Aldridge

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Backlist Spotlight on A Baron for Becky

A fallen woman, she dreams of landing on her feet. Unexpected news brings a chance at a new life, but past wounds may destroy her and the man she loves

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.

Excerpt from A Baron for Becky

Buy A Baron for Becky

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Spotlight on To Tame the Wild Rake

The whole world knows Aldridge is a wicked sinner. They used to be right.

The ton has labelled Charlotte a saint for her virtue and good works. They don’t know the ruinous secret she hides.

Then an implacable enemy reveals all. The past that haunts them wounds their nearest relatives and turns any hope of a future to ashes.

Must they choose between family and one another?

Buy now for delivery on 17 September: https://books2read.com/CMK-ToTame

Prologue

February 1812

The Marquis of Aldridge was closeted with His Grace. The Duke of Winshire, Charlotte’s grandfather, had permitted no visitors for months, ever since an apoplexy robbed his movements of precision and slurred his speech. But this morning he had agreed to see Aldridge.

“He can’t force you into the marriage,” her twin sister Sarah whispered through the spy hole from the servants’ passage in the wall, when she came to tell Charlotte about the visitor. Whether Sarah meant Aldridge or Grandfather, Charlotte wasn’t sure, but Sarah was wrong. Grandfather had already assured her she would be Aldridge’s bride if she had to be carried into the mansion’s chapel bound and gagged.

“My chaplain will marry you right and tight, without you saying a word, and once Aldridge has his hands on you, you’ll obey him like a wife should or suffer the consequences. The boy takes after his father. He’ll know how to handle a reluctant wife.”

Aldridge wasn’t like that. Was he? Five years ago, when he and Charlotte were friends, she would have been certain of him. But his friendship was a kindness to a child. By the time she was old enough to be in Society, her confidence in men had been shattered, and the whispers about Aldridge’s women had been a minor factor in her adamant refusal of his first two proposals.

This time, though, his father and her grandfather had brokered the arrangement, and the Duke of Winshire was determined to bring the unwilling bride to heel. Charlotte was fighting the match with all her powers, but those were few. “I’ll tell Aldridge why I’m unfit to be a bride,” she threatened her grandfather.

“Do that, and I’ll put you, your sister, and your mother out into the street in your chemises,” the old man promised. “Useless coven of females.”

The danger wasn’t as dire as it sounded. Aunt Georgie would make sure they were clothed and fed, and had a roof over their heads. But Charlotte’s threat was even more toothless. Her work depended on her reputation in Society, but even if she was prepared to lose that, she couldn’t condemn her mother or her beloved sister to forever living on the fringes of the Polite World, hidden from view, their very existence an affront.

Would it be so terrible to be married to Aldridge? Yes, and precisely because he was, in his own way, a decent man. She could very easily fall back in love with him as she had when she was fifteen, and that way lay unending heartache. Even if her own scandal remained a secret, he was a rakehell. She could not expect him to remain faithful to any woman, especially one who hated being touched. To love a man who sought his pleasure elsewhere—however discreetly—would be a kind of hell. And then there was the other…

The key rattled in her door and it swung open at the hands of the tall footman who stood guard over her and followed her everywhere she was permitted. Neither he nor his colleague would meet Charlotte’s eyes. “His Lordship the Marquis of Aldridge awaits you in the green parlour, my lady,” said the one in the lead.

Charlotte briefly considered refusing, but they probably had orders to carry her if she wouldn’t go. She tried for a sort of freedom anyway. “Please tell the marquis I will be down shortly.”

The footmen exchanged glances. “We must escort you, my lady,” said the spokesman.

Might as well get it over, then. If Aldridge was determined to go ahead with the marriage, she would tell him all and let come what may. If she made him swear first not to tell His Grace his reasons for crying off, would he keep his word? He was known for always keeping promises, but most men didn’t believe their honour compromised by breaking promises made to women.

With her mind on the coming interview, she was out of the family wing and on her way down the private stairs before she realised that the halls had been a stirred ant nest of activity, and here, hurrying up to brush past her with a chorus of murmured apologies, came the duke’s covey of physicians.

She turned to watch them ascend and disappear through the door into the family wing. “Is something wrong with my grandfather?”

The quieter of the two footmen replied, “They say he took another fit, my lady. When he was seein’ Lord Aldridge.”

Another apoplexy. Each robbed him of a little more function. She found it hard to summon any pity for the old tyrant, especially since he had undoubtedly set things up to rule them all from beyond the grave. Even if he had not, the unknown uncle who would succeed him was sure to be cut from the same cloth, as had been her father and brother.

If she weren’t so damaged, a dynastic marriage to Aldridge would have been preferable to remaining under the rule of the men of her family. As long as she could avoid the stupidity of falling in love. Kindness and respect lasted longer, and Aldridge was kind to his mother and sisters. Though who knew what a man was really like behind closed doors?

In any case, the point was moot. She would tell him all—or most—and it would be over.

He stood as she entered the parlour. From the artistic disorder of his fair hair to the mirror-gleam of his boots, he was dressed with his usual elegance. His coat fitted his broad shoulders like a glove. The single emerald on the gold pin that anchored his snowy cravat echoed the embroidery on his waistcoat and the glints of green in his hazel eyes. His tight pantaloons lovingly shaped slender hips and muscular thighs. Which she was not going to look at.

He’d chosen a seat on the far side of the room from the door, and he now ordered the footmen to wait outside. “I require a few moments of privacy with my betrothed.” After a moment’s hesitation, they obeyed, leaving the door wide open.

As she took a chair, he murmured, “Are there servant passages near us? Can we be heard if we keep our voices low?”

So that is why he’d chosen a seating group by the outside wall. “Not if we are quiet,” she confirmed.

He was examining her in the way that always made her restless—a steady look, as if he could see her innermost thoughts. “You asked to see me,” she reminded him, to put an end to it.

That broke his gaze. His lids dropped, and he laughed, a short unamused bark. “And you would like to see me in Jericho. Straight to the point, then, Lady Charlotte. Your mother told my mother that you are being threatened with dire consequences if you do not marry me.”

He leaned forward, meeting her eyes again, his voice vibrating with sincerity. “I have never forced a woman, and I don’t plan to do so. I will not take an unwilling wife.”

Charlotte tried to hide the upwelling relief, but some of it must have shown, for he sighed as he sat back, his shoulders shifting in what would have been a slump in a less elegant man. “It is true, then. Given a choice, you will not have me.”

Charlotte had not expected his disappointment, the sorrow deep in his eyes, swiftly masked. Before she could measure her words, she leapt to reassure him. “It is not you. I do not plan ever to marry.”

He grimaced. “That is what my mother tells me. Is there nothing I can say that would change your mind? You would be an outstanding duchess.”

No. She really wouldn’t. Like everyone else, he saw only the duke’s granddaughter, not the woman within. Perhaps, if he had been a man of lesser estate, if he had spoken about affection and companionship, she might have risked it. Not love. Charlotte did not trust love.

Again, he read something of her mind, for he sighed again, and gave her a wry smile and the very words she wanted. “We were friends once, my Cherry, were we not? Long ago?”

Her resolve softened at the nickname he had given her that golden summer, before it all went wrong. “I was very young and you were very drunk,” she retorted.

He huffed a brief laugh. “Both very true. Still, we could be friends again, I think. I have always hoped for a wife who could also be my friend.” He frowned. “Is it my damnable reputation? I am not quite the reprobate they paint me, you know.”

Charlotte shook her head, then rethought her response. His reputation might outrun his actions, but he was reprobate enough, and the lifestyle he brushed off so casually had destroyed her brother. And her, as well, though not through her own fault.

“Not that, though if I were disposed to marry, I would not choose a rake. Marriage is not for me, however.” She should at least hint at the reason. “I cannot be your duchess, Aldridge.” She hesitated. How should she tell him? Blurt it out? Make a story of it?

The words wouldn’t come, and he must have assumed that she’d finished. His social mask dropped back into place, proud though affable. “I have told your grandfather we will not suit. He asked if you had told me what he called ‘your maidenly reservations’, and I assured him I had not spoken with you. I let him think that the marriage arrangement was my father’s idea, and not mine.”

Marrying her had been Aldridge’s idea? Charlotte put that away to think about later. “Thank you. He has had me locked in until I agreed to receive your proposal.”

Aldridge nodded, unsurprised. The mother network must have included that information. “I am afraid my repudiation of the arrangement made him ill again. I’m sorry to say he took a fit.”

Charlotte shrugged. She couldn’t be sorry, even if that made her a horrible person. Again, Aldridge seemed to know what she was thinking.

“He, like my own sire, is too used to everyone leaping to his commands. We can’t let their refusal to brook denial shape our lives any more than they must.” He stood. “Still, I must hope I haven’t killed him. Will you let me know?”

“I will. And thank you.” She held out her hand in farewell, and he took it, turning it over and placing a kiss in the palm.

Once again, his mask dropped away, and something unfathomable stirred in his eyes. “If you change your mind, or if you ever have need of anything I can do for you, let me know, Cherry. I will always come at your command.”

With that, he dropped her hand and strode for the door, leaving Charlotte less happy than she expected. If he had been a yeoman farmer, or a lawyer, or some other humble man to whom she might aspire—someone who did not require from her the primary duty of a peer’s wife—they might have been happy together. But then, he would not have been Aldridge.

Author’s Note

To Tame the Wild Rake is the last novel in the series The Return of the Mountain King. Can it be read as a stand-alone? Yes, it can. The main plot line is the romance between the Marquis of Aldridge and Lady Charlotte Winderfield. In this novel, you’ll find out about their history, together and separately, what stands between them, and how it is resolved. And I’ll give you a glimpse of their happy ever after in the epilogue.

If you want to know the full story of the villain’s dealings with the two main families in the book, or the stories of the married son and daughter of the Duke of Winshire, and of Charlotte’s sister, you may wish to read the other books in the series. They’re listed in order at the back and on my web, and on retailer sites, you’ll notice that the novels are numbered on the cover.

Beyond that, I write historical romances set in a complex Regency world of my own imagining, where all the most powerful families know one another, and a main character from one book may be a secondary or background character in another. For example, Aldridge has appeared in more than thirteen of my novels, novellas, and short stories, and not only in this series. When I edit, I have to discipline myself to cut out all the detail about these extra people that doesn’t have anything to do with the plot lines of the particular book I’m writing. I don’t want to confuse new readers. But I know readers of my other books enjoy these glimpses of old friends.

This book has one unresolved plot line from the series. What becomes of the relationship between Aldridge’s mother, the Duchess of Haverford, and Charlotte’s uncle, the Duke of Winshire? That story will be published as Paradise At Last in a three-part set later this year. I’m aiming at 15 December. The set, The Paradise Triptych, will include the duke’s novella, Paradise Regained, the duchess’s memoirs, Paradise Lost, and Paradise At Last.

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Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week two

Second contest over. Congratulations to Andrea, our winner for week two.

See the new post for the week three contest, discount and giveaway.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Second week prize is:

Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

  • A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.

This week’s discount is 99c for To Wed a Proper Lady

Runs from 31 August to 7th September

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0841CJ7TQ/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/to-wed-a-proper-lady-the-bluestocking-and-the-barbarian

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is Hearts in the Land of Ferns.

Runs from 24 August to 6th September. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/hearts-in-the-land-of-ferns

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Attraction in WIP Wednesday

Charlotte finds the secret of the relationship between her and Aldridge hard to keep in the following excerpt from To Tame the Wild Rake. (Anthony is Aldridge’s given name.) Do you have an excerpt about attraction that you’d like to share?

Seeing Anthony in company proved to be more difficult that Charlotte expected. To keep their secret, she had to behave as if nothing had changed since yesterday. She wanted to smile at him, spend the whole evening at his side, touch him, bask in the warmth of his eyes.

He seemed unaffected, nodding to her gravely from the other side of the room when she looked his way, then continuing his conversation with his mother and Jessica as if Charlotte was merely an acquaintance of no particular importance.

She sat with Sarah and Nate, and Anthony took a place a couple of rows behind her. Charlotte exercised all the willpower she had at her command and managed not to turn around, but to give at least the appearance of listening to the music. Her mind kept slipping to the events of the previous night and to wondering whether Anthony was thinking about them too.

When the musicians stopped for a rest and their hostess announced that supper was served in the next room, he made his move, bringing his ladies over to greet her party, then offering Charlotte his arm and holding her back to allow the others to lead the way.

He bent his head close to her ear and whispered, “There’s a door two down from the room set aside for women to retire. Meet me inside that room? In ten minutes?”

She turned her head to meet his eyes, meaning to refuse. What came off her tongue was a breathy, “Yes.”

He smiled, more with his eyes than his mouth, then left her at the door of the room, taking a couple of steps forward to say to the duchess, “I trust you will excuse me, Mama. I have seen someone I wish to speak with.” He was gone before Aunt Eleanor could reply.

Was it always this easy to keep an assignation? When she excused herself a few minutes later, no one in her party made any comment. Perhaps it was her reputation. No one would think anything of Saint Charlotte heading down the passage that led to the ladies retiring room.

Everyone else must be focused on their supper, because she had the passage to herself. She counted doors, opened the right one, and slipped into a room dimly lit with a single candle. She sensed Anthony’s presence a bare second before she found herself seized and ruthlessly kissed.

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Happy Sixth Birthday to A Baron for Becky

A Baron for Becky was first published on 5th August 2015. It introduced one of my most popular characters, but didn’t give him a happy ending.

Now, finally, the Marquis of Aldridge is hero of his own book. To Tame the Wild Rake will be published on 17th September, and is currently on preorder.

Presents for you

Free and discounted

To celebrate my book birthday, I’m giving away A Baron for Becky on Bookfunnel. It’s free for two days.

It’s also free on my SELZ bookshop.

I’m reducing it to 99c on Amazon as soon as their system gets over a glitch and lets me into the pricing field.

Haverford House website

I’ve set up a new website, a subsite of this one, to give you biographies, background information, images, a family tree, and excerpts. Lots of excerpts.

So far, I have a family tree and a couple of introductions, but I plan to post something new every day between now and the publication of the new book. Keep checking. I’ll also have contests and giveaways.

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Action heroes on Work-in-Progress Wednesday

I do like a story with action–where something happens of more consequence that who asks whom to dance or what trim is purchased for a hat or gown. So my poor characters are kidnapped, chased, beaten, battled with, stolen from, abandoned, operated on, shipwrecked…

As always, I invite you to post an excerpt from your current work-in-progress; this week, an action scene.

Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover.

Nate held on as Aldridge raced his phaeton towards the address Lady Charlotte had given them, weaving close to buildings, feathering past carriages, missing pedestrians by inches, turning corners on a single wheel.

Nate, Drew, and the duke had been about to go upstairs to the nursery when Aldridge arrived, asking anxiously for Charlotte. He had word of a trap set in Clerkenwell; someone who planned to compromise and marry Sarah’s sister. What would the kidnappers do when they found out they had the wrong sister, and a married woman, at that?

If they arrived in time, it would be thanks to Aldridge’s driving skill. On any other day, Nate would be demanding that he slow down, take care. But with Sarah in trouble, he couldn’t go fast enough. He just gripped the side rail of the seat and gritted his teeth, and prayed as he had never prayed before.

How would he tell Elias if anything had happened to her? How would he survive losing her again?

Aldridge hauled the horses to a halt beside a carriage with the Winshire coat of arms. “You’re Lady Sarah’s driver?” he asked the man who sat nervously atop the carriage, a musket across his knees.

“Aye, sir.” The coachman looked towards a narrow gap between the buildings. “I’m waiting for Lady Bentham.”

Nate leapt to the ground, the pistol Uncle James had given him in one hand and his dagger in the other. “How long since my wife went in there, driver?”

“Perhaps fifteen minutes, sir?” the driver answered. “Is there something wrong?”

Aldridge shouted at a man who was lounging against a wall. “You there?!” The man spat a stream of yellow bile into the street and sneered. A coin appeared between Aldridge’s fingers and disappeared as quickly.

“I am the Marquis of Aldridge and I am giving you two options. You make sure no one touches my carriage or my horses or those of Lady Bentham, and you get a crown. Anything happens to either team or rig, and I find you and extract your brains through your nostrils, burn them, and sell them as pie filling. Your choice.” He held up the coin. “A shilling now, the rest when I come back.”

The man straightened. “Done.” He held out a hand and caught the coin that Aldridge tossed even as Nate ran past him into the alley.

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Tea with her own thoughts

(This excerpt post comes from Paradise Lost, a selection of vignettes from the life of the Duchess of Haverford that I put together for my newsletter subscribers. The assassination attempt mentioned below happened in To Wed a Proper Lady.)

Eleanor had withdrawn to her private sitting room, driven there by His Grace’s shouting. Her son, the Marquis of Aldridge, was as angry as she had ever seen him, his face white and rigid and his eyes blazing, but he kept his voice low; had even warned the duke about shouting.

“Let us not entertain the servants, Your Grace, with evidence of your villainy.”

Unsurprisingly, the duke had taken exception to the cutting words and had shouted even louder.

Could it be true? Had Haverford paid an assassin to kill the sons of the man he insisted as seeing as his rival? An assassin who had been caught before he could carry out his wicked commission.

His Grace’s jealousy made no sense. Yes, James was back in England, but what did that matter to Haverford?

He had been furious when James and his family attended their first ball, and beside himself with rage when Society refused to accept that the prodigal returned was an imposter. She expected him to continue to attack the new Earl of Sutton with words. Even his petition to the House of Lords to have James’s marriage declared invalid and his children base-born was typical of Haverford. But to pay for an assassin?

He had failed. She would hold onto that. And Aldridge was more than capable of holding his own.

As she sat there with her tea tray, sheltering from the anger of her menfolk, she gave thanks that her son had not been ruined by his father’s dictates over how he should be raised. She had been able to mitigate some of the damage, but more than that, his younger brother Jonathan and his older half-brother David had been his salvation, giving him the confidence that he was loved and the awareness that he was not the centre of the entire world.

Aldridge’s fundamentally loving nature helped, too. He was a rake, but not in his father’s mould. Rather, he loved and respected women, even if he did treat them according to the stupid conventions applied to aristocratic males. And he was a good son.

Putting down her tea, she fetched a little box of keepsakes from her hidden cupboard. The fan her long dead brother had given her before her first ball. A small bundle of musical scores, that recalled pleasant evenings in her all too brief Season. Aldridge’s cloth rabbit. She had retrieved it when Haverford had ordered it destroyed, saying his son was a future duke and should not be coddled. Aldridge had been eight months’ old. Anthony George Bartholomew Philip Grenford, his full name was, but he had been born heir to his father, and therefore Marquis of Aldridge, and by Haverford’s decree no one, not even Eleanor, called him by anything but his title.

Even so, the cloth rabbit had not been the first time she secretly defied her husband. She had been sneaking up to the nursery since Aldridge was born, despite the duke’s proclamation that ladies of her rank had their babies presented to them once a day, washed, sweetly smelling and well behaved, and handing the infants back to their attendants if any of those conditions failed or after thirty minutes, whichever came first.

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The war between thoughts and actions on WIP Wednesday

What we do and say isn’t necessarily a reflection of what we’re thinking, and part of the fun of writing is to let readers into the thoughts our characters are not willing to share with those around them. This week, I’d love to see any excerpt you care to share where a character’s actions are being driven by thoughts they’d rather keep to themselves. Mine is from To Tame a Rake. Charlotte has sought Aldridge’s help to rescue a boy who has been kidnapped. The boy has already escaped, but Aldridge rescues two prostitutes.

Aldridge sent his footmen home. “Get some food into you then sleep,” he told them. Tell Richards I’ve given you the rest of the day off.”

Lady Charlotte was glaring at him. “I will do myself the honour of escorting you to Winderfield House, my lady,” he told her.

She put her chin up, her nostrils flaring as she took in a deep breath to wither him.

“It is my duty, as I’m sure my mother would insist.”

“I need no other escort but Yahzak and his men,” Lady Charlotte said, looking to her fierce guard captain for his support. Yahzak backed his horse a step, his face impassive, saying nothing. Her statement was undoubtedly true from the point of view of her physical safety.

“Nonetheless…” Aldridge replied, not wanting explain—barely wanting to acknowledge to himself—his burning need see her safe inside her own home before he surrendered to the fatigue that was his reaction to the night they’d spent.

Especially that moment when he had stood by the mouth of that alley expecting Wharton’s hirelings, only to see Charlotte emerge, putting herself right in the path of danger when he had thought her safely out of the way observing from the rooftops.

That moment of heart-stopping fear had given way to anger when they’d ridden beyond the reach of the slum boss, and he’d been fighting ever since to contain his temper, to speak with her and the others with calm and civility.

Her obstinacy over the prostitutes had nearly defeated his control. Didn’t she understand how her own reputation could be tainted by association?

His civilised self knew that Saint Charlotte was nearly as well known for her virtue as for her works of charity, and that wouldn’t be changed by housing a pair of refugees from a brothel, especially two witnesses who could help bring down a dangerous criminal.

Actually, the value of the investigation was a good point to make if anyone dared criticise his ladyship in his hearing. Not that it soothed his irritation in the slightest. He was being irrational and he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

On the ride back through the steadily brightening streets, she ignored him, though he rode beside her. Probably as well. He didn’t trust himself to speak without disclosing more of his feelings than was consistent with dignity.

She had clearly been stewing, however. In the forecourt of the Winshire mansion, when he dismounted and reached her stirrup ahead of Yahzak, ready to help her down, she allowed the privilege, but stepped out of his reach while his body still hardened from her touch, turned both barrels of her ire on him and let fly.

“You take too much on yourself, Lord Aldridge. I am grateful for your help this past night,” (she didn’t sound grateful), “but that does not give you the right to dictate my behaviour or comment on my decisions.”

Aldridge managed to keep his reply courteous, even pleasant, despite his pathetic emotional state. “I want only to protect you, my lady.”

“Because I am not capable of protecting myself?” she demanded, with heavy irony. “Because I don’t have a family of my own to support me?”

“No!” He clamped his mouth shut on the next words on his tongue. Because you are mine. She would kill him. Or castrate him.

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Investigations and shenanigans in WIP Wednesdays

I like a bit of mystery and detection with my romance — a spice of danger somewhat more serious than who kissed whom in the garden. If you do, too, then join my hero and his half-brother as they visit a brothel in search of a missing boy. (And if you have a piece you’d like to share, please pop it in the comments.)

Wakefield took the lead, pointing. “That girl and that one, and one room with a large bed,” he ordered. Aldridge nodded in agreement. Wakefield had contacts among the women who earned their living in the world’s oldest trade; presumably he’d recognised the ones he’d chosen.

The two selected approached, their smiles professional and meaningless. One was dressed in skimpy Grecian robes with her brunette curls dressed high and bound with gold cord—Artemis, from the little toy bow and arrow she carried in one hand. The other wore her fair hair down, flowing over her upper body. A bright scarf was her only covering other than her hair, cinched at the waist by a circlet of flowers that echoed the one on her head. Gauzy wings hinted that she was, perhaps, intended to be a fairy.

“Artemis,” the greeter confirmed with a wave, and, “Ariel,” with a second. “Something to drink or eat, my lords?”

“Perhaps later,” Aldridge said. He slipped an arm around the blonde fairy and sniffed at her flowers. Silk, but he ignored that detail. “Come on, sweet thing. Show me to a bed.”

“The India room,” the greeter decided. Wakefield offered the brunette a raised hand. “Shall we, your divinity?”

She giggled as she placed her hand in his, and raised her nose in the air, slanting a glance to the others in the room to ensure they noticed. Aldridge allowed the woman he was holding to lead the way down a passage.

They stopped at the fourth room on the right, where a partly opened door gave entrance to a brightly decorated room with richly embroidered silken wall hangings and what looked like copies of Hindu template painting in a frieze around the walls. The main feature of the room was a circular bed at least 10 feet across.

Aldridge gave Ariel a gentle push on her bottom to propel her further into the room so that he could disengage, then put out a hand to catch her wrist as she reached for her belt. “Don’t disrobe,” he said, as Wakefield escorted Artemis inside and turned to shut and secure the door.

The fairy attempted to rub herself against Aldridge as he held her away from him by the wrist. “How may I please you, my lord?” she asked.

“Information, Sukie, and an alibi,” Wakefield said, drawing the attention of both women. Their poise slipped as they narrowed their eyes at him. He had been examining the walls, and now led them all to the corner of the bedchamber nearest to the window.

With his back to the room, Wakefield removed the glasses whose tinted lenses disguised the colour of his eyes and ejected the pads that puffed out his cheeks into his hand.

“Gor blimey!” The goddess’s refined accent devolved into broad slum in her surprise. She lowered her voice at Wakefield’s urgent gesture. “Sukie, it’s Shadow.”

The fairy looked from the enquiry agent to Aldridge and back again. “You’re never here for a poke,” she decided. “Him, maybe, but not you. Your missus would feed you your bollocks.”

Wakefield laughed softly, and whispered back, “True, Bets. Ladies, may I make known to you the Marquis of Aldridge, my half-brother. Aldridge, Saucy Sukie and Bouncing Bets are old friends.”

Aldridge bowed as if being introduced to a couple of dowagers, and the two prostitutes giggled and flushed like debutantes.

“You’re right, Bets,” Wakefield agreed, “We’re here to take back… Well. Before I get to that, how do you like working here? Are conditions good?”

Bets screwed up her face in disgust. “Good? Like hell. Never been any place worse. Can’t leave the house without a bully-boy tagging along. Can’t make any money till we’ve paid for our costumes, and our food, and our anything. Twelve Johns a night or we get fined, unless the John pays double for more than forty minutes, and ain’t nobody going to pay twelve times as much for a whole night.”

Sukie added, “And that’s not the worst, Shadow. La Reine, she sells everything and anything. Doesn’t care if it damages the merchandise. One of the girls got beaten so bad she couldn’t come back to work again, and then she just disappeared. Gone back to her mother, La Reine said. Bullshit, I say.” She shuddered.

“Even kids,” Bets agreed. “I don’t hold with that. I wouldn’t have signed on if I’d known about that.”

“We’re here to rescue a boy,” Wakefield said. Aldridge shot him an alarmed glance, but presumably his brother thought these women could be trusted.

At that moment, someone tried the door handle, and then there was a knock.

“This room is occupied,” Aldridge called out, allowing some of his anger to colour his voice.

“Drinks!” came the reply, “Complements of the House.”

Wakefield nodded at Sukie, but Aldridge said, “Wait.” He pulled the scarf off her shoulder leaving her upper half bare, and tipped her floral coronet sideways. “Here.” He drew a heavy bag of coins from his belt. “Tell them we want the next three hours, and no interruptions.”

Sukie carried out her commission, barely opening the door, handing over a bag and opening the tray.

“The money is not going to help much,” Wakefield whispered to Aldridge. “If they’re not already watching through the walls, they’ll be on their way.”

“Then we’d better be on ours,” Aldridge whispered back, though he was kicking himself for forgetting that they were probably being observed. Disrobing Sukie just so she could answer the door might already be counting against them.

With the door bolted again, all four of them retreated to the corner by the window, where Wakefield and Aldridge laid out their reasons for being there and what they hoped to achieve.

“If we help you find the boy, will you take us with you?” Bets asked, and Sukie nodded.

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Wakefield warned. “I can’t give you any guarantee that we’ll get out safely.”

Sukie snorted. “For certain sure, we’re not getting out safely if we stay.”

“Then we’ll take you,” Aldridge decided. “Whether we find the boy or not.”

He crossed to the tray of drinks and reached for one of them. “I wouldn’t,” Wakefield warned.

Aldridge pulled back his hand as if scalded. “Drugged?”

“A drink given to you free in Wharton’s brothel? What do you think?”

Aldridge shuddered and followed the others from the room.

by

Spotlight on A Baron for Becky

Now for a throwback. In 2015, I published A Baron for Becky, a book in two halves, with a different hero in each. A woman’s story that also included a romance. A new review prompted me to feature it this weekend. It’s still one of my favourites. And it’s timely to feature it again, since I’m working on the story of the left-over hero, who will finally follow his heart a bit later this year.

Here’s the blurb:

The pampered courtesan. Becky dreams of a future for her child that does not depend on beauty, sex and the whims of a man.

The scarred and haunted baron. Hugh wants a future for his name, as impossible as that may be for a man who cannot father a child.

The wealthy and charismatic heir. Aldridge’s riotous ways conceal a good heart. His future as one of the foremost dukes of the realm keeps him from allowing it to rule his private life. Personal happiness is not for him, but can he give it to two people he loves?

But even a future duke cannot command the happiness of others. If their pasts don’t break them first, Becky and Hugh must build their own future, together.

And here’s the lovely review that popped up unexpectedly in my Amazon author central report, by Charlotte Brothers. Thank you, Charlotte.

A Baron for Becky was an extremely immersive read. Far from being a “churned” story that glosses over the darker, and emotionally complicated sides of the Regency rake and the women that they swept into their arms and beds, the characters are believably complex, and completely pulled me in.

I would describe it as a heartfelt and gritty tale—sexy, but with realistically vulnerable and damaged people. I mean by that, that it shows how value affirming sensuality can be, and also how destructive and dangerous.

The book has what just may be my favourite first chapter start.

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

For more information, a few snippets from editorial reviews, and buy links, see my book page.