Alina K. Field

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Recipes for Hijinks in A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper

Today, my friend Alina K. Field visits us on Footnotes on Friday, with some information about sneezing powder, itching powder and more!

The heroine of A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper seizes her first opportunity, a masquerade at her family’s estate, to take revenge on the duke who ruined her first season.

Though the duke has now expressed a desire to court her, she’s not having it. Her first ploy is swapping costumes with her devious younger brother. How embarrassing for the duke at the midnight unmasking when he discovers he’s been romancing a boy!

But she’s planned more. She’ll put sneezing powder (pepper) in his handkerchief, and itching powder in the costume he’s been given to wear. An emetic, syrup of ipecac, available in her family’s still room, can be put in his drink, and the estate’s abundant roses provide shriveled rose hips from which she makes itching powder. However, she puts her foot down at her brother’s plan to dose the hero with the Spanish fly and sweet flag provided by his friend, the local apothecary’s assistant.

Jude has blogged before about the aphrodisiac Spanish fly, made from beetles. Sweet flag, acorus calumus, is an herb with a history of medicinal applications, including aphrodisiac qualities. The plant was introduced to England in the 16th century, so would have been known and available. Besides its healing qualities, it was used by perfumers and as a flavoring agent. My schoolboy character, having learned of the ancient Orientals’ particular use for this herb, is anxious to try it on the hero.

If you’d like to make your own itching powder, there are other choices besides rose hips. Here’s a step-by-step tutorial. Keep these recipes away from the children!

A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper

Release Day June 11, 2024

Heat rating: PG-13

As Midsummer Night’s magic unfolds and passions rise, will a repentant duke be well and truly punished, or will a vengeful wallflower be caught in her own game?

A Midsummer Night’s masquerade at her family’s country home presents the Honorable Nancy Lovelace with the perfect opportunity for revenge against the man who ruined her first London season—a man she’s known since childhood, a man she’d once thought she loved. With the help of her crew of younger relatives, she’ll give him his comeuppance.

Thanks to his bad behavior, Simon Crayding is now known to society as the Swilling Duke. When an old school chum invites him for a Midsummer Night’s party, he jumps at the chance to lick his wounds among friends and apologize to his friend’s sister, Nancy, because apparently, he’s done something to hurt her, he just doesn’t remember what.

It soon becomes clear that Nancy will not easily forgive. Never one to resist a challenge—or a beautiful lady—Simon vows to persevere. As the night unfolds and passions rise, will Simon be well and truly punished, or will Nancy be caught in her own game?

First Kiss

Nancy lifted her skirts and tiptoed along the dark passage, willing herself to proceed in a stately manner, with her hem and her hair wreath minding their places.

She had been doing so well, so very, very well, quelling the nervousness twitching through her… Until that first step from the carriage when she’d knocked the poor footman’s wig askew.

She took a long breath and assumed the ramrod posture that was her defense against the busk in her stays—as well as all the other worries unsettling her.

The dancing would start soon, and she would so love to dance the first set.

There’d be no more tripping. No more ripped clothing. No more embarrassing awkwardness.

If only she and Mama were not virtually alone in this crowd of strangers.

Not that the ball guests were all strangers to her mother. Though Mama had been absent from London these last two years since Papa’s death, she’d kept up her correspondence with friends and acquaintances.

Mama would find someone to lead her daughter out. Someone young, Nancy hoped, but not too fashionable. Not eager to wed, because she wasn’t at all ready to spend hours drinking tea or being driven in the park. She could drink tea and go for drives at home, and there were far too many interesting museums and theaters in London to waste time on mere courting. Her friend from school, Sally Simpkins, was in London as well, though Mama had advised restraint about socializing with the daughter of a Drury Lane actress, never mind that the woman was considered respectable.

It had seemed a trifle unfair. Sally was as much a lady as any of the ton, and she’d know exactly how to act with the crowd gathered here, no matter how high the title.

Oh, for a familiar dance partner. Her brother, George, wouldn’t mind if she stepped on his toes; her brother, Fitz, would laugh if she made a wrong turn. The same was true for Rupert and Selwyn.

Or… what about Simon?

Thoughts of him sent emotions spiraling in her, longing twining with annoyance, and strands of hurt and embarrassment befuddling her, so that when she turned a corner, she stumbled against a large body with a startled squeak.

“Here now. What’s this?”

Powerful hands matched the deep masculine voice and set her back, steadying her. She looked up, astonished, and her heart swelled and threatened to burst. All the mixed emotions evaporated, and joy flooded her. Dark hair spilled over one blue-gray eye and the full lips pursed together in a frown.

He’d come for her. Simon Clayding—Duke of Something now, but he would always be Simon to her—Simon was here.

“It’s you,” she said. “I’m so s-sorry. I’m as clumsy as ever. B-but… you’re here?”

Perhaps he would dance with her. Perhaps she should ask him.

“’Course I’m here.” He blinked, as though trying to focus. “Question is, why are you here looking like a fresh young thing ready for your come-out?”

“S-Simon?”

“Simon?” He muttered a foul profanity she’d heard only on the rarest of occasions spilling from one of her brothers’ mouths. “Demmed Percy told you my Christian name, I suppose, and sent you along. One of his pranks. Well, madam, you’re a pretty thing, and I mean you no offense, but I’m not going to be sidetracked tonight. I’m not interested.”

A wave of misery stilled her tongue and drove the breath from her. She’d loved Simon Clayding since her brother George brought him home from school that first holiday fifteen years ago when she’d been not much more than a baby.

In the dim light of a wall sconce, his gaze darkened and held hers, despite his proclaimed lack of interest.

Perhaps… Simon hadn’t seen her in nine years. He didn’t recognize her. He had her confused with someone else.

Reasoning trickled back into her senses, bringing along the strong scent of brandy.

Of course. He was completely foxed.

She licked her lips, preparing to set him straight, but as she opened her mouth, a spark lit his eyes and turned up the corners of his mouth.

And then he tugged her, pressing his lips to hers, pressing his chest to her… to her…

Breath left her in a whoosh as he angled his mouth over hers, nibbling and then entering her with his tongue, inflaming desire, demanding surrender.

She gripped his broad shoulders but instead of steadying her, their solidness sent heat spinning through her.

Simon was kissing her. Simon. The first man to kiss her. At a public ball. He cared for her. He hadn’t forgotten. He meant to mar…

“There.” He set her back as suddenly as he’d swooped down on her.

A tendril of hair fell over her cheek, the same one that a maid had just pinned.

“That’s all you’ll get from me. Go back and tell Percy we’ve had our tumble, if you will, and demand payment from him. Get you gone before one of the servants sees you and throws you out on your arse.”

He turned her around and smacked her bottom. She staggered against the wall, righted herself, and turned back ready to give him a piece of her mind.

But he’d disappeared.

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Tea with Mrs Grant

“Your grace, I am grateful you are taking the time to see me today” The new bride seated across the table, Mrs. Grant, blushed furiously. “Lady Wallenford sends her deepest regrets that she could not join you today.”

Lady Wallenford had requested this opportunity to meet and to introduce one of her protégés, Mrs. Myra Grant. Before her marriage, Mrs. Grant had been a teacher at the charity home sponsored by Lady Wallenford and two other peeresses, and was the perfect person to answer any questions the duchess might have.

“As she explained to me in her note this morning. I think it is commendable of any mother to consider the health of the children more important than socializing. I do hope the twins recover soon from their fever.”

“As do I.”

“Though this is not really a social call, I’m given to understand.”

“Oh.” The young lady—she was indeed both young and a lady—turned a deeper shade of red.

Eleanor patted her hand. “I’m teasing you. I know you are here to seek my sponsorship of the children’s home. I’m told that Lady Wallenford resided and worked there, and that you took her place after her marriage.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“As a widow with a child to care for and no family, that must have been a great blessing.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Eleanor suppressed a chuckle. Instinct told her that Mrs. Grant was a very good sort of girl who’d had to overcome great obstacles. She had a deep admiration for women like that, as well as a deep curiosity to know more.

She was asking the wrong sorts of questions.

“I want to know more about the children’s home, Mrs. Grant, but first, tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up, what happened to your baby’s father, and how did you land at the children’s home?”

Mrs. Grant cast her gaze upon the teacup held in now trembling hands and then sighed. “I am blessed in my marriage to Mr. Grant. He knows the truth, all of it, as do all of our lady sponsors and I daresay their husbands, as well. Lady Wallenford assures me the truth will not discourage your patronage.”

Eleanor refilled the younger woman’s cup. “To be lucky in love is no small thing, my dear. What came before such luck, well, it is a tale as old as time, is it not? But do tell me the story of this romance with Mr. Grant. I heard that it might not have taken place except that this was a Leap Year.”

Mrs. Grant smiled and then laughed. “Very well, your grace. Once upon a time, in a small village in Sussex…”

A Leap Into Love

Can a gentleman be too charming? The ladies of Upper Upton think so.

And it’s almost Leap Day, when a man who refuses a lady’s proposal of marriage must offer a forfeit.

When the single ladies of the village conspire to teach their charmer a lesson that might bankrupt him, the town’s loveliest young widow steps up to warn him.

His secrets and hers make them a perfect match—and she’s the lady he wants. But she won’t accept his proposal, not even to rescue him.

As Leap Day approaches, the clock is ticking. Can he convince her in time to say yes to his offer and take a leap into love?

 

An Excerpt for A Leap Into Love

They stepped out of the inn yard and onto the road. Arthur settled himself on his shoulder and snuffled his neck.

He should offer the lady his arm, but she’d put some distance between them, walking in the other wheel rut. “And so what is the verdict on the worsted?”

She bit her lip. “The worsted.” She sighed and squinted at Wills who was ranging far ahead. “We shall buy some of it. Depending upon your price, of course. Mrs. McClintock will be along tomorrow to examine it and talk to you. But in truth…” She stopped, bit down on her lip again and raised her eyes to him. “There is a plot, Mr. Grant. I feel honor-bound to tell you. You must…” Her gaze skittered along the bushes hedging the lane as if someone lurked there eavesdropping. “You must leave town on twenty-nine February. There is a plot.”

Twenty-nine February. “A plot.”

“Yes.”

Twenty-nine February was Leap Day.

The fog lifted. He’d heard of the tradition but never seen it practiced: on Leap Day a lass could propose marriage to a lad. Miss Gurnwood wanted Mrs. Smith to propose to her brother. The stringy young vicar needed a wife. And what had that to do with a plot against himself?

“They mean to conspire, all the unmarried ladies in town. They mean to ask you to marry them.”

He swallowed a chuckle. He’d drawn ladies to his handsome self since he’d begun sprouting whiskers. It was good to know he still had the knack. “And why would they do that?”

Her chest rose with a quick breath. “Why? You’re a widower, they say, and in need of a mother for your children.”

“Is that all?”

She pressed her lips together. “A man who is…well-spoken, reasonably young, and well-established is rare in a village like this.”

“And braw and handsome.”

“Yes, and a…a…well, I must say it: a man friendly with all the ladies. They mean to take you to task. They mean to ask you to marry them, and when you say no, they mean to ask as a forfeit the silk and muslin cloth you purchased at auction today.”

Artie squirmed and looked to his mother, sensing her disquiet.

He patted the plump bottom, and the babe settled. “If I say no. And of course I’ll have to since I’m not some eastern potentate setting up a harem. It’s a diabolical plan. Not too far ahead, Wills,” he called.

“So you see, you must leave.”

“I’m not one to run from trouble, Mrs. Smith.”

Not any kind of trouble. As an officer of the 42nd Foot, he’d fought every skirmish he came across with nary a scratch. It had been an act of charity, taking food to a sick family in Lisbon, that had felled him with a dire case of the mumps and sent him home on half pay.

In the distance Will swung his lantern, well out of earshot.

And Wills was more proof that Alexander Grant didn’t run, not even if the problem was not his own.

He’d set his mind to what was right, so he might as well go ahead with it, and directly too. She’d not go away thinking he was anything but dead serious.

He touched her arm.

“Mrs. Smith, there is another way to thwart them.”

Meet Alina K. Field

USA Today Bestselling and Award-winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.

She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!

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Tea with Major Kellborn

Major Augustus Kellborn was uncomfortable in Eleanor’s little sitting room. Not that his stern compelling face showed any emotion at all. Nor did his posture betray him. He sat straight and still, his dark eyes alert.

Nonetheless, his very tension betrayed a desire to be elsewhere. Anywhere else, perhaps.

The dog took his cue from his master, sitting to attention at Kellborn’s feet, watching every movement of Eleanor’s hands as she poured a cup of tea to Major Kellborn’s specifications. She gave it to the waiting maid to carry to the guest. Thankfully, Hattie was not nervous around dogs.

Sir Sancho, as the small beast was named, had not been invited, though he had been at Major Kellborn’s heel when Eleanor met him, visiting some his former command in the hospital for returned soldiers that was one of Eleanor’s charitable interests.

“I knew your mother, Kellborn,” she had told him. And invited him to afternoon tea.

The brindled terrier had arrived today three minutes after Kellborn, prompting the gentleman’s first display of emotion—alarm, quickly subdued, and a slight flush of embarrassment. “I apologise, Your Grace. I will return him to my carriage to wait.”

Eleanor examined the beast, who sat staring adoringly up at Kellborn. Clearly, the brindled terrier could not countenance a separation. “He is welcome to stay, major. He appears to understand proper deportment in a lady’s parlour.”

To draw the major out, she asked about the origins of the animal. Slowly, he relaxed, and even smiled a time or two as he told her about some of Sir Sancho’s adventures since he had insisted on adopting Kellborn. Eleanor imagined her guest had been an exemplary officer.

“What are your plans now that you have left the army, if I may enquire?” Eleanor asked, after a while.

“I have inherited Whitlaw Grange, an estate in Cumberland,” Kellborn explained. “I am told it is a fine manor, though I’ve not yet seen it. I will be heading north later in the week.”

Eleanor nodded with approval. “Wise to arrive before the winter sets in.”

“That is what I thought.” His brow creased momentarily with the first indecision he had shown. “From the books, it seems well run, though my relative has been gone for over a year.”

“No children, I take it?” Eleanor asked.

“Never married.”

Eleanor thought about Cumberland—parts of it were very remote, and all of it was too far from London for easy travel. Would Major Kellborn appreciate advice? Perhaps not, but he could always ignore it. “Marriage is not for everyone, I know, but if you do plan to seek a wife, you might consider looking in the north. York, perhaps, or even Edinburgh. Someone who won’t be intimidated by the weather, and who prefers country living.”

His eyes crinkled and his lips curved in a smile. “Excellent advice, Your Grace. I have not thought that far ahead, but I know sense when I hear it.

Gus Kellborn is the hero of “Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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The artist Turner and Lady Twisden from Desperate Daughters.

Author Alina K. Field joins us today to discuss some of the research for Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match, her contribution to the new Bluestocking Belles collection with friends, Desperate Daughters.

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Having fulfilled her duties to her late husband, her stepson, and the family estate, our heroine, Lady Honoria Twisden has removed herself to York where she plans to become reacquainted with her niece, Lady Seahaven, live independently, and most importantly finish a painting!

I am not by any means skilled in drawing or painting, and writing a heroine whose passion is painting was a challenge for me! So I gave Honoria a fascination with someone I knew a bit about, one of the most famous artists of the period, J.M.W. Turner. Information about Turner abounds on the internet, and I had seen one of his paintings up close, in real life, the Battle of Trafalgar, at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich. Turner’s landscapes and paintings of the sea are distinctive and dramatic. One would never expect the practical, dutiful Honoria to have such romantic taste in art!

As it happens, Turner spent a great deal of time at Farnley Hall near Otley in Yorkshire, the home of one of his patrons, Walter Fawkes.

Having learned about Turner and his visits to Farnley Hall from her stepson’s art tutor, Honoria stops there on her journey to York for a chance to see some of Turner’s sketches and paintings.

My hero has seen some of Turner’s watercolors at the National Gallery and finds them not to his taste—too emotional, too dramatic. He much prefers portraits and paintings of dogs or horses—George Stubbs for example, or at the very most, restful landscapes:

Excerpt

“When I viewed Turner’s work in London, I didn’t…well, I’m a literalist, I suppose. When one is outlining a plan of assault, precision is helpful. I’ve always been drawn to portraits, or paintings of horses.” He laughed. “Or dogs. Yes, forgive me. I enjoy George Stubbs’s work. And I like restful landscapes.”

“Restful landscapes before battle.”

He took her hand and his gaze slid to the canvas. “Yes. I’ve seen enough scarred, tumultuous landscapes after the fighting.”

“Oh. Augustus, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me—”

“No.” He set a finger to her lips. “What I’m trying to say is that Turner’s work with his play on light and shade, and yours, are steeped in, well, feelings. Your Minster is marvelous, gothic, and haunting. Are you working on the sky?”

Marvelous. Did he truly mean that?

“The sky?” he prompted.

“The sky. Yes. One would like a beautiful blue, but this is closer to the true one as it is now.”

“They say the strange skies and cold weather might be due to a volcanic eruption in Java two years ago.”

“Yes,” she said. “I read of that. It’s such a big world.” She would never see Java, but she’d like to go as far as France, and in her wildest dreams, Italy.

Honoria is referring to the 1815 volcanic eruption at Mount Tambora, an historical event that had a world-wide effect on weather and agriculture, and also the paintings of J.M.W. Turner!

Have you seen Turner’s work? What do you prefer—romantic and emotional, or precisely drawn images? Or perhaps something modern and completely open to interpretation?

About Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match:

After years of putting up with her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden, has escaped to York where she can paint (even if badly), investigate antiquities, and enjoy freedom.

Then her stepson appears with a long-lost relation in tow.

Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart.

Where to find it: Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match is one of nine novellas included in the Bluestocking Belles & Friends collection, Desperate Daughters, to be released on May 17, 2022.

About Desperate Daughters: Love against the Odds

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage. The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven’s dear girls a chance at happiness. When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters. They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all. So start their adventures in York, amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close?

Available for Pre-order: https://books2read.com/u/bMwL17 for $0.99. The price goes up after the book’s May 17, 2022, launch day.

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the happier world of romance fiction. Her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., but after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with a gold-eyed terrier and only occasionally misses snow.

Website: https://alinakfield.com/

 

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Spotlight on Storm & Shelter: Alina K. Field and Rue Allyn

Novellas five and six in Storm & Shelter feature heroines with unusual occupations–a part-time smuggler and a privateer.

Don’t miss this wonderful box set. Eight superb authors, with eight fascinating stories set around one storm. Only 99c as an ebook until publication on 13th April.

 

The Comtesse of Midnight: By Alina K. Field

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm, and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the woman he’s seeking, the one who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she is, in fact, the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the one he’s seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

Excerpt:

The lamp on the mantel emitted a low light, as did the fire. Malcolm carefully swiveled his head. A candle sat atop the dining table, next to his open travel bag. The woman bent close to the dim light, studying a paper. In three silent strides he was on her.

Wait for Me: By Rue Allyn

Enemies by nature—Esmeralda Crobbin, aka the pirate Irish Red, and Captain, Lord Brandon Gilroy have met before.

Fate trumps nature—When a fierce storm creates a chance encounter and forced proximity, Erstwhile pirate, Esmeralda discovers Captain Gilroy is more than a uniform stuffed with rules and regulations. Gilroy learns the pirate is a woman of serious honor and responsibility. Both love the sea with boundless passion, but can they love each other?

Excerpt: He blinked rapidly. She fished in a pocket for her handkerchief. Damp as it was, it would clear his vision. She used the kerchief to wipe water from his eyes and face. She bent to place the cloth in her pocket, and when she returned her gaze to his, he glared at her. A very familiar glare. A glare that had haunted her for the past three years. Now I know fate is laughing at me. Before her lay the one man who hated her most in the world. The storm had placed him exactly where she would to trip over him then feel compelled to help him before she had any clue as to his identity.

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Tea with the Earl of Monteith

The Earl of Menteith was a personable young man. Handsome, too, and large—he had taken one look at her small dainty chairs and seated himself on the sofa. Also worried about something, and wondering how much to tell her.

The Duchess of Haverford poured him a cup of tea and asked his opinion of the weather, the company in town, and the situation on the continent, with Napoleon banished to Elba without his wife and son, who had returned to her family in Austria.

He answered gracefully to each conversational gambit, but none captured his enthusiasm.

Since Menteith had asked to make this call, Eleanor would wait for him to introduce the topic. “Another cup?” she asked.

“Not for me, Your Grace.” He studied one large hand, then looked up to see her watching him. “Ye may be wondering why I asked to see ye.”

Eleanor inclined her head in agreement, raising her brows slightly to encourage him to continue. The slight Scots burr was delightful. With those looks and that voice, he must be very popular with the young ladies.

“They tell me ye know everyone in the Upper Ten Thousand. I hoped ye might have heard of someone I need to find.”

“I am happy to help if I can,” the duchess assured him.

“The thing is…” Menteith paused, then continued…”I’m not at liberty…” he sighed. “ That is, I do not want to discuss my reasons. I hope ye’ll still help me, Your Grace?”

“If I can,” she said, and then added, since his blunt honesty deserved hers, “if I think telling you will not cause harm.”

He was startled at the thought. “I mean no harm. To the contrary.” He bit his lower lip then blurted. “I am looking for the Comtesse de Fontenay. Or the Comte. Do ye know them, Your Grace? Can ye tell me where I might find them?”

Eleanor wrinkled her brow as she thought. The name de Fontenay rang a bell, but she could not quite recall… “Émigrés?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am unsure.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a shallow shrug. “Probably.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. It was coming back to her now. The old scandal—but it had faded into oblivion when one of the key players died and the others behaved as if it never existed. Did Menteith know? Surely not; how would he have found out? But if not, why look for Madame de Fontenay?

She wouldn’t raise it with him. Only one person still living had the right to do that. If he was still living.

“I believe the Comte de Fontenay has an estate in Norfolk, Menteith. Or is it Suffolk?” Now what was the place called? “Bloodstone Moor? No. Hall comes into it somehow. Or is it Hill?” Ah yes! That was it. “Bloodmoor Hill. Look for Bloodmore Hill Manor, Lord Menteith. I’m sorry I cannot tell you anything more.”

Malcolm Comyn, the Earl of Menteith, seeks the truth of an anonymous letter that threatens everything he knows about himself. Stranded in Fenwick on Sea by a dreadful storm, he finds more than he expects.

The Comtesse of Midnight: Alina K. Field

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm, and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the woman he’s seeking, the one who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she is, in fact, the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the one he’s seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

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Spotlight on The Viscount’s Seduction

Alina K. Field has joined me today, with book two of her series, Sons of the Spy Lord. It’s on sale at 99c from 26 November to 4 December everywhere except Google Play — Links below. The Bastard’s Iberian Bride, book one, is at 99c until 26 November, so get it today.

Revenge and Romance—can she find both with one determined Viscount?

Searching for the Truth

Lady Sirena Hollister has lost her family, her home, and even her fey abilities, but somehow the fairies have handed her an unexpected chance at a Season in London. From her place on the fringes of high society, she resolves to find the truth about her only brother’s vanishing, and settle her family’s score with the wily English Spy Lord, the Earl of Shaldon. Soon enough, her schemes stir up an unknown enemy…and spark danger of a different sort, in the person of the Earl’s handsome heir, Viscount Bakeley.

Seducing the Beauty

The impertinent hoyden Bakeley met years earlier was as wild as her Irish roots, and just as unlucky. And she’s still an Irish traitor’s sister! But Lady Sirena has grown into a beauty whose charm and courage intrigue him. When danger threatens, Bakeley comes to her rescue, risking scandal, the ton’s disapproval, his interfering father’s ire…and his own heart.

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Excerpt: First Kiss

He snatched up her hand. “You look lovely tonight. Stay. Keep me company.”

She tried to pull away but he reached for her other hand.

“Do not do this, sir.”

The anger was giving way to fear, though whether it was real or feigned he couldn’t tell. He drew her closer to the light. Her eyes glowed with that same luminosity he’d noticed at Hackwell’s ball, her lips were plump and inviting, and gold highlights bounced off her dress and her hair. She was a beauty in daylight. By candlelight, she was a goddess, a golden siren. No wonder she’d had to run away from her cousin.

And that thought brought him up. He didn’t ravish women, unless they wanted it. This girl didn’t want it.

Unless he convinced her she did.

He eased in a breath. No. At least, no, not tonight.

“You and I, my lady, we’re looking for the same thing.”

She swallowed hard, her lovely throat jumping. “You are mistaken.”

“Am I? What do you think I’m talking about?”

She pursed her lips. Opened them. “A liaison.”

“An improper one?”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re mocking me now. Let me go.”

“First we should search together.”

“I don’t know what you mean, and we’ll be missed. Both of us gone? Together?” Her eyes became shiny. She’d drummed up some tears. “I’ll be…on the street. I’ll be fortunate if I’m sent back to serve as my cousin’s, my cousin’s—”

“Files, Lady Sirena. Files that say Hollister on them.”

A tear ran unchallenged down her creamy cheek and her mouth dropped. “Oh.”

He swept the tear away with his finger. So soft her skin was, as he dragged the moisture down to her lips and traced a path over them. Her chest rose, her breasts straining the modest bodice of the yellow gown.

He yanked her closer and settled his lips on hers, and a sharp gasp escaped her before she clamped her mouth shut.

“Just one kiss,” he whispered. He nibbled around her locked lips and stroked the line of her jaw until she shivered in his arms and her lips parted, allowing him entry.

He kissed her then, sweeping his tongue against hers, for long minutes, then tasting her skin, following the path of his fingers along her jaw and down to her neck, inciting a sharp gasp and a moan, and more wriggling. He wanted her, and she wanted him, and—

“Stop.” Her hands locked on his shoulders, pushing.

Heart pounding, he froze. He was a gentleman. Even if she had been no lady—which she most definitely was—he would have stopped. No matter how hard his cock screamed for release, as it did now. “Right.” He stepped back and straightened his neck cloth.

Sirena’s heart pounded so wildly she could barely find breath to speak. “The files,” she said finally.

“Yes. He wouldn’t keep them here in so accessible a location.”

Oh, he was lathered, she could tell, almost as much as herself. This was what was meant by seduction—not the graspy, slobbery, forced thing her cousin had attempted. If not for the housekeeper and butler and a strong dose of laudanum…oh, this was very different, and this man a far more powerful lord than her cousin.

She’d be lucky to survive this night with her maidenhead intact. But she wanted that file. She needed to know what happened to Jamie. “His study then? My father had a room like that.”

“Yes. We’ll look there.” He gazed down that bored nose, straightened his neck cloth, though not so much as a hair of the man was out of place, while inside herself, every nerve was dancing a jig. She pressed a hand to her throat and hoped her heart hadn’t pounded her bodice askew.

Meet Alina:

Award winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but her true passion is the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband, her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier, and the blue-eyed cat who conned his way in for dinner one day and decided the food was too good to leave.

She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!

 

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