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Spotlight on A Little Bit of Hellion

By Tanya Wilde

What’s a lady to do when the man she thought was so utterly wrong turns out to be a hellion so very right?

 Lady Theodosia King has had enough. Enough of her mother’s relentless matchmaking, enough of fortune hunters circling like vultures, and enough of the Earl of Saville clinging to her shadow under the guise of righting a wrong. Determined to escape the madness, she decides to pack her bags and retreat to Brighton for the remainder of the season. But she never expected a certain earl to follow her . . .

Field Savage, the Earl of Saville, has made his share of mistakes—none more torturous than his involvement in an infamous heiress list that found its way into White’s betting book, causing chaos in London. Every attempt to correct his errors only seems to worsen them. So, when he learns that the bane of his existence has fled London, he’s determined to let her go—after getting answers to a few burning questions.

Unfortunately, everything goes horribly awry!

https://www.amazon.com/Little-Bit-Hellion-Regency-Historical-ebook/dp/B0DC1859F

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Tea with mother and daughter (and a scheme of blind matchups in the making! )

Theodosia King sat in the elegantly appointed drawing room of the Duchess of Haverford’s residence, her teacup hovering just shy of her lips. The warm fragrance of honeyed tea filled the room, mingling with the scent of freshly cut roses. Her mother, the Marchioness of Kingsley, sat to her right, chatting animatedly with the Duchess about her latest scheme—something Theodosia fervently wished would be forgotten before the next scone was served.

“I do believe, my dear Marchioness, that blind matchups could be the very thing to enliven the next social season,” the Duchess of Haverford declared with a twinkle in her eye. She was a woman who rarely missed an opportunity to create a stir, and her enthusiasm was matched only by the Marchioness’s own.

“Precisely!” Lady Kingsley agreed, nodding with such vigor that her ostrich feather hat threatened to topple. “Imagine the thrill of it! Young people meeting in a carefully orchestrated manner, none the wiser until they’re already smitten. Why, it’s positively Shakespearean!”

Theodosia, who had been eyeing the delicate sugar biscuits with mild interest, set her cup down with a soft clink. “Positively disastrous, more like,” she muttered under her breath, though it was just loud enough for both women to hear. Just ask her. She had been the one to sit through her mother’s “blind matchups.”

The Duchess raised an amused brow. “Oh, come now, Theodosia. Don’t be such a cynic. Blind matchups are an adventure. Your mother is quite the genius. One must embrace the unknown!”

“The unknown is precisely the problem, Your Grace,” Theodosia countered, crossing her arms. “The last time Mother arranged one of these dreadful encounters, Lord Chance nearly drenched our sofa in sweat. Utterly unpleasant. No lady should have to sit through that.”

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Not all of them were that bad.”

“I beg to differ,” Theodosia replied dryly. “They were all equally bothersome.”

The Duchess laughed. “But that’s the beauty of it, my dear. Blind matchups are a delightful gamble. One might endure a few dullards, but then—who knows? You might stumble upon a gem.”

“Precisely!” Lady Kingsley exclaimed. “We should set up some matchups for Seth.”

“Seth? He would loathe being thrust into such an ordeal,” Theodosia said. On the other hand, perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea?

“Oh, I think Seth could do with a bit of excitement,” the Marchioness mused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s always so serious, locked away with his books and estate ledgers. A blind matchup might just be the thing for him to live a little.”

Or push him over the edge. Seth King despised anything remotely frivolous. Theodosia smiled. “You might be right, Mother. It’s only right that siblings share in joy and despair, is it not?”

“How delightful!” the Duchess declared, her tone brooking no argument. “The poor boy has been buried under responsibilities for far too long. A bit of romantic intrigue could do wonders, and it just so happens I have a few candidates in mind.”

Theodosia happily picked up her tea again, listening to the Duchess of Haverford and her mother conspire.

Ton beware!

A Little Bit of Hellion

By Tanya Wilde

What’s a lady to do when the man she thought was so utterly wrong turns out to be a hellion so very right?

Lady Theodosia King has had enough. Enough of her mother’s relentless matchmaking, enough of fortune hunters circling like vultures, and enough of the Earl of Saville clinging to her shadow under the guise of righting a wrong. Determined to escape the madness, she decides to pack her bags and retreat to Brighton for the remainder of the season. But she never expected a certain earl to follow her . . .

Field Savage, the Earl of Saville, has made his share of mistakes—none more torturous than his involvement in an infamous heiress list that found its way into White’s betting book, causing chaos in London. Every attempt to correct his errors only seems to worsen them. So, when he learns that the bane of his existence has fled London, he’s determined to let her go—after getting answers to a few burning questions.

Their plans go horribly awry when, shortly after Field catches up with Theodosia, they are set upon by highwaymen and left penniless on the side of the road.

Can they overcome their differences long enough to find help, or will their decisions lead them further down a path of mischief and mayhem? And perhaps even love?

Purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/Little-Bit-Hellion-Regency-Historical-ebook/dp/B0DC1859F1

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tanyawilde/

Except:

Theodosia King, daughter of the late Marquess of Kingsley, stared at the man before her and studied the pearls of sweat that dotted the line of his brow, one drop trickling down the side of his cheek. The man’s nervous laughter as he dabbed his handkerchief along his face reminded her of a timorous actor who forgot his lines in a Shakespearean play.

The Earl of Saville was to blame for this. Her once unperturbed life was in shambles.

Because of him.

And his friends, it must be said, but most of all him. He was the reason her mother had started hosting what she disturbingly called “blind matchups.” Every morning—unless she escaped before her mother seized hold of her—she would be stationed in the blue drawing room while her mother and Aunt Rose, her father’s only sister, selected King-approved suitors from the receiving room, allowing them each fifteen minutes in which the men could display their peacock feathers and do a little social dance in the hope of attracting her interest—chaperoned by her trusted maid, Nancy, of course.

She loathed every second of every matchup.

She resented her mother’s strange mind.

And she hated the Earl of Saville.

Most especially today.

Even if the earl hadn’t been directly responsible for these matchups, he’d still poked at the sorest of the sore spots when he’d claimed, on that horrid heiress list, that she had Satan’s eyes. To make matters even more dreadful, he and his friends had given the whole of White’s good entertainment when they lost the list and it found its way into the betting book of White’s. The result had been predictable. Wagers spilled over the book’s pages, drawing out all sorts of wretched creatures to her drawing room.

All in all, an unpleasant reminder of her place in the world. She hadn’t liked the Earl of Saville to begin with. Not since the first time they had been introduced in her first season, and he’d visibly flinched when their eyes met. The man was arrogant, pompous, and rude. Then there was what he, they believed to be her biggest flaw . . .

Theodosia had thought she’d gotten over the incident from her childhood, but that man had brought everything back to the surface with that one comment. Reminding her—no, taunting her—that she could never escape the judgment of others. What was it that her governess had once said?

Ah, yes.

How unfortunate. With eyes like that, you must be cursed, girl. Best lower your gaze when suitors come calling one day.

Theodosia inwardly scoffed. In truth, she couldn’t quite recall the woman’s exact wording, but it had been something to that effect. Lower her gaze, she’d been advised.

What nonsense. It had never been in Theodosia’s nature to lower her gaze. Instead, she made a point to look a man dead in the eyes—like she had done with the Earl of Saville—and their discomfort be damned.

The result? Nine times out of ten brought about the flustering, sweaty mess before her. Lord Chance. Would that this had been the only count against him.

He’d also been late. How long did it take to walk from one drawing room to another? In his case, an entire cup of tea. That had been the first count against him.

The second point against him had come in the form of kissing the back of her hand upon their greeting. His mouth hovered not one, not two, but three moments too long. Must the man cling to her hand?

“Do you like tea, Lady Theodosia?”

Ah, small chatter. Smallest of the small. Irrelevant. Unnecessary. A waste of her breath. Another mark against.

What sort of question was that anyway? Did she like tea? Would she be drinking tea if she did not like it? Does anyone in England not like tea? She didn’t bother to answer, merely took a sip from her cup in response.

A small but purposeful belch slipped from her lips, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing when his eyes widened. “Oh, my apologies. The gasses in my body oftentimes demand release in the most inconvenient moments.”

He stared at her without blinking.

She tilted her head back, matching his stare.

“You . . . that . . .” He cleared his throat. “Inconvenient gasses should be left for more convenient settings.”

Is that so?

And this was the man Mama selected as a possible match. She loved her mother, but she sometimes wondered if the marchioness had any sense in her head. Her mother ought to have been able to tell with one glance this man would never do. He even wore the colors of a peacock. A green waistcoat adorned with a striking blue tailcoat.

Theodosia considered the man across from her, deciding to conclude this meeting ahead of the fifteen-minute mark. “Do you wish to marry me, my lord?”

Lord Chance sputtered on air. A true feat. “M-Marriage? N-no, I wouldn’t say that. I mean that is too early to speak of such m-matters.”

“Why is it too early to speak of such matters?” Theodosia arched a not-so-subtle brow. “You are calling on me, are you not? If you do not know if you wish to marry me because it’s still too early to decide, may I then help facilitate this decision?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Chance.” She set her cup down and leaned forward in her seat. “Would you enjoy a wife who is outspoken, stubborn to the bone, has a temper, hates dancing, loves bickering, and has no problem when it comes to insulting the opposite sex?”

His eyes had turned to saucers that grew with each trait she listed. By the time she said “loves bickering,” the man had already jumped to his feet. “Quite right, quite right. I cannot see myself with such a . . . such an unconventional wife.”

Theodosia dipped her head. A resolute nod meant to encourage him to scamper away. She fell back onto the divan even before he’d cleared the room, shooting him a sweet smile when he glanced over his shoulder before hurrying off. How many more? She’d already entertained five lords today.

Five!

Her mother breezed into the room. “What did you say to that poor man? He rushed out of the house as though the devil was on his heels.”

Theodosia gave her mother a deadpan look. “Perhaps the devil was on his heels.”

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First attraction on WIP Wednesday

I just received Thrown to the Lyon back from my lovely editor. I’ll be working on it tomorrow, and you can expect to see it in October or November. Thrown to the Lyon is inspired by The Tinder Box. Here’s a snippet.

Ben took Mrs. Anderson back to the Lyon’s Den. “I beg you to stay with Mrs. Dove Lyon for a few more days, Mrs. Anderson,” he said. “Just until I have done what I can to spike Seward’s guns.”

He frowned as another thought struck him. “I will make sure to sort things out before the end of the week. Mrs. Dove Lyon is having another of her masked balls, and you will not want to be in residence at that time.”

After that, he carried Grummidge off to the nearest tavern for a well-deserved drink.

Now the immediate danger of incarceration was over, Ben decided to go straight to the duke with his questions about Seward’s possible motives. So once he arrived home, he settled to writing a letter to the illustrious gentleman.

He franked the letter and gave it to one of his footmen to take to the mail. Kempbury had his seat in Essex, so he would receive the letter on the  morrow. Ben could hope to have a response in two or three days, and Mrs. Anderson would be out of the gambling den well before the infamous Mystère Masque.

His satisfaction was somewhat blunted by the knowledge that she would be leaving the luxurious surroundings of the Den for those pathetic two rooms in a back alley nearby. But she was an army wife. She was accustomed to difficult circumstances.

And what could he do about it, after all? He barely knew the lady, although he had always admired her courage in adverse circumstances. That said, they had certainly become much better acquainted in the past couple of days. His initial impressions from four years ago had been more than confirmed.

She was brave, yes. She also kept her head in a crisis, was polite to everyone she met, and retained a sense of humor no matter what was happening. She might not be able, on her own, to thwart a lord bent on mischief, but she was able to call allies to her aid.

Admiration was a pale word for how he felt about her now. It didn’t hurt, either, that she was appealingly feminine, though he had been careful to keep his physical response to her hidden. She was, after all, a lady.

 

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Spotlight on Hot Duke Summer

Welcome to a rollicking summer in Regency England, where the weather is warm, the ladies warmer, and the dukes sizzling-hot!

https://www.amazon.com/Hot-Duke-Summer-Historical-Anthology-ebook/dp/B0CZYVZS4L/

It’s the scorching tales of a Hot Duke Summer Regency Anthology!

For lovers of historical romance, lose yourself in this collection of never before published Regency stories. From gambling halls to ballrooms, you’ll enjoy a cast of unforgettable characters from tales inspired from some of your favorite summer movies. A Regency Gidget? Yes, please! Or the hottest duke in London with a penchant for a fancy conveyance? Absolutely!

It’s glamour, passion, and adventure in one magical summer in Regency England, so join the hottest dukes for the hottest summer around!

The Duchess Bride, by Scarlett Scott

After the death of her true love the Duke of Westley, Lady Celandine Raynell has been left with no choice but to marry the odious Earl of Humberton to protect her family from ruin. On her wedding day, she’s kidnapped by a dashing, masked stranger whose eyes seem hauntingly familiar. Celandine is drawn to her captor and increasingly convinced he is her Westley. But is he? Or has she been spirited away by a villain determined to obtain a ransom from her wealthy fiance.

Dilemma Over a Duke, by Alexa Aston

Lady Evangeline Eastfield has never found a man to replace Hatch, the Duke of Wentworth, in her heart. But he has not been home in six years and has never even replied to her letters. Evie decides to marry for friendship and children, and becomes betrothed to Hatch’s brother. But Hatch has come home, and he is determined to court Evie and win her for his duchess and his love.

The Duke’s Day Off, by Annabelle Anders

Bound by propriety and the expectations of his family, Society and himself, the Duke of Ferris works hard. All the time. As, he cannot help but notice, does Miss Evalina Sparrow, his mother’s companion. He really cannot help but notice his mother’s companion. When he discovers that she is in the habit of taking a day for herself now and then, she invites him to go with her. Ferris is tempted–and to far more than a simple day off. Sometimes, what everyone needs is a day off.

The Moonstone Mermaid, by Meara Platt

In Moonstone Landing, Verity Angel (cousin to Cara, Brenna, and Felicity) who meets her true love, James Pennington, Duke of Ashford under rather awkward circumstances – talk about baring one’s soul – and other juicy body parts! James accidentally gets an eyeful of Verity when he catches her swimming in a secluded glade. From that moment on, he is determined to know her better, and every encounter convinces him that he cannot live without her.

Say Anything, Duke, by Kathleen Ayers

Parthena Holm is the horror of any hostess. Parthena has a propensity to get herself into all sorts of trouble which she does at a house party where she’s been asked to play her violin. She meets the young, reclusive Duke of Wexham who is about to propose to another young lady… until Hurricane Parthena arrives. Parthena does her best to remain invisible, but Wexham is determined to find her.

I Know This Much is True, by Chasity Bowlin

When Caroline Davies makes a sketch of Antony Bancroft, the Duke of Avingden, it was meant to be a private matter between her and her cousin. She certainly did not intend the sketch to fall into the hands of the duke himself. She had drawn him naked, after all, as well as she could since it was all from her imagination. Miss Davies had already caught Andrew’s attention. The sketch suggest that the lady is as interested in him as he is in her. He must find out!

Love is the Duke’s Best Remedy, by Sara Adrien

Edmund Brandon, The Duke of Northumberland, is informed that he must have a wife, or at least a fiancee, to convince the Lord Chancellor to approve the plans he wishes to present to Parliament. On an impulse, he hires a flower girl who does him a favour to masquerade as his betrothed for a week. He doesn’t intend to fall in love with her.

The Worth of an Earl, by Jude Knight

Jen, a waif from the slums, rescues a wealthy lady from kidnappers. Despite the objections of her grandson, the Earl of Frome, Lady Eloise insists on taking Jen to London. Against his will, Frome falls in love with Jen. Just when he is ready to throw his reputation away for the sake of love, he uncovers a secret that changes everything.
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Spotlight on Knight of Havoc<\i>

By Sherry Ewing

Long ago, Reynard Norwood loved deeply, but the lady died, and he vowed never to love again. On a mission for the Empress Matilda, he finds a lady worthy of love. She is barely surviving. How can he leave her? But how can he break his vow to the dead? Torn between loyalty to a ghost and following his heart, he must still make certain that the living lady is safe and secure.

The life of Lady Elysande Thorburn of Blackmore has been in turmoil since King Stephen and his men laid siege to her home. With few resources, she must care for an ailing grandfather and meet her responsibilities to those loyal to the household. Her options for survival are running out. One of Empress Matilda’s knights arrives at her weakest moment. He’s determined she must leave with him, but she’s just as determined to stay.

Nothing about their relationship is simple, least of all the attraction each has for the other. As havoc and conflicting demands surround them, is love even possible?

 

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Spotlight on In Service to a Lyon

A book in The Lyon’s Den Connected World

By E. L. Johnson

A lowly servant who may be French nobility. A scarred English lieutenant who hates all French. Can these two find love in the Lyon’s Den?

Marie Cadough is a French servant who’s learned to hide who she is. Sent to England as a child to flee the French Revolution, she and her uncle escaped suspicion by working as servants in a London household. But when she is dismissed at the hands of an unreasonable mistress, her uncle finds them new positions in the household of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the Black Widow of Whitehall.

Lieutenant Samuel Gage is scarred by war. Having lost his closest friend to a duel and seen hearts broken by heartless Frenchwomen, he has developed an irrational dislike of all things French. But when he suffers painful memories from loud music at the Lyon’s Den, a kind servant takes pity on him. He never expected her to be French.

Marie wants to do well at her new employer’s, so when Mrs. Dove-Lyon asks her to pose as a lady and act as a French-speaking companion to a visiting Frenchwoman, Marie agrees. She never expected to fall for an Englishman in the process.

But not all is well. The other servants are jealous of Marie’s rise to success, and Marie’s new friends are keen to discover her origins. A mutual attraction begins to simmer between Samuel and Marie, but their different backgrounds and the stiff social hierarchy of Regency London pose formidable barriers to their blossoming love.

He is the third son of a baronet—she is a maidservant in a gambling den. Their worlds could not be more different. But as their desire increases, so does the danger, for scheming servants and Marie’s old employers may ruin all their hopes and dreams for the future.

Will Marie and Samuel find love or remain worlds apart? Find out in a new historical romance from bestselling author E.L. Johnson.

Available on Amazon to buy or read in Kindle Unlimited: https://www.amazon.com/Service-Lyon-Lyons-Connected-World-ebook/dp/B0D971DK45/

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Not fitting in, in WIP Wednesday

 

The Worth of an Earl is out in Hot Duke Summer on 24th August, and I don’t think I’ve given you a lot of excerpts from the story. So here is one.

In London, Lady Eloise soon realized that Jen had been raised to be a lady. Then the stones she had brought away in the lamp proved to be uncut gems. “You are a lady and wealthy,” Lady Eloise declared. “We shall find you a chaperone, and you shall enter Society. Why not?”

Jen had grown up on her mother’s stories of Society balls, and something in her must have believed them, even as she doubted, for she was thrilled to attend her first. It looked to an observer exactly like Mammi’s stories. And an observer was what Jen was, at the first ball and each that followed.

No one asked her to dance. No one spoke to her except for Mrs. Bartley, the distant cousin of Aunt Eloise hired to be her chaperone. No one acknowledged her when she spoke, or in any way indicated they were aware she existed and was present.

One night, unable to sleep after yet another dismal and disappointing evening, she stomped downstairs. The library might have a book to distract her, and better yet, she knew there was brandy in a decanter on the sideboard.

It wasn’t fair. Jen could have bought most of the other guests a dozen times over with the money from the stones she’d bundled into the lamp—they turned out to be uncut gems of a very high quality. But because —or any discernable family at all—she was invisible, except to men who were so obviously fortune hunters that she did not need Mrs. Bartley to warn her not to encourage them.

Frome was at the ball again tonight, which was somehow worse than all the rest. Repellent, miserable, squint-nosed worm!

Except only one of those words was true. Frome was even more handsome in evening dress than he was dressed for riding, and when he smiled—as he did to everyone, except Jen—he was utterly compelling.

He had charm, too. Jen had seen him applying it with a ladle to men and women alike, and they all adored him, from the newest debutante to the oldest dowager—from the youngest cub fresh on the town to the elderly uncles. Again, everyone except Jen.

Miserable numb-brain.

The library was in darkness except for a glow from behind the fire-guard and a shielded candle almost guttering inside its protective cover. Jen used the flame from her lamp to light the candles on the mantlepiece and then on the sideboard. She turned one of the waiting glasses up the right way and poured a finger of brandy. Then, with the lamp in one hand and the brandy in the other, she turned to the bookshelves.

She jumped when a voice spoke from the corner near the guttering candle. “Be careful with that lamp near the books.”

Frome.

Her simmering anger at the man made her voice sharp. “See to your own candle, Lord Frome, and I shall see to my lamp.”

Frome moved into the candlelight to glare at her. Why did the man have to be so Dag bland gorgeous? Even when frowning? Even when she was furious with him? Even when he had removed his coat and waistcoat so the neat darns on his shirt showed how hard he was trying to fool the ton into thinking that all was well with his estates?

Which wasn’t the point, and Jen tried hard never to lie to herself. It wasn’t the darns that had her attention, but all the hard muscle shifting under the shirt. To give the devil his due, Frome had apparently been working alongside his tenants ever since his brother died and left a reeking pottle of mess for Frome to inherit. Or so Lady Eloise claimed.

He spread his arms, his own brandy glass dangling from one hand. “Like what you see, do you, Miss Ward?”

She did, but she wasn’t going to tell Frome that. “You think a lot of yourself, do you not, Lord Frome?” she asked.

“Not particularly. But I do think I belong here and you do not.”

“You have made that perfectly clear,” Jen agreed. “However, in this house, your grandmother’s is the opinion that counts.” But not outside this house. Lady Eloise Ainsworth was Frome’s mother’s mother and the daughter of an earl. But she was also the widow of Henry Ainsworth the merchant. In the wider world, she was not nearly as important as a dozen twit-brained crows who happened to have married people with titles.

Frome, who possessed a title and plenty of charm besides, had more influence than any of them. Jen’s indignation frothed up and overflowed. “Outside of this house, you have made certain I will not be accepted. Can you not be satisfied with that, instead of attacking me at every turn?”

By the look of affront on Frome’s face, he had not expected the attack. “I have never said a word against you.”

“Hah!” As if he did not know perfectly well what he had done. Jen would spell it out so he would see that she knew, too. “What conclusion did you expect people to draw when you, the darling of the ton, refuse to dance or even talk with the girl your grandmother is sponsoring? When you stay away from the few entertainments to which I am invited? When, if you cannot avoid being in the same room with me, you ignore me as if I do not exist? I never stood a chance.”

She couldn’t say anything else, for the hurt had bubbled up and was leaking from her eyes. She turned her back on him, facing the bookshelves, though she could not see them through the tears.

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Tea with the ton

Another excerpt post. It isn’t tea, precisely, though I am sure Her Grace served tea at supper after the concert, along with other fluids. The hero of Hold Me Fast is hoping to see his long-lost love at the concert.

When, at last, they were all seated, chattering away like a thousand monkeys or jackdaws rather than people, the duchess came up onto the stage. The noise diminished and then ceased when she tapped the lectern.

It was a formal welcome, and an explanation of the charity hospital that the night was intended to benefit. They, the audience, would be helping the hospital through the ticket sales, several raffles, and an auction.

In return, they would receive not just the pleasure of doing good—a comment that fetched a much bigger laugh that Jowan thought it deserved—but would also enjoy an evening of unparalleled musical excellence.

Jowan managed not to shout out an instruction to get on with it, but Bran must have guessed it was a possibility, for he put his hand back on his brother’s arm.

The duchess was outlining the program for the evening, and doing so with a lot of description and a few jokes.

First, a pianist of whom even Jowan had heard. He had been mentioned quite a few times in the newspapers that made their way to Cornwall.

Next, a couple who must have been well-known in London. The audience’s hum of appreciation indicated the couple were a popular choice, even if they weren’t famous all the way to the western corner of south England. They would both sing while one of them played the harp-lute.

Following that, a short break would allow the assembly to see the items that were being raffled and to write their names and their donations on the paper by each item.

A gentleman whose name Jowan didn’t catch would sing next, and would then sing a duet with Miss Lind before the pianist returned to accompany Miss Lind in further songs. Jowan sat up straighter.

Another short break would be followed by the last musical segment of the evening, this time all Miss Lind.

The duchess went on to talk about the auction that would end that part of the evening and the supper to follow, but Jowan now knew he was doomed to keep waiting. After seven years of waiting, another hour or so should not be a problem, but somehow it was.

He shifted in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable, and caught Bran watching him. His brother looked concerned. Jowan did his best to smile, but must have failed, for Bran’s worry deepened.

The duchess had finished speaking, for everyone began to clap, and Jowan joined in. A tall gentleman who looked remarkably like Drew offered his hand to help the duchess down the steps at one side of the stage, while another man bounced up the other side and took a seat at the piano.

Hold Me Fast can be ordered from Amazon, and will be published on the 19th of September.

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Spotlight on The Blossoming of the Wallflower”

As a gardener, Merrilyn Parkham-Smythe, was happy to be called a wallflower. Wallflowers were tenacious, long-blooming, colourful and reliable plants, easy to care for as long as they had a fair share of sun. Like them, Merrilyn had no objection to providing background to the showier and more troublesome ladies of Society. She did object to being slighted and bullied by those highly-praised blooms and their male counterparts.

The gentleman next door, for example. What a pity such a fine looking man was such an ass. He had damaged her garden and insulted her. He richly deserved what he had coming. Didn’t he?

Sir Darius Finchwater hadn’t meant to offend the lady next door. He had acted on an assumption. He should have checked. And when he found out, too late, what he had done, he should have made a charming apology. Sometimes, when embarrassed, his tongue betrayed him. He was much better with reptiles than with people.

He could think of a better use for those perfectly shaped lips than to hurl abuse at him. Since he couldn’t be in her presence without thoughts that were inappropriate in the presence of an innocent lady, he had to ignore her. But would she ignore him?

Books2read https://books2read.com/TBotW

Extract from The Blossoming of the Wallflower

Dar was breaking his fast on bread and cheese in his uncle’s bed chamber. Uncle Jacob, still looking tired and frail, was nonetheless much improved over yesterday, when he had suffered a session of chest pains which the doctor, hastily resummoned, called angina pectoris.

By the doctor’s command, he was eating gruel, though he grumbled life was not worth living if he had to eat such pap. “I am only doing this because I wish to live long enough to see you married to that lovely girl next door.”

“She might not have me,” Dar warned.

“Ask her, lad,” Uncle Jacob advised. “Don’t leave it until someone else finds out what a treasure she is before you say anything. Perhaps she will say no, though I do not think so. I have seen the way she looks at you. But perhaps she will say yes. Perhaps, if you fail to ask, you will live with regret for the remainder of your days.”

He stared straight into thin air and Dar had the impression he had stopped thinking about Merrilyn or even about Dar. That he was looking into the past and seeing the inexorable march of the years. “Perhaps she will die before you ask, leaving you to wonder whether, if she had been married to you, you might have kept her safe.”

Had Uncle Jacob once been in love? Dar had always thought him a curmudgeon who had chosen to remain a bachelor. Yet the longing in his voice would appear to argue otherwise.

Uncle Jacob broke the silence that followed with a sharp look and the remark, “Perhaps someone else will snatch her up before you have the chance.”

Quite right. Dar had to ask her. The time was not yet—he had more courting to do first. But he was determined to ask. “Yes, Uncle.”

A knock on the door proved to be the butler, asking if Dar would step below stairs.

“I did not want to say anything in front of Lord Finchwater,” he confided as he and Dar descended to the kitchen, “but the maid from next door is here, and very distressed.”

Dar hurried his steps.

Sure enough, the girl was pacing back and forth wringing her hands, while Dar’s servants tried to comfort her. “I must talk to Sir Darius,” she kept repeating.

“I am here,” Dar told her, and she burst into tears.

“They have taken my mistress,” she sobbed. “She went out into the garden early, and she never came back inside. She is gone, sir.”

A moment of weakness was not permitted. Time enough to give into his feelings once she was safe. “Who are they? Who has taken her?”

The maid shook her head. “It must have been those men from the other day,” she insisted. “Nobody saw nothing.”

What of Dar’s footman, who had been set to watch the back gate? Dar had been maintaining an around-the-clock watch since the villains first tried to get into the house. He turned to his butler to ask for someone to be sent to the back lane to check on the footman, but one of the other men hurried into the kitchen, checked at the sight of Dar, then strode towards him.

“Sir! Fred has been hurt. I need help to carry him inside. Someone hit him over the head and tied him up.”

Dar nodded to the butler. “Get the doctor,” he commanded. “I will pay his fee. Have the man carried in on a board in case he has injuries we cannot see. I am going next door. Whoever did this has abducted Miss Parkham-Smythe.”

As he left, he heard the footman explaining how he had searched when the man he had come to relieve was not in position, and had found him shoved into a wood shed at the side of the lane. At the moment, that was not Dar’s concern. Finding Merrilyn was.