Guest authors

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Spotlight on The Fiercest Pirate in Surrey

Hester Fairfax abducts her childhood best friend, Benjamin Littleton before he succumbs to his father’s plans for his life – all for his own good, of course.

For fans of Alexandra Vasti and Felicity Niven comes a novella about chasing your dreams and finding yourself in only one bed with your best friend.

Hester Fairfax dreams of escaping her dull life in rural, landlocked Surrey. As a child she schemed to run away and become a pirate, but now as a 24-year-old spinster she’s resigned to moldering away beside her neglectful father. Her one chance at adventure is fulfilling an old promise to kidnap the most eligible bachelor in the neighborhood: Benjamin Littleton, the baronet’s son, before he moves to London.

Benjamin Littleton can barely keep his head above water. He’s drowning in obligations: studying to become a barrister, courting a woman his father chose, and living up to his family’s incessant demands. When his childhood friend abducts him just before he becomes betrothed, Benjamin discovers that everything he didn’t dare wish for is now within his grasp.

After a carriage crash, thunderstorm, and an unexpected night spent in an abandoned cottage, Hester and Benjamin realize they could chart a life together free from neglect and disapproval. If only they’re fierce enough to chase it.

Buy link:  https://a.co/d/j1mK6Hm

An Excerpt from The Fiercest Pirate in Surrey

“Benji,” she said after a pause. “I’m not truly a lady. I might be a gentleman’s daughter, but most people just see me as an eccentric spinster.”

He looked her up and down, gaze inscrutable. “You’re no spinster.”

A flush spread across Hester’s body. Why? He said nothing inappropriate. And it’s only Benji. But something about the low, demanding tone and the way his eyes had lingered made her wonder… made her hope. Stop this foolishness. He’s marrying Miss Dunham. And since when did that matter to her? She gave him an impish grin. “But I am delightfully eccentric.”

“And I would never allow such a lovely and delightfully eccentric maiden out in such dangerous weather.” He paused. “I’ll beat you to the door if you try.”

Hester raised a brow and elaborately turned to look at the door behind her. “I’m closer.”

“I have longer legs.”

The air seemed charged with tension, as if there was another storm raging in the room between them. This wasn’t normal, this was different and strange and…not childlike at all. Desperate to bring this back to familiar corners, Hester threw him a smirk. “We’ll see about that.” And she flew backward to the door.

Her loose hair tangled around her, and a laugh burst out as she scrambled for the door handle. A heavy body slammed into her back, and then Benjamin somehow lurched forward, those giant arms outstretched, and he slammed both palms flat against the wooden door.

“No, you don’t,” he said in her ear, amusement leaking through.

Hester, trapped between his chest and the door, relented. She clutched her sprained wrist to her chest and leaned her forehead against the door, right between his palms. “I surrender,” she got out through chuckles.

Benjamin shifted behind her, and the heat of his chest burned against her shoulder blades. His breath warmed her neck. “Stay,” he whispered.

A shiver went down her spine. She closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of his arms. “I don’t think I have much of a choice,” she murmured.

He bent his head, and she felt the barest edge of his lips against the shell of her ear. “How the tables have turned, my captor.”

A ribbon of heat and desire unspooled in her chest, slipping through her belly like a butterfly and throbbing inside her core. Hester bit her lips to keep back a moan of delight.

His hips slotted against the small of her back, he was so tall compared to her, and he broadened his stance.

Hester opened her eyes and turned her cheek to the cool door. His left hand was mere inches away. His long fingers were flexed against the wood, the large hands warm and capable. What would those hands feel like on her? She shuddered at the thought.

Abruptly, Benjamin withdrew. The blast of cold air that wrapped her back and arms nearly made her cry out. “Forgive me, I forgot myself. We aren’t children anymore, are we?” His hands lifted from the door and he took two steps backward. “We should forsake childish games.”

Meet Anne Knight

Anne Knight has been writing stories since she was three years old. Before she could read or write, she followed her parents and babysitter around, begging them to dictate her words. Eventually she learned the alphabet and began writing herself. She sneaked her first romance novel when she was thirteen, but did not become an avid reader or writer of the genre until after college.

Anne lives in Arkansas with her real-life swoony hero, four children, and two cats. The cats are named Cyrano and Ivanhoe.

by

Tea with a time travelling baker

The Duchess entered her parlor, and stood in the entrance. “My word. Who pray tell, are you?”

Bronwyn fidgeted. She knew not where she was exactly, only that one moment she was working in the castle kitchens at Lincoln Castle, and the next moment, she was here. 

She gazed about the room. Strange furnishings, yet of brightly coloured materials, silks and such rich fabrics, she’d never seen the like of before. But the grand woman who stood in the entrance had spoken, and she hadn’t understood a word the woman had said. 

The duchess repeated her question.

Bronwyn gave a hasty curtsey, poorly done, and bowed her head meekly. “Forgive me, mistress, but I know not where I am. Where are we?”

The duchess cocked her head a moment. “My dear girl…” She clapped her hands and began to speak in a different tongue. “If I am not mistaken, you are speaking an old tongue, what we today would call ‘MIddle English’, I believe.”

Bronwyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, mistress. You’re right. But where I am?”

“You’re in my parlor. How did you get here? Did the servants let you in?”

Bronwyn dropped her gaze. “I am a servant, mistress. I’m sorry, I don’t know. I was in the castle kitchen before, and then suddenly I was here. I know not how, or why.”

“Well you look famished, and I am parched. Sit, and we’ll have a spot of tea.”

Bronwyn swallowed. Sit, with a lady? “Mistress, you are most kind, but—”

“But nothing. Sit down and join me. I insist. I long for diverting conversation and you look as if you have a story to tell. Please.” The duchess gave her a pointed look.

Bronwyn sat but instantly jumped up again.

“What is wrong?” the duchess asked.

“Nothing. It’s just… The cushion. It’s so… soft.”

The duchess laughed and pulled the bell for a servant. When one entered a moment later, she said, “We’ll have tea. And whatever scones or biscuits the cook has ready, please.”

Once they were alone, Bronwyn sat, very carefully perched at the edge of the extremely comfortable sofa cushion, and faced her new acquaintance.

“I am the Duchess of Haverford. And you are?”

“Bronwyn Blakenhale, of Lincoln, mistress.”

“And what year is it, pray tell?” the duchess asked.

Bronwyn cocked her head. “Why, it’s the year eleven hundred and forty-one of course.”

“Indeed. Well. Whilst we wait for tea, do tell me your story.”

A moment later, tea arrived, and Bronwyn needed no further urging. 

“My Papa and I were in the market when a man came, a nobleman, and he placed an order for bread rolls.”

“Bread?”

“We are bakers, mistress. He wanted an expensive order. Pandemain, nice bread rolls for dinner at the castle.”

“Pandemain?”

“Made from a white flour, we sift the flour two to three times and use more expensive flour than the cheap brown. The nobles like it,” Bronwyn said.

“My word. You do not shy away from giving your opinion, do you?”

Bronwyn took that moment to sip her tea, watching her hostess closely. She said, “But… after that, trouble happened.”

The duchess paused, her cup halfway to her lips. “Oh? What? You burnt the bread?” she teased.

Bronwyn shook her head. “No, mistress. Worse. When we brought them to the castle, I spied a man messing with them, and I raised a fuss but no one believed me. Then a cook got sick, the nobleman who ordered the rolls died, and—”

“Oh my word.” The duchess set down her tea. “Do you mean to say your bread rolls killed someone?”

“Yes.” Bronwyn met the duchess’s eyes. “Poison. But it was not our fault. We weren’t trying to kill anyone.”

“So what happened?”

“The king and queen demanded to see us. They imprisoned my Papa and sent me to work in the kitchens. Now I have to solve this and find out who it was who really poisoned our rolls.”

“Surely someone else can do that. What can you possibly do?”

“I can cook, and look around, and talk to people. And bring my Papa food in prison. I have to find out who is behind this. If I don’t, they’ll hang him.”

“Oh my dear girl.” She rose. “I can feel our time together grows short. Do visit me again for tea, sometime. And best of luck.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Bronwyn rose and tried to curtsey, but was awkward, all limbs and unfamiliar footing. Her face turned pink.

“And do practice that. It may help if you work with more aristocrats.” The duchess said.

“Yes, Mistress. Farewell.” Bronwyn stepped into the shadows.

As the duchess opened the curtains of her parlor more to let the light in, Bronwyn was gone. 

Read more about the murder mystery in Winter’s Poison!

Winter’s Poison

E.L. Johnson

Bronwyn Blakenhale’s world is about to turn upside down. A young baker who wants a bit of independence from her simple life in twelfth-century Lincoln, she gets involved in courtly politics when an expensive order for bread rolls leaves one man dead at the king’s table, and all fingers point at her and her father.

With her father imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, Bronwyn is tasked by the queen to find out who poisoned the rolls and likely meant to kill the royal family. But with her father surrounded by men loyal to the opposing empress, spies afoot in the castle, and a poisoner on the loose, Bronwyn’s time is short. Now, if only she didn’t have young men like the squire Rupert to distract her.

Rupert Bothwell, the squire of a knight, has a friendly smile for everyone, including a beautiful lady at court who admires him, but he insists on walking Bronwyn home at night. Is he just being chivalrous or is there something more? But Bronwyn has more to deal with, as a childhood friend steps in to help her family’s bakery and makes it clear he doesn’t want her friendship, but her heart.

From feuding factions and turncoat knights at court to castle prisons and an invading army on the horizon, Bronwyn must find the killer and prove her father’s innocence—or lose all that she holds dear. In a world dominated by intrigue and murder, Bronwyn might just surprise everyone and prove that she is no ordinary baker.

https://www.amazon.com/Winters-Poison-Medieval-Historical-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0DTWVCYT5?ref_=ast_author_mpb

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Tea with Ellie

Her grace is expecting a visitor from the future today. 1889! Oh my. All Eleanor knows about the girl is her name, Miss Eloise de Voss, that she has recently been in France, and that her story involves some misdirected letters.

And here is Miss de Voss, stepping through the parlour door.

“Miss De Voss,” the Duchess says, “welcome. I’m glad you were able to make time in your day for me. Would you like tea, my dear? Although I hear you have just returned from France. Perhaps, like the French, you prefer coffee?”

“Tea will be lovely, Your Grace. Thank you so much for your invitation.”

“What took you to France, dear? I loved Paris back when it was still safe for people like me to travel there–back before the revolution. I don’t know if you know what’s going on in our time, but we’re not currently on friendly terms with the French.”

Eloise nodded. Of course, as a well educated young woman, she must be aware of the long war with the French. Please God it would be over soon! “What took me to France? There was an event there in our time called the Exposition Universelle. I read about it months ago–it’s a kind of World Fair. And I was just so curious, I had to go. Though I admit, I hadn’t seen anything there to compare with that mechanism of yours that made your invitation arrive in my hands in 1889. We’ve heard so much about you, Your Grace, Mother and I simply couldn’t believe it.”

The Duchess of Haverford raises an eyebrow. “How kind of you, Miss De Voss. I have no idea how it works, I must say, but a young man of my acquaintance assured me it would work. Mind you, I suspect him of being a time traveller myself. My son and I have a great interest in supporting new ideas.”

The duchess pours tea into a delicate teacup with pink roses. “I must say, the style you’re wearing is interesting. Is that the style in your time? Why, there is enough fabric at your derriere for my seamstress to make three dresses!” She chuckles to show that she is joking.

Eloise laughed with her. “Why, bustles are all the rage back….I mean, in my day.” She smiles, “Your dress is fetching, Your Grace, but you’d look fabulous in a gown like mine. May I give you my seamstress’ –Oh.” Eloise looks around the parlor. “Perhaps her ancestress is in business now. I’m sure she’d be happy to accommodate you.”

And wouldn’t that set the gossips talking! Eleanor could just imagine the astonishment on the faces of people like Sally Jersey. “I’d be happy to meet her,” she said, a noncommital answer if ever there was one. “Miss De Voss, let us turn to a more important matter. Do you have a beau? Or, even more intriguing, did you find anyone in Paris worth bringing to the altar?”

Eloise chokes on her sip. “Your Grace!” Eloise picked up her napkin, wiped her mouth and wondered if she could fan herself discretely.

The duchess smiles over her teacup. “You didn’t answer the question, Miss De Voss.”

Eloise is blushing. “As a matter of fact, I do have someone of whom I’m fond, however, I met him before I left for Paris.”

Up goes the duchess’s eyebrow again. “And he didn’t convince you to stay home?”

“He had to visit Paris, as it happened.”

“Ah!” Eleanor’s smile broadened. “I was going to ask if anything exciting happened on your journey, but you’ve already answered my question.” Would the time device work both ways, she mused. “I will expect a wedding invitation, my girl.”

Eloise wonders what that look on the duchess’ face meant. “Er? You were saying?”

The Duchess of Haverford, though, was more interested in hearing about this someone of whom Eloise was fond. “Tell us about your beau. Is he handsome?”

Eloise sighs. “He is–though the first time I saw him, I didn’t think so.” Her cheeks heat and she dips her head, hoping some loose hair would hide her embarrassment.

The Duchess laughs “So the fellow is a beast to your beauty?”

“He’s just not what I think most people would think of as being as devastatingly handsome as a lord ought to be. But I lo–” she caught herself. “ Like him.”

A knowing smile graces the Duchess’ face. “What was that I heard, Miss De Voss?”

Eloise puts down her cup. “My mother’s calling me. I’m sure that’s what you heard, Your Grace.”

“Oh, then we shouldn’t keep your loved ones waiting. Especially the young man you mentioned?”

Miss Eloise De Voss is the heroine of Letters to Ellie (The Lost Slipper Society, book 2) by Juli D. Revezzo.

Letters to Ellie

London debutant Eloise fell in love with a foreign baron who returned to Luxembourg far too soon. Unfortunately, her heart is broken when their correspondence suddenly breaks off.

After a lowly maid, Ellie, begins receiving love letters from the Luxembourg baron, she doesn’t know what to think. She is so distracted by the possibilities, she cannot see a dear neighbor’s heartfelt devotion.

When the misdirected letters are discovered at long last, will either Ellie or Eloise find happiness–or has fate dealt them both a cruel blow?

Buy links: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DV532S1D

Letters to Ellie comes out February 5.


An excerpt from Letters to Ellie:

Winifred frowned. “Lord De Voss?”

Her father paused and peered down the table at her friend. “Yes, Miss Clankton?”

“Eloise is wondering something.”

All eyes turned on her. Somehow, thanks to their scrutiny, now didn’t seem the time. Not that what she wanted was particularly personal, but a sense of exposure crept over her. She couldn’t do it. So she only smiled. “Don’t forget, you promised me a dance.”

He reached for her hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”

“She wonders about her gift,” said her brother, round-faced and chestnut-haired Jack. “I’ll bet that’s what troubles her.”

“As I said, dear, we’ll discuss it during our dance.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s a tradition we have, you see.”

“To teach our children the value of patience.” Her mother shot her a look.

Eloise cringed. “I failed at that today.”

Yes, asking right now was the wrong thing to do. Maybe your plan is a bit too ambitious. They surely won’t agree to it. Not when they had the bill for this party to consider. And your dress, and all the food.

Soon, they returned to the ballroom.

The first quadrille played and Eloise danced with a handsome gentleman. He had a fine fashion sense, if no color-sense–his coat was a dark brown with green stripes. They paused for a moment in their dance, and she found herself facing her father. He touched her cheek and stepped aside to continue his dance with the young man’s mother.

At the end of the set, Winifred approached her again. “Did I see you cross paths with your father? Did you ask him about Paris?”

Eloise drooped against a nearby oak pillar. “No. He’s far too distracted by the party and our guests. Besides, I’m not sure I should ask. He’ll say no, I’m sure of it.”

Winifred flinched backward. “My word!”

Something landed between them. “Are you all right?” Eloise peered at the floor. “What is that?”

Winifred picked it up. “It’s a pit of some sort.”

Eloise took it from her, sniffed. “It smells like plum.”

Meet Juli D. Revezzo

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Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDP0TPb32YCWAEG6Q_Hiw7g

 

 

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Tea with Belinda Westcott

The Duchess of Haverford’s waiting salon might intimidate any young lady. Bel Westcott was terrified. After the fiasco at the duchess’s venetian breakfast two years ago caused by food prepared by her own hands, she had good reason.

“Calm down, Bel. She is both wise and kind. She knows it wasn’t your fault.” Bel’s best friend Merrilyn Finchwater, ever loyal, had been there when half the ton was sickened by food prepared in Bel’s kitchen.

Bel had her doubts.

Just then, the rather stern young woman who was Her Grace’s current secretary returned. “She will see you now.” It didn’t help that she cast Bel a sympathetic glance.

Regal and dignified, in subdued silk and simple pearls, the duchess yet radiated warmth and welcome from her high-backed chair. A fine porcelain tea set, bright white with delicate lavender flowers sat on the table at her side.

“Come sit with me ladies. It is good of you to join me.”

Bel murmured thanks. Her Grace requested their preferences and made certain to satisfy the polite requirements of tea service.

“I’ve quite looked forward to speaking with you for some time, Miss Westcott. What is it that troubles you?” the duchess said.

Bel’s head jerked up from her absorption in her own slippers to gaze directly at the duchess. “I— The venetian breakfast so humiliated me. All those people ill, and your fete ruined. I can barely face you.”

“My dear! That was two years ago. And I have reason to believe it was not your fault,” Her Grace said.

“Quite right, Your Grace. Bel would never,” Merrilyn said. “Her cousin—””

“Yes, yes, Lady Finchwater, I know. The not so Honorable Cecil Hartwell had his grubby hands all over it. My son Aldridge assured me that was the case and that the miscreant was dealt with,” the duchess said.

Bel stiffened her spine. “But I bear the stigma even now.”

Her Grace studied Bel carefully. “So you do. And that ridiculous nickname follows you. Westcott Menace. What nonsense. It has recently risen again among the gossips.”

“Untruths are spreading again, Your Grace,” Merrilyninterjected. “Lady Arncastle attended the house party at Hartwell Hall and has piled story on story.”

Both women looked to Bel. She nodded firmly. “Most of the stories Lady Arncastle spreads are untrue.”

“Most.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “But not all?”

Heat crept up Bel’s neck and burned her cheeks. “There was one thing. I…”

“Poisoned Lady Sophie Gilray?” The duchess asked, brow raised imperiously.

“Never!” Bel exclaimed. “That is, I may have tainted the cocoa but it wasn’t meant for my cousin Sophie. And John, well I was mistaken in him, and I thought—”

“You thought to get your own back for what happened two years ago.” The duchess completed the thought.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess leaned forward and whispered “Good for you,” startling Bel right out of her attack of remorse. She sat back. “And I have reason to suspect things turned out well in the end.”

Merrily beamed and nudged Bel. “They certainly did. Tell her, Bel.”

Bel did better. She reached in her reticule and pulled out a card printed in formal letters, and invitation. She handed it to the duchess.

“Marriage to John Conlyn, Earl of Ridgemont! Oh well done, my dear. You may be certain I will attend.

Bel smiled then, confidently. Things truly had turned out well in the end.

Snowed by the Wallflower

By Caroline Warfield

Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?

Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s own cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.

As plain Major John Conlyn, John had sunk into a morose of dissipation when first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?

https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower

What happened at the Duchess of Haverford’s venetian breakfast? Be sure to read Jude Knight’s The Blossoming of the Wallflower to find out.

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Spotlight on Snowed by the Wallflower

Ever wondered what happened to Belinda Westcott after the debacle at the Duchess of Haverford’s garden party that appeared in my The Blossoming of the Wallflower? Then this is the book for you.

And it is, in any case, a Caroline Warfied, so you know it is going to be good!

Snowed by the Wallflower

An aggrieved Bluestocking takes revenge but misses her target. Is it possible she is also wrong about the man she loathes as well? Preorder for January 28 publication.

Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?

Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.

As plain Major John Conlyn, John had sunk into a morass of dissipation wen first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?

 

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Spotlight on Lord Appleby’s Gorgeous Imposter (Scarlet Affairs Book 3)

By Cerise DeLand

He’s the last man Viv wants to see.
Vivienne de Massé goes to Paris impersonating her oldest sister, the infamous Drury Lane actress, Charmaine Massey. Viv has a reason…and a plan to avenge the capture and death of their other sister during the Terror. Only one man can stop her.

Tate Cantrell is the only man who sees right through her.
Tate Cantrell bursts into her dressing room one night in Paris and calls Viv’s bluff. He reminds Viv she plays a role—and a dangerous game she cannot win alone.

He declares she needs him. She always has. Indeed, he’s spent the last decade helping the émigré Massé family—and falling in love with charming Viv. Now the Earl of Appleby, Tate works as a spy for Scarlett Hawthorne’s network on the Continent. He alone has the means and the connections to help her….if she’ll let him.

Haunted by their past, they’re desperate to save their future together… If they can survive those who would destroy them.

Read in Kindle Unlimited! Or buy from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1G3LRP

Scarlett Affairs
Book 1 – Lord Ashley’s Beautiful Alibi
Book 2 – Lord Ramsey’s Red-headed Ruin
Book 3 – Lord Appleby’s Gorgeous Imposter

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Spotlight on Marry Me, Marquis

Marry Me, Marquis

By Misty Urban

Desperate to avoid being forced into marriage, Leo Westrop offers his hand to Miss Lillian Gower, hoping that her antiquarian parents might smooth the way for his own archaeological dig. Lillian, a skilled illustrator, agrees to protect Leo from marriage-minded mamas in return for his help with her own publication. She’s too practical to expect the heir to a marquess would want anything more from her—but Leo turns out to be better company than she expected.

When Lillian offers Leo assistance on his expedition, their shared attraction turns into a passion that consumes them both. But with his family set against their union, what happens to their staged betrothal when feelings become all too real?

Excerpt:

“Miss Gower?” he said, and her name rang like a bell through the room.

A screech echoed in Lillian’s ears, and she hoped it wasn’t her making such a sound. She swallowed the pastille, a sour path scorching through her insides.

“I beg your pardon?”

He held her gaze steadily, and she saw his desperation writ clear. He was begging.

“Would you do me the honor—the very great honor—of accepting my suit?”

She stood frozen as he moved toward her and the crowd parted, their wondering eyes moving from him to her and back again. It was a large room, but he’d crossed it before Lillian could connect two thoughts together. All that filled her vision was the plea in his eyes.

“I’ve surprised you, I know.” He reached her. He was quite tall. He lifted her hand, sticky with the sugar coating of the pastille, and placed a kiss on the back of her glove. The print of his mouth scorched like a cooking fire.

“Miss Gower. I would have chosen more discreet circumstances, but now we all must know your answer. Will you knit your life to mine and make me the happiest of men?”

It was a trick. She saw it now. The teeth of the man trap were descending about him, and he wanted to bring her between him and descending annihilation. He was drowning, and she held the rope that could save him.

He squeezed her fingers. His grip was tight, yet oddly, he did not hurt her. It was a trap. If she stepped into the noose with him, everything she wanted for her future might disappear.

And yet, with him holding her, she was certain she would be safe.

She could read his eyes. Trust me. Help me, his eyes said.

That was her lot, was it not? Lillian the helper. Lillian the soother. Lillian the calm and steady. Lillian, the eye of the storm, who sacrificed what she needed so another might have their wish.

“Very well.” The words emerged a whisper around the pinch in her mouth. The knot in her stomach might never unravel. “Yes, Mr. Westrop, I suppose I’ll marry you.”

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/Marry-Marquess-Ladies-Least-Likely-ebook/dp/B0DG31STYG/

Website: http://www.mistyurban.com

Elsewhere: https://linktr.ee/mistyurban

Meet Misty Urban

Misty Urban is a medieval scholar, freelance editor, and college professor who likes to write stories about misbehaving women who find adventure and romance. She lives in the Midwest in a little town on a big river, where she reads and writes in the company of one handsome park ranger, two young aspiring writers, and a rather heavy collection of books.

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Spotlight on Loving Lizzie Finn

Loving Lizzie Finn

By Tamara Hughes

Lizzie Finn grew up in a brothel, and she’s reminded of that fact every day. She dreams of finding a job and becoming independent. Only then can she be free of her aunt’s disdain. First, she must find an employer who won’t turn her away because of her past.

Byron Greeley is determined to save his family’s business after Lizzie’s uncle falsifies the amount Byron owes on a loan from the bank. Determined to find proof of Teague’s perfidy, Byron slips into the banker’s house and rummages through the study only to be discovered by Lizzie, a red-haired beauty who utterly captivates him.

Byron offers Lizzie a job in exchange for information about her uncle, and because she believes her uncle is innocent, she agrees. When Teague discovers Lizzie and Byron’s growing affection, he threatens to destroy Byron and his family, insisting Byron is exploiting her. Is Teague’s warning well-founded? Are Byron’s feelings for Lizzie true, or is Byron using her for his own gain?

US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DFMQ4X1H

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Loving-Lizzie-Finn-Tamara-Hughes-ebook/dp/B0DFMQ4X1H

Excerpt from Loving Lizzie Finn

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re right on that count. I won’t let my aunt force me into anything I don’t want to do.”
He closed the distance between them. “If she gives you too much pressure, my offer still stands.”
“Your offer?”
He smiled. “You can always marry me.”
She smiled back and rolled her eyes. “My uncle would have no issue with that.”
“So what if he does?” In his heart, he wouldn’t marry anyone except Lizzie.
“Are you forgetting about the threat to your business?”
“Ah, yes, that does make things a bit more difficult. Our wedding will have to wait until after matters are settled with your uncle.”
She laughed. “Our wedding will have to wait?” She shook her head and strode closer, her gaze meeting his.
Was that challenge he saw in her eyes?
“Are you sure you want to brave all the gossip and censure that comes with me?”
When she would have moved away, he stopped her with his hands gently holding her arms. “As long as we’re together, I’d brave anything.” He grazed his lips along her cheek and felt her shiver.
The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Are you sure you know what you’re saying?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He cradled her head in his hand and angled her face toward his.

Meet Tamara Hughes

A small town girl with a big imagination, Tamara Hughes had no idea what to do with her life. After graduating from college, she moved to a big city, started a family and a job, and still struggled to find that creative outlet she craved. An avid reader of romance, she gave writing a try and became hooked on the power of exploring characters, envisioning adventures, and creating worlds. She enjoys stories with interesting twists and heroines who have the grit to surmount any obstacle, all without losing the ability to laugh. To learn more, stop by her website: www.tamarahughes.com.

You can also find her on:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/tamarahughesauth
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tamara-hughes
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tamara.hughes2/
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7738043.Tamara_Hughes
Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/author/tamarahughes

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Spotlight on The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride

By Jayne Rivers

A desperate earl. A bluestocking heiress. A marriage of convenience gone awry.

Miss Amelia Hart may have a hefty dowry, but she seems to be invisible to eligible gentlemen. When the charming and handsome Earl of Longley begins courting her, she’s baffled. Until she realizes that he’s a fortune hunter.

Amelia proposes a mutually beneficial arrangement that could prove dangerous to her heart. They wed: he gets access to her dowry, and she has the freedom she’s always dreamed of…as long as she doesn’t fall for him.

Resisting the earl’s gentle touches and kind words proves almost impossible, but Amelia knows she isn’t the type of woman to entice a man like him. Loving her new husband can only end in heartbreak.

Excerpt from The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride

Andrew studied the strange woman, intrigued. She stared back at him with wide eyes the color of the sky on a clear summer’s day. He’d been looking for her ever since speaking with her mother, but securing an invitation to meet Miss Hart had proven much simpler than actually locating the chit.

He’d never expected to find her behind the shrubbery.

“S-sir.” She straightened and smoothed her free hand down the front of her dress. Something fascinating flashed through her eyes. “I was not hiding. I was merely… rearranging the greenery.”

He chuckled, enchanted by the little liar. “There are servants for that.”

Surely, she was used to having servants around. A man as rich as her father must have dozens of them.

Miss Hart raised her pert, slightly pointed nose. “I enjoy horticulture.”

“You do?” he asked, amused.

“Yes.” She sounded very uncertain. “It is a hobby of mine.”

Entertained as he was by her falsehoods, he needed to know what she was doing over here.

He took two steps toward her, ensuring that no one would be able to overhear their conversation. “Did someone upset you?”

She sighed and squeezed those bright eyes shut, only for them to flutter open a moment later. “This”—she gestured at their surroundings—“is quite a change of pace for me. I simply needed a moment alone to gather my thoughts.”

Guilt flashed through him. While he’d never been one to get overwhelmed by social events, Ashford was, so he was familiar with how debilitating it could be. She’d sought out a few seconds of peace, and he’d intruded like a clumsy oaf.

“My apologies for the interruption. If you need a while longer, I can stand guard and ensure no one approaches.” It was the best peace offering he could think of, especially considering that he didn’t wish to alienate Miss Hart.

It was refreshing to speak with a woman who wasn’t either simpering at everything he said or too intimidated to respond.

She cocked her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I do believe it would be most improper. After all, we haven’t even been introduced.”

“Ah, but I have met your mother, and I am certain I have her blessing to introduce myself to you.” Mrs. Hart had been practically gleeful when he’d asked her about her daughter. “I’m the Earl of Longley.”

To his surprise, she cringed. “I see.”

She didn’t say anything more, and he wasn’t sure why his identity caused her distress.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, to break the silence. “Assuming this dance is not promised to someone else.”

She laughed. “I am quite sure it is, but I’m avoiding taking part.”

He grinned, relieved she was conversing with him again. “Well, what about the next one, then?”

“I suppose so.” She held out her hand for him to look at her card.

He hid his amusement as he did so. He wasn’t accustomed to young women being quite so unimpressed by him. He read the list of names on her card, his eyebrow rising. Mrs. Hart hadn’t wasted any time in thrusting her daughter at every available titled man in the room, and a few second sons as well.

The next dance already had a name scrawled beside it, but he crossed it out and added his own. Her lips parted, and a breath gusted between them.

He put a finger to his lips. “Our secret. Trust me, you don’t want to dance with Lord Brunner.”

He half expected her to protest, but instead, her mouth curved into a sly smile.

“In that case, I appreciate your assistance.”

The music ended, and he offered her his hand. “If we intend to dance, we must, unfortunately, leave the cover of your beloved shrubbery.”

She stifled a laugh. “You are absurd, my lord.”

He winked. “Better that than boring.”

Meet Jane Rivers

Jayne Rivers writes heartfelt and steamy regency romance books. She’s also a professional chocolate connoisseur, a Sarah MacLean and Julia Quinn fangirl, and has a totally healthy obsession with tea.

https://jaynerivers.com/books

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61553767020425

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Tea with the Marquess and Marchioness of Ellington

Recently, the Duchess had the pleasure of receiving James, Marquess of Ellington, and his wife, the former Edythe Cavendish. The ton was abuzz with her ladyship’s story. You see, my friends, she lost both her parents in a fatal carriage accident and became the ward of her distant cousin Prudence. For ten years, young Edythe survived her cousin’s control of both of her bank accounts, a sizable sum and attempts to eradicate any sign of her independence. She kept telling her she would be a spinster for the rest of her life. But Edythe was her father’s daughter, and if anything, a Cavendish is a survivor. There is a happy ending to this story. As a matter of fact, there are two happy endings. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Our duchess, Eleanor, has become a close friend of the couple and has invited James and Edythe to tea. Oh, wait. I believe I hear their coach arriving. Sit tight, my friends and Eleanor will find out all about their amazing story.

“James, Edythe, it’s wonderful to see you both,” Eleanor said, gesturing for them to take their seats.

As they settled, Eleanor’s gaze sharpened with curiosity. “Now, I must confess, I’ve been dying to know more about the infamous Cavendish ghost and its curse. I hear it played quite a role in your union.”

Edythe’s eyes met James’, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Indeed, it did. Though a tragic tale, it brought us together in the most unexpected way.”

James nodded, taking Edythe’s hand. “The ghost, Lord Alistair, was denied his love, Isabell. She wasn’t of the correct family. As he lay dying of a broken heart, he cursed the family and Cavendish Hall.”

Eleanor leaned in, captivated. “And how did this curse bring you two together?”

“A series of strange happenings. Mr. Hughes, the prestigious solicitor, had been searching for the heir to the Cavendish estate and fortune for some time.” Edythe held Eleanor in rapture. “Imagine, after ten years of searching, he found me.” Edythe sat back, removing her hand from Eleanor’s. “It was difficult to accept, especially with Prudence telling me terrible things.”

“It’s for me to gossip, my dear.” Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “When you were discovered, let’s just say that the way in which you had been treated by your cousin appalled many if not all of us. But enough about her, how did you and James meet?

“We met when he pulled me into a moving train that was leaving the station for Cavendish Hall. He jumped on the train and gave me his hand,” Edythe recounted. “It was quite breathtaking.”

“Oh, dear.” Eleanor was quite taken aback. “Such daring.”

James continued, “I had been documenting the Cavendish family history. As a remote relative, I was interested in finding out if the ghostly hauntings were true or simply stories told to children to keep them away. When Edythe told me she heard the ghostly music in the ballroom, I knew we were close to finding out the truth.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened, her breath held. “And how did you do it, find the truth?”

“It was a combination of things, Lord Alistair needed to know the truth about his love. Isabell hadn’t abandoned him.” James took Edythe’s hand and stared at her. Eleanor didn’t miss the love between them.

“Edythe found the secret that lifted the curse.” James chuckled. “We started our quest when Edythe learned of a missing music box. Not too long after that, she heard ghostly music box playing in the empty ballroom. That was the first time Lord Alistair appeared.”

“We danced to the music. I thought it was a dream, but he left me a small gift, his handkerchief, so I couldn’t doubt our meeting. Ultimately, it was the music box that held the answer. But it took our declaration of love for Alistair and Isabell to reconcile,” James’s voice resolute. “It was All Saints’ Day Eve, at the witching hour. At the stroke of midnight, the ghosts of Alistair and Isabell reunited, and the curse was lifted. We married soon after.”

Eleanor sat back, a smile playing on her lips. “What a remarkable tale. And to think, it led to your happily ever after.”

Edythe squeezed James’ hand, their connection undeniable. “Indeed, it did.”

Tea continued, conversations flowing easily, but the legend of the Cavendish ghost lingered in the air, a reminder of the power of true love and the mysteries that bind the past to the present.

Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you helped Lord Alistair,” she said, turning to Edythe. “And I’m thrilled that you found your James. Your story is a great adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”

Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “The two lessons I learned from your story are insightful ones. First, in life, one must take responsibility for one’s actions. Second, true love can endure time and distance.”

She hugged Elizabeth and James. “Please, you must visit me again.”

A Wraith at Midnight

When spooky manors and or ghostly specters call,
this stunning collection of haunted Historical Romance novellas
is sure to answer, leaving you breathless with ethereal, romantic tales…

Many of your favorite Historical Romance authors have come together for a collection of never-before published stories inspired by legendary hauntings and ghostly myths. A derelict old castle? A spectral lady wandering the forests? These tales will give you a chill, a thrill, and have you reading them over and over. From the moors of Devon to the ballrooms of Regency London, and far north into the Scottish Highlands, these stories will bring you wistful dreams of legendary and haunting romance. You’ve never before experience a collection like this by some of the very best authors in Historical Romance.

My Heart’s Song
by Ruth A. Casie

In the melody of a haunted past, romance unfolds, revealing a tale of love,
spirits, and a song that transcends time.

In 1850, tucked away in the heart of Northumberland, Edythe Cavendish’s life is upended by the inheritance of a manor shrouded in mystery and whispers of a bygone era. The sprawling estate, with its rolling hills and ancient woodlands, harbors secrets that echo through the manor’s corridors, watched over by the ghost of Lord Alistair, its last lord. His ghostly warnings speak of an enduring curse, a narrative of love forsaken and a legacy shrouded in darkness.

Lord James Ellington, heir to the Duke of Northumberland, shares Edythe’s passion for unraveling the past. Together, they discover a music box whose haunting melodies are intertwined with the manor’s troubled history, revealing their intertwined fates. Their journey through the archives uncovers letters and relics that draw them closer to the truth and to each other.

Yet, as the curse’s grip tightens, a near-fatal accident threatens their future, and a heated argument pushes them to the edge of despair. In their darkest hour, a hidden letter from the past holds the key to their salvation. Will Edith and James’s love prove strong enough to break the silence of centuries and herald a new beginning?

Buy Link: Amazon

Chapter One

September 12, 1850
East Coast Main Line

Miss Edythe Cavendish’s heart fluttered with a peculiar blend of trepidation and exhilaration as she boarded the train, her shoulder brushing against a gentleman’s arm in the chaos of the boarding crowd. She offered a quick, apologetic smile to the stranger whose startling summer blue eyes lingered in her mind as she settled into the velvet seat of the train compartment. A half-hour later, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the tracks echoed her own restless thoughts. Her hand instinctively reached for her reticule. She withdrew a crisp and formal letter from Mr. Hughes, the solicitor. She had read it and reread it at least one hundred times. The document informed her of an inheritance most unexpected—a manor house, no less.

The correspondence arrived three weeks ago at her cousin Prudence’s home, where she had lived for the last ten years since her parents’ passing. Mr. Hughes’s letter set off a flurry of activity. By the end of the week, preparations and farewells were set into motion. Yet, amidst the bustle, a shadow of Prudence’s discontent cloyed the air like a pall, along with vivid descriptions of a haunted decrepit house. It was clear, in the tightness of Prudence’s smiles and the sharpness of her gaze, that her cousin resented her good fortune, or was it her loss of control over the modest inheritance left to Edythe by her parents? To her relief, Mr. Hughes saw to that as well.

With her solicitor’s assurance, the house was not decrepit, and with his help, Edythe settled her affairs in London and made the necessary travel arrangements. Prudence, ever the matriarch, had deemed Edythe’s solitary journey inconceivable and insisted a seasoned chaperone was required for a young lady such as herself. As a result, Prudence condescended to go with Edythe; after all, who else would go with her? Edythe quickly reminded her while young ladies indeed needed a chaperone, spinsters, the word Prudence used to reference her, did not. So here she was, on her own, aboard the train to Sommer-by-the-Sea and Cavendish Hall.

As Edythe settled into the rhythmic sway of the train, she once again unfolded the letter from Mr. Hughes. The words “rightful and true heir to the Cavendish land and all its holdings” stood out, evidence of the solicitor’s thorough decade-long research and the unexpected turn her life was about to take.

“While the Cavendish legacy allows for female heirs, the lineage has been meticulously traced to ensure that only a direct descendant, who embodies the true spirit and virtues of the Cavendish name, can claim the estate. It appears, Miss Cavendish, that you are the first in a century to meet these stringent criteria. Furthermore,” the letter continued, “it is important for you to be aware that Cavendish Hall has been without a resident Cavendish for the past 100 years since the passing of Lord Alistair, the last recognized lord of the manor. The estate has been maintained through a trust established by your ancestors, ensuring its preservation until such time as a direct heir could be located and take rightful ownership.”

With the proof of her lineage secured within the crisp folds of the paper, Edythe felt the weight of her new responsibility — she was, indeed, the last of the Cavendish line, bound for a home she’d never known, a home waiting for her arrival.

She glanced at the empty paper cone beside her and sighed. The shrill cry of the steam whistle broke her reverie. The train slowed, and Edythe seized the opportunity to disembark briefly and get another helping of chestnuts at the provincial station. The platform bustled with life, the air filled with the scent of coal smoke and the cries of vendors hawking their wares. She exchanged a few coins for a paper cone of roasted chestnuts, the warmth a comfort against the autumn chill. As she ate her treat, she gazed out into the countryside, thoroughly enjoying the view.

As the whistle blew its warning, Edythe turned to see the train lurch forward without her.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the young man with the summer blue eyes she had brushed against in London striding toward her, concern etched on his brow. “Miss, your train!” he called out.

Panicked, her snack spilled out on the ground as she dashed toward the moving train, her boots pounding the wooden planks of the platform.

The young man leapt into action. He jumped onto the train and then extended his hand. “Quick. Grab my hand.”