fen’s expression was pained. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“There’s nothing to remember,” she insisted, wolfing down another cream puff. “As a matter of fact, that happened to me this morning. I had the impression that one of the creatures on the looking-glass winked at me, but of course it didn’t really do so.”

“What a pity,” Fen said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve forgotten. That wink was Cuff’s way of saying good-day to you. He’s somewhere hereabouts. He’s the only one I didn’t have to carve from memory, because he came with me when I left home.” He glanced toward the tin cup and plate by the wall. “He ate the bread and milk I put out, and I gave him the rest of your brandy, too.”

She couldn’t stand any more of this. “Fen, stop this nonsense! We’re in danger from traitors and spies who murder people, and all you can talk about is hobgoblins.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I wondered why he came with me when I left, but it’s because he enjoys human company.” He grimaced. “Your father and aunt aren’t his sort of humans. I thought you were, and so did your mother, but evidently you’re not.”

That struck her like a blow. “What do you mean, my mother thought I was. Was what?”

“She had a sizeable amount of fairy blood, so she thought you must have some, too—but perhaps she was wrong.” He paused. “I know I have some. It’s not uncommon for children to see fairies, but I didn’t lose that when I grew up. Not only that, it’s their magic that guides my knives and tools, and inspires me when it comes to furniture design.”

She couldn’t bear it. “Stop it! You’re as—as mad as my mother was.”

“She wasn’t mad, Andromeda.” He sighed. “And whether or not you see the fairies, they’re still here.”

She put her hands to her ears and shut her eyes. After all the chaos of yesterday, this was too much. When he said and did nothing, she opened her eyes again. “Why did she discuss me with you?”

“Who else was there to speak to? Your father and aunt, although worthy people, wouldn’t have understood. They already found her far too strange.”

This was true—but it was because Mama’s mind was unbalanced.

“She knew I cared for you,” Fen said.

His eyes were kind but dispassionate; his use of the past tense meant that he didn’t care anymore, except perhaps as an old friend. Why couldn’t she become accustomed? Every single reminder hurt.

“You believed in them at the time your mother died,” he said. “She gave you that heart-shaped locket, didn’t she?” It still hung at her breast, but she resisted the urge to clasp it in her hand.

“I was nine years old. I believed in many foolish things then,” she retorted. Such as magic, but a household run by her aunt was no longer vibrant with promise or belief in anything much at all. And then, when she was seventeen, Fen had destroyed what little belief remained. She didn’t try to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I learned soon enough what utter nonsense it all was.”

He watched her, head cocked to one side, as if she were some strange, incomprehensible creature. “As a matter of interest, when did you stop believing?”

How dare he ask such a personal question? “What business is that of yours?”

“None, I suppose.” He shrugged and stood. “Stay away from the windows. I’ll see if my valet has found you something to wear.” He took the last of the beignets, set it on a saucer, and left it on the floor by the wall.

As if prying into her business wasn’t enough, now he was mocking her. Did he seriously expect her to believe that a hobgoblin would eat the beignet? Anger stirred and grew within her. “If you must know, it was at the same time I gave up other foolishness, such as believing in love!”

Fen stared at her, his expression incredulous. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. By what right was he upset? Not content with playing stupid games with her, did he really not remember what he’d done to her five years ago?

Buy links:

About Barbara.

BarbaraMonajem300x400I grew up on the west coast of Canada among the mountains and cedar trees. I’m not much into putting down roots–I love moving around–but roots have minds of their own. Mine go deep into those mountains and are entwined with the cedars, and no matter where I live, there’s a part of me that always, always longs for home. It’s a magic place which never lets go, and that’s all there is to it. I’m pretty sure that magic is what started me writing paranormals, because I wrote my first at only eight years old.

I lived in Oxford, England for a year when I was twelve, and I have roots there, too, but they’re mostly cultural. My ancestors are English, with some Scots and Irish farther back. Oxford is heavy with the magic of centuries. I loved it there–everything from playing twosy-ball against the school wall, to helping out at an archaeological dig, to spending my pocket money in Blackwell’s bookshop. I think it’s that year in England, coupled with all the Brit lit I read as a child, that inspired me to write historicals.  My foray into teen melodrama, best forgotten, also sprang from that year in England.

I spent several years in Montreal, and now and then I miss the winters–they’re long, but nothing beats the cold, bright, silent magic of a winter’s night. And the French spoken all around me–I miss that, too. Sometime during the years in Quebec and on into the move to Georgia, I started writing paranormals again, in the form of fantasy for my kids. This resulted in my middle grade novel, The Secret of the Stolen Mandolin.

I live in Georgia and spend a lot of time in south Louisiana, so now I have roots in the southern U.S. as well. I love the dense, humid air (well, usually), the lightning bugs and kudzu (so spooky), the live oaks and resurrection fern. On my first trip to Louisiana, I succumbed to the magic of New Orleans. I love it all: Bourbon Street, beignets and the levee, the Mardi Gras parades, the spicy food and hot nights, the dark and lovely moods of the French Quarter, and the swamps to the north. New Orleans is my inspiration for the funky little town of Bayou Gavotte, with its fetish clubs… and vampires… and who knows what else.

 

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We will start with the winner of Lauren Smith’s book, His Wicked Seduction!his wicked seduction

Congratulations to

I’m steadily getting the editing done on book #2 of the next series, but that won’t release until sometime in 2016. So, I thought you might be more interested in the book coming out in July, Lady Beresford’s Lover. lady beresford's lover_ebook

Vivian hesitated. “The dance floor is the other way.”

“I know.” The last few days of being in her presence, and always with others, had decided him. She was his, and this evening he would not share her. It was past time she was made to realize how he felt, how much he wanted her.

Rupert placed his lips close to her ear. “I wish to be alone with you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You do?”

She was so beautiful, his heart ached with wanting. The pulse at the base of her throat throbbed, as his must be doing as well. “More than anything.”

He guided her around the edges of the rapidly filling ballroom, onto the balcony. It was blessedly empty. The music began, and he took her in his arms. For a moment she was stiff, then she relaxed and allowed him to pull her close. “You are intoxicatingly beautiful.”

Behind her mask, her lashes lowered. “I have to say, I’ve never seen a more handsome Mark Antony.”

“Nor I a more lovely Cleopatra. Stay with me.”

“But I can only dance with you twice.”

“Not tonight. That is one purpose of a masquerade. Who is to know who we are?”

“Oh, I see.” She pulled her full lower lip between her teeth. “I—I—”

Twirling her into the shadows, he brought them to a halt. With one finger, he raised her chin. “Be with me.”

He lowered his lips to hers. Touching softly, tasting, allowing her to grow used to his attentions . .

My editor has been at a conference, so I won’t have a decision as to the name for the new series before later in the week.

I’m trying to build my Facebook likes to 2000 by the end of this month. If you can help, I’d appreciate it immensely. All you have to do is go to my fan page, and click the like button at the top. http://www.facebook.com/EllaQuinnAuthor

In a couple of months I’ll be at The Romantic Times Readers Conference taking part in an historical event, Take a Walk on the Historical Side. For this I need to decide on what to put in my goody bags. Naturally, there will be books, but what else would you as readers like to see?

Hubby and I left St. Thomas last Sunday and cleared into the BVI. We’ve had a lovely week in the BVI and only one problem. One of our through hulls broke, and we had to get hauled for the night. Today the windless (the thing that lowers and raises the anchor) stopped working.

Here are some photos.

Tall ship 52015-03-10

Tall ship 22015-03-10Turtle in Cain Garden Bay 2015-03-08

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2015-03-14 15.19.03

 

 

 

 

 

2015-03-12 15.56.07

As I write this, we are sailing to Anegada, the only coral atoll in the Virgin Islands. After an early dinner, we’ll start our journey down to St. Martin.

What has your week been like?

Ella

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Please welcome the wonderful Lauren Smith back to the blog!! She is here today with her latest release, His Wicked Seduction, The League of Rogues, Book 2, and she’ll be giving away a copy of the book! All you have to do is tell her you want it.

First the cover.

his wicked seduction

 

Now the blurb.

Can the League’s most wicked rakehell be tamed? Or has this Rogue fallen too far?

Horatia Sheridan has been hopelessly in love with Lucien, her brother’s best friend, ever since he rescued her from the broken remains of her parents’ wrecked carriage. His reputation as London’s most notorious rakehell doesn’t frighten her, for under his veneer of cool authority she has glimpsed a man whose wicked desires inspire her own.

Lucien, Marquess of Rochester, has deliberately nurtured a reputation for debauchery that makes every matchmaking mother of the ton quake with fear. His one secret: he is torn between soul-ripping lust for Horatia, and the loyalty he owes her brother.

That loyalty is put to the test when an old enemy of the League threatens Horatia’s life. With Christmas drawing near, he sweeps her away to his country estate, where he can’t resist granting her one wish—to share his bed and his heart.

But sinister forces are lurking, awaiting the perfect moment to exact their revenge by destroying not only whatever happiness Lucien might find in Horatia’s arms, but the lives of those they love.

Warning:  This book contains an intelligent lady who is determined to seduce her brother’s friend, a brooding rake whose toy of choice in bed is a little bit of bondage with a piece of red silk, a loyal band of merry rogues and a Christmas love so scorching you’ll need fresh snow to extinguish it.

And an excerpt.

She is going to be the death of me.

“Lucien! You’re not even listening to me, are you? I’m in desperate need of a new valet and you’ve been woolgathering rather than offering suggestions. I daresay you have enough for a decent coat and a pair of mittens by now.”

Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, looked to his friend Charles. They were walking down Bond Street, Lucien keeping careful watch over one particular lady without her knowledge and Charles simply enjoying the chance for an outing. The street was surprisingly crowded for so early in the day and during such foul wintry weather.

“Admit it,” Charles prodded.

Lucien fought to focus on his friend. “Sorry?”

The Earl of Lonsdale fixed him with a stern glare which, given that his usual manner tended towards jovial, was a little alarming.

“Where is your head? You’ve been out of sorts all morning.”

Lucien grunted. He had no intention of explaining himself. His thoughts were sinful ones, ones that would lead him straight to a fiery spot in Hell, assuming one wasn’t already reserved for him. All because of one woman: Horatia Sheridan.

She was halfway up Bond Street on the opposite side of the road, a beacon of beauty standing out from the women around her. A footman dressed in the Sheridan livery trailed diligently behind her with a large box in his arms. A new dress, if Lucien had to hazard a guess. She should not be out traipsing about on snow-covered walkways, not with these carriages rumbling past, casting muddy slush all over. It frustrated him to think she was risking a chill for the sake of shopping. It frustrated him more that he was so concerned about it.

“I know you think I’m a half-wit on most days, but—”

“Only most?” Lucien couldn’t resist the verbal jab.

Charles grinned. “As I was saying, it’s a bit obvious our leisurely stroll is merely a ruse. I’ve noticed we’ve stopped several times, matching the pattern of a certain lady of our acquaintance across the street.”

So Charles had been watchful after all. Lucien shouldn’t have been surprised. He hadn’t done his best to conceal his interest in Horatia Sheridan. It was too hard to fight the natural pull of his gaze whenever she was near. She was twenty years old, yet she carried herself with the natural grace of a mature and educated queen. Not many women could achieve such a feat. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been that way.

He’d been a young man in his twenties when he met her, and she’d been all of fourteen. She’d been like a little sister to him. Even then, she’d struck him as more mentally and emotionally mature than most women in their later years. There was something about her eyes, the way her doe-brown pools held a man rooted to the spot with intelligence—and in these last few months, attraction…

“You’d best stop staring,” Charles intoned quietly. “People are starting to notice.”

“She shouldn’t be out in this weather. Her brother would have a fit.” Lucien tugged his leather gloves tighter, hoping to erase the lingering effects of the chill wind that slid between his coat sleeves and gloves.

Charles burst out into a laugh, one loud enough to draw the attention of nearby onlookers. “Cedric loves her and little Audrey, but you and I both know that does not stop either of them from doing just as they please.”

There was far too much truth in that. Lucien and Charles had known Cedric, Viscount Sheridan for many years, bonded during one dark night at university. The memory of when he, Charles, Cedric and two others, Godric and Ashton, had first met always unsettled him. Still, what had happened had forged an unbreakable bond between the five of them. Later, London, or at least the society pages, had dubbed them The League of Rogues.

The League. How amusing it all was…except for one thing. The night they’d formed their alliance each of the five men had been marked by the Devil himself. A man by the name of Hugo Waverly, a fellow student at Cambridge, had sworn vengeance on them.

And sometimes Lucien wondered if they didn’t deserve it.

Lucien shook off the heavy thoughts. He was drawn to the vision of Horatia pausing to admire a shop window displaying an array of poke bonnets nestled on stands. Her beleaguered footman stood by her elbow, juggling the box in his arms. He nodded smartly as Horatia pointed out a particular bonnet. Lucien was tempted to venture forth and speak with her, possibly lure her into an alley in order to have just a moment alone with her. Even if he only spoke with her, he feared the intimacy of that conversation would get him a bullet through his heart if her brother ever found out.

Charles had walked a few feet ahead, then stopped and turned to kick a pile of snow into the street. “If this is how you mean to spend the day then consider me gone. I could be at Jackson’s Salon right now, or better yet, savoring the favors of the fine ladies at the Midnight Garden.”

Lucien knew he’d put Charles out of sorts asking him to come today, but he’d had a peculiar feeling since he’d risen this morning, as though someone was walking over his grave. Ever since Hugo Waverly had returned to London, he had been keeping on eye on Cedric’s sisters, particularly Horatia. Waverly had a way of creating collateral damage and Lucien would do anything to keep these innocent ladies safe. But she mustn’t know he was watching over her. He’d spent the last six years being outwardly cold to her, praying she’d stop gazing at him in that sweet, loving way of hers.

It was cruel of him, yes, but if he did not create some distance, he’d have had her on her back beneath him. She was too good a woman for that, and he was far too wicked to be worthy of her. Rather like a demon falling for an angel. He longed for her in ways he’d never craved for other women, and he could never have her.

The reason was simple. His public reputation did not do justice to the true depth of his debauchery. A man like him could and should never be with a woman like Horatia. She was beauty, intelligence and strength, and he would corrupt her with just one night in his arms.

Within the ton, there was scandal and then there was scandal. For a certain class of woman, being seen with the wrong man in the wrong place could be enough to ruin her reputation and damage her prospects. These fair creatures deserved nothing but the utmost in courtesy and propriety.

For others, the widows still longing for love, those who had no interest in husbands but did from time to time seek companionship, and that rare lovely breed of woman who had both the wealth and position to afford to not give a toss about what society thought, there was Lucien. He seduced them all, taught them to open themselves up to their deepest desires and needs, and seek satisfaction. Not once had a woman complained or been dissatisfied after he had departed from her bed. But there was only one bed he sought now, and it was one he should never be invited into.

He glanced about and noticed a familiar coach among the other carriages on the street. Much of the street’s traffic had been moving steadily and quicker than the people on foot, but not that coach. There was nothing unusual about it; the rider was covered with a scarf like all the others, to keep out the chill, yet each time he and Charles had crossed a street, the coach had shadowed them.

“Charles, do think we’re being followed?”

Charles brushed off some snow from his gloved hands when it dropped onto him from a nearby shop’s eave. “What? What on earth for?”

“I don’t know. That carriage. It has been with us for quite a few streets.”

“Lucien, we’re in a popular part of London. No doubt someone is shopping and ordering their carriage to keep close.”

“Hmm,” was all he said before he turned his attention back to Horatia and her footman. One of her spare gloves fell out of her cloak and onto the ground, going unnoticed by both her and her servant. Lucien debated briefly whether or not he should interfere and alert her to the fact that he and Charles had been following her. When she continued to walk ahead, leaving her glove behind, he made his decision.

Lucien caught up with his friend still ahead of him on the street. “I’ll not keep you. Horatia’s dropped a glove and I wish to return it to her.”

“Plagued by a bit of chivalry, eh? Go on then, I want to stop here a moment.” He pointed to a bookshop.

“Very good. Catch me up when you’re ready.”

Lucien dodged through the traffic on the road and was halfway across the street when pandemonium struck.

Bond Street was turned on its head as screams tore through the air. The coach that had been shadowing him raced down the road in Lucien’s direction. Yet, rather than trying to halt the team, the driver whipped the horses, urging them directly at Lucien.

He was too far across the street to turn back; he had to get to safety and get others out of the way. Horatia! She could be trampled when it passed her. Lucien’s heart shot into his throat as he ran. The driver whipped the horses again, as if sensing Lucien’s determination to escape.

“Horatia!” Lucien bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Out of the way!”

Buy links:

Amazon ~ Barnes and NobleiTunesKoboSamhainGoogle Play Store

About Lauren.

Author PhotoAmazon Best Selling author, Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets: a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.

 

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I so wish I could have gotten this up yesterday, but we did not have an internet connection. Last week we did a first meet. Today, let’s do the first meet from the other character’s POV. As always, feel free to post either your buy links or your social media links.

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

A Kiss for Lady Mary

Mary took in Mr. Featherton’s broad shoulders, his fashionably styled chestnut-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

Of all gentlemen who could have appeared, why did it have to be Mr. Perfect? If only she hadn’t talked herself out of what she knew in her heat was true.

Featherton. The one man who had completely ignored her during her only full Season, and here she was posing as his wife. A person of no importance, her foot! What had her grandmother been thinking?

The humiliation of that first Season came flooding back. That no one knew about it other than her mattered not at all. She knew that he’d danced with almost every young lady except her. She’d even saved dances for him, hoping he would ask her, but he never claimed them, forcing her to make excuses about needing a flounce mended in the ladies retiring room, or being too warm and requiring a glass of lemonade.

How could she have been so wrong? More than once he’d been heading straight in her direction, and each time she could have sworn he was finally going to request to stand up with her, but he always veered away at the last moment to ask another girl to take the floor or to speak with some gentleman. She must be the last lady he wanted to see at Rose Hill. It didn’t matter. He had never cared about her, and she did not want him.

Still, she could barely breathe. It was a miracle she was not laying in a dead faint. His tone was soft, but menace and heat lurked in his tone.

She focused on his words. Husband? She drew a shallow breath. Consequences? Oh, Lord. What would happen to her now?

Remember your breeding.

She tried to smile, forcing the corners of her lips up. “Yes, of course. If only you had given me some notice, I would have been prepared.”

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

Now it’s your turn.

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Let’s start with the winner of  Jane Ashford’s  book, Married to a Perfect Stranger! Married to a Perfect Stranger-mCongratulations to Sharlene Wegner.

 

This has been mainly a boat week, but I did get some editing done. I still do not have a name for my next series, so I’m asking for your help. As an added incentive, I’ll give a copy of any of The Marriage Game series books to the everyone who picks the name my editor selects. This includes the ones I’ve thought of. That doesn’t mean you can agree with all of them. Pick one or give me another choice. Here are the names I’ve come up with.

Love in a Season

A Season of Love

The Worthingtons

Barbara Monajem reminded me that I should tell you something about the series, so here goes.

The stories are all about the Worthington family, which is a blended family. The hero and heroine both had guardianship of their brothers and sisters. Of course, Lord Worthington now has custody of all the children. So there is a total of 10 children in all ranging in age from 18 to 5. Technically, because Worthington is a title name, it is not the name of the children. They are Vivers and Carpenters.

Now to boat news. We finally got cushions for the cockpit, and, much needed, new sunshades. After that, we had to re-provision.

Back sunshade (1)

Back sunshade (2)

Cushions finished

Although we very carefully lined up the back cushions, Alicianna insists that they make good steps when she wants to get down from the deck.

This morning we’re leaving for Tortola in the British Virgin Islands.

How was your week?

Ella

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