It’s Christmas in July, with more than 75 historical romance books, many of them Christmas and romance-themed, available for the whole month. Go to https://books.bookfunnel.com/christmasinjulyhistrom/hzdhbid0cm to see the books and join the fun.
My offering is If Mistletoe Could Tell Tales, which contains six Christmas themed stories.
Is the wrong brother the right man?
Marian Lyle, the vicar’s daughter, has a talent for sewing and a memory for details. Give her something to memorise or sew, and she’s sharp as a pin. But when it comes to understanding men.… She’s hopeless!
Marian’s ready heart tells her that newcomer Jonas Talbot is more than a fair-weather friend, he might be the man she can say “yes” to. But just when Marian is expecting a marriage proposal, Jonas disappears from Cherrybrook unannounced, leaving her hurt and confused.
When Jonas’s curmudgeonly brother John arrives to discover his brother’s whereabouts, he finds that Jonas has apparently won the affections of naive Miss Lyle. Well and good, for if Jonas marries her, it might save the Talbot family from another scandal it can ill afford. But soon John begins to doubt the wisdom of insisting upon the match for Marian’s sake…. and maybe even his own.
When threads are untangled and truths are told, which brother is the right brother, and what will come of summer love?
… a stranger stood before them with all the friendliness of an executioner awaiting his next job. The sunlight was pouring in through a window behind the man and she could not make out his features at all, only that he was stocky and stood with his arms crossed menacingly.
“Which of you is Miss Lyle?” he barked.
From behind the looming silhouette, Marian was relieved to hear Mr. Jennings’ solicitous voice, “Miss Lyle, Esther, do come in! Mr. Talbot, step aside.”
Marian’s hand flew to her mouth and she stifled a gasp. Esther grabbed at her arm painfully.
The uncongenial human door block stepped aside, and the ladies pressed into the room giving him ample berth, their eyes wide.
While Mr. Jennings was hurrying from his cluttered desk with his hand extended in welcome, the door closed behind them with a shocking slam.
Mr. Jennings did his best to make them comfortable in two soft chairs that were in the corner of the paneled room, and only after Marian concluded that Esther looked none the worse for the shock, did she dare to study the stranger who no longer appeared as a frightening dark shape against the sunlight.
This Mr. Talbot was nothing like the Mr. Talbot she knew.
Delighted to add story-crafting to her life adventures, Charlotte is fortunate to have experienced many rather ordinary, wonderful things like mothering, wife-ing (should be a verb), reading, traveling, and gardening as well as an extraordinary art education which carried her and her family to Italy for a couple of years.
As life got busier she took a hiatus from fiction in favor of lots and lots of art books. Fortunately, that all changed one particularly dreary January day when her husband brought home a genre romance novel to cheer her up.
She began reading stories again (funny how one can find the time), and soon discovered a desire to write her own.
Her books have been described as having “light, flowing prose” with “well-developed characters” who often engage in “witty” dialogue. She would never claim to have the mastery of Austen, Heyer or L. M. Montgomery, but those beloved authors are her guiding lights.
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Hurrah! Chaos Come Again, the first novel in Lion’s Zoo, is out in the wild! Released 20 June.
Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite.
Their lovemaking that night had an edge of feverish desperation, but by morning Lion had woken in a more philosophical frame of mind. “Perhaps the earl did me a favour,” he said, when she asked him how he was. She had woken in his arms, as she had every night since Gretna Green.
“How so?” she asked.
“He would never have let me go into the army had I been named his heir when I was a boy.” His smile was grim. “Or he would have asked for me to be given the most dangerous assignments so I was removed from the way of those with purer blood. Either way, the career I have had is my own.”
He rolled her, then, so she lay flat on the bed with him above her, his legs stretched between hers, his weight held on his elbows. “But I have cheated you, Dorothea. You thought yourself safe from marriage to a nobleman, and now look!”
“You are still my Lionel, and I am your Dorothea,” she reminded him. “For your sake, I will make the best of it.” She had puzzled it out for herself last night, while Lion was pacing the room, despairing over the loss of his military career. Indeed, he had lost more than her, since the earl’s heir she had inadvertently married was the man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life, whereas he would have to leave the army when his grandfather died.
Not before, he had insisted last night.
“But won’t the earl want us to stay now that he has named you his heir?” she had said.
The corners of his mouth had quirked in a wicked smile. “He has no say in where I go and what I do. I do not need his money, and nor does he have influence that will remove me from my post.”
So they were still bound for Portugal, and Dorothea was glad of it; glad of a year or two to become accustomed to marriage before they had to face the duties neither of them wanted.
Lion kissed her nose. “Are you tired of travelling? Would you like a few days rest before we leave for Portugal?”
“You are anxious to get back,” Dorothea said.
He kissed her again, a soft brush of his lips to the top of her head. “I am asking what you want,” he pointed out.
Whatever you want. But he would not accept that answer. “I would be delighted to leave Father behind, and to start our real life together.”
“Good,” said Lion. “Enough talking. All I want from you in the next half hour, wife of mine, are moans, the word more, and perhaps my name.”
And he made it so.
I have followed Miranda de Courtenay’s quest for a title since she first appeared in her sister Grace’s story, in the Bluestocking Belles collection Holly & Hopeful Hearts. I wondered how Sherry Ewing was going to redeem her, for she was, beyond question, a brat. But Sherry did it, in this lovely story, where Miranda at last faces the reality that she has been seeking the wrong goal. I adore the man who taught her to want more, and I love the woman Miranda becomes. Read this book!
A de Courtenay Novella (Book Three)
By Sherry Ewing
Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady. But when a handsome stranger crosses her path at a Valentine’s Day ball, her obsession with titles dims. Might love be enough?
Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball. He has a new ship to run, passengers to book, and cargo to deliver. But one look into a young lady’s beautiful hazel eyes, and he becomes lost. Does love at first sight really exist?
Their paths continue to cross until they are both stranded in Fenwick on Sea. Their growing connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s childish quest for a title at all cost. But what if the cost includes love?
Released on 21 April. Preorder now through Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4XDrva
She was not sure what to expect. Being outside alone with a man she did not know was a bold move. If she needed reinforcements, she could easily call out for help, but that would hardly do her reputation any good. It had barely recovered from her last scheme. Society’s memory was short, remembering scandals only until something new came along for them to gossip about—or until something happened to remind them. She couldn’t afford to give them new fodder to chew on.
She could not resist. Miranda took the remaining few steps until she stood next to him, and he rose to his full height, his hair tousled by the evening breeze. She suppressed the urge to push back the lock of hair across his brow that refused to stay in place. Oh my, but the man was tall!
Miranda did not even realize she offered him her hand until he leaned down and kissed the air between her knuckles. His fingers were warm even through the silk of her gloves. How would they feel if her hand was bare? Good heavens! What was coming over her?
“Mademoiselle,” he whispered in a husky French accent, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. His voice was utterly divine!
“Miranda,” she said offering only her first name. It was hardly appropriate, but she did not wish to see his disinterest when he learned she was a “Miss” and not a “Lady”.
Although it might not matter. Many gentlemen present this evening were on the lookout for a well-dowered heiress to enrich their estate. The man before her could be one of them. Even though she could not attach “lady” to her name, she was still wealthy in her own right… or would be when she finally wed.
Love had nothing to do with what really mattered in life—marriage to a husband within the nobility, one with enough wealth to keep her and her children in luxury. Not for her a boring life as a country matron, with nothing to do or to talk about beyond counting sheets and breeding children. She wanted a glittering life as a Society hostess! It would be an adventure. Or so she had always thought, and she would not allow her heart to rule her head.
She bit her bottom lip before she realized she had done so. The man before her could not know it was an automatic reaction when she was worried. She watched his brow arch in surprise before a grin turned up at the corner of his lips.
“Jasper,” he finally replied in return, examining her reaction to his touch. “The evening has become brighter now that you have joined me for a breath of fresh air. Look how the stars above beam in approval that they may gaze down upon you.”
Miranda’s lips twitched at the compliment. Very nice, though she sensed that he used this phrase often. She realized he still held her fingertips and she reluctantly pulled them away before waving her hand towards the crowd inside.
Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page!
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A fallen woman, she dreams of landing on her feet, until unexpected news threatens disaster
Becky is the envy of the courtesans of the demi-monde — the indulged mistress of the wealthy and charismatic Marquis of Aldridge. But she dreams of a normal life; one in which her daughter can have a future that does not depend on beauty, sex, and the whims of a man.
Finding herself with child, she hesitates to tell Aldridge. Will he cast her off, send her away, or keep her and condemn another child to this uncertain shadow world?
The devil-may-care face Hugh shows to the world hides a desperate sorrow; a sorrow he tries to drown with drink and riotous living. His years at war haunt him, but even more, he doesn’t want to think about the illness that robbed him of the ability to father a son. When he dies, his barony will die with him. His title will fall into abeyance, and his estate will be scooped up by the Crown.
When Aldridge surprises them both with a daring proposition, they do not expect love to be part of the bargain.
This was the book that introduced the Marquis of Aldridge to my readers.
When Orion Drakos was told that not only was a mysterious lady in the grove, but that she lived there, he knew that he must investigate, even though she was likely the imagination of a child. After all, Nightshade Manor had been in his family for generations so certainly he would know if someone was living there. What he learns, however, is that the lady isn’t the only secret that had been kept from him.
Lady Nina Jourdain has lived in the Sacred Grove of Nightshade Manor for most of her life. For the most part she had been content. She also could not leave.
Links: https://books2read.com/u/bWp9nD
On the steps near the water, with sunlight cast upon her from a break in the trees, a redhaired young woman sat reading. A rich emerald skirt of silk or satin fell about her, as well as an underskirt of orange. A scarf of deep blue wound around her neck and trailed down her back. Not only were her shoulders bare, but so was the foot that stuck out from beneath her skirts. And if Orion wasn’t mistaken, the garment covering her breasts and abdomen was a corset of cream and gold.
He blinked and wondered if he was the one with the vivid imagination.
Consumed with curiosity, Orion was nearly pulled toward the temple and the woman within when his boot snapped a twig in his quest.
The young woman’s head jerked up and he sucked in a breath. The vision, sitting on the step of the folly was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Red hair curled about her shoulders, light eyes stared at him, full, pink lips parted in shock as her perfectly rounded cheeks lost all color.
Slowly she closed her book, set it aside and stood.
“Why are you here?”
“Nephele mentioned the lady and I thought to meet her myself,” Orion answered as he drew closer.
The woman shifted her eyes to Nephele and offered a stern glare, but Orion was mesmerized by her. He had thought her eyes were blue given they were light in color, but they were grey, and growing stormier by the moment.
Nephele glanced down. “I know you were to be a secret. I am sorry.”
“Why must you remain a secret?” Orion asked.
The woman speared him with her pewter eyes. “It is best if I am. Now please, go away.”
“Not until I know your name.”
Her grey eyes shifted, taking in the top of his head down to his Hessians before meeting his eyes once again. “Is it so important?”
“It is to me.”
“If I give you my name, will you go away?”
Orion didn’t want to tell her yes. He had too many other questions.
“No.”
“Then I shall go.”
She bent, picked up her book and turned. Her back straightened and her chin lifted as she crossed to the opposite side of the folly. Orion hurried forward, hoping to catch the lady before she disappeared.
“Wait,” he called.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder, grey eyes narrowed, a thin auburn eyebrow arched.
“Where did you come from?” Orion asked.
“Good day.” The woman then hurried down the steps and away from him.
Orion rushed up the steps nearest him, but by the time he reached the other side of the folly and the worn path he assumed she had taken, the lady had already disappeared. He would have still pursued her if the path hadn’t then branched off in two separate directions. With no idea which way to go, Orion slowly returned to the folly with the weight of disappointment accompanying him.
USA Today Bestselling Author Jane Charles lives in the Midwest with her former marine, police officer husband. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand, until one day, out of boredom on a long road trip, she borrowed her sister’s romance novel and fell in love. Her life is filled with three amazing children, two dogs, two cats, community theatre, and traveling whenever possible. Jane may have begun her career writing romances set in the Regency era, but blames being a Gemini as to why she’s equally pulled toward writing Contemporary/New Adult as well as Historical romances.
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“So, who are you really?” demanded the ruffian at the rear of the canoe paddling through the changing currents of the Mississippi River. He spat over the side and grinned, gap-toothed, at his helpless passenger.
Wet, wounded, and weary, Phillip felt no humor whatsoever.
I’m the damned fool who walked away from the greatest house in Dorset, an army of servants, and great piles of money only to get bamboozled, robbed, and beaten into the bargain. Stupidity hurt worse than the bruises. The seeping wound in his side stuffed full of moss by his unlikely rescuer was another matter.
“I told you,” he groaned, his voice shaking with cold. He’d blurted out more than he should have in his delirium.
“Yer feisty for a man with nuthin’ but the shirt on his back at the mercy of a stranger’s kindness. Say the other again then. I need a laugh, and you sure as hell aren’t pulling your weight any other way,” the uncouth boatman demanded. A great mountain of a man, he smelled as foul as he looked—dirty, unshaven, dressed in filthy buckskins, with a nasty scar down one cheek.
Fair enough. Phillip sighed and forced the words drilled into him from his youth through shivering lips. “I am Phillip Roland George Arthur Tavernash, Sixth Duke of Glenmoor, Earl of Wentworth, Viscount Gradington, Baron Walsh.”
The boatman let out a bark of laughter so strong it rocked the boat. “Well, Artie, you’re entertaining. I’ll give you that. Folks may pay money to hear you say it with that fancy accent of yours. God knows you’re gonna need it.”
“What’s your name then? Perhaps I’ll laugh,” Phillip said, his voice growing weaker.
His companion didn’t answer. Experienced travelers told Phillip to expect the water of the great rivers, both the Ohio and the Mississippi, to be treacherous. No one warned him about pirates and swindlers.
The boatman put his back into his work and, with astonishing skill, neatly avoided a floating log that threatened to collide with them. He maneuvered the canoe through swirling eddies, slid around into a calmer channel, and guided the canoe south with the current.
“Luke Archer,” the ruffian replied a moment later. “The one you can thank when I drag your worthless carcass ashore.” He said nothing else, or if he did, Phillip didn’t hear it.
Several hours—or perhaps days—later, sharp pains brought him to awareness as he was dragged from the canoe, thrust over the man’s shoulders, and carried a short distance.
“Nan! Get yourself over here. I brought you a wounded duck!” his rescuer shouted as he dropped Phillip to a rough floor. Heat enveloped Phillip before, blessedly, the world went dark again.
Hurrah! My second book in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale is out on Thursday. Buy it now at only 99c.
Elijah was the man Regina could never forget. Now he is back in England, but someone wants to kill him.
Regina Paddimore puts her dreams of love away with other girlish things when she weds her father’s friend to escape a vile suitor who tries to force a marriage. Sixteen years later, and two years a widow, she seeks a husband who might help her fulfil another dream—to have her own child.
Elijah Ashby escapes his abusive step-family as soon as he comes of age, off to see the world. Letters from his childhood friend Regina are all that connects him to England. Sixteen years later, now a famous travel writer, the news she is a widow brings him home.
Sparks fly between them when they meet again. Regina begins to hope for love as well as babies. Elijah will be happy just to have her at his side. However, Elijah’s stepbrothers are determined to do everything they can—lie, cheat, kidnap, even murder—so that one of them can marry Regina and take her wealth for themselves.
Love and friendship must conquer hatred and spite before Elijah and Regina can be together.
In a moment, she was a warm fragrant bundle on Ash’s lap, her curves draped across his torso, her arms wrapped around him, her face tucked into his shoulder as she cried.
He patted her shoulder, murmuring comfort. “There now. You’re safe now, Ginny. He’s gone. He won’t bother you again. I have you, my darling. I have you.”
He had not seen Regina so discomposed since she was a child, grieving the loss of a kitten. He wished he’d hit Deffew harder. He’d thought he and Charles were in time, but if the swine’s violation had gone beyond what he’d seen, the dog would die for it, Regina’s opinion notwithstanding.
Charles poked his head around the door, his eyes widening in alarm when he saw the state of his mistress. Ash pointed to the brandy decanter he could see on a sideboard. “Two,” he mouthed, ceasing his patting to hold up two fingers then resuming again, barely breaking rhythm.
Charles nodded and tiptoed to the decanter to pour two glasses of brandy, then tiptoed back across the room to place them on a side table next to Ash’s elbow, setting them down so carefully they did not clink.
Ash briefly wondered whether the young man wanted to save Regina the embarrassment of knowing her emotional collapse had been witnessed, or whether he feared she might expect him to do something about it if she knew he was there. Whichever it was, he faded back across the room and out of the door, pulling it shut behind him.
The footman was not important. Not when the lady he loved was in his arms, her soft curves molded to his body, the aroma of roses, honeysuckle and something indefinably Regina filling his nostrils. He yearned to hold her closer still, to show her how much he desired her, though the way her lovely rear pressed into his groin, she would notice soon enough.
She was still crying, but the angry storm was gone, fading into heart-wrenching sobs that twisted Ash’s gut even more than the initial outburst. “There now, Ginny,” Ash soothed. “Let it out, dearest. You’re safe now, my love.”
She turned her face up at that, drawing back so that her tear-drenched eyes could meet his. “Am I, Elijah?”
“Yes, of course. He has gone, and I won’t let him near you again.”
She thumped his chest softly, an action so reminiscent of the child Ginny that he had to repress a smile. “Not that,” she scolded. “The other.”
He retraced his words in his mind. “My love?” At her tiny nod, he repeated, “My love.”
She raised her eyebrows in question, the imperious gesture only slightly marred by the shuddering breath of a leftover sob.
“I love you, Ginny. Did you not know?”
She thumped him again, another gentle reprimand. “You never said,” she grumbled. “You never even tried to kiss me.” The last two words were disrupted by a hiccup, but he understood them well enough.
“I am abjectly sorry, Ginny,” Ash told her, managing to keep his voice suitably solemn while his heart was attempting to break out of his chest and into hers. She has been waiting for my kisses! Missing them, even. “I have never courted anyone before. I am clearly not very good at it.”
She hiccupped again as she put up a hand to cradle Ash’s cheek. “I am sorry to be so cross, Elijah. I hate hiccups. I hate crying, and it always give me the hiccups.” She proved it with another shuddering hiccup.
“Have a sip of brandy, beloved,” he suggested, and he picked up one of the glasses and held it to her lips. “It might help. And if it doesn’t, perhaps a kiss will cure them.”
Ash was very aware that she had not returned his declaration of love. However, she wanted his kisses. He would start there and hope for the best.
Ginny took the glass from his hand and had another sip, followed by another hiccup.
“It will have to be the kiss, then,” he suggested. He lowered his head to hers, slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn him away. Instead, she lifted her face to bridge the gap, her mouth reaching inexpertly for his.
He pressed kisses to each corner of her mouth, then settled his mouth over hers, stroking her lips with his. She clutched him, some of the brandy spilling from the glass so she drew back, apologizing with another hiccup.
Ash put the glass out of harm’s way and drew Ginny to him again. This time, he ran his tongue across the seam of his lips, seeking entrance. She hummed but didn’t open. If he hadn’t known she’d been a wife for more than three years before her husband’s accident, he would have thought she’d never participated in a kiss.
“Open for me, sweetheart,” he suggested, his lips still touching hers as he spoke.
“Open what?” she asked, and he took the moment to slip his tongue inside, into the soft warm cave of her mouth, gently teasing the sensitive skin inside her lips and at the roof of her mouth. She tasted as wonderful as she felt: a deeper richer version of the Ginny element of her perfume.
I always love it when I discover a new author who writes the kind of interesting, high stakes, informative stories that I love to read. When I came across His Enterprising Duchess, the first in this series, I loved it, and I preordered the second. Well. Let me tell you I am not disappointed. His Spirited Lady is even better. I’m hooked, and am already waiting for the third book. Peri tells me there’ll be more to follow. Woo hoo!
Book 2 in The Enterprising Women
Mix two fake lovers, age over a disastrous house party, distill the romance, and savor the happily ever after.
Richard Ferrand arrives in Thetford to visit his family and to seek advice on a recent inheritance. He’s expecting it to be a brief visit. His former brother-in-law has a new family, and Richard is eager to return to his familiar bachelor businessman routine. That all changes when he comes to the rescue of a young lady with plans of her own.
Amelia Chitester has spent her life being the perfect society Miss—at least when people are watching. When they’re not, she’s busy creating the county’s best whiskey. That all changes when her gravely ill father insists she marry so that she will have a protector after he dies.
When Richard helps Amelia avoid a persistent suitor, she sees an answer to several of her problems. He needs a British distributor for his newly acquired French wine, and she needs a fake fiancé to take her off the marriage market. Richard thinks she’s daft—irresistibly beautiful, totally disarming, and completely daft–but he agrees to help because he admires her commitment to her family and her home.
As they work to fool their families and the entire village, it grows difficult to live out their lie. Amelia didn’t figure on the soft side of her convenient rake, and Richard wasn’t prepared for the stubborn charm of his fake conquest.
Soon they’re both faced with the choice of keeping their businesses or losing their hearts.
“It is nice to see you again, Mr. Ferrand.”
Amelia Chitester’s dress matched her eyes, and the gold lace complemented her hair. Not for the first time, Richard wondered if dressmakers and their clients understood how a high waist and a perfectly placed bow made it impossible for men to ignore a low neckline. All but the most small-breasted young women benefited from the design.
“Miss Chitester.” Richard dipped his head. Other than the color, the dress was simple. This wasn’t a ball gown meant to be seen and admired. She, like her parents, was dressed for an evening at home.
Amelia wasn’t small breasted, something her riding habit had concealed. She was also shorter than he’d expected, given her parents’ heights. Her head stopped a few inches below his shoulder, which gave him a chance to admire her braids as he escorted her into dinner. She smelled of apples and cinnamon.
Dinner was laid out on the sideboard, allowing them to help themselves. Footmen helped them into their chairs and then retreated.
“Father can’t bear the fuss,” Amelia whispered as she placed her napkin in her lap. “He says it gives him indigestion when people watch him eat.”
No wonder Augustus and Oliver were good friends. “I’m sure the servants don’t mind escaping. I wouldn’t want to watch someone eat mutton and then go below for cold ham.” At least, that’s what he’d overheard aboard ship.
“Our staff has the same meal we do,” Amelia said. “Unless there’s a party, which, thankfully, we rarely do at home.”
“You don’t enjoy parties?” Didn’t all young women long for the Season in London and the social whirl? The ladies in Quebec were forever trying to recreate it.
“Why would anyone enjoy a mass of people traipsing about their home spilling punch on the carpet while judging their decorating choices?” She paused with her spoon in her soup. “My apologies. Of course I didn’t mean this evening; this is—”
“No offense taken.” Richard used his napkin to hide his smile. He enjoyed the decorations at Oakdale Manor, especially the lively one beside him. “I loathe punch. Unless it’s liberally mixed with whiskey, of course.”
“Whiskey makes everything better.” Amelia paused again. “At least that’s what Father says.”
The pause made Richard wonder if her knowledge wasn’t more first-hand, but one didn’t ask a young lady if she drank when no one was looking. In his experience, the only women who drank whiskey didn’t care if they were seen doing so.
“No Mr. Raymond today?” he asked, willing to change the subject to something she might find more agreeable.
“He left yesterday, back to London.” Her sigh sounded more satisfied than regretful.
“You didn’t enjoy his visit?”
“Have you ever had a puppy follow you home?” She looked up at him, and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “That’s unfair. He is pleasant company, but we didn’t expect him to visit and we had…things to do.”
Richard was set to ask what she did when she wasn’t entertaining unwanted guests, but laughter caught his attention. Oliver was regaling Augustus with a tale of a childhood adventure, one he’d apparently undertaken with Thea given her objections to the retelling.
“I remember them like that,” Amelia murmured. “When they were younger.”
“They are difficult to ignore.” Not that their behavior was inappropriate, or even rude. It was just so clear that they were happy together. That they had always been happy together. Oliver even seemed younger.
“Gossip dogged them everywhere, especially after Oliver sailed for Canada.”
And found a wife there.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Amelia’s hand closed over his, her gentle touch contrasting with his tight grip on his soup spoon. “Moving forward sounds better than it feels.” She smiled when Richard met her gaze. “I remember when Father brought Mother home. I enjoyed hearing him laugh again, but part of me was angry that he was going to replace my first mother, as though she’d never been there or hadn’t been important.”
Richard looked from the young woman next to him to her mother—stepmother—at the end of the table. “What changed?”
“It got easier with time.”
Richard grasped her fingers as they slid from his. Squeezed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She freed her fingers as her mother went to the sideboard for the main course. “Now, would you tell me about Canada? We always intend to travel there, but the Season prevents us from going until fall, which Father has heard is a poor time to visit.”
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Peri Maxwell has lost herself in reading romances all her life. She began writing as a challenge to herself and wrote her first historical romance on a dare, and now, she’s hooked. She prefers to write heroines who can stand toe-to-toe with a hero, challenge society’s rules for good reasons, and find love with heroes who admire an equal (even if it’s a little reluctantly).
She enjoys history, humor, and a good mystery. An armchair historian, she also has a background in women’s studies.
Peri lives in Arkansas with her husband and the two cats who rescued them. When she’s not writing or reading, she’s working her day job or spending time with her family and friends (the same ones who dared her to write a historical romance).
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22406672.Peri_Maxwell
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorperi/
By Cerise DeLand
April 20, 2023 (Pre-order 99 cents)
Love does not advertise. Love counts no wrongs.
But when a young woman needs to escape an ogre, she’ll take an ad to find a man she can adore.
Verity Carr wants a new life in a new town far from her old home and the vile threat to her body and soul.
Can a gentleman to whom great wrong was done, build a new life with a true wife and leave the past behind?
Miles St. John Armstrong, Viscount Bellamy, vows to select his second wife with logic and careful investigation via advertisement.
Theirs is a relationship built quickly on admiration and trust. But their past comes to call. And it asks of them the ultimate question, can their love withstand the tempest and survive the terror?