A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

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Tea with Regina

“It is my first ball,” Regina Paddimore explained to the ladies gathered in one of Mrs Clemens’ private meeting rooms.

“I have no doubt it will be highly successful,” said Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire. “We have seen how efficient you are Mrs Paddimore.”

Regina was a member of the overarching committee Eleanor had set up to oversee all the various charitable groups in which she had a hand. Today’s meeting having concluded, they were enjoying one another’s society over tea and cake. The young widow’s organising capabilities had made her an asset in one of the subsidiary groups from the moment she joined, and Eleanor had swiftly put her to work here, too.

She blushed at the compliment. “You are very kind, Your Grace.”

Eleanor found her modesty charming, though not the cause of it; more than a decade buried in the country caring for an ailing husband.”Nothing but the truth, but if you want advice, my dear, some of the best hostesses in the ton are right here in this room.”

“A good chef is essential,” said Eleanor’s daughter in law, Cherry, the Duchess of Haverford.

“I recommend my cousin’s husband,” Eleanor said. “The creator of these cakes. You cannot go wrong with Monsieur Fournier.”

***

Regina Paddimore is the heroine of One Perfect Dance, published this coming Thursday.

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Spotlight on One Perfect Dance

Hurrah! My second book in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale is out on Thursday. Buy it now at only 99c.

One Perfect Dance

Elijah was the man Regina could never forget. Now he is back in England, but someone wants to kill him.

Regina Paddimore puts her dreams of love away with other girlish things when she weds her father’s friend to escape a vile suitor who tries to force a marriage. Sixteen years later, and two years a widow, she seeks a husband who might help her fulfil another dream—to have her own child.

Elijah Ashby escapes his abusive step-family as soon as he comes of age, off to see the world. Letters from his childhood friend Regina are all that connects him to England. Sixteen years later, now a famous travel writer, the news she is a widow brings him home.

Sparks fly between them when they meet again. Regina begins to hope for love as well as babies. Elijah will be happy just to have her at his side. However, Elijah’s stepbrothers are determined to do everything they can—lie, cheat, kidnap, even murder—so that one of them can marry Regina and take her wealth for themselves.

Love and friendship must conquer hatred and spite before Elijah and Regina can be together.

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Excerpt from One Perfect Dance

In a moment, she was a warm fragrant bundle on Ash’s lap, her curves draped across his torso, her arms wrapped around him, her face tucked into his shoulder as she cried.

He patted her shoulder, murmuring comfort. “There now. You’re safe now, Ginny. He’s gone. He won’t bother you again. I have you, my darling. I have you.”

He had not seen Regina so discomposed since she was a child, grieving the loss of a kitten. He wished he’d hit Deffew harder. He’d thought he and Charles were in time, but if the swine’s violation had gone beyond what he’d seen, the dog would die for it, Regina’s opinion notwithstanding.

Charles poked his head around the door, his eyes widening in alarm when he saw the state of his mistress. Ash pointed to the brandy decanter he could see on a sideboard. “Two,” he mouthed, ceasing his patting to hold up two fingers then resuming again, barely breaking rhythm.

Charles nodded and tiptoed to the decanter to pour two glasses of brandy, then tiptoed back across the room to place them on a side table next to Ash’s elbow, setting them down so carefully they did not clink.

Ash briefly wondered whether the young man wanted to save Regina the embarrassment of knowing her emotional collapse had been witnessed, or whether he feared she might expect him to do something about it if she knew he was there. Whichever it was, he faded back across the room and out of the door, pulling it shut behind him.

The footman was not important. Not when the lady he loved was in his arms, her soft curves molded to his body, the aroma of roses, honeysuckle and something indefinably Regina filling his nostrils. He yearned to hold her closer still, to show her how much he desired her, though the way her lovely rear pressed into his groin, she would notice soon enough.

She was still crying, but the angry storm was gone, fading into heart-wrenching sobs that twisted Ash’s gut even more than the initial outburst. “There now, Ginny,” Ash soothed. “Let it out, dearest. You’re safe now, my love.”

She turned her face up at that, drawing back so that her tear-drenched eyes could meet his. “Am I, Elijah?”

“Yes, of course. He has gone, and I won’t let him near you again.”

She thumped his chest softly, an action so reminiscent of the child Ginny that he had to repress a smile. “Not that,” she scolded. “The other.”

He retraced his words in his mind. “My love?” At her tiny nod, he repeated, “My love.”

She raised her eyebrows in question, the imperious gesture only slightly marred by the shuddering breath of a leftover sob.

“I love you, Ginny. Did you not know?”

She thumped him again, another gentle reprimand. “You never said,” she grumbled. “You never even tried to kiss me.” The last two words were disrupted by a hiccup, but he understood them well enough.

“I am abjectly sorry, Ginny,” Ash told her, managing to keep his voice suitably solemn while his heart was attempting to break out of his chest and into hers. She has been waiting for my kisses! Missing them, even. “I have never courted anyone before. I am clearly not very good at it.”

She hiccupped again as she put up a hand to cradle Ash’s cheek. “I am sorry to be so cross, Elijah. I hate hiccups. I hate crying, and it always give me the hiccups.” She proved it with another shuddering hiccup.

“Have a sip of brandy, beloved,” he suggested, and he picked up one of the glasses and held it to her lips. “It might help. And if it doesn’t, perhaps a kiss will cure them.”

Ash was very aware that she had not returned his declaration of love. However, she wanted his kisses. He would start there and hope for the best.

Ginny took the glass from his hand and had another sip, followed by another hiccup.

“It will have to be the kiss, then,” he suggested. He lowered his head to hers, slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn him away. Instead, she lifted her face to bridge the gap, her mouth reaching inexpertly for his.

He pressed kisses to each corner of her mouth, then settled his mouth over hers, stroking her lips with his. She clutched him, some of the brandy spilling from the glass so she drew back, apologizing with another hiccup.

Ash put the glass out of harm’s way and drew Ginny to him again. This time, he ran his tongue across the seam of his lips, seeking entrance. She hummed but didn’t open. If he hadn’t known she’d been a wife for more than three years before her husband’s accident, he would have thought she’d never participated in a kiss.

“Open for me, sweetheart,” he suggested, his lips still touching hers as he spoke.

“Open what?” she asked, and he took the moment to slip his tongue inside, into the soft warm cave of her mouth, gently teasing the sensitive skin inside her lips and at the roof of her mouth. She tasted as wonderful as she felt: a deeper richer version of the Ginny element of her perfume.

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Tea with Elijah

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire looked around her parlour with great satisfaction. The school for indigent gentlewomen that she supported would benefit from today to the tune of several hundred points. Even better, though many of the crowd had come to listen to the famous speakers, she had taken the opportunity to give them more that they expected for their ticket price. Her daughter-in-law Cherry had been the first speaker, and eloquent on the topic of the plight of gentlewomen who could not support themselves, and the value of providing education so that they could find appropriate jobs.

Of course, both Cherry and Eleanor supported education for women at every level of Society, but the idea of education a costermonger’s daughter, or even a costermonger’s son, was so far from the orbit of this audience that they would just look at her bluntly if she suggested it.

Not, perhaps, all of them. Mrs Paddimore, for example, who was here with her dear friend Cordelia, Marchioness of Deerhaven. Both Mrs Paddimore and Lady Deerhaven donated to the ragged school at which Cherry taught mathematics. Mrs Paddimore had caught her eye because the lady’s own attention was quite firmly fixed on the speakers. Or, rather, one of the speakers.

World travellers and travel writers Elijah Ashby and Lord Arthur Versey had talked about their journeys for over an hour, answered questions for another half hour, and were now refreshing their surely dry throats with sips of port, poured by Eleanor’s husband, who had winked and insisted that tea would be insufficient after the gentlemen’s ordeal in front of Eleanor’s crowd.

What was between Mrs Paddimore and Elijah Ashby? Not only did she turn towards him every few moments as if to check that he was still in the room, when she wasn’t watching him he gazed at her with reverence and longing. Eleanor approved. Mrs Paddimore was a lovely woman and deserved a husband who adored her, and Ashby was as intelligent and charming as he was handsome.

If there was anything she could do to promote the romance, she would. Eleanor did love a happy love story.

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Reunions in WIP Wednesday

Many historical novels have the hero and the heroine reunited after years. In One Perfect Dance, my hero arrives back in London after sixteen years and goes to visit the woman who was his childhood sweetheard.

Lady Barker—Elaine—had been able to discover that Mrs. Paddimore was in residence, and that today was her afternoon for receiving calls. Ash had seen enough of English Society in far-flung corners of the world to know the process. The butler took Ash’s card, and beckoned Ash to follow him up the stairs and into a drawing room that managed to be both elegant and comfortable.

Catching her at home and receiving was a mixed blessing. It had insured his immediate entry, but meant he was now afloat in a sea of unknown faces.

Not that he gave any of the others more than a cursory look. He had eyes only for Regina. He had not seen her in sixteen years, and she was now very much an adult rather than a girl on the verge of conquering Society, but she was even lovelier as a mature woman than she had been when he was last in England.

There were perhaps a dozen men and four other ladies in attendance, but he could not have described anything about them. Odd. He had long since developed the habit of cataloguing the people present, the contents of a room and every possible exit. His travels had taken him to places where his life depended on such awareness.

At this moment, however, everything and everyone else was just a background for Regina. Her flawless skin, her dark hair in an artful coil on the top of her head. Her blue eyes, sparkling as she conversed with the lady next to her. Her plush lips, curved in a gentle smile. One of the shoe brooches he had sent her was clipped in her hair.

The butler announced him. “Mr. Elijah Ashby.” The room silenced as if by magic, and everyone turned towards the door, their mouths hanging open. Regina leapt to her feet and hurried towards him with both hands held out.

“Elijah!” she proclaimed. “How wonderful! I read in the newspaper that you had returned to England but did not expect to see you so quickly! I am so glad you called. Please, come and allow me to introduce you.”

She was smaller than he expected. Over the years, he had forgotten how diminutive she was, not just short but also slender, though in a thoroughly womanly fashion. She is still a sylph. The force of her personality, coming through in every letter, had somehow led him to expect a larger presence. The scent was the same as he remembered, though. An English garden, with a touch of something that was pure Ginny.

“Ladies, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Ashby. Mr. Ashby, my cousin, Mrs. Austin, and the Ladies Deerhaven, Charmain, and Stancroft, all very dear friends.”

Ash made his bow.

Lady Deerhaven was a regal lady with the slight padding of a matron and a kindly smile. “Regina and I have been reading your books since the very first,” she claimed. “How lovely to meet you in person.”

Lady Charmain was a statuesque blonde with eyes of a vivid blue. “Mr. Ashby, it is a delight to meet you.”

Ash did his best to look Lady Stancroft in the one eye that showed. The other was hidden by a pretty half mask that covered one side of her face. A fine tracery of purplish scars hinted at the story the mask had to tell.

He was next introduced to Lord Deerhaven and Lord Stancroft, presumably the husbands of the two ladies. They welcomed him back to England. Lord Charmain, if there was one, was not present. Regina continued to introduce him around the room, and he continued to be polite about remarks that praised the books and to deflect questions about his and Rex’s plans for the future.

Then they reached a short balding man who was vaguely familiar and whose face came into full focus when Regina said, “And, of course, you know David Deffew.”

Daffy Down Dilly, as Ash lived and breathed, there with an oily smile on his face and his hand out ready to claim his part in the fêted return of the famous author.

“My dear stepbrother,” Dilly announced to the room, as he clasped Ash’s hand and held it too long. Ash inclined his head slightly and gave a tug on the hand to free it. He would not make a scene in Regina’s drawing room.

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Tea with two quiet little girls

The hostesses of today’s afternoon tea were very serious about the proceedings. Miss Frogmore had charge of the teapot. Miss Helena Frogmore was charged with carrying each cup carefully to its intended recipient. She did it very well, though holding the tip of one’s tongue in one’s teeth as an aid to concentration was not a common sight in most drawing rooms. However, this was the nursery and Helena was only five years old, two years younger than the sister who was pouring the lemonade.

The guests were very grand: two duchesses and a baron. Mind you, the baron was not yet a year old, and one of the duchesses had him on her knee, ready to feed him his drink–which was lemonade–from a tea spoon.

Her Grace the Duchess of Winshire thought they made a pretty picture, her daughter-in-law and the infant. She prayed that the Duchess of Haverford, her son’s beloved Cherry, would be blessed one day with a child of her own, but no one looking at her clucking over the little boy would know how much she longed to fill her own cradles.

When Eleanor Winshire received the invitation to visit, she had not expected to be whisked up to the nursery floor, and entertained with lemonade and shortbread in the schoolroom. Cherry had explained. Baron Frogmore and his two sisters needed a safe place to stay, and Cherry had agreed to provide sanctuary. Tomorrow, the children’s mother was appearing in court to argue that their current guardian had no right to the place, and was abusing the trust put in him by the courts. Eleanor hoped she would win, for the wicked man had taken the children from their widowed mother, who was a delightful young woman.

If necessary, her son was going to petition the courts to be made guardian in place of the usurper, but he and Cherry hoped for a different outcome. Either way, the dear little children would have their mother back, for the Haverfords would bring Seraphina Frogmore to live with them, if need be. But Anthony and Cherry hoped Lady Frogmore would marry again, to a gentleman respected throughout the ton. Eleanor would not have believed it if she had not seen it with her own eyes. She had thought Lord Lancelot Versey to be a confirmed bachelor. However, it was clear to anyone who saw them together, that he was head over heels for the widowed baroness.

Eleanor accepted a second cup from Helena. How lovely to assist, not only in reuniting a family, but in promoting a romance.

***

In The Talons of a Lyon, Lance Versey kidnaps the three Frogmore children from the wicked couple who are attempting to abduct them from London, and takes them to the Duchess of Haverford. Here’s an excerpt from the story.

The house was so large, it took several minutes to reach the duchess’s private sitting room. Haverford poked his head around the door, and said, “I have some visitors for you, my love.” He opened the door wider, and ushered Seraphina’s two little girls in. Lance followed.

Haverford stopped the servants at the door. “Please take a chair while you wait,” he told them, and closed the door in their faces.

Lance bowed to the duke’s wife. “Your Grace, I apologize for calling unannounced.”

The duke said, “Lance has, I deduce, come for our help to hide his crimes. He has stolen Lady Frogmore’s children back from their wicked uncle.”

Helena tugged on Lance’s coat. “Have you? Are you going to give us back to Mama?” She had removed her bonnet, and the blonde plaits that confined her hair had tumbled down.

As if of their own volition, his arms tightened on little Harry, and the boy wriggled. Lance made himself relax. He did not need to protect the children against all comers. Not here in the duchess’s private sitting room.

The duchess will have them, will she not? He raised his eyebrows in question, and Her Grace exchanged glances with her husband and then nodded.

“Will we have to wait for very long?” Hannah asked, her voice girlish but her question suprisingly mature.  “Harry needs her. We tell him about her every night after the governess goes to bed, but I think he has forgotten her.”

“You shall see her soon,” Haverford declared. “You do not appear to be worried about Lord Lancelot kidnapping you, young ladies.”

Helena shrugged. “We recognized him. He is the man who comes every morning to the park with Mama.  She used to hide behind the bushes, so sad.” She drooped her shoulders and poked out a trembling lower lip to illustrate. “We would slow down as much as we dared, but Miss Brant, the governess, would hit us with her switch if we did not keep walking. I do not think Miss Brant ever saw her.”

Hannah nodded, and commented, “Then Lord Lance started bringing her, and soon she was not so sad.”

Helena continued. “Miss Brant said we would never see Mama again, but we saw her every day. Miss Brant said she had forgotten us, but we knew she had not. We knew she was afraid of Miss Brant and Uncle Marcus, so we did not tell them she came to watch us. When you helped us into the coach today—” she smiled up at Lance— “we knew Mama sent you. I am so glad. I like you, Lord Lance.”

Lance had a lump in his throat which needed to be swallowed before he could reply. A welcome interruption allowed him time to recover. Little Lord Harry struggled to be put down, and then set off at great speed across the floor, not so much crawling as wriggling like a caterpillar. His destination was a kitten, who had just stepped out from behind the duchess’s couch. The kitten, alarmed perhaps by the intent look in Lord Harry’s eyes, shot up one of the curtains, and Harry stopped, hoisted himself into a sitting position, and looked balefully around the room as if the kitten’s escape must be someone else’s fault.

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Spotlight on The Talons of a Lyon

Published this Wednesday

The death of Lady Frogmore’s neglectful and disloyal husband should have been a relief. But then her nasty brother-in-law seizes her three children and turns her out, telling the whole of Society that she is a crude, vulgar, loose woman. Without allies or friends, Serafina, Lady Frogmore, turns to Mrs. Dove Lyon, also known as the Black Widow of Whitehall for help, paying her with a promise to grant whatever favor Mrs Dove Lyon asks.

Lord Lancelot Versey has always tried to be a perfect gentleman, and a gentleman honors his debts, even when an unwise wager obliges him to escort a notorious widow into Society. But Lady Frogmore is not what he expects, and helping her becomes a quest worthy of the knight for whom he was named.

Except Mrs. Dove Lyon calls in Seraphina’s promise. The favor she asks might destroy all they have found together.

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Excerpt

Lance was early. He hoped it would give him an advantage of some kind to be here when the notorious baroness arrived. It was only when the solemn little schoolroom party had passed him that he noticed the dark shadow in the bushes.

For a moment, his mind had teamed with thoughts of kidnappers and thieves, but then a woman in widow’s weeds had stepped from the bushes to stare longingly after the retreating children and their servants.

Surely it was no coincidence that the two little girls were also in black? Then he saw the splash of white on the woman’s chest. He knew who she must be. She did not look coarse or vulgar, although all he could really see was her face, a sweet oval of a face with large brown eyes and a delicately molded nose, mouth, and chin.

He had not expected to have any sympathy for her after the rumors he had heard, but the longing on her face as she watched the girls march meekly away spoke to something within him. Perhaps Frogmore was correct to refuse to allow the woman to raise her children, but this scene went beyond that.

Surely, nothing she had done was bad enough to justify forcing her to hide in a bush so she could watch the two daughters she loved walk by? Having seen her face, he could not doubt that she loved them, and the unseen baby in the baby carriage. A little boy, or so he understood. The current Lord Frogmore, born a month after the death of his father.

If for no other reason than the comfort of the children, the mother should be allowed at least supervised meetings.

He walked toward her. His first impression of her delicacy was confirmed when he towered over her by nearly a foot. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, with a shallow bow. “I am Lancelot Versey.”

She blinked away the tears that were standing in her eyes, composing her expression into a blank, and curtseyed in return. “Lord Versey, I am Seraphina Frogmore.”

“Lord Lancelot,” he corrected. Had she never heard of him? “I am the second son of the Duke of Dellborough.”

“I beg your pardon,” she responded, without any of the admiring looks he was accustomed to receiving. “I did not realize. Lord Lancelot, then. Thank you for coming to meet me.”

He bowed again, considering that it might be ungracious to say he had not been given a choice.

He supposed he should ask what she wanted of him. “Were those your daughters?” he blurted.

She glanced along the path where the girls had recently walked. “My two little darlings,” she confirmed, a smile transforming her face. “Hannah and Helena. Hannah is the eldest, and very responsible.” The smile faded and her eyes clouded with worry. “Helena is a good girl, but full of life. I fear for her, Lord Lancelot. For them both, and for their little brother, who is in the baby carriage. That governess…” She shuddered.

Lance raised his brows. “Is she so awful? Governesses must sometimes be stern to teach the children in their charge.”

“Perhaps.” Her one word dripped with doubt. “But it is not her stern countenance that concerns me. It is the fact that she allows no play time, insists on lady-like behavior every minute of the day, hits the children’s hands with a ruler if they disobey or fidget or fail in any particular, and is doing her best to crush any joy out of them.” She was marching back and forth by the time she had finished this diatribe, her hands clenched into fists.

Lance was feeling an unwelcome surge of sympathy for the little girls, and for their mother. Who was, he had to remind himself, a disgraced woman and a merchant’s daughter.

“I do not see how this concerns me,” he said.

Lady Frogmore examined his face, searching for something she clearly did not find. “Thank you for coming, Lord Lancelot. I shall let Mrs. Dove Lyon know you are unsuitable.” She turned to walk away.

“What?” No one had ever called Lance unsuitable in his life. “But…” The woman was walking away. “Wait!”

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Allies, friends, and fellow travellers on WIP Wednesday

The Talons of a Lyon, my first Lyon’s Den connected world book, is out on the 26th April. Just enough time for a WIP excerpt, this one about an alliance with the Black Widow of Whitehall herself.

Mrs. Dove Lyon did not keep her waiting long. Seraphina stood when she entered, and curtsied. That was probably incorrect, since a baroness, even a disgraced widow, surely outranked the owner of a gambling den, but Mrs. Dove Lyon had a presence that transcended considerations of rank.

Mrs. Dove Lyon nodded briefly and took a seat behind her desk, saying nothing, but simply facing Seraphina. Studying her, Seraphina assumed. Seraphina had swept her veil back over her bonnet, but Mrs. Dove Lyon wore a thicker one that completely obscured her features.

“Lady Frogmore,” she said at last. “How may I be of service?”

Seraphina took a deep, brief breath. She had prepared and practiced her speech. “If you know who I am,” she said, “you know I am rumored to be a wicked wanton, and a bad wife.” Moriah had said that Mrs. Dove Lyon knew everything.

Mrs. Dove Lyon inclined her head.

“The rumors are untrue,” Seraphina declared. “They were spread by my husband’s family, who want to keep me from my children.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon said nothing.

Seraphina continued. “I know few people in Society and few of them know me. I come from a merchant family and my husband kept me at home. The Frogmores want me out of my children’s lives because they wish to control the fortune my father left to my children, and my son’s estates—estates saved by the fortune I brought into the marriage as my dowry.”

She had another fear. Only the person of that son, born after Henry’s death, stood between Marcus Frogmore and the title. But surely, he was not such a monster as to kill his own nephew?

She would not mention that to Mrs. Dove Lyon lest the woman think her crazed.

“Marcus Frogmore took a case to court to gain custody of the children. I knew nothing about it until after the case was decided. I have sought another hearing, but my solicitor says that, as things stand, I cannot hope to win without the support of some of those in the ton who can then stand as character witnesses. To do that, I need to move among them, to allow them to get to know me.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon spoke. “So, you want me to find you a husband.”

Seraphina spoke with all the horror she felt. “Dear Heavens! No! Never again.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon stilled. Without seeing her face, Seraphina could not be sure, but she thought the Black Widow was surprised.

Her voice had no inflexion, though, when she said, “No.” Then, “I see. Or, rather, I do not see. I can understand why a widow would not wish to marry again, but I do not understand what you want from me.”

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Tattoos in Regency England

I’ve just received Snowy and the Seven Doves back from the developmental editors. One of the questions she asks is about my hero’s tattoo. Wasn’t it only sailors and criminals who had them back in the Regency era? And weren’t they very crude before modern equipment.

It’s true that this is a common perception. Indeed, when I researched body art, I found little specifically about the Regency era, and it is, of course, too early for photos.

However, artistic and complex tattoos have been part of the European story for thousands of years. The Romans, who thought used tattoos to mark criminals and who therefore saw them as a sign of shame, were amazed by the men and women of England, who had themselves covered in images. As with many cultures, a tattoo was a sign of honour, showing that a person had courage and fortitude. People marked significant events by marking them permanently on their bodies.

Vikings, too, had a tattoo tradition, and some researchers think the Germanic tribes did, also.

In the Middle Ages, those going to the Holy Land would have crosses and other symbols tattooed to show their piety. And probably for the practical reason of body identification if something happened to them along the way.

Essentially designs were carved into wooded blocks, and then printed onto the skin by dipping the block into ink. Then tattooists would use a single needle and puncture by hand with blank ink into the skin.

Certainly, in the Georgian and Regency era, soldiers and sailors—both rank and file—marked their bodies to help their comrades recover them if they were killed in a way that rendered them unrecognisable.

Since the technology existed to make those tattoos both meaningful and beautiful, it is not too much of a jump to suggest that wealthy young men would hire an artist at his or her craft to create a personal mark that was a work of art. In my imagined back story, my hero and his friends very likely submitted to the needle of such an artist as a bit of teenage bravado—and my hero chose the phoenix because of his scorched earth beginnings.

Certainly, tattooing was very sophisticated in the 1860s, when several members of the British Royal family are known to have been tattooed, starting a fashion trend that lasted for a hundred years.

Here’s the passage with my hero’s tattoo for your reading delight.

“We can stop at any time,” he said. “If I do anything you do not like, or if you decide you have had enough, just tell me.”

She nodded, and then her mouth went dry as he removed the banyan he was wearing, for he wore nothing underneath. He was naked. And magnificent. He knelt on the side of the bed, looking down at her splayed on her pillows.

“You have a tattoo!” she exclaimed. It was a bird. A magnificent fantasy of a bird in red, orange, and yellow, its wings outspread across his chest, its talons outstretched toward his left nipple, its long tail sweeping down the center of his torso and across to the right, reaching almost to his waist.  

“A phoenix,” she decided, touching the crown. He shuddered but stood still. She traced it, feeling him quiver as her finger glided over his skin. “It is beautiful, Hal.” She smiled into his eyes. “You are beautiful.”

“May I…” his voice was hoarse. He coughed, and started again, in a low growl that she felt to her bones. “May I remove your night rail?”

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Congratulations to the Grand Prize winner in my Lady Beast’s Bridegroom giveaway

 

I’ve just added together all the entries in the four weeks of giveaway (160 in total), put that number into a random number generator, and gone to find entry number 124, which was made in week 4 and belonged to Amy M.

I’ve sent Amy an email. I’m excited to know what story elements she comes up with!

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Week 4 of Lady Beast’s Bridegroom launch giveaway

Enter as many times as you can this week. This is your last chance at a weekly prize and the major prize, drawn after week 4 closes.

To celebrate the launch of the first book in my new series, A Twist in a Regency Tale, I’m running a four-week giveaway, with a free book each week plus great weekly prizes and a grand prize at the end.

Week 4 runs from 16 February to 22 February.

Here’s how it works

You can enter the giveaway, and go in the draw, by helping me share the good news about Lady Beast’s Bridegroom.

  1. Just download any or all of the memes and the video on my Lady Beast Bridegroom gallery page
  2. Share them on your social media–Facebook, Tiktok, Instagram, Twitter, Tumbler, Pinterest, anything at all you use. Use the hashtag #LadyBeast
  3. Share this post (the one you’re reading now). Use the hashtag #LadyBeast
  4. Leave a comment on this post–the Rafflecopter entry form says what I’d like you to comment on
  5. Enter the week 4 Lady Beast Rafflecopter,  which will give you space to note what you’ve done
  6. Keep sharing and enter many times every week!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Week 4 prize

Every entry in the rafflecopter will go in the draw. This means you could have multiple chances to win a prize.

The first 10 names drawn will each be sent a set of book-shaped earrings with the cover of Perchance to Dream (book 4 in the series).

Those 10 names will go back in the draw and one will win a $10 gift card. (USD value)

Grand prize

All entries from every week go into the grand prize draw, and the grand winner will be announced between 24 February and 28th February.

The grand winner receives:

  • the full set of four pairs of earrings, one for each novel being published in 2023
  • a $50 gift card (USD value)
  • a made-to-order story, written to include the winner’s ingredients.

Week 4 giveaway

This week, I’m giving away Revealed in Mist, a Regency adventure-romance with my detective hero and his beloved spy heroine.

Download from my shop–just go through check out and the price is free:  https://shop.judeknightauthor.com/index.php/product/revealed-in-mist/

Or download from BookFunnel: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3mosso62it