Spotlight on Sunday

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Spotlight on A Most Reluctant Widow

A guarded widow. A steadfast protector. A voyage that will change them both.

Alice Ashcombe is a widow determined never to trust a charming gentleman again. After years trapped in a cold and controlling marriage in Calcutta, Alice is suddenly free—and utterly alone. With three young children to protect and a gruelling voyage to England ahead, the last thing she needs is the scrutiny of a perceptive and dangerously attractive stranger.

Simon Reeves has spent years navigating the world on family business. The guarded widow he once encountered in the East should be none of his concern. Yet when fate reunites them in Colombo, Simon finds himself unable to walk away—and drawn into a family he never expected to claim.

Trapped together on the high seas, an uneasy closeness grows between them. While Alice keeps her distance, her children have no such reservations. Before long, Simon finds himself drawn into their world in ways he never expected—and slowly breaching the walls around Alice’s carefully guarded heart.

But Simon is more than simply a merchant, and his origins are further from England than Alice could ever imagine. As they sail beneath the stars, Alice may discover that the man who saved her family carries a secret that challenges everything she believes about the world.

A Most Reluctant Widow is a slow-burn historical romance with a sci-fi twist, book 4 in the Reeves of Reeves Hall series, but it can also be enjoyed as a standalone.

Perfect for readers who love: Forced proximity voyage • Protector hero • Slow-burn with a deeply sensual payoff • Found family • Healing from a toxic past • Genre-bending romance with heart

Buy links

Please visit the book’s landing page on my website:
https://mw-author.com/a-most-reluctant-widow/

Meet the author

M.M. Wakeford lives with her husband and son in a London terraced house that gathers dust while she loses herself in her writing. A lifelong reader of romantic novels, she writes in many genres including contemporary, sci-fi and historical romance.

Her stories capture that heady feeling of falling in love, with emotionally rich characters whose journey to a happily ever after is lined with dilemmas, desire and difficult choices. If you’re looking for a page turning romance with high emotion and a good dose of spice, you’re in the right place.

To be the first to hear about new releases, sneak previews and exclusive extras, sign up for M.M. Wakeford’s mailing list at mw-author.com.

A Chance Meeting in Colombo:  An Excerpt from The Reluctant Widow

This very morning, Simon had set out to meet with a tea merchant at a teahouse near the market square. There, they had concluded their business satisfactorily, the merchant promising to have the tea delivered to Simon’s ship by morning the following day. And now, Simon was strolling down the main thoroughfare, wondering whether he should complete his journey back to the ship on foot or hire a palanquin to take him there. He did not particularly relish the idea of being carried in a wooden box by fellow human beings, despite his many months of living in Calcutta, where the practice was commonplace. No, he thought. He would walk.

He paused a moment, bending to brush away a layer of dust from the front of his trousers. As he straightened, he felt a sharp blow to his side as something—or rather someone—collided with him. A lady. Acting on instinct, he steadied himself and put out an arm to prevent her from falling.

“Oh,” she cried in alarm. He could not see her face under the bonnet she wore, as she clutched a large white handkerchief to her nose.

“Careful now,” he said, releasing her at once and stepping back. “You are not hurt, I trust?”

She shook her head, still flustered, and lowered the handkerchief. It was then that he took his first proper look at her face, and started in surprise. “Mrs Ashcombe! What in the world brings you to this place?”

She stared at him aghast, as recognition dawned. “Mr Reeves,” she replied in agitation. “I—I could ask the same of you.”

He gave a short laugh, more from surprise than amusement. “It would seem we are both having to make a stop on our journey. Was your ship one of those caught in the storm?”

“Yes, it was.” Her tone was guarded. “If you will excuse me—”

She made to pass him, and he stepped aside, glancing behind her to the shabby building from which she had come. His expression hardened. “Just a moment,” he halted her. “Mrs Ashcombe, you cannot mean to take lodgings here.”

A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “I was directed to it when I could find no other,” she replied, her voice tight. “Quite clearly, this place will not do.”

“No indeed it will not!” He cast a look of undisguised distaste at it. “This place is wholly unfit.”

“I have already determined as much,” she returned, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. “I shall simply have to seek alternative arrangements. Now, if you will excuse me—”

She broke off as his attention moved past her once more to the palanquins waiting in the road, and the children sitting inside. His mind quickly assessed the situation—and did not like what it saw.

She spoke again then, her voice quieter. “I must go now. No doubt we shall find somewhere suitable.” Her smile though, did not reach her eyes.

He considered for a brief moment, already coming to a decision. He did not like it. But there was no other choice. He could not in all conscience leave the widow to her fate in this inhospitable place. “Come with me, Mrs Ashcombe,” he said with a touch of resignation.

She looked at him sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

“My ship is anchored in the harbour,” he explained. “You and your children may rest there while I make enquiries for proper lodgings.”

“Oh no,” she said at once. “I could not think of imposing.”

“It is no imposition, I assure you.”

“No,” she replied, drawing herself up to her full height. “We are strangers, sir, and it would not at all be proper—”

“Mrs Ashcombe.” His tone took on a firmer edge. “You have already seen what is on offer here.” He inclined his head towards the ramshackle building where an unkept looking man sat watching them from the veranda. “Will you expose your children to such conditions, merely for the sake of what is proper?”

Her eyes flashed. “No, of course not, but I can hardly—” She stopped then, as the little girl in the palanquin called out fretfully to her mama. A stricken expression came over her face. For a brief instant, she closed her eyes in weary defeat. When she opened them again though, her composure had returned. “Very well,” she conceded. “Perhaps, the children may rest aboard your ship while I continue the search.”

“I will undertake that search,” he replied quickly.

“There is no need—”

“There is every need.” What an argumentative female! With barely veiled impatience, he rasped, “You cannot be expected to traverse the town in this heat, nor leave your children unattended. Pray, let us not argue the point.”

She hesitated, about to argue it, then wisely kept her counsel.

“Come,” he said more gently, and before she could object further, he placed a light hand at her elbow to guide her forward. She stiffened briefly at his touch, but she let him assist her back into the palanquin.

“You are very obliging, sir,” she murmured with a trace of reluctance.

He turned then to the lead bearer, gesturing for him to follow. He would walk on ahead, leading the way back to his ship.

“Oh, but Mr Reeves,” called out the stubborn lady from inside the palanquin. “You cannot be walking in this heat.”

He glanced towards the bearers then back to her. “If they can do it, then surely so can I,” he said flatly, then proceeded to do just so.

It was not a long journey back to the ship, no more than ten minutes, though under the beating sun, it must have been arduous work for the palanquin bearers. He made certain to pay them well on arrival at the jetty, much to Mrs Ashcombe’s dismay.

“Really, Mr Reeves, there is no need. We have inconvenienced you enough.”

He chose not to respond and turned instead to procure a boat to row them to The Resolute, which was anchored a short distance away. Then, one by one, he helped the children and Mrs Ashcombe into the boat. The young servant girl with them refused his help, looking askance at his outstretched hand and muttering under her breath about the strange sahib. He hid a smile.

Soon, they were on their way to the ship, Mrs Ashcombe sitting rigidly silent beside him, her eyes cast down. Again, he wondered about her animosity. Perhaps she was one of those females that held all men in disregard. He could think of no other reason for her hostile manner towards him. He studied her downcast face for a moment more, then glanced away. No matter. He would shortly find her some lodgings, and she would no longer be his concern.

In this, he was to be proved wrong.

 

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Spotlight on Dared by a Lyon

By Anna St. Claire

When American-born Ashlyn March reluctantly agrees to swap places with her daring heiress cousin and attend a house party during the London Season, she anticipates some awkward social moments—but not a broken carriage, an injured coach driver who’s actually a fourteen-year-old boy, and a thunderstorm that leaves her stranded at the doorstep of the most charmingly handsome man she’s ever met.

Gabriel Dawson, the Earl of Ravensthorpe, is no stranger to the games played at Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s notorious den—but nothing could have prepared him for the mysterious beauty who appears at his estate, soaked through and full of secrets. She’s clever, capable…and utterly captivating. As a gentleman, he offers her shelter. As a man, he finds it hard to keep his heart guarded.

Caught together by the storm, Ashlyn and Gabriel can’t deny the blossoming attraction between them. Even his own shadows of grief seem to lighten in her presence.

Ashlyn has always been gifted at healing others. Whether it’s a bird with a broken wing, a silent child, or a man who has lost belief in love—she gives herself generously. But the one thing she can’t give Gabriel…is the truth. Not without risking everything.

In the world of the Lyon’s Den, every game has a price…and love might be the greatest gamble.

https://www.amazon.com/Dared-Lyon-Lyons-Connected-World-ebook/dp/B0GHRC481K

Excerpt from Dared by a Lyon

Gabriel did carry his own guilt for drinking heavily after the accident. But after the first year, he’d stopped drinking himself into a stupor every night. In fact, he rarely drank anymore except around the anniversary. But rather than explaining himself, he asked, “Did you read my missive? We have been invited to a house party sponsored by Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon.”

“I’m afraid you will have to attend alone. Caro needs me here,” she said. She turned to leave but then said, “I wish you’d stay with Caro and me, here.” Her voce had a thread of frustration. “Son, it was a horrible and tragic accident. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t? For the past three years, I have been haunted by their deaths…If I had been there…” He shook his head.

“Son, you can’t know if your presence in that carriage would have saved your sister and Max or Juliet. It was a horrible accident. But it wasn’t your fault,” she said. “There were several men there, including a doctor, and they couldn’t save them.”

He nodded––logically, he knew that, but it was hard to reconcile his mind with his heart. He blew out a breath. “I realize that you think I spend all my time at the Lyon’s Den when I’m in London. Maybe that was true the first year. I drank and gambled more than I should have. However, I’ve changed that. I did visit the Lyon’s Den on this trip to London, but not to drink. While there, I met with our solicitors on Caro’s behalf. I also met a group of investors and went with them to the Lyon’s Den, mostly to find out as much as I could about some unique investment opportunities. I am serious about making certain Max’s estate grows as much as it can for Caro. As her uncle and guardian, I do this because I love her and want to protect her.”

“I understand,” the countess said softly.

The heavy brass knocker sounded at the front door and echoed upstairs to the study. Gabriel and his mother were silent for a moment as they exchanged a look.

“It’s very late,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “Who could be out at this late hour? Are you expecting someone, Mother?”

She shook her head, her eyes reflecting the worry that he, too, was feeling, for it was almost three years ago on a similar night when a tragedy killed half his family.

Without speaking, they left the study and made their way downstairs.

They arrived in the foyer just as their butler, Higgins, opened the front door. But a heavy gust of wind suddenly caught it and slammed it against the wall. Higgins caught the door in his usual unflappable manner and held it open. Welcome to Ravenswood Manor. How may we be of help?”

Two young women stood in the doorway, both bedraggled and covered in mud.

“Thank goodness someone is at home.” The younger, dark-headed woman said in a melodious voice. “Kind sir, we are in dire need of assistance. Our carriage overturned in the storm and slid down a steep hill a few miles down the road. We managed to escape with the horses and make it here, but our driver requires medical attention.”

My God, it happened again, Gabriel thought. Well, this time, he would do everything in his power to help this young woman and her servants. “I am Lord Gabriel Dawson, the Earl of Ravensthorpe, and this is my mother, Lady Elsa Dawson, the Countess of Ravensthorpe,” he said, stepping forward. “Please, come in, and let us be of assistance.”

The young woman turned toward him, and his breath hitched as he beheld her face. Exquisite… Even completely drenched and covered in mud, she was a beauty. Those eyes… He’d never seen eyes that shade of blue. Nay, not blue…but violet. And they were mesmerizing. Gabriel felt an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms, to protect her.

“Thank you, my lord, my lady’” she said breathlessly with a curtsy. “My name is Miss Elizabeth Vickers, and this is Alice, my maid. We were on our way to a house party being given my Mrs. Dove-Lyon near Bath when our horses were spooked by the storm, causing our driver to lose his hold on the reins.”

Gabriel could tell be her accent that she was not English, but American. “Higgins, please see to the driver and send one of your men to fetch Dr. Baker.”

“Yes, my lord,” the butler said, turning to the two footmen who were standing at the ready and giving them instructions.

“Miss Vickers, will you and your maid come warm yourself by the fire?” Gabriel’s mother said with a kind smile, gesturing to the drawing room down the hall.

“Thank you, my lady,” Miss Vickers said in that soft, melodious voice. She glanced at Gabriel and seemed to hesitate. Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip, and he once again felt the overwhelming urge to sweep her up in his arms. “Except I should not leave our driver,” she added, “for he is but a child of fourteen.”

“Your driver is fourteen?” Gabriel said.

Miss Vickers blushed, her expression one of distress. “I promise, we had no idea when we departed. His father was supposed to drive us…” Her voice faded, and she looked as though she were about to burst into tears. “Please, can you help him, my lord?”

“Of course we will help him,” he said just as the footmen carried the boy inside. “Please do not worry––we’ll see to everything.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she breathed, and he wished he could carry her into the drawing room himself and set her in front of the fire…

“My lady, shall I go with them?” Alice asked.

Just as Miss Vickers was about to reply, Mrs. Flinters, their housekeeper, bustled up to them. “My lord, my lady,” she said.

“Mrs. Flinters, this is Miss Elizabeth Vickers and her maid, Alice. Can you have the blue room readied? Miss Vickers, her maid, and their driver have been in a carriage accident and will be staying with us for a while,” the countess said.

“Of course, my lady.” The housekeeper smiled and directed the maid to follow her. “Come with me, child.”

Alice looked at Miss Vickers, who gave her an encouraging nod to go with Mrs. Flinters.

Gabriel knew that between Higgins and Flinters, they would do what needed to be done with their usual efficiency and kindness.

“Please, Miss Vickers, come warm yourself by the fire, and we’ll see you to your room soon,” his mother said in a gentle voice, taking the young woman by the hand and drawing her along.

Miss Vickers glanced at him over her shoulder, as though looking to him for guidance.

Something shifted inside his chest. Something he’d never felt before. “We’ll take care of everything, Miss Vickers. Please do not worry. You are safe.”

She nodded, and her lips curved into a grateful smile. She regarded him a moment more with those luminous violet eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, then turned to go with his mother.

He blew out a deep breath, as though he’d been holding it. Perhaps he had.

 

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Spotlight on The Legend Begins: Book 1 in the Forevers from Fenwick series

Ah, Fenwick On Sea! A humble village, somewhat forgotten by time. But not for long if the innkeeper has his way! Rumor of a fae blessing upon his inn is exactly what he needs to draw crowds back to the neglected village. Of course, it’s only talk. Or is it?

When an earl takes up residence on a nearby estate, Barnaby Ash thinks his task to catalogue the gentleman’s library will be a simple one. However, among the many volumes, he is intrigued to find an ancient, illustrated folio. He certainly does not expect its effect on him to be quite so alarming. Barnaby is far too sensible to believe in magic, but there is no denying that he is changing. And when he realizes someone has actually tampered with the manuscript, he is determined to unearth all its secrets.

Joy Tully, the church warden’s adventurous, outspoken, and—sigh, still-unmarried—daughter, volunteers to help Barnaby solve the mysteries surrounding the strange book. His earnest approach to everything soon wins her over. And Joy is exactly the sort of free spirit to stir Barnaby’s quiet heart.

Just in time, too. For their growing feelings are at the heart of bringing Fenwick’s Blessing of Forevers to life. Cassandra Richards, a lady’s companion of questionable birth, meets a man and his horse on a stormy afternoon, two love stories unfold. One will reveal her past and show her how to escape the attentions of a not-so-gentlemanly gentleman. The other… Well, let’s just say you’ll be hearing it from the horse’s mouth.

The Legend Begins is the first book in a new multi-author novella series by the Bluestocking Belles.

Buy links:
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Excerpt from The Legend Begins:

Rev. Taylor stepped forward, waving at Barnaby to join him. “Mr. Tully, we have a learned visitor here. He is staying up at Hill House and has made a most fascinating discovery. Show him, Mr. Ash.”

Barnaby looked around at the expectant faces. “I’d rather not open the manuscript in the garden, if you don’t mind. It’s very old and valuable.”

“Well, you’d best come in then,” said Miss Tully, throwing the door open wider for Barnaby to enter.

The crowd pushed forward to follow.

“Oy, not you lot,” cried Mr. Tully. “Just the reverend and this Mr. Ash fellow. “Me parlor ‘as just been swept. Come on in, Reverend, and wipe yer feet.”

Grumbles of protest emerged from the bystanders, but Mr. Tully was not moved. He simply ushered his unwanted guests inside and shut the door—perhaps a little more firmly than necessary.

“What’s this about a manuscript?” he said, turning to face Barnaby and glaring uncharitably at the parcel in his hands. “I’m not a scholar meself. I can keep the records well enough for the church, but I don’t know as why you’d be showing me the fancy stuff.”

Barnaby unwrapped and laid the book open upon the low table.

A gasp from Miss Tully caused him to look up. Her eyes—blue and bright—were rivetted upon the page. She leaned closer, tucking a few dark-blonde strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“You can read it?” asked Barnaby, his heart hitching into his throat.

“Oh no,” she replied, straightening again. “But the pictures are…” She searched for the right expression. “Almost other-worldly. The colors…” Her words trailed off as she gazed once more upon the page.

“Is it one of them old bibles wot the monks used to copy in olden times?” inquired Mr. Tully, seemingly curious in spite of himself.

“No,” answered Barnaby, turning the page with great care. “You see.” He gestured at the illustration of the dancing fae. “It speaks of fairies. Fairies that were sighted here, in Fenwick.”

Tully wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed. “Can’t be holding with that sort of nonsense. I’m a God-fearing man, I am. Why do you bring this into my home, Reverend?” He looked up at the clergyman, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not one of them types who muddles up Scripture with the Old Ways, are ye?”

“Certainly not!” The young vicar’s habitual smile melted clean away. “I merely hope to help Mr. Ash here solve something of a mystery.”

“A mystery?” Miss Tully’s eyes shone up at Barnaby. “What sort of mystery?”

Meet Elizabeth

Elizabeth Donne’s writing is a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature. Although she has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa, she now lives in the American Midwest, where she enthusiastically introduces her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course.

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Spotlight on “Duke and Destiny” in Dukes in Spring

When Cassandra Richards, a lady’s companion of questionable birth, meets a man and his horse on a stormy afternoon, two love stories unfold. One will reveal her past and show her how to escape the attentions of a not-so-gentlemanly gentleman. The other… Well, let’s just say you’ll be hearing it from the horse’s mouth.

Excerpt from “Duke and Destiny”:

The rainstorm had arrived, unannounced. Duke was drenched. The sporadic clouds had been whipped together by a strong wind, which had also appeared with no warning. Rain poured from the heavens onto Duke’s back, running down in rivulets along the hairs of his legs. It was the same for his man, who sat huddled upon the wagon, his great coat shut tight against the weather, his hat drooping under the onslaught of so much water upon it.

But onward they must. They had promised a delivery to Chadwick Hall, and Master Reid took his role as farmer very seriously. Besides, it was barely a mile to go now. They were already soaked. It couldn’t get any worse.

As if the storm would say otherwise, a bolt of lightning tore through the darkened sky, splitting and arcing in two fierce spears, one cracking a branch free from a nearby tree, the other triggering a scream a short distance behind them.

Duke would perhaps have let out a cry in shock too, but the sight of a mare tearing past them at great speed startled him doubly, so that he came to a complete stop to gather himself in silence.

From out of the moody purple air came a call.

“Help!”

It wasn’t very loud. Certainly, it struggled to be heard against the backdrop of the thunder and downpour that dominated the scene.

“Help!” came the call again. A little closer this time.

Duke’s man jumped from his seat, crying, “Whoa!”, which Duke thought rather unnecessary, as he hadn’t moved a muscle since they had stopped.

The sound of Master Reid’s running feet splashing through muddy puddles was largely ignored by Duke. He merely waited patiently, despite the rain’s attempt to soak him beyond his already saturated state. Duke was a very steady sort of fellow. He worked hard. He ate well. He enjoyed the company of others. It was a simple life. Which was why he barely shifted his weight while Master Reid charged off back down the road.

It wasn’t long before his man returned with company. Duke did not even have to turn his head to know from the perfume that the new human person was of the mare persuasion. Yet even in the rain, he could smell another, more familiar scent. The huge muscles in his shoulders flexed as he bent his neck to the side, breathed more deeply, and concentrated.

Willow. The scent was unmistakable. It was imprinted upon him. He raised his chin and neighed into the distance, as if Willow—for it must have been she who had bolted past them a minute ago—could hear him.

“Steady on there,” said Master Reid kindly, misunderstanding his call. “We’ll get you to shelter soon.”

With the young, dark-haired woman now seated next to Duke’s man, they set off again, Master Reid talking in low, reassuring tones to her as he would to Duke if he had had a fright.

They had barely covered a hundred yards when a horse came racing down the road toward them with some fellow on his back. At the sight of the young woman on the wagon, the man pulled at the reins, the smell of relief rolling off him in dense waves.

“Miss Richards!” the man shouted over the noise of the storm. “You’re safe! When I saw your horse come back alone, I was so worried!”

“You’re the groom from Chadwick Hall, aren’t you?” asked Master Reid. When the man nodded, Master Reid did the same, adding, “I’ll bring Miss Richards to the house. Got a delivery to make there, anyway. Tell a maid to ready a warm blanket and a bowl of hot water for the young lady’s feet.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble, Shelton,” said the young woman. “Willow surprised me with her enthusiasm to be off. It was not my intention to leave you behind. I had barely gained control of her when the storm broke. Then she was just as eager to be home again. Unfortunately, a lightning strike deepened her enthusiasm to return, and I was promptly unseated. Only a bit of a bruise on my rump to show for it, though.”

Duke liked her voice. She did not fight against the elements by shouting as the groom had done. She spoke clearly and her words carried well enough to those who were right beside her. The worst of her misadventure behind her, she was calming already, her heartbeat slowing.

“Glad to hear it, miss,” said the groom. He hesitated. He looked at Master Reid and the young lady.

Humans were so complicated. They always worried that pairs of them would get up to natural activities if they were left alone. As if that were such a bad thing. Well, they weren’t alone. Duke was there, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as if Master Reid would have his way with the young woman in the storm. Even horses knew better than to risk being struck by lightning for a bit of play.

Meet Elizabeth Donne

Elizabeth Donne’s writing is a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature. Although she has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa, she now lives in the American Midwest, where she enthusiastically introduces her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course.

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Spotlight on Her Beast in Brighton

What if the beast you are running from is your prince charming?

When Lady Calliope Turner opens a candle shop in Brighton, all she wants is to escape her wicked stepmother, two vile stepsisters, and a plot to marry her off. She never dreamed she would witness a crime one night on her way to meet her merchant. What’s a woman to do? Run away, of course! And pray she never gets caught. Only, in her haste, she not only draws notice, but she loses a very damning slipper.

Maxen Fury, one of the seven bastard sons of the Duke of Crane, also known as the ruthless beast of Brighton’s underworld, rules his territories with an iron fist. His only goal is simple: to build an empire with his brothers so powerful that they never have to beg, bargain, or bleed again. But when a secret meeting goes awry and his newest tenant proves to be bright, defiant, and far more dangerous than she appears, Maxen finds himself facing the most inconvenient complication of his life.

As suspicion ignites into fascination and danger closes in, Calliope must decide whether she can trust the very man who hunts her . . . and Maxen must confront the one thing he never planned for—a woman who dares to see the man beneath the monster.

Can a man forged in darkness learn to protect the light he wants to claim? Or will his world devour her first?

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/Her-Beast-Brighton-Historical-Bastards-ebook/dp/B0GRX8NSL1

Meet Tanya Wilde

Award-Winning and Bestselling author Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper soon followed after she devoured all of their historical romance books!

When she’s not meddling in the lives of her characters or pondering names for her imaginary big, white greyhound, she’s off on adventures with her partner in crime.

Wilde lives in a town at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains, South Africa.

 

Author Website

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Spotlight on backlist The Darkness Within

To save her, he must lose her

Ever since he escaped his childhood abuser, Max has killed for a living—first as a sniper and assassin in the war against Napoleon, and later ridding the world of those whose power on those around them allowed them to commit evil without fear of punishment.

The dead burden what is left of his soul, and he wants to retire, and kill no more. When a search for a missing comrade takes him into a religious community, he feels as if he has found a home for the first time in his life.

But there are cracks in the innocent surface the village shows its visitors. Max discovers hints at what lies beneath even as he falls for Serenity, who has recently been appointed Goddess-Elect, the designated virgin to take her place as three-month wife of the community’s leader, the Incarnate One.

The secrets of the community are worse than the secrets that burden Max’s soul. They put Serenity and others in dreadful danger. To save her, he must lose her, for if he draws on his hard-won skills, she will recoil from the darkness of his soul.

More about The Darkness Within

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Spotlight on An Unpitied Sacrifice

When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.” Edmund Burke

Brought together by war, Valeria Izquierdos and Harry Redepenning had only a few short months as a couple before the war parted them again.

That war is long over when she brings a group of war brides and children to England. Her friends seek their soldier husbands. Valeria wants to find Harry or, if Harry’s long silence means he is dead, his father. Her eldest child deserves to know his English family.

Harry has never forgotten, or ceased to mourn, the warrior wife he married in the midst of war, and lost to a French ambush years ago. His courtship of a suitable wife is a practical matter, not involving the heart that has been numb since Valeria’s death.

The Redepenning family greet Valeria with suspicion, but when Harry joyously confirms her identity, they welcome her and her children with open arms—not just Kiko, whose Redepenning eyes mark him as Harry’s son, but also the daughter she adopted and the younger son who origins she has disclosed only to Harry.

But as Valeria, Harry, and the children begin living as a family, another, private, war looms before them. The lady who had been smugly awaiting Harry’s proposal is less than pleased with the couple’s reunion. She and her parents set out to destroy Valeria’s reputation, and find willing accomplices.

An old foe of the Redepennings has combined forces with a man who blames Valeria for his brother’s death, and who wants Valeria’s youngest child. A rival of Harry’s from the army would be glad to hurt Harry however he can. These enemies will stop at nothing to destroy not only Harry and Valeria, but also their family.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GNNV18BP

https://books2read.com/u/479JAA

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Spotlight on Temptress and the Lyon

A woman on the brink of ruin. A man risen from the grave. A marriage neither of them planned, but both may die for.

Twelve years ago, Alyssia Prudence Whitcombe lost the man she was promised to marry since birth and learned how swiftly hearts can be broken. Now, with scandal snapping at her heels and her family’s future at risk, she makes a desperate choice: She will find a stranger to wed at the most dangerous gaming hell in London. A marriage of necessity. A contract. Nothing more.

She never expects that stranger to be Giles Bishop, the boy she once loved, the heir thought dead, the man who vanished without a trace.

Theodore Giles Bishop has spent years in the shadows, waiting for the moment he can reclaim the life that was stolen from him. Hardened by exile and secrecy, he means to bide his time, until he spies Alyssia standing in the Lyon’s Den, wagering her future with breathtaking courage. He makes a reckless choice: He will win her hand or die trying.

But some choices open old wounds.

Can love reclaimed be stronger than love lost? Or will the shadows that once tore them apart claim them both again?

 

Meet Tanya Wilde

Award-Winning and International Bestselling author Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper soon followed after she devoured all of their historical romance books!

When she’s not meddling in the lives of her characters or pondering names for her imaginary big, white greyhound, she’s off on adventures with her partner in crime.

Wilde lives in a town at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains, South Africa.

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Spotlight on The Night Dancers

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GFY9FDMJ

Certain that the Marquess of Teign is behind her cousin’s disappearance, investigator Melody Blackmore enters his mansion disguised as a man. Tasked with discovering how Teign’s sons are leaving their tower prison or having food and other items brought in, she soon realizes that the sons are also the marquess’s victims. As her interest in the eldest of the brothers grows, she joins them all in a campaign to bring Teign down.

Allan Sheppard, the Earl of Kemble, is the eldest of Teign’s ten sons. He is weighed down by his frequent failures to protect his brothers from Teign’s beatings and abuse, but determined to keep them as safe as he can until his youngest brother is no longer under Teign’s guardianship.

All they must to do is fool the most recent investigator sent to find out their secrets. But Mel Black is not like the others, and Allan finds that an alliance with her gives the brothers the chance to not only survive, but to thrive.

However, Teign will stop at nothing to punish his sons for escaping him. Only Allan’s and Melody’s growing commitment to one another keeps them steadfast as they uncover evidence of evil beyond imagining.

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Backlist Spotlight on A Baron for Becky

Currently on sale at $1.99:  https://books2read.com/ABaronforBecky

An unlikely knight errant not dressed to slay dragons

Aldridge never did find out how he came to be naked, alone, and sleeping in the small summerhouse in the garden of a country cottage. His last memory of the night before had him twenty miles away, and—although not dressed—in a comfortable bed, and in company.

The first time he woke, he had no idea how far he’d come, but the moonlight was bright enough to show him half-trellised window openings, and an archway leading down a short flight of steps into a garden. A house loomed a few hundred feet distant, a dark shape against the star-bright sky. But getting up was too much trouble, particularly with a headache that hung inches above him, threatening to split his head if he moved. The cushioned bench on which he lay invited him to shut his eyes and go back to sleep. Time enough to find out where he was in the morning.

When he woke again, he was facing away from the archway entrance, and someone was behind him. Silence now, but in his memory, the sound of light footsteps shifting the stones on the path outside, followed by twin intakes of breath as the walkers saw him.

One of them spoke; a woman’s voice, but low—almost husky. “Sarah, go back to the first rosebush and watch the house.”

“Yes, Mama.” High and light. A child’s voice.

Aldridge waited until he heard the child dance lightly down the steps and away along the path, then shifted his weight slightly letting his body roll over till he was lying on his back.

He waited for the exclamation of shock, but none came. Carefully—he wanted to observe her before he let her know he was awake, and anyway, any sudden movement might start up the hammers above his eye sockets—he cracked open his lids, masking his eyes with his lashes.

He could see more than he expected. The woman was using a shuttered lantern to examine him, starting at his feet. She paused for a long time when she reached his morning salute and it grew even prouder. Then she swept her light up his torso so quickly he barely had time to slam his lids shut before the light reached and lingered over his face.

She was just a vague shadow behind the light. He held himself still while she completed her examination, which she did with a snort of disgust. Not the reaction to which he was accustomed.

“Now what do we do?” she muttered. “Perhaps if Sarah and I…? I will have to cover him. What on earth is he doing here? And like that? Not that it matters. Unless he has something to do with Perry? Or the men he said would come?” Incipient panic showed in the rising pitch and volume, until she rebuked herself. “Stop it.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Stay calm. You must think.”

Aldridge risked opening his eyes a mere slit, and was rewarded by a better look at the woman as she paced up and down the summerhouse, in the light of the lantern she’d placed on one of the window ledges.

Spectacular. That was the only appropriate word. Hair that looked black in the poor light, but was probably dark brown, porcelain skin currently flushed with agitation, a heart-shaped face and a perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth, the lower lip—which she was currently chewing—larger than the upper.

The redingote she wore fit closely to a shape of amazing promise, obscured, then disclosed, as the shawl over her shoulders swung with her movements. Even more blood surged to his ever-hopeful member. “Down, boy,” he told it, silently.

“Mama?” That was the little girl, returning down the path. “Mama, I can hear horses.”

The woman froze, every line of her screaming alarm.

Aldridge could hear them too, coming closer through the rustling noises of the night. The quiet clop of walking horses, the riders exchanging a word or two, then nothing. They must have stopped on the other side of the house.

“Sarah.” The woman’s voice, pitched to carry only as far as her daughter’s ears, retreated as she crossed the summerhouse. “Sarah, we must go quickly.”

“But, Mama! The escape baskets!” the girl protested.

“I dare not wake the man, my love. He might stop us.”

Aldridge responded to the fear in her voice. “I won’t stop you. I am not a danger to you.” The woman turned to a statue at his voice, her hand on the framework of the arched entrance, as if she would fall without support. He swung himself upright, wincing as the headache closed its vice around his skull. Though he slitted his eyes against the pain, he kept them open just enough.

“Mama?” The girl’s fearful voice released the woman from her freeze, and she moved to block the child’s sight of him. “Sarah. Watch the house. Do not turn around until I say.”

Eyes open, he could confirm his initial assessment as she spun to face him. Spectacular. Then she shone the lantern straight on him, and he flinched from the light. “Not in my eyes, please. I have such a head.”

She made that same disgusted sound again, then stripped the shawl from her shoulders and tossed it to him, taking care to stay out of arms’ reach.

“Please cover yourself, Sir.”

Aldridge stood warily, and made a kilt of the shawl—a long rectangle that wrapped his waist several times and covered him from waist to thigh. “I beg your pardon for my attire, Mrs…” he invited.

But she was ignoring him. While he’d been tucking in the soft wool of the shawl, so it would hold securely, she’d crossed the summerhouse again and lifted the lid of the bench, tipping the cushions onto the floor, pulling various bundles, baskets, and packages from the recess.

“Mama!” The child sounded panicked. “They are in the house.”

Aldridge, headache forgotten, moved to a better vantage. Yes. Lights moving through the darkened house. And the men were not bothering to be silent, either, calling to one another as they searched swiftly and methodically: the ground floor, then the next, then the attics.

A rustle and chink came from the other end of the garden, then an eldritch groan that cut through his head like a knife.

“The gate!” The woman’s eyes were wide and fearful. Yes, complaining hinges would make that noise, and clearly frightened her more than any unnatural denizen of the night.

“Sarah, come to me.”

At the woman’s soft command, the child brushed past Aldridge and rushed right into the woman’s arms, wrapping herself around her mother’s waist. She was a small thing, not quite short enough to fit under the curve of her mother’s breasts. The delicate features, a miniature of her mother’s, showed fear and a quite adult determination. Aldridge had little experience of children but she was much the size of his cousin’s stepdaughter, who was six or seven.

The woman was holding something against the child’s temple. In a swift movement, he was almost on her, but he held himself apart, afraid of frightening her into pulling the trigger of the small pistol.

Outside, a rough voice spoke in the kind of argot he’d learned when slumming in St Giles. “Keep by t’prads, I’ll see ’tis all bob. I’ll crash the culls if uns’ve banged that Rose.” “Wait with the horses,” he understood the man to say. “I’ll see that all is well at the house. I’ll kill the men if they’ve raped that Rose.” Heavy footsteps retreating down the path. If they were quiet, they could talk.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, keeping his voice low enough to carry no further than her ears.

Her whisper was even lower, and he had to strain to hear. “Praying they will pass us by. For the love of all you hold holy, don’t give us away!”

“You cannot mean to hurt your child.”

“Better death at my hands than what they have planned for her,” the woman hissed. Her free hand, the one around the girl’s shoulders, returned the frantic hug, patting and soothing even as the other hand held the little pistol firmly in place.

“Better we all live,” he retorted.