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Spotlight on Lord Ramsey’s Red-Headed Ruin

Book 3 in Scarlett Affairs is available now!

Lord Ramsey’s Red-Headed Ruin

By Cerise DeLand

It’s dangerous to be an honest woman.
Torture to be the man who loves her.
Amber St. Antoine flees Paris—and her role to spy on Bonaparte.
Ramsey must find her and keep her safe.
But the lady objects.
Stubborn, defiant and stunningly beautiful, Amber accepts Ram’s protection…even as she refuses to leave France.
What’s a man to do, if he’s determined to save her from herself…and is foiled at every turn?
Is he a fool to believe that love conquers all?
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Spotlight on A Duke at the Door

Who’s afraid of the wild duke?

Alwyn Ap Lewin, Duke of Llewellyn, swears he’ll never shift into his lion Shape for as long as he lives. He spent decades as a captive in a traveling menagerie, and he won’t risk being caged again. But the longer he denies his other half, the more his health declines, and the farther he hides himself away. The denizens of Lowell Close live in fear and suspicion of the mysterious duke—except for lady apothecary Tabitha Barrington.

After traveling the Continent for years, Tabitha is struggling to settle in Lowell Close and the prince regent’s insistence she care for the sullen duke only adds to the tension. By treating him as she would anyone else—and not as though he needs special attention—Tabitha begins to gain the duke’s very reluctant interest. And the more Alwyn sees both Tabitha’s gifts for helping everyone in the village as well as her kind and courageous heart, the more he realizes that he has something to live for after all.

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An excerpt from A DUKE AT THE DOOR

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Note: The word versipellian relates to versipellis, which is Latin for ‘two skins’; it is how the Shapeshifters refer to themselves.

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Lady apothecary Miss Tabitha Barrington sets out to search for healing herbs in the park of her new home, Lowell Hall. Who knows what else she might find…

Once she and Timothy settled in the cottage, Tabitha sent His Grace several notes via eager footmen, of which Lowell had an inordinate amount. She hesitated to knock upon the ducal door, as humble as it was, but if the part of the park she now wandered brought her near to Llewellyn’s sanctuary, then what of it? She had yet to investigate this particular grove—who knew what she would find?

Today, she found a duke.

A rustle in the shrubbery alerted Tabitha to his presence, and the rising sun cast just enough light through the trees to reveal Llewellyn’s shadow. “Your Grace.” Would she curtsy in the middle of a wood? No, she would not. “Good morning.”

His husky voice rumbled from the perimeter. “You ought not to wander without thought to what lurks on this land.”

That would be you, she thought. Lurking. “It is a paradox.” She set down her trug and took stock of the place. “For even though the beings here are dangerous to humans, this may be the safest place on earth. Or one of them. I do not know if this is typical of versipellian culture, to bring together a variety of species to live as one…” She trailed off at the sight of—was that—oh! Digitalis! She slid her shears out of a pocket and reached to stroke the bell of the nearest plant.

“Do not!” the duke very nearly shouted, his vocal cords not equal to the strain.

Tabitha snipped off a stalk of the foxglove before laying it in the trug. “It is only somewhat poisonous.”

“Under prolonged contact, it is more than somewhat.”

“I am taking only one. Two.” She hummed in consideration. “Three at the most.”

“You ought to wear gloves.” His eyesight was all it was vaunted to be if he could tell in this low light.

“They interfere with my perception.”

“Of what.” Another rustle, this time from her right side. Goodness, he was fast.

“The health of the plant, the state of the soil…” She balked at admitting the fanciful notion that she could feel effectiveness or otherwise from what she touched and chose two more blooms.

A rumble of disagreement issued from between the leaves. “Gloves made of lambskin would suit.”

“The porousness of kid would defeat the purpose.” Tabitha set one last stalk into her trug.

“A trowel, then, for the love of Palu.” His Grace moved fully into the glade, dressed this morning like a common laborer, in a formless coat and a muslin shirt hanging outside his trousers.

“A blunt instrument?”

“You may gauge the plant by eye and then touch the soil.”

“Why should I uproot it, if it is not useful?”

“You may return it to its place! With the trowel!”

Tabitha could not stop herself: she smiled at him. How masculine he sounded in that moment, how like a man, exasperated at what he surely thought was feminine obstreperousness. He looked incredulous and irritated and…alive. She’d pat him on the cheek if she didn’t think he’d snarl or run off. Or…or bite her. Instead, she asked, “Who is Palu?” and turned away; he appeared to be discomfited by prolonged observance.

“A Welsh cat of legend, a goddess attached to my homeplace who protects those in her care from danger. What are you going to do with that plant?”

She would ask Timothy if he knew anything about Welsh mythological cats. “It is, of course, helpful for congested hearts. But an Italian apothecary showed me that the merest pinch in chamomile tea is a gentle purgative.”

“I cannot believe even the smallest amount of poison is safe.”

“Neither did I, until I witnessed how effective it was.”

“Witnessed.”

“Yes. Saw the results of its efficacy.”

“Tried it yourself, I wager.” This was delivered in a tone that had a lightness to it, perhaps of laughter?

“I cannot ask anyone to ingest something I would not.” Tabitha was staunch in this viewpoint. “It was enough work earning the trust of others thanks to perceptions of the weakness of my gender.”

“Others.” His voice came from the opposite side of the grove. His nimbleness was truly astonishing. How swift would he be at full strength? “Men.”

“Men, yes. And certain women. Some ladies preferred my counsel to that of a male physician, but many more would hear my advice and then allow a man to negate it. It was a waste of everyone’s time, mine and theirs.”

“The healing goddesses of the Celts are fierce. One does not call upon them for aid unless one is willing to be transformed utterly.” The duke had moved again, swifter than thought, and stepped farther into the light. “Ceridwen is one such, and we felines also call upon the Egyptian pantheon, and thus, Sekhmet.”

“How fascinating. So many gods and goddesses to invoke.”

“Gods and goddesses, indifferent to my dilemma—” He cut himself off, visibly appalled at what he had almost admitted.

She would lose him if she pursued that line of thought. “The wolves follow the Romans, whom my brother Timothy says borrowed their pantheon and the terms for the pack hierarchy from the Greeks.”

“Stole them, more like. Although, in truth, many on this island descend from ancient Rome. The wolves will do anything to hold sway.”

“And by the Duke of Lowell doing so, many are safe under his aegis.”

“As you and your brother are safe.” The duke canted his head, assessing her. “You do not strike me as one who seeks safety.”

“Who does not seek safety?”

“One who casually imbibes poison,” he mumbled.

Meet Susanna Allen

Susanna’s latest series, The Shapeshifters of the Beau Monde, also includes A Wolf in Duke’s Clothing, first in the series and A Most Unusual Duke, the beloved middle child.

Writing as Susan Conley, she is the author of two contemporary novels with Irish interest: Drama Queen and The Fidelity Project, both published by Headline UK; That Magic Mischief, a contemporary paranormal romance originally published by Crimson Romance, relaunched with Ally Press in September 2021.

Her memoir, Many Brave Fools: A Story of Addiction, Dysfunction, Codependency… and Horses is published by Trafalgar Square Books and recounts the growth and insights she acquired after having taken up horse riding as an adult, post-divorce.

She was born in New Jersey and is currently resident in Ireland.

Susanna Tweets and Instas and TikToks @SusannaAWriter, Facebooks at https://www.facebook.com/SusannaAWriter, and maintains a presence on BookBub and Goodreads. Follow her, if you are so inclined!

 

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Spotlight on The Lyon’s Share

The Lyon’s Share

She’d spend every last penny to marry again for security, comfort—or even friendship.

He’d win her wager, possess her, keep her for himself—even if he’d never win her love.

Adriana, Lady Benton, has many regrets—and one hope. To wed a good man to gain a life to which she is entitled. One free of sorrow, penury and ridicule. Appealing to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Adriana hopes to attract one man who may appreciate her assets. But never need her love.

Colonel Sidney Wolf, once hailed as the ruthless ‘Hound of the Horse Guards’, vows to end Adriana’s hardships. He’s home from the wars and faces the daunting task of filling his father’s role as the Earl of Middlethorpe. Believing only Adriana will do as his helpmate, he strikes a deal with Dove-Lyon that brings him the one woman he admires. The one woman he tells himself he can live with—and never touch.

But the nearness of his funny, charming, beautiful bride drives him mad. Knowing she will never love other than her first husband, can he keep his hands—and his heart to himself?

And if he doesn’t, can she ever forgive him?

Buy Link:   https://amzn.to/3bc6ri3

Excerpt

(Their wedding night in London.)

All rights reserved. Copyright Cerise DeLand 2022.

That night in the upstairs hall, she squeezed his hand and thanked him once more for the peace and comfort of their wedding day. With a tender smile borne of hours in companionship walking the appointments of the house, meeting the remaining staff and sharing the light supper, Sidney told her to sleep well. “I have two surprises for you tomorrow. You’ll need your rest.”

Tumbling though her ran a wild impulse to kiss his cheek. “Marvelous! I do love surprises. What are they?”

He shook his head. “They are not for the telling!”

She chuckled. “Shall I arise early? Dawn? Noon? Are we here at home? And what do I wear?”

“Take your leisure at it all. I will adjust to you, my dear.”

She liked how he slipped into the small endearments that made them seem like a normal couple who were meant for more than the mere illusion of intimacy.

“Wonderful. I will be up at dawn!”

He stood before her, his brown-black eyes flashing in the light of candles in the sconces—but he stepped back. “Good night then.”

She smiled and quickly turned away to thrust open her door. She closed it swiftly and fell back against it. Before her was her sitting room and bedroom. Beyond was her dressing room and boudoir. All hers, more than she’d ever expected to acquire or enjoy. All were so well appointed, but even at that, as Sidney had told her, they were furnished in fashions decades old.

“Change them all,” he’d encouraged her hours earlier on his tour. “Whatever you like. The rooms were last done when my mother was alive and much is frayed and dusty. Cost is not a matter of concern. You need not rush as we shall not entertain here for months.”

“I will begin by choosing fabrics. Planning other elements. When do you think we will return?”

“I have so much to do at the estate that I doubt we will come back until spring. Does that suit you?”

A question of whether her little house would be sold soon flashed through her. She would have to come to town to pay Dove-Lyon. “It does.”

“Good. I want you to be comfortable and happy.” He had caught her sudden reticence. “Something concerns you. What is it?”

“The house in West Drayton. I hope it will be sold by spring.” The sooner I pay Mrs. Dove-Lyon the remainder of her fee, the better.

“It’s charming. I’m sure it will sell soon.”

His assurance soothed her worry and so, for a countless time, she thanked him for his largesse. Scrimping was what she did well. Practice had made perfect. With little, she had kept her tiny house clean and bright. With copper pots she scrubbed and numerous shawls and coverlets she knit, she’d dressed up the kitchen and the small parlor. She’d changed Paul’s lap blanket every day. A new color to keep him appraised of the day of the week. A little reminder that today was a new day, another day that he lived. Little had he cared, but she had. She had. Because to give in to his brown study was to follow him into the hole he preferred and she dare not give up on herself, lest they both die of despair.

She inhaled. That was yesterday. Gone, now. And in the place of that, my girl, you have this. This time. This redemption. This man.

This house.

And his generosity.

In studied deliberation, she gazed upon the heavy sky blue damask draperies, the Alençon lace curtains beneath, the fine mahogany deal tables, the plush settees and Axminster carpet. They were all accommodations that he had so sweetly given her, and even agreed to all her stipulations, too. She clutched her arms as, like an avalanche, she felt the freefall of all the deprivations she had not given him. She was happy, very much so—and he, virile man that he was, had so many reasons not to be.

She was selfish, unable to be a proper wife.

He went to his bedchamber alone. A bridegroom. Gallant, determined, daring. A leader of men. A legend in his own time. A man robust, hearty and…alive.

In that moment of self-criticism when she knew what she owed him, what he should have and what she had forbidden him to have of her, she ached to be his good and willing wife.

She went to bed alone. It was what she had planned.

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Spotlight on How to Get Away with Marriage/i>

 

The most wanted rogue in London…

Hugh Cavendish—mischievous rogue extraordinaire—has been declared one of the season’s most eligible bachelors. The new title does not sit well with him…nor does the news that a former flame has announced her intent to “catch” him before the season is through.

Determined to buy himself a temporary reprieve, Hugh conscripts a simple school miss into playing the role of his fiancée. What a lark!

This was not the kind of solution she had in mind…

Beatrice “Triss” Weston is a simple, practical young woman, who does not believe in putting up with nonsensical games—like the one proposed by this smooth-talking rogue. No respectable young lady would agree to such a bizarre offer, but desperate times call for desperate measures. As Beatrice is forced to give up her position as a teacher, accepting employ as part of Hugh’s sham becomes her only option.

Courting more than scandal…

But as Triss’s complicated past catches up with her, their ruse becomes a more shocking adventure than either of them could ever have anticipated. As Hugh’s faux fiancée’s secrets come to light, he faces a momentous decision: accept Triss for who she truly is or allow the woman he has fallen in love with to walk out of his life forever.

Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/How-Get-Away-Marriage-Engagement-ebook/dp/B09DXJPSSZ/

EXCERPT

“Pay her no mind, Triss,” Polly said, nudging her.

“Hmm?” Triss said, not turning.

The young woman Hugh was speaking with was not at all what she had expected.

Edith Carr was stunning. Certainly not a woman whose appearance could have ever served as a hinderance to marriage.

Why, even from across the park, Triss felt as if there was no comparison between Miss Carr and any other woman in London.

Miss Carr was hard to look at. Impossibly hard to look away from.

Hugh seemed entranced by her. He had not turned around since walking over. He had even kissed her hand. Taken it, palm up, pressed his lips to it, bowed over it. Triss had never seen a man kiss an unmarried woman’s hand before—yet Edith had presented it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps he had always greeted her so—with a tender kiss of lips.

She shivered.

Edith was looking at her—quite covertly. One might think she was not looking at all, but Triss was quite sure she was.

Miss Carr’s expression was radiantly happy—as if Hugh was brought her great pleasure by his arrival before her. Yet as she looked over his head, across the green lawn at Triss, there was ice in her eyes.

Triss felt quite sure the young woman hated her. Hated her without even knowing her.

“Triss,” Polly said, more sharply. “Ignore her. You’re giving her exactly what she wants.”

Triss forced herself to look away.

“She is clever,” Polly said, sounding disgusted. “Sending her lapdog over here to fetch Hugh. Of course, Hart would do whatever she told him to. He’s been in love with her himself for so long that she hardly sees him as a man at all.”

“Pragmatic type, Hart,” Reggie said, thoughtfully, speaking up for one of the first times that afternoon.

Triss and Polly looked at him quizzically.

“He knows she won’t look twice at him, but he can’t bear not to be near her,” Reggie explained. “Not a lapdog. More of a dog with a bone. He’ll never let go of Edith until he knows he well and truly has lost every chance.” He nodded towards Hugh. “Perhaps his luck is turning now that Hugh is out of the picture.”

“Perhaps,” Polly said, giving Reggie a considering look. “You sound as if you sympathize.”

“Oh, I do,” Reggie assured her. “With Hart? Of course. He knows what he wants, and he won’t give up the dream of it. Even after years of… well…”

“Being abused and ignored?” Polly suggested, with a wry smile.

Reggie nodded.

Polly was nudging Triss. “Oh, look.”

But before Triss turned back in Hugh’s direction, she caught a wistful expression on Reggie’s face.

It was there one moment, then gone the next, but she was fairly sure she knew what it meant.

Triss looked out to where the young queen stood over Hugh and with a shock saw he was looking at her and not Edith. When he caught her eye, he smiled wider and waved a hand.

After a moment of hesitation, she returned the smile and the gesture.

Beside her, Polly crowed. “Oh, good for Hugh. Now he’s done it. Edith shan’t have liked that one bit. Oh, just look at her face.”

Polly frowned, then added, “But Triss, this reminds me of one thing. We must take you shopping. Tomorrow. To my modiste. Coincidentally, she is the same one Edith used to frequent. We must see about getting you more… well, stylish clothes. So that you feel more comfortable. More confident. Please, remember Edith has nothing you do not. Absolutely nothing. So, spare her no mind.”

It was a lie, but Triss appreciated the words nonetheless.

In fact, however, Triss had a great many things Edith did not—but none of them were particularly worth having.

All were things which could undo her.

Things which would make it infinitely evident that Triss Weston could never inhabit the same world as a diamond of a girl like Miss Edith Carr.

She turned away and did not permit herself to look at Hugh with Edith again.

Meet Fenna Edgewood

Fenna Edgewood is an award-winning retired academic turned high-school English teacher turned author who writes swoon-worthy humorous stories of love, family, and adventure. In other words, the most important things in life! Fenna has lived and traveled across North America. After six years in the Arctic, she now resides on the Canadian Prairies with her husband and two tiny tots (who are adorable but generally terrible research assistants). For a FREE book from Fenna, sign up for her newsletter: https://fennaedgewood.com/newsletter/

And be sure to follow her on Bookbub for the latest deals! https://www.bookbub.com/authors/fenna-edgewood

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An unexpected hero – My review of The Forgotten Daughter

Seven years ago, I was lucky enough to read across Dangerous Works. I was gripped by Caroline Warfield’s writing style, her characterisation, her plotting, her gentle sense of humour, and the sense that she understood human nature. So when the rest of the Dangerous books arrived, I devoured them all, and discovered something else that made Warfield a one-click automatic preorder author for me.

That discovery has been confirmed in each of the novels, novellas, and short stories to follow. Each of Warfield’s characters, and especially her heroes, is a unique individual. There’s comfort in authors who always write heroes of a particular type. The warrior, protective of his own feelings and of the heroine when he finally falls for her. The rake, drowning his sorrows in wine, women and song until love makes him strong enough to face his fears. The reader knows what to expect, and the best authors make us love him and look forward to his next incarnation in the next book.

Reading Warfield is an adventure. The scholar. The broken warrior intent on suicide by alcohol. The arrogant duke who manipulates people—for their own good. The kind family man. And that’s just the first four books.

The Forgotten Daughter, book 3 in The Ashmead Heirs has, perhaps, the best hero yet.

Eli Benson, steward to the Earl of Clarion, has spent the last few years cleaning up the mess left by his employer’s horrible father and also putting the earl’s estate—neglected by the old man and ravaged by his widow—to rights. He is known as the man who fixes things, but is nobody’s idea of a hero, especially his own.

Frances Hancock is the illegitimate daughter left out of the will in which the old earl sought to punish his legitimate family by leaving everything not entailed to his bastards.

Can Eli fix it? He can, or will die trying.

I fell in love with this unexpected hero. So did Fanny. I’m willing to bet that you will, too. Read The Forgotten Daughter. Read The Ashmead Heirs. Read everything Warfield writes. You’ll be glad you did.

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Spotlight on The Wayward Son

Hurrah!

The Wayward Son is being published this coming week. On, as it happens, my birthday. And what a birthday treat it is! Rob returns reluctantly to his home village and finds problems that only he can solve and a resolution to the problem that sent him fleeing many years earlier. He is a hero to die for. Strong, determined, loyal, patient and loving. And Lucy deserves him.

I am a great fan of Caroline Warfield and look forward to everything she writes, and she never disappoints. She always gives us a strong flavour of real history, a hero and heroine who deserve one another, serious problems with real villains who need to be conquered, families who love (but don’t always understand) one another, and–above all–a truly satisfying love story.

The Wayward Son, the first book in The Ashmead Heirs, is no exception. It thrills and satisfies.  Thank you, Caroline.

The Wayward Son

Rob Benson returns to Ashmead reluctantly, determined to stay briefly. He never expects a shocking bequest and a termagant with flashing eyes—and a musket—to bind him to the place. Lucy Whitaker wants what she can’t have, Willowbrook. If she must turn it over to the heir, she can at least make sure he loves it and its people like she does.  His life is London; hers is Ashmead. How can they forge something lasting when they are torn in two directions?

Click to order https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09484DC1D/

The Ashmead Heirs

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicates the lives of many in the village of Ashmead. One of them grew believing he was the innkeeper’s son.

Can hardly wait for The Defiant Daughter. I know it’s finished, and off to the editor soon. Looking forward to one-clicking it for October.

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Spotlight on Lady Constantine and the Sins of Lord Kilgore

Congratulations to Julie Johnstone, on the publication of her new book.

Lady Constantine and the Sins of Lord Kilgore

Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts, Book 3

By Julie Johnstone

In the game of love, even a rogue can come undone by his own wicked wager.

Callum, the Marquess of Kilgore, long ago accepted that he was no saint. So when he’s offered a shameful bet—to seduce the lady some have dubbed the “Ice Queen” and recover the land he foolishly gambled away—he agrees. Yet, as he comes to know Lady Constantine, he realizes this kind and pure woman deserves far better than a reprobate like himself. Now, he would do anything to protect her from the scandal he helped create, even ruthlessly pushing her away. It seems he hasn’t fallen quite as far into sin as he thought…

But a brush with death and an unexpected offer of a marriage of convenience from Constantine provides an opportunity he never anticipated: recoup his squandered fortune and win back the woman he loves. But before Callum can launch his new plan, a heinous plot rips him away, snatching his freedom and destroying any trace of the man who wanted to open his heart.

Constantine hasn’t a clue what to do when the man she loved, hated, and mourned returns from the dead. Though she is still legally his wife, she certainly doesn’t know him anymore—if she ever did. The seemingly unrepentant rogue appears focused solely on revenge, no matter the destruction it may cause—a far cry from the complex man of honor she once believed him to be. Yet, despite the pain of the past and the demons of the present, Callum still holds the power to inexorably fill her with a yearning and a hope she can hardly control. Suddenly, Constantine wants to risk her heart again for the one thing she has always longed for from the only man she ever cared for—exquisite, unconquerable love.

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Lady-Constantine-Kilgore-Scottish-Scoundrels-ebook/dp/B08MH7RQKM

Meet Julie Johnstone

Julie Johnstone is a USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling author. Scottish historical romance, Regency historical romance, and historical time travel romance featuring highlanders, aristocrats, and modern-day bad billionaire bad boys are her love, and she enjoys creating both with a hefty dose of twists, plenty of heartstring tugs, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Her books have been dubbed “fabulously entertaining and engaging,” making readers cry, laugh, and swoon. Johnstone lives in Alabama with her very own lowlander husband, her two children – the heir and the spare, her snobby cat, and her perpetually happy dog.

In her spare time she enjoys way too much coffee balanced by hot yoga, reading, and traveling.

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Spotlight on Earl of Shefford

Congratulation to Anna St. Claire on the publication of Earl of Shefford.

Earl of Shefford

Wicked Earls Club, book #28

By Anna St. Claire

Releases 2/16/2021

Colin, Earl of Shefford visits a building he won, having determined its address to be an excellent location for a new club. Discovering not only a fully functioning orphanage but a beautiful headmistress, who refuses his offer of an alternative establishment, he suffers a pique of temper. Irritated by her immunity to his charms, he foolishly succumbs to his intense attraction and brashly offers her a choice. Either she must accept him in a marriage of convenience or provide proof that the orphanage has value to him.

Impoverished and needing to restore her fortunes, Miss Honoria Mason despises the members of the ton for their extravagance and blames them for her family’s loss of home and fortune. Nora’s life takes a turn when the handsome Lord Shefford becomes the orphanage’s landlord. Either she proves the orphanage’s worth to him in two weeks or becomes his convenient bride in order that he may produce an heir. She refuses to lose the orphanage she has worked so hard to preserve and so accepts his offer to marry.

Sparks fly as proximity forces them together, the better to know each other. Yet, how may romance overcome such hazardous beginnings when resentment has stacked the dice against them?

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Shefford-Noble-Hearts-Wicked-ebook/dp/B08GJDTLQL

BN – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/earl-of-shefford-anna-st-claire/1137596286?ean=2940162961482

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/earl-of-shefford

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55296151

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/earl-of-shefford-noble-hearts-series-book-three-wicked-earls-club-28-by-anna-st-claire-and-wicked-earls-club

Read an excerpt:

Finally! Here was a chance to set the wheels in motion for the fencing club he and his brother had talked about for years. Winning this building had become a prompt in his mind to make it happen. He would have the building renovated to his brother’s specifications and Jonathan would run it. He was the expert in the duello. Their father had encouraged the skill, often sparring with his sons. Colin considered himself more than proficient at the art of fencing; however, Jonathan’s skill was far beyond mere competence. He almost equaled the legendary Angelo.

Besides, Colin reasoned, he was much too busy to run a club. He had taken the bet on faith, being previously unaware of the building’s existence, let alone having knowledge of its condition. Upon reflection, there had been little—if not naught—trustworthy about Wilford Whitton. The nasty knife wound in his own arm, that was still in danger of infection, was proof of that. However, he could no longer tolerate staring at the four walls of his room.

Still involved with the Crown, and now with his estate, Colin found fencing an excellent way of releasing pent up emotion and helping him to feel bobbish. He felt sure this entertainment would also be a welcome diversion within his set at the Wicked Earl’s Club. The gentlemen met almost nightly, and no matter the requirement for amusement, the club could, for the most part, meet it. As yet, it had not provided a fencing saloon.

The sport itself had diminished somewhat in status, overtaken by the popularity of shooting; however, it remained an effective and punishing method of defense that, if vigorously practiced, kept a gentleman’s body at peak performance.

Caught up in the excitement of his thoughts, he picked up his cane and whipped it into a parry at an imaginary opponent—only to be immediately reminded of the stitches he had received only two days ago.

His arm ached, and that Whitton had caused it pricked his pride. He should have been more careful, expecting something from the man. He pulled out his pocket watch, mindful that Bergen and Lord Morray were meeting with him soon.

Where was Joseph? His valet was taking an inordinate amount of time to find a suitable coat. He fingered the frilled cuffs of his shirt distractedly. The man had pursed his lips anxiously when the bandage around Colin’s upper arm did not easily fit inside the brown wool coat he had chosen for today and had hurried from the room, muttering about fetching one with a better fit. Some minutes earlier, he had informed Colin that his black coat had been returned, repaired by his tailor. Presumably, therefore, the man had gone to fetch the garment.

Colin turned his head at the slight knock at the door. “Come in.”

“My lord, I apologize for the delay. I took the liberty of remeasuring the arm openings, in order to compare them with the brown coat. They are just as required and should provide room for your injury. It has also been cleaned.”

“God’s teeth, man! I was wondering where you had gone. I had hoped to view an investment before meeting with my brother.” Colin stretched his arms into the sleeves as Joseph fussed with the shoulders. “It looks better than new. Thank you, Joseph,” he acknowledged in a milder tone. The black coat would suit for what he needed to do today.

Joseph was the grandson of his father’s valet and had proven himself more than capable. The man had become indispensable in the three years he had been in his service.

“Mr. Weston has attached a new sleeve,” Joseph responded abstractedly, still twitching with the back.

Colin wanted to set out. “Have the footman summon my carriage to be brought around, if you will.”

“I anticipated your need, my lord. The carriage is already at the front, awaiting your convenience,” Joseph said, smiling. “Lord Bergen has arrived and is waiting in the drawing room.”

“Your ability to predict my requirements never ceases to amaze me, Joseph.”

“It is merely a part of my duties, my lord. I apologize for not considering the need to accommodate your bandage.”

“Think naught of it,” Colin responded, suddenly feeling guilty about the way he had spoken to the young valet. The lanky young man that shadowed his grandfather in those last years of the older man’s service had matured into a fine young man. Tall, with blond hair, broad shoulders, and bright blue eyes, he was a favorite among Colin’s staff. Surprisingly, it was more for his willingness to help anyone that needed an extra pair of hands than his masculine stature. “Thank you, Joseph.”

Humming to himself, Colin grabbed his cane and joined his friend downstairs. Adam Beaumont, the Earl of Morray had not yet arrived. The Earl was the one gentleman in Colin’s set he had counted upon to give him a realistic idea of the popularity of the venture he had in mind. He was not only a friend, but a frequent sparring partner at Jackson’s Saloon. His opinion on both the location and the popularity of the investment meant a great deal to Colin.

Less than an hour later, his coachman pulled the town chariot into a short, circular drive. Colin and his two friends stepped out of the carriage and stared up at a three-story, faded pink building surrounded by iron railings on a corner, north-east of Mayfair. Russell Square was a respectable if not fashionable neighborhood, yet not considered a dangerous one. He did not wish customers to be set upon by riff-raff. He found it was close enough to his prospective clients, while far enough removed for discretion. The location pleased him.

“Not a bad locality,” he remarked, hoping to spur his friends’ opinions. An instant later, he thought he saw movement in a window and squinted. Are those curtains? It looks inhabited. According to Whitton, this was supposed to be an empty building.

“I thought you had mentioned the building being empty. Unless my eyes deceive me, I saw a woman’s face—a rather charming woman’s face—in that upper window,” Morray said, pointing to the large second-floor window, centrally placed above the door.

“Then I was not seeing things,” Colin retorted in some chagrin. He regarded Bergen, who stood next to him, smiling, having not uttered a word.

Colin prompted Bergen with a slight nudge of his elbow. “He said the building was empty, did he not?” he queried.

“He did. However, he also tried to weasel out of the bet. I am thinking the reasons he failed to share are currently residing in that building, and she has no notion she is being evicted. Unless my memory fails me, this used to be an orphanage before it closed some years ago.” He eyed his friends. “Could it be that it has become so again? I say we should meet the young woman inside and find out. I would like to have a complete story to share with Elizabeth when I return home.” He laughed sardonically.

Colin tried to be irritated with his friend, but he could lay nothing at Bergen’s feet. In fact, he almost envied his friend. Bergen was happily married—something he could never achieve himself. He was uncertain he was even ready to consider marriage at this time. Thomas Bergen had married Lady Elizabeth Newton over five years ago, after discovering her living a quiet but remarkable life, caring for her children and abandoned animals. He had brought her an orphaned donkey he had found while on the way to London, having heard she adopted strays of all types. The donkey, Clarence, had found a home and his friend had found a wife he had not been seeking. Besides the three children she had already adopted, they had twins of their own—a boy and a girl. Lucky fellow, he thought irrationally.

“I cannot see the humor here,” Colin said, irritated. This created a whole new wrinkle in his quest to help his brother. He pulled out the deed and glanced first at a brass sign attached to the railings and then back to the deed. “We have the right of it. Shall we find out what more there is to this story?” It incensed him to be caught like a flat through accepting a chance wager.

“You should probably determine the legitimacy of the paper he gave you,” Morray added in a droll tone. “Yet we are here. I propose we meet the chit and find out what we can.”

Morray was always willing to meet the chit, Colin thought miserably. “She occupies my property and is not grist for your mill, Morray. This may very well be an orphanage.” Even to his own ear, he sounded testy. Perhaps it was the combination of being injured and swindled. He had thought things might not be as Whitton represented, and rather than follow his intuition, he succumbed to the lure of the game. Winning the building presented a suitable solution to his and Jonathan’s desire to honor their father.

Morray snorted. “Ownership remains to be seen, but fear not, my fine fellow. You know innocent ladies are not to my taste. I prefer, shall I say, a more savage entertainment. Your young woman is safe.”

“She is not my woman,” Colin snapped.

“I say, Shefford, you are letting this become bothersome. I have found that the biggest surprises can sometimes turn out to be the best ones. I, for one, am eager to meet the face behind the curtain.” Morray jerked his head toward the same curtain which had moved earlier, revealing a lovely face framed by soft, blonde ringlets staring down at the three of them.

The large oak door at the top of the steps had recently been rubbed down, most likely to prepare for a fresh coat of paint. Colin took in the neatened appearance of the portico and lifted the plain brass knocker to announce their presence. Less than a minute later, a small hatch above the knocker slid open and an older woman’s face appeared for a moment before the opening closed and the door opened.

“Good day, my lords. May I be of help?” A short, mob-capped woman stood at the door, filling the opening.

“I am Lord Shefford, and I wish to look over my recently acquired property. I must admit to being somewhat startled to find the house occupied,” Colin began.

“Oh, dear! Beg pardon, my lord.” The short woman closed the door.

“I say, did you just get the door closed in your face?” Bergen gibed.

“Stubble it, Bergen.” He lifted the knocker and gave three quick raps.

“I am sorry, Shefford. I should not be fooling at your expense.” Bergen smirked, putting the lie to his apology. “’Tis just that this reminds me a little of my first meeting with Elizabeth. I think I am merely amused by the coincidence.”

“This has no similarity to when you met your wife, I assure you. I am not meeting my future wife,” he grumbled as the door opened again. The older woman had disappeared, replaced by a beautiful young woman dressed in a plain cotton dress of a deep navy-blue color, covered with a white apron. She had golden blonde hair, bound neatly in a loose chignon, and chocolate brown eyes—eyes a man could lose himself in. “May I speak with your employer, my dear,” Colin said politely.

“Good day, my lords.” She bobbed a curtsey. “My name is Miss Mason and I am the headmistress here. Please forgive my housekeeper’s lack of deference.” She paused, smiling sweetly. “We are unaccustomed to having many visitors, especially gentlemen as distinguished as yourselves. Have you come to make a donation to the school?”

Meet Anna St. Claire

Anna St. Claire is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.

Anna is both an avid reader author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their  two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often inserts them into her books as secondary characters.

Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.

As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked. She read every historical romance that came her way and dreams of writing her own historical romances took seed.

Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history. She would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—annastclaireauthor@gmail.com, Instagram – annastclaire_author, BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire,Twitter – @1AnnaStClaire, Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire/ or on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF?ref=.

by

Spotlight on Earl of Kendall

Congratulations to Madeline Martin on the publication of Earl of Kendal, a novel in the Wicked Earls Club series.

HE HAS A REPUTATION FOR BEING A SCOUNDREL…
Adolphus Merrick, Earl of Kendal, has a past he isn’t proud of, one that could have seen him hanged. Now the gaming hell owner of Mercy’s Door has an even greater secret, one he is so determined to protect that he’ll even do the unthinkable: get married. For a man who doesn’t trust easily, his alluring intended has a way of breaking through his guard and edging into his heart.

SHE IS A BIT OF A HOYDEN…
Lady Sophia Stopford lives her life to the fullest. At least, she did until her father insists that she wed one of his colleagues. She’ll do anything to get out of marrying, including escaping for a thrilling new venture. However, the very man who gave her the idea is now insisting that she return to London as his wife. And while she wants to resist, her attraction to the enigmatic Earl of Kendal has her curiosity piqued and her desire aflame.

TOGETHER THEY WILL CAUSE QUITE THE SCANDAL…
From ballrooms to gaming hells and into the wilds of Scotland, two people who don’t want marriage but can’t seem to resist one another will tumble headlong into an adventure that will change everything. When danger lurks and realities become bleak, can the spark of passion light their way? Or will love and hope be eternally lost to them both?

Amazon – BN – Apple Books – Kobo

Excerpt

In addition to unfeeling, Kendal had been called many other things over the years. A rogue. A thief. An ingrate. Mostly by his mother.

But never had he been called “boring”.

A hint of a smile pulled at his lips.

If only Lady Sophia knew…

A bustle of movement caught his attention. Rich blue silk with a set of eyes to match, long red curls and an overly pleased smile. He took a step back from Lady Bursbury’s path, but his back touched the wall behind him. His stomach tugged a little lower with dread.

There was nowhere else to go.

Not with her fixing him with an unwavering focus.

Bloody hell.

“Lord Kendal,” she said with obvious delight. “What a joy to see you here.”

“Indeed,” he offered dryly.

A glance around the room revealed several opportunities for escape. There was the Duke of Stedton and Lord Hesterton chatting together. Lord Morrey was standing alone, which was as dangerous a situation as the one Kendal now found himself in. And Lord Oakhurst, who had long since removed his golden “W” pin after his marriage to Lady Bursbury’s eldest daughter and his voluntary resignation from the Wicked Earls’ Club, was with his wife and would offer no reprieve.

There was nothing for it, Kendal would have to allow Lady Bursbury to engage him in whatever scheme was afoot.

“There is no escape,” she said pleasantly.

“I’m well aware.”

She batted her eyes. “I’m sure you recall our previous conversations about Lady Sophia Stopford, my lovely young niece.”

How could he forget when she’d approached him regularly since Lady Sophia’s coming out?

“Indeed,” he replied coolly.

Nancy studied her fan. “As it were, she is currently in need of a suitor.”

His gaze wandered toward a small crowd of men surrounding Lady Sophia. “I believe she is hardly in need.”

“Well, ‘in need’ being that she hasn’t found the right one.”

“Please don’t tell me you still think I am.” He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing how much she knew of his involvement with Lord Gullsville. That would explain her persistence on this matter. But would the man truly have confessed his dire financial straits to Lady Bursbury? Though she was his sister-in-law through marriage, surely he wouldn’t—

“Yes, of course, you are the man I think would suit her.” Lady Bursbury snapped her wrist delicately, and a blue silk fan unfurled. “I’m so glad we’re of the same mind after all this time.” She waved it before her face, sending her red curls billowing backward.

“We aren’t.” He squared his shoulders so she would see, as well as hear, his determination. “I have no intention to wed.”

Lady Bursbury stopped mid-fan and blinked up at Kendal. “But you’re an earl.”

“With a reputation that I doubt you want your niece associated with.”

Lady Bursbury gave a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re a better man than all that. You don’t have me fooled, and you know as well as I do that marriage is inevitable for any titled noble.” Her fan snapped closed, and she tapped him lightly on the forearm with it. “Simply keep her in mind is all I ask. You can’t deny she’s beautiful.”

With that, she sailed away, leaving those last words in his mind as she no doubt was off to make some other chap miserable with her matchmaking schemes. Kendal nearly breathed a sigh of relief, except Lady Sophia made her way toward him with the same determined stride as her aunt.

Heaven help him.

Lady Bursbury had not been wrong when she’d said he couldn’t deny her niece’s beauty. With wide blue eyes and a ready smile revealing her straight, white teeth, Sophia was absolutely lovely.

Sophia stopped in front of him, tilted her head and gave a little laugh. “You look as though you fear I might hit you on the head and drag you off to a chapel.”

He offered a tight smile. “That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

She laughed again.

Evidently, he was not that boring if he could elicit not one laugh from her, but two. Not that he cared. Because he didn’t.

“I should like to apologize for my aunt.” Candlelight played off Lady Sophia’s honey-colored hair as she spoke. The style was not as elaborate as she usually wore it. Likewise, her gown appeared equally as simple. Absent such frippery, her own natural beauty was able to shine through.

“It’s hardly the first time she’s approached me.” He slid her an intentional stare. “You needn’t worry that you cause offense when it comes to men who are boring.”

Her cheeks colored with a pretty blush. “I’m terribly sorry. I only meant you don’t dance or flirt.” She grimaced somewhat, albeit in a delicate, ladylike fashion, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere but there at that moment. “You aren’t boring if one listens to gossip.”

He bit back a smile at her apparent discomfort. Because he did dance. And he did flirt. He just hadn’t cause to do either in some time.

“Gossip?” He lifted a brow. “Pray, tell me what do they say about me.”

Her gaze flitted to the gold “W” nestled in the center of his cream-colored cravat. She licked her lips, an innocent and unintentional slow tease of her tongue. “That you’re wicked.”

He leaned closer, hoping to intimidate her into leaving. “And how do you feel about wicked men?”

Sophia centered the focus of those large blue eyes on him. “Intrigued.”

Meet Madeline

Madeline Martin is a USA TODAY Bestselling author of Scottish set historical romance novels filled with twists and turns, adventure, steamy romance, empowered heroines and the men who are strong enough to love them.

She lives a glitter-filled life in Jacksonville, Florida with her two daughters (known collectively as the minions) and a man so wonderful he’s been dubbed Mr. Awesome. She loves Disney, Nutella, cat videos and goats dressed up in pajamas. She also loves to travel and attributes her love of history to having spent most of her childhood as an Army brat in Germany.

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