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Spotlight on Loving Lizzie Finn

Loving Lizzie Finn

By Tamara Hughes

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt from Loving Lizzie Finn

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

Meet Tamara Hughes

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

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

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Spotlight on The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride

By Jayne Rivers

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

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

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

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

Excerpt from The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” he asked, amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In that case, I appreciate your assistance.”

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

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

He winked. “Better that than boring.”

Meet Jane Rivers

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

https://jaynerivers.com/books

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

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Spotlight on A Christmas Quintet

UPDATE: As noted in the comments, the wrong file was delivered to all preorders. If you got this from Amazon, here’s what to do:

For anyone who ordered A Christmas Quintet on Amazon and received the wrong book, Amazon has advised us to (1) Ask for a refund on the order page and (2) if that doesn’t work, call 888-280-4331. Simply explain that you purchased the book, it was the wrong book, the book is no longer on your Kindle, and you require a refund.
The correct book is available at [https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPNMGWV5] at the same price.
We humbly apologize for the error and the inconvenience it has caused you.
We are still working on a solution with other vendors.

A Christmas Quintet

The Bluestocking Belles bring you five charming stories for your holiday season:

  • Friends to Lovers—The farmer’s daughter, the viscount’s son, and the estate manager reunite as adults. Della is starry-eyed for the viscount’s son, but is he really the one for her? (Regency, Christmas)
  • Fake Relationship—When the pressure to marry is overwhelming, can a plan put in place at a Christmas house party turn into a love that will last forever? (Regency, Christmas)
  • Second-Chance Love—An accident leaves the modiste burned, blinded and in despair until the physician offers hope and stirs memories. (Regency, Christmas)
  • Country Mouse and Marriage-Shy Duke—Invited at the last minute to make up the numbers, she expects to be an interested observer. The duke has other ideas. (Georgian, Twelfth Night)
  • Two Spies, One Secret—Trapped in a deserted wilderness, will they set aside secrets and past betrayals to rekindle their love and ring in the New Year together? (Medieval, Hogmanay)

https://books2read.com/AChristmasQuintetBluestockingBelles

My contribution is Maryanne and the Twelfth Knight

Maryanne is only at the house party as chaperone for her half-sister. She is far too old and insignificant to attract the attention of a duke. Or, at least, if he is pursuing her it cannot be for honorable purposes. Can it?

Dell knows it is time to take a wife, but the offerings of the marriage mart bore him to tears. The only lady of interest at his sister’s house party is the spinster chaperone. But she isn’t eligible, is she?

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Titles and inheritance

I saw it again, today. The idea that a duke can decide not to leave his title to his eldest legitimate son. Wrong! That isn’t true, even today.

He might be able to strip the title of any unentailed property and leave that to someone else. But the title and the entailed property do not belong to the duke (or other peer), but are held in trust for his descendants.

 

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Not quite a proposal on WIP Wednesday

The two older women were so absorbed with one another that Pol and Jackie might have been alone in the house. Pol constantly fought the temptation to touch her, to kiss her. More than that, he would not do until they were wed, or at least until she accepted the proposal he had not yet made. With his future so uncertain, it would be unfair, possibly even dangerous. He shuddered to think what Oscar might do to Pol’s wife. That is, if he had been told that Pol was the rightful heir to their grandfather.

Should he kiss her, though? She was attracted to him, he was certain. He was not the rake his cousin was, but nor was he a complete innocent. She wanted him, unless he was imagining the signs of her desire—the way her body tilted towards his, the husky tone when they were alone and she spoke to him, her habit of touching her tongue to suddenly dry lips, her enlarged pupils.

As for him, he yearned to hold her, to kiss her, and everything that followed. In his dreams, they enjoyed the greatest of intimacies. He slept restlessly and woke hard and aching. Would kisses make it all worse?
Surely not. He had learned self-control in a hard school. He could kiss her, and do no more. Day by day, he became more certain that a private kiss or two would do no harm. More than that, it felt inevitable.
In the end, though, there was no question. He stepped out of his little bedchamber off the kitchen just as she hurried past, and suddenly she was in his arms. He made no conscious decision to lower his head and press a kiss to her lips. One tender but gentle kiss became another, the heat building in him as she responded.

“Jackie,” he murmured.

“Pol,” she replied, or tried to, for as soon as she opened her mouth, he slipped his tongue past her lips to explore her mouth. It was clear she’d never been kissed before, but she was a fast learner, as he might have guessed she would be. Everything he did to her, she did in return to him, stroking his tongue with her own, brushing her tongue along the inside of his cheeks and pressing it far into his mouth and then retreating so that his tongue followed hers into the warm cavern of her mouth.

They were pressed together as tightly as two people could be with clothes on, he with one hand on her buttock and one in the middle of her back, and she exploring his chest and his back with hands that stroked and caressed.

His own hands stayed where they were, though it took every ounce of self-control he still possessed not to use them to shape her breasts, to reach for her feminine core. Not here. Not yet. Not in the kitchen where her mother might appear at any moment.

The thought was enough to slightly temper his ardor, but rather than step away, he backed into his bedchamber, bringing her with him. He wouldn’t close the door, because even in his current state—especially in his current state—he didn’t think it wise to be kissing Jackie in a room with a bed in it.

“Beloved,” he said to his dear delight. “Jackie, my heart, my love. You cannot know how much I want you.”

“Perhaps nearly as much as I want you,” she replied, which made him chuckle. Trust Jackie to challenge him.

“I’ve no right to ask you to marry me when my future is so uncertain,” he admitted, taking the leap towards his heart’s desire—if only part way.

But half a leap was never going to satisfy his intrepid darling. “The future is never certain, Pol. I’ve learned that. Anything can happen. We should snatch what happiness we can.”

“Then you will promise to marry me?”

“Ask and you will find out,” she retorted.

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Tea with guests

In the novel I am writing at the moment, the Duchess of Winshire is pleased to help an old friend.

“We are fortunate that the duchess is in town and remembers Gran fondly,” Pol commented.
“She has been very kind,” Jackie said.
The duchess said that Gran had been kind to her, when she was a young bride and still finding her feet as a duchess. It was hard to imagine that the commanding grand lady had once been unsure of her place. Now, said the duchess, she could return the favour.
“She has been very helpful,” said Pol. The four of them had agreed not to disclose the details of why they were in London to anyone but the enquiry agent, and even then, they had intended to be judicious about what they said.
Gran must have forgotten, for within ten minutes of her reunion with the duchess, she was spilling out everything. Her belief that Pol was the real heir to his grandfather and that her daughter-in-law had hidden the truth. The terrible treatment Pol had suffered in what should be his own house. How Oscar and his mother terrorised the neighbourhood, with the connivance of the local magistrate. The trumped-up charges against Pol and Jackie.
When Pol, Jackie, and Madame de Haricot had joined the two older ladies, Her Grace knew everything. She had asked how she could help. “I will, if you have no objection, ask Wakefield and Wakefield to send an enquiry agent to discuss your case. I am familiar with the firm, and agree they are a good choice.”

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Courtship rituals on WIP Wednesday

This is an excerpt from Maryanne and the Twelfth Knight, which is my story in the Bluestocking Belles seasonal collection A Christmas Quintet. Newsletter subscribers might remember this story–I’ve more than doubled it for this collection, but the essence remains the same. The father of the Versey family, who appear in various of my novels in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale, is not on the hunt for a bride.

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“Are all of your gowns the colour of mud?” Dell, fell into step beside Miss Beckingham and frowned at the offensive garment. It was a robe a l’anglaise, well made, well fitted, and not too distant from the current fashion. But it was all in shades of brown—although he supposed he had to conceded the cream of the underskirt and trim.
Dell would take it out and burn it if he could. If he had the dressing of her, he would pick jewel tones—a luminous setting for her porcelain skin and her dark curls.
“I thought you were playing bowls,” Miss Beckingham said. Scolded, rather. Her tone was discouraging, but she had known where he was. That must be hopeful, must it not?
“Your grace! Yoo hoo, your grace!” Bother. It was the sister, arm in arm with one of the other debutantes, both hurrying to catch up with him and Miss Beckingham.
“Were you looking for me, your grace?” Miss Lucette cooed, her smug smile suggesting she was certain of his answer.
“I was not, Miss Lucette,” he informed her, his irritation making his voice curt. “I was attempting to hold a private conversation with your sister, in fact.”
The girl gaped at him and then laughed as if he had made a joke. “Silly,” she commented. “Never mind. Miss Tollworthy and I will amuse you.”
Miss Beckingham took a step to the side to allow her sister to grasp his arm and Miss Tollworthy boxed him in on the other side. “I shall leave you, then,” Miss Beckingham said, her face suitably grave but her eyes dancing as they met his.
“You shall not,” Dell demanded. “Your sister requires your chaperonage.”
“Not when I am with you,” Miss Lucette cooed. “I am certain, your grace, that my Papa would have no objection to me strolling with you. And with Sarah, of course.”
Sarah Tollworthy giggled, which was her usual response to everything. In London, he had taken it for a pleasant nature, had perhaps that was true. But he was depressingly certain that another week of her giggles would drive him to homicide.
“Miss Beckingham?” Dell said. “If you abandon me now, I shall be forced to ungentlemanly measures.” He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his head in the direction of the lake. She fell into step beside her sister, and he gave an internal sigh of relief. He was not quite certain where he was with Miss Beckingham.
“I suppose you can come too, Maryanne,” Miss Lucette said, unwillingly.
Maryanne, Miss Lucette called her. A pretty name, and it suited her. Miss Lucette prattled and Miss Tollworthy giggled. Dell paid only sufficient attention to keep from committing to something he did not want to do. No, he did not think Miss Beckingham should take Miss Tollworthy back to the house to fetch a better bonnet. There would be shade enough under the trees, or alternatively, they could all go back together.
Yes, Miss Lucette’s gown was a pretty shade of blue, but no, he had not noticed that it matched her eyes.
No, he would not demand all of Miss Lucette’s dances at this evening’s New Year’s Ball. He must leave some dances for the other gentlemen, and besides, Miss Lucette needed to make allowances for his extreme age.
Miss Lucette assured him that he was not to mind being old. She thought older gentlemen were more interesting, and besides he was very fit, even if he must be all of forty.
Miss Beckingham was struck by a fit of coughing and Dell stopped to wait for her to recover, but every time she caught his eye she collapsed again, stuffing both hands over her mouth and coughing until the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Really, Maryanne,” said Lucette. “I hope you are not unwell.”
“I must have accidentally swallowed something,” Miss Beckingham managed to say. “An elderly insect, perhaps.”
Minx.

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Spotlight on The Trials of Alaric

The Trials of Alaric

To wed her, he’d do anything. Even lose his heart!

When Alaric Redhaven is shipwrecked on the Isle of Claddach in the Irish Sea, he finds himself attending a most unusual house party. The Earl of Claddach is holding a set of trials to discover a worthy man to marry his daughter.

Lady Beatrice Collister, only child of the Earl of Claddach, is committed to choosing a husband who will be her consort when she is the island’s countess. But not one of the eligible gentlemen selected to enter the trials makes her heart race.

As Alaric strives to win the trials, and with them, everything he has ever wanted, he also faces a brother bent on revenge, a drunken villager, and a cousin with a mountain-sized sense of entitlement.

But only the man who uncovers the Heart of Claddach can win Bea as his bride.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DJ9WB9WQ

Meet Bea

Lady Beatrice Collister is the only child of the Earl of Claddach, an ancient earldom that comprises the Isle of Claddach in the Irish Sea (and several other smaller islands). Bea is heir to his title as well as his lands, and her father is ill. It is time for her to marry, yet she does not wish to leave the island, and she has met no one she might consider as husband and consort. Including (and especially) her horrid cousin, her mother’s nephew.
Her father proposes a series of trials in which would-be suitors can show their worth. Bea agrees, and her sense of honour and duty oblige her to keep her word. But once she meets Alaric, she wishes she was free to choose for herself.

Meet Aleric

Alaric Redhaven is a second son, and estranged from his family who exiled him to Brazil for something he didn’t do. On his way back to England, he is shipwrecked on the Isle of Claddach and taken to the earl’s castle to recover. There, the earl’s wife invites him to join the trials for the hand of her daughter.
At first, Alaric is simply obliging his hostess, but he soon falls in love with Bea, and undergoes the trials in earnest. Can he win the hand of the lovely heiress? Some of the tasks seem impossible and the arrival of his older brother complicates matters. But Alaric will do anything to win Bea’s heart and her hand.

Excerpt from The Trials of Alaric

Alaric Redhaven’s brief eighteen months as a diplomat had been a disaster. From his arrival in Rio de Janeiro, he had not distinguished himself in any desirable fashion, and the litany of his accidents and mistakes was far too depressing to think about. When he had inadvertently insulted the Spanish Ambassador at a reception in Rio de Janeiro, it had been the last straw. He, his uncle and sponsor, and the British envoy to the Portuguese court in exile had been in agreement for the first time since Alaric had arrived.

Alaric had been dismissed and found a berth on the first ship leaving Rio de Janeiro with England as its destination. Now that ship was stuck in a rising storm while the experienced crewmen ran around in a panic, arguing about which sails to reef and who was going to do it.

To make things worse, the captain was nowhere to be found—probably lying in a hidden corner in a drunken stupor. They were without the first mate, too. He came up on deck when the weather first turned foul, was struck by a flying belaying pin, and knocked out before he could take charge.

Which meant they were trying to stay afloat in an unexpected storm, with a minimal crew and the two most senior officers disabled.

Drowning in the Irish Sea was a more permanent disruption than the arrest of their captain in Fortaleza and the shortage of supplies that kept them for two extra weeks in Jamaica. Not to mention the desertion of a good third of their crew in Dublin.

Alaric felt he should do something, but what? He knew nothing about how to sail a ship. Telling the crew to stop bickering and do their jobs was likely to get him hurled over the side. And suddenly, it was too late. First one mast broke, then another, then the third.

And then it got worse.

“We’ve lost the rudder!” shouted the man on the wheel.

“Rocks!” screamed someone else.

Some of the sailors leapt into the sea. Others clung to the nearest solid object as the ship pitched and yawed with every wave and gust of wind. Alaric tossed a mental coin, shrugged out of his coat, and jumped overboard. He would take his chance with the sea.

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We cannot choose our family, on WIP Wednesday

“Oscar, before you go out, I would like a word,” Pol said after dinner. The ladies had withdrawn and it was just the two of them and a couple of footmen in the room.

“I’ll have a port then,” Oscar said, waving a hand at one of the footmen.

Pol stood. “I’ll get it,” he said to the men. “Leave us, please. I will let you know when you can clear.”

“Uh oh.” Oscar grinned, mockingly. “I detect a Polly scold.”

The topic Pol wanted to broach had nothing amusing about it. “If you wish to see it that way. I am looking out for your interests, cousin. And they won’t be served by alienating the villagers and your tenants.”

He handed Oscar his port, and the heathen tipped back his head and swallowed the lot. Pol doubted if he’d tasted it.

“If you are going to scold me, I’m leaving,” Oscar threatened.

Right. Straight to the point then. “You’ve been trying to talk John Westerley’s daughter into meeting you in private. She had the sense to talk to her father. He asked me to let you know that any man who touches her, whoever he might be, will lose his ballocks.” Margaret Westerley was fifteen. If Oscar seduced her or worse, Pol might just hold his cousin down for the knife.

Oscar snorted. “Westerley is my tenant. He won’t touch me.”

“Westerley runs the biggest and most successful farm in the district. If he is hanged or transported for gelding you, you will lose not only your breeding equipment but also a third of your income. That is, if he gets caught. I tell you now, Oscar. If you turn up minus important body parts, I will deny we had this conversation, and all of your tenants and most of your villagers will make certain that Westerley has an alibi.”

“She’s ripe for it,” Oscar protested. “You can’t blame me if the tarts lead me on.”

There was no point in arguing that a girl’s appearance was not an invitation to molest her. “You’re an adult,” Pol told him. “If you want to stay whole, think with your brain and not your pecker. Leave the tenants’ daughters alone.”

In a whiny singsong, Oscar repeated the last sentence and added to it. “Leave the tenants’ daughters alone. Leave the villagers’ daughters alone. Leave the maids alone.” His sneer broadened. “You might be a eunuch, Polly, but I’m not.”

“Keep on poaching other people’s women and you will be,” Pol promised, ignoring the insult. “That goes for the dressmaker’s girl, too, by the way.”

Nothing in Oscar’s eyes or his expression hinted that he knew anything about what Pol had heard in the village—that the dressmaker was searching for her seamstress, who had not come home last night. So it probably wasn’t anything to do with Oscar. Pol hoped she was somewhere safe, but he greatly feared that she might have fallen afoul of some of the other predators who thrived in this district. Oscar’s example and the negligence of the magistrate saw to that.

“The dressmaker’s girl is my business, not yours.” Oscar was on his feet and pouring himself another port. “As for the tenants, I’m the highest ranked peer in the district. They won’t touch me. Little mice. Everyone is afraid, and they should be. You should be.”

He tipped his glass up again, swallowing several times as the port ran down his throat. “I can destroy them,” he added. “I can destroy you, Polly. So stop trying to tell me what to do.”

He stormed out of the room.

That went about as I expected. Honestly, Pol should let Westerley loose with his gelding knife. Pol couldn’t think of anything else that would stop the viscount from his indiscriminate rutting.