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Today, show me the first time your hero and heroine meet. Feel free to post buy links if you are published, or social media links if you are pre-published.

My excerpt is from A Kiss for Lady Mary which will release on May 26th.

A Kiss for Lady MaryAs they followed the butler down a long corridor, Kit couldn’t help noticing that the carpets were clean and in good repair, the woodwork gleamed and the wall sconces sparkled. The walls appeared recently painted, as well.

Simmons opened a door, and bowed as Kit and Doust entered the room.

“Lady Eunice and Lady Mary,” the rector said, “how are you doing this afternoon?”

The older woman rose. “We are quite well, Mr. Doust.” When her gaze lit on Kit, a line appeared between her brows, then disappeared. She smiled as if she’d been expecting him. “Mr. Featherton, how good of you to bring our dear friend with you.”

A younger woman standing in front of the French windows started, then stared at him with the same silver eyes that had haunted his dreams. Her golden hair was dressed in a simple knot, loose curls framed her oval face, and her countenance had changed from a friendly smile to a mask of fear.

What, by all that was holy, was Lady Mary Tolliver doing pretending to be his wife?

Of all the females in England, she was the last one he’d expected to see at Rose Hill. Even when he had heard the name, he would never have suspected her. Something was vastly wrong with this situation, and he had many more questions than answers. Prime among his concerns was the question of why in the bloody hell she was here in the first place. Almost no one outside of his family even knew he owned this property. A rage he’d never experienced before rose within him. What a fool he was, spending the past couple of years mooning over a fraud. Had she planned to trap him into marriage? If enough people knew, Lady Bellamny for one, he might have to wed Lady Mary, but Kit would make her regret it.

Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he set a pleasant smile on his face and strode toward her. When he was no more than a foot away, he took her hands, raising one, then the other, to his lips and placed lingering kisses on each palm.  Damn the butler for having left the door open and Doust being there at all. There was nothing for it, but to play his part. “Aren’t you happy to see your husband, my dear?” Lowering her voice so that only she could hear, he added. “And are you prepared for the consequences?”

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

Now it’s your turn.

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Happy Sunday!! Let’s start with the winners!

Devilish DukeCongratulations to Bevieann for winning Vicky Dreilings’s, book What a Devilish Duke Desires!

 

And to Louisa Cornell for winning a copy of Erin Satie’s book, Lover’s Knot!The-Lovers-Knot-Ebook

 

 

 

 

 

Now I have a surprise for you!! I received a sneak peek of the cover art for, Three Weeks to Wed, the first book in my next series. It will be available in mass paperback in April 2016. This has to be the best cover yet!! Sneep Peak Three Weeks to Wed

No blurb yet, but here is a short excerpt.

Grace swallowed. Maybe now he’d understand. “My lord . . .” His mouth re-captured hers. Her tongue tangled with his, savoring his taste and the soft caresses. Once again his wicked hands lit fires under her skin.

He lifted his head and her lips followed. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Grace fought herself to let go of him and back up, yet he refused to release her hands. “My lord, thank you for your very kind offer, but I find I cannot accept.”

His expression rapidly changed from a humorous to confused and then severe. “Why?”

She closed her eyes and fought to steady her voice. “All those children, they are my brothers and sisters.”

Frowning, he shook his head as if trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Very well. Many families have a number of children. What does that have to do with anything? I have sisters myself. I’ve been hoping you liked children.

Tears stung her eyes as Grace bit her lip. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but do it she must. Her throat tightened, threatening to choke her. “I am—I am their guardian. I will never give up that position.”

Wrenching her hands from his, she fled the room, closing the door with a snap behind her.

Matt stared down at his empty hands and then at the closed door. He found a chair and sat. Numbness washed over him. How many children were there? He should have counted, but it never occurred to him that she . . . He put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

Guardian? She’s their guardian? How could that be?

He’d lost track of how long he sat there trying to think when the door opened.

The youngest girl walked in, a mulish cast was about her mouth, and her determined chin trembled a bit. “You made Grace cry.”

That was fair. He felt like crying as well. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to make her happy.”

The child creased her brow and nodded wisely. “Made a mull of it, did you?”

Now to the boat. We should finally have our weather enclosure next week. That will mean that I don’t have to grab the computer and run inside every time it rains. Last Monday, we moved to Christmas cove.

Christmas Cove

We’ll be here until the 9th then we’ll head down island for a couple of weeks. It’s a fun anchorage. Most boats are here for a couple of days, then leave. We have also seen a number of charter boats. There is even a pizza boat.

Pizza Boat

Yesterday, Hubby reminded me to take pictures of the fish. Unfortunately, they are not as clear as I would have liked.

2015-02-28 17.33.11

2015-02-28 17.32.58

We are still waiting for our Garmin wind part. The post office appears to have misplaced it.

What’s been happening with you this week. Who has been snowed on?

Ella

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Please welcome historical author Erin Satie! Erin will be giving away a copy of her book, Lover’s Knot to one of you. Just leave a comment telling her you want it.

Now the cover.

The-Lovers-Knot-Ebook

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The blurb.

Memory is his weapon. Forgetting is her armor.

Sophie Roe was once a wealthy young lady, with an adoring fiancé. But that was ten years ago. Now Sophie barely scrapes a living in trade. Her benefactor, the Duke of Clive, is dead. And the man she jilted is the new duke: rich, powerful, and determined to think the worst of Sophie. Julian has never been able to forget Sophie. He intends to find out just why she rejected him—and why she’s lying about the old duke’s death.

Sophie is hopelessly entangled in the past. But as long-buried secrets and betrayals come to light, Julian may be the man to set her free…
Spring, 1839 Derbyshire             Julian Swann had been born seventh in line to inherit the dukedom of Clive. That gap ought to have expanded over the years, as the six who came before him sired sons who would grow up, take wives, and beget more sons.

But instead of adding new branches to the family tree, Fate had hacked away at the old. Age, war, disease. Everything that could have gone wrong had. The gap narrowed coffin by coffin, then finally closed.

And so, newly ennobled, Julian exchanged one name for another. One residence for another. One set of problems for… another. That much he could guess from the moment he arrived at High Bend, the duchy’s grandest holding.

Now his grandest holding.

His predecessor’s widow greeted him in the high front hall, young and fresh against a background of weathered stone and moth-eaten tapestries. She wore a gown that flaunted her curves rather than her grief, mourning black fitted tight around her full bosom and trim waist, crepe pleats flaring with her hips. She looked, he thought, like a nun in an erotic drawing.

“Are you ready? I’m about to perform my last act as mistress of the castle.” Gloria, Dowager Duchess of Clive, eyed Julian the same way he might admire a friend’s horseflesh, her regard frank and almost clinical. “My husband’s rooms have been cleaned and aired in preparation for your arrival. They’re yours now.”

She paused, and Julian felt a certain bitter satisfaction when she added, “Welcome home, Your Grace.”

Despite everything, he knew he had come home. As a child and young man, he’d kept his little room in High Bend while the title tumbled down the family tree. He might as well have been part of the entail: each new duke inherited the pastures, the mines, the factories, and the child.

Julian squeezed the young Dowager’s hands and leaned in to kiss her cool cheek. “I hope you know that you’ll always have a place here. You’re welcome to stay on at High Bend for as long as you wish.”

“I do not wish.” She grimaced. “I am sick unto death of this old pile. I’ve always hated living so far from Town, and now…”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the funeral.” Julian settled a hand at the small of her back and urged her out of the front hall, with its drafts and echoes, and into the first of High Bend’s two central courtyards. Overhead, a latticework of iron and glass kept out the worst of the weather. “By the time I heard the news, there was no chance of arriving in time.”

“The news.” The Dowager laughed, low and throaty. “But, Julian, you haven’t heard the news. I’ve tried to keep it quiet—I didn’t dare write it down in a letter, though God knows the coroner’s told every shopkeeper and washerwoman in the county.” She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “Clive didn’t die of an apoplexy. He took his own life.”

Julian froze. “That’s not possible.”

She turned around to face him. One corner of her mouth, thin-lipped and deep red, turned up. “I would have said the same. And yet it was so.”

“For no reason? With no warning?” Julian shook his head. Men like Clive did not commit suicide. He’d been wealthy, esteemed. A duke, with a beautiful daughter only a few years younger than his even more beautiful second wife. “I don’t believe it.”

“He left no room for doubt,” said the Dowager Duchess. “Come along. I’ll show you.”     The stiff crepe of her skirts rustled on the granite as she strode purposefully out of the courtyard and into a wide corridor. Lit sconces cast flickering orange haloes against the stone walls, and an oriental carpet swallowed the noise of their footsteps. She led him up one of the spiral staircases tucked into High Bend’s turret towers and down another corridor to a small sitting room, elegantly if impersonally furnished.

“I didn’t think you’d like my staying on in my old rooms, with the connecting door.” The Dowager opened up a small bureau and extracted a piece of paper from the bottom of a pile. “So I’ve moved all my things here until I can manage a permanent move. Here.” She held the paper with the tips of her fingers. “Proof.”

Julian took the sheet and read.

I know what I am doing, and I will not apologize. I have no confession to make but this. I meted out the poison and I drank it of my own free will. I am so sorry. I never did have the courage to do the right thing until it was too late. Please forgive me for asking you to remember the man I wished to be rather than the one I was.

Brief. To the point. And fake.

“What is this?” Julian traced the letters with his fingertip. He knew who’d written this note, and it hadn’t been his predecessor—though the ninth Duke of Clive’s signature did appear at the bottom.

“He left a note.” Her voice was low, furious. “He wanted us to know.”

“I suppose it would have been suspicious otherwise,” Julian murmured. He sniffed the paper, but the only perfume he detected was the dowager duchess’. “For a man to die of poison without any explanation.”

“How soft-hearted you are,” marveled the duchess.

Julian looked up, startled. It had been a long time since anyone had accused him of undue kindness.

“He wasn’t trying to protect us.” She slapped the table. “Who would have guessed? Who would’ve sounded the alarm? He was trying to punish us. To make us feel guilty.”

“And do you?” Julian asked.

The dowager duchess blushed.

But no. She hadn’t the skill to copy her husband’s hand. Clive the Ninth, only one rung ahead of Julian in the ladder of succession, had worked as a solicitor for more than a decade before inheriting the title. He’d developed a tidy, precise, legal hand. Hard to duplicate without similar training—or a talented forger’s skill.

And in these frozen hinterlands, he could only name one person whose abilities matched the task. Sophia Roe, Julian’s former fiancée. As a young man, he’d been astonished by her talent. On more than one occasion, he’d seen her forgeries fool the very individuals whose handwriting she had copied. They would take their own memories to task rather than doubt the evidence on the page.

In later years, after he’d started working for the Foreign Office, he’d been more impressed by her restraint. To his knowledge, Sophie had never attempted to profit from her ability.

But he’d read Clive’s will. The ninth duke had left her a handsome bequest—a bundle of properties guaranteeing her a revenue of some twelve thousand pounds a year. Perhaps, threadbare as her pockets were, she’d decided to hasten her benefactor’s demise?

Perhaps it hadn’t been the first time she’d succumbed to temptation.

The thought chilled him, but why? She wasn’t his wife. Her crimes couldn’t blacken his name. He hadn’t even seen her in ten years. And yet…

Julian drew the tip of one finger over a majuscule I. Ink had pooled at the base of the downstroke and left a small blot, because Sophie had paused over a letter that would have been a clean, quick line in his cousin’s hand. A small flaw.

He thumbed the curled flourish that crowned a small o, the line thinner and lighter than Clive the Ninth’s heavy fingers could have managed. Sloppy. Sophie must have written this in a rush. He knew her work. When she took her time, she could fool anyone.

Why hurry? Unless she meant these little flaws as a message to him. Because only he would look at this note and see the truth. He knew her abilities, and he’d been trained—first by Sophie herself, later by experts at the Foreign Office—to recognize such small irregularities.

“I have to go,” Julian announced.

“What?”

“I have to go,” he repeated, handing the letter back to the dowager duchess.

“You’ve only just arrived,” she protested. “There’s nothing to be done. Take the afternoon to rest. There will be plenty of time in the morning—”

But he didn’t wait to hear her suggestion. If Sophie wanted a confrontation, he’d give her one. A decade ago, she’d sent her uncle to break their engagement rather than confront him herself. She’d denied him any chance to plead his case. But he wasn’t small-minded. He’d teach her a lesson just by making an appearance.

Julian retraced his steps to the front hall. He donned a thick scarf and his greatcoat before stepping out into the chill spring air. High Bend stood atop a windswept tor, perilously steep on three sides with a narrow road winding up the fourth. The gray stone of the building blended with the gray sky, melted into the Derbyshire hills. Weak sunlight glinted off the windows, black as dark water.

When the stable boy led his horse around to the front drive, Julian heaved himself into the saddle and urged his mount to a trot. Down they went, the road a pale crease dividing rows of rocky mountains, down to a shallow valley where the village of Padley spread from slope to slope.

Julian left his horse at the inn, flipped a coin to a stable boy, and clicked open his pocket watch. Iron & Wine Writing Fluid, read the label he’d glued to the inside face, 21 Halftail Road. He’d lifted it from a bottle of Sophie’s ink years ago, when she’d just started out. Soaked the bottle in water, peeled off the paper, and… kept it.

Most men carried a portrait of their beloved, but Julian never had to worry about forgetting what Sophie looked like. He did have to prod himself to remember what he knew in the abstract, but had never seen or felt or tasted: the woman she’d become, the things she’d gone on to do without him.

Her shop looked much as he’d imagined it, a small cottage only a block away from the row of shops lining Padley’s main street. A sturdy wooden sign with Iron & Wine spelled out in polished brass letters hung from a bracket over the lintel. A woman bent at the waist in front of the whitewashed front door, the ribbons of her apron billowing out from her waist.

She had the fine, balanced figure of a Greek caryatid. Supple curves crafted by a deity who preached moderation in all things and possessed skill enough to prove his point in the shape of a woman’s body. Sophie had always been just lush enough, just slim enough, just soft enough. Just right, in every way.

A woven shawl slipped down her shoulders. In his memories, she wore silks and fine woolens, muslin and velvet. Not gray serge and undyed homespun. At least her hair had stayed the same—it snarled and frizzed, skeins twisting loose from pins and bonnet to snap in the breeze.

Even after ten years, the sight of her moved him. He wanted to fall to his knees, rub his face in the dirt. Why didn’t you want me? Why did you turn me away?

She reached out with her white, white arms, a crystal phial tipped neck-down between ink-stained fingers. A single drop of sunny golden fluid formed at the lip and then, ever so slowly, fell to the ground.

Poison?

Sophie tucked her elbows into her waist and murmured something in a voice too low for him to understand. Sweet words, so gentle and warm that his bone-dry soul wept with envy.

Then the rage came back, and he could move again. “What have you got there, Sophie?”

His voice startled her so much that she staggered, looking up and reeling away as she recognized him.

Her cheeks had hollowed dramatically since he’d last seen her, as though someone had scooped out all the baby fat with a spoon. With her pointed chin, her face now formed the perfect shape of a heart, marred only by a dark mark high on her left cheek.

The last time they’d been face to face Sophie had been distraught, more than a little drunk, and gushing blood from just that spot. He had gone to find help, and then he’d never seen her again.

But he wasn’t looking at a scar, now. It resembled a puncture wound, yes, but this mark was deep black. Inky. It had been made. Stamped, branded, tattooed onto her flesh.

It… didn’t surprise him. He could imagine it so easily. While he’d been beating down her door, out of his mind with heartbreak and rage, she’d been boxed up inside, savage with anger of a different kind. She had the strength of a snake eating its tail, self-immolating and infinite.     Could a woman like that commit murder? Oh, yes. Absolutely.

“wonderfully compelling” — Sarah Wendell of Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

“smart, somber, totally engaged me through every page with great suspense and a lovely romance” — Mandi of Smexy Books

“readers who like Courtney Milan would like this book” — Jane Litte of Dear Author

Buy Links:

Amazon ~   iTunes ~  Barnes & NobleKobo

About Erin.

IMG_0055Erin Satie was born in California, but she’s lived all over the world. She went to college in New York, studied in Morocco and Egypt, worked in France. She endeavors to always have visited more countries than she’s lived years. But when she’s not traveling, she lives on a farm in Kentucky with a hound dog and a lovebird and writes historical romance novels.

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I’m so glad to be able to get back to Monday Excerpts. This is where you get to strut your stuff, or find a new to you author.

Please post the blurb for your current or next release. Buy links are encouraged. If you’re unpublished, post a short excerpt of what you are working on or querying.

A Kiss for Lady MaryHere is mine from A Kiss for Lady Mary which releases on May 26th and is available for pre-order.

Ella Quinn’s bachelors do as they like and take what they want. But when the objects of their desire are bold, beautiful women, the rules of the game always seem to change…

Handsome, charming, and heir to a powerful Viscount, Christopher “Kit” Featherton is everything a woman could want—except interested in marriage. So when he hears that someone on his estate near the Scottish border is claiming to be his wife, Kit sets off to investigate.

                                                                                                                                                             Since After her parents’ death, Lady Mary Tolliver has been hounded by her cousin, a fortune-hunting fool after her inheritance. Refusing to settle for anything less than love, Mary escapes to the isolated estate of rakish bachelor, Kit Featherton. Knowing he prefers Court to the country, she believes she will be safe. But when Kit unexpectedly returns, her pretend marriage begins to feel seductively real…

 

Buy Links.

AmazonAmazon UK ~ B&N ~ iTunes

Now it’s your turn!

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Happy Sunday!! Let start with the winner of Andrea Stein’s book, Fortune’s Horizon. AndreaKStein_FortunesHorizon200Congratulations to Eileen!

 

As you know, we were a marina in Red Hook for about a week. Before we left, this guy came to visit.

Egret 2

We also had a booby land on the dock.

Boobie

We left the dock and anchored in Red Hook Harbor, but with the wake from the ferry boats, and a north swell, that didn’t last long. We are now in Secret Harbor.

Secret Harbor

Secret harbor 4

When we leave here we’ll either go to Christmas Cove or the British Virgin Islands until our new dodger (windshield) is finished. We’re also getting new sunshades and cushions for the cockpit.

Book #8 in The Marriage Game has been sent to my editor. It still doesn’t have a name yet. But I did get the cover for Book #7, Lady Beresford’s Lover.

lady beresford's lover_ebook

Blurb.

Ella Quinn’s bachelors are quite sure of what they want in life—and love—until the right woman opens their eyes…

After a painful heartbreak, Rupert, the handsome young Earl of Stanstead, has decided that when it comes to love, avoidance is best. Until he meets a woman who makes him forget his plan—and remember his longing for a wife and family. Yet he senses that she too has been hurt, though she attempts to hide her feelings—and more—in the most baffling and alluring way. Intrigued, Rupert is willing to play along, if winning her is the prize…

Crushed by her late husband’s scorn, Vivian, Countess of Beresford, believes she is monstrously undesirable. Sadly childless, she has moved to London resigned to a solitary life. Still, when she encounters Rupert at a masquerade ball, her disguise as Cleopatra emboldens her. Convinced he doesn’t recognize her, she begins an after-hours affair with him, always in costume—while allowing him to innocently court the real her by day. But when Rupert makes a shocking choice, will Vivian be able to handle the truth?…

So, what have you been doing this week?

Ella

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Please welcome historical author Andrea Stein!! I first met Andrea at an RWA conference and it turns out we have a lot in common. We both snow ski, sail, and write historical romance! So when I discovered that she had a book coming out, I had to have her come visit. Andrea will be giving away a copy of her book, Fortune’s Horizon, to one of you who tell her you want the book.

We will, of course, start with the cover.

AndreaKStein_FortunesHorizon200

Now the blurb.

She risks everything to deliver gold to the Confederacy.

Lillie Coulbourne marks time in Paris while the Civil War rages back home. While translating dispatches for the French Finance Ministry, she accepts a spy mission through the Union blockade. When the captain of the only blockade-runner headed back to a Southern port won’t deal with women, or spies, she sneaks aboard as his cabin boy.

He refuses to risk his ship, or his heart.

Blockade runner Captain Jack Roberts has never been caught and he’s not about to let a spoiled American heiress ruin his perfect record. After he discovers her deception, he fails miserably at keeping her at arm’s length and vows to send her packing on the first mail ship back to England.

When she surprises him with her skill as a seaman and navigator, he grudgingly allows her to finish the run. But ultimately, he has to choose what is closer to his heart – Lillie or his ship.

And an excerpt.

After Martha swept out of the room, Lillie jumped off the bed to find Giselle laying out her clothes. A steaming tub of water tempted her in the far corner. She shed her mud-soaked traveling dress and sank into the water with a sigh of relief. Her maid held her hair up and began skillful spot repair of the mud damage in her heavy, dark curls.

Nothing like a short nap and hot water to lift a girl’s spirits. She had begun to rally her strength when there was a knock at the door. Her maid adjusted the screen around the tub and went to investigate.

“Lillie, you’ll never guess who we’ve drawn for partners.” Sarah’s bright, annoyingly chipper voice floated across the top of the screen.

“Please,” she groaned. “Tell me it’s not the ‘odious one.’”

“Yes, and I’m to go in with his friend, Edward.”

“Is there a gun anywhere out there?”

“Of course not. Why would you ask such a horrible question?”

“I was hoping you could just shoot me and get it over with. At the rate this whole affair is going, I’m probably going to be shot as a spy eventually, anyway. If we do it now, then I won’t have to endure all the torture in between.”

“It’s only dinner,” Sarah said. “We can maneuver them between us at the table so they’ll talk to each other and ignore us.”

Lillie stood, reached for the drying sheet her maid handed her, and moved resolutely toward her clothing.

 

Buy Link

Amazon

 

About Andrea.

author snapAuthor Andrea K. Stein lives and writes at 9,800 feet in the Rocky Mountains, just fifteen minutes from the Continental Divide. A retired newspaper editor, she is a USCG certified sea captain who spent a number of years delivering yachts out of Charleston Harbor to destinations up and down the Caribbean. Many nights her ships were moored near the site where blockade-runners took on loads of cotton for the run back out through the Union blockade during the Civil War.

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I am so excited to have my friend and fellow welcome historical author, Wendy LaCapra to the blog!! Wendy is a Golden Heart finalist, and she is here to tell you about her debut novel, Lady Vice!! In a bit of a twist on giveaways, and because Wendy’s novel is not on pre-sale, she is giving away a copy of Elizabeth Essex’s Almost a Scandal, which is the first book in her fabulous Reckless Brides series: “Bold, brazen, and beautiful, the Reckless Brides refuse to play by society’s rules of courtship. But-come hell or high water-they always get their man.” Just leave a comment telling her you want the book! Unfortunately, print books are limited to the US and Canada.

First the amazing cover!!

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Now the blurb:

Not every lady plays by the rules.

Lady Lavinia Vaile knows what happens to a woman who puts her faith in society. For her, it was a disastrous marriage to a depraved man-one she threatened to shoot when she left him. Now Lavinia lives outside of society’s strict conventions, hosting private gambling parties. It’s only when her husband is shot dead that Lavinia finds herself in terrible danger…

A former judge in India’s high court, Maximilian Harrison will do anything he can to help Lavinia. In the darkest of times, he held on to thoughts of her and the love they once shared. Now he risks his own position in society―along with his ambitions―in order to clear her name. Yet as desire reignites between them, Lavinia remains caught up in secrets and shame. Her only salvation is to do the unthinkable…and trust in both Maximilian and love.

And finally an excerpt!

Max had found heaven—or, perhaps he had found hell. He was not completely convinced of which, knowing only he floated in the hazy glow of tender—

Good God. When have I ever used the word tender?

He rolled to his side and fitted Lavinia against his heart, concentrating on her pulse. Her soft breath fanned his skin, and his thoughts dissipated into a pool of languid oblivion.

“You said you knew this would happen,” she whispered.

Stalling for time, he kissed the tips of each of her slender fingers.

“Until I saw you, I was not certain how either of us would react.” He paused to kiss her palm. “But I always hoped.”

If she were to parse his words, she would notice he had avoided her question. Of course he had not known, but it would be a lie to say he had not been driven by a kind of irrational desire.

Her lids fell and her gaze gentled. She looked dreamy. Perhaps she was from Elfhame after all, a fairy princess playing in mortal form. Never in his life had he seen, nor would he see, anything so beautiful.

She sat up. Her hair swished like a curtain, falling over her breasts. Her tiny palms pressed his cheeks. With her fingernails, she etched small patterns beneath his ears as she lowered her lips.

A gentle kiss—sweet and supple.

She leaned away, smiled demurely, and stretched. He sensed she reached for something she could not quite grasp. He understood. A powerful surge of yearning stole his breath.

No matter how much he felt like crowing, his elation brought him no closer to truly making Lavinia his than she had been when he was thousands of miles away. They had stolen an act of love, but he wanted to make her his in truth—not just in private, but for the entire world to see—a gentleman and his lady.

“So here we are, lying on a bed covering I carried across the continents for you—”

She laughed. “You sailed home.”

“Across one continent, then.”

Another laugh. In Lady Sophiaʼs garden, he had despaired of ever glimpsing the Vinia he had known. This was the second time heʼd seen her carefree. He clasped her hand tightly, so very grateful to have been wrong.

“So” he continued, “when this is over…”

A sudden, nervous uncertainty massed in his throat, killing his words. Who was he to a fairy princess that she should condescend to his petition? He rested on his arm and drew her hair to the side, exposing her neck. He placed a kiss on her shoulderʼs curve.

“Umm, that feels lovely.”

“Shh, Vinia,” he said, allowing his courage to build.

“Am I to be kissed and not heard?” she asked, teasingly.

“No, never. But interrupting is rude.”

“Apologies,” she said, grinning.

“Accepted.” What he wouldnʼt do to capture that smile. “So, as I was saying”—He swallowed—“when this is over, will you make an honest man of me?”

Release Date & Link

Release Date March 9th. Book page link: http://www.wendylacapra.com/mybooks/
Netgalley request link: http://bit.ly/1zNvD4y

 

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 a 2012 Golden Heart®. She lives in NYC with her husband and loves to hear from readers.

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