Tag Archive | Spotlight

SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: Darcy’s Hope: Beauty From Ashes (Great War Romance #1) by Ginger Monette

Darcy's Hope

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Heartbroken. Devastated.

WWI Captain Fitzwilliam Darcy was rejected by the woman he loved and left grief-stricken over the loss of his men. “Enough!” Darcy vows, “No more sentimental entanglements. No comrades, no dog, and certainly no woman!”

But a covert assignment at a chateau-turned-field-hospital brings him face to face with his beloved Elizabeth–who’s working with a dashing American doctor and embroiled in the conspiracy he’s been sent to investigate.

Working side-by-side with her, Darcy is forced to examine his own heart and grapple with his feelings for her while searching for the traitors.

When a near-miraculous incident shatters the ice encasing his heart, he can only think of winning Elizabeth back. Will he be able to prove her innocence and build a lasting bridge with her before she’s condemned to a traitor’s noose?

Darcy can only hope….

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EXCERPT

Elizabeth Bennet raised her chin and gazed over the distant meadow. The morning sun shimmering off the water in the canal below and the quaint windmill on the adjacent rise beckoned her. She had never ventured down the face of the bluff to the canal, but she had plenty of time today, and the May weather was glorious.

Inching her way down, she steadied herself on rocks and branches protruding here and there, nearly losing her balance on the loose embankment. Finally reaching the bottom, she started towards the waterway. Rounding a knoll, she squinted into the sun at a tall silhouette of an officer peering down the canal through field glasses. Whatever he saw must have been intriguing, as he surveyed the horizon for quite some time. Nearing him, she opened her mouth to call out a greeting when a stick snapped under her foot. In one deft motion, the soldier whirled around and levelled his revolver at her.

“Don’t shoot!” Elizabeth cried, pleading her hands in surrender. It was Captain Darcy.

“What are you doing here?” he barked, lowering the firearm and glaring at her with flashing eyes of steel.

Her heart pounding, she bit back, “Perhaps I could ask the same of you.”

“That is not the point.” He reached out and grabbed her arm above the elbow, nearly shaking it in rage. “A lady has no business out here alone. There are men roaming about who have no thought for their future and would be only too happy to ravage an attractive woman such as yourself.”

She jerked her arm away. “I appreciate your concern, but I am quite capable of looking after myself. But it’s nice to know you now consider me attractive as there was a time I wasn’t handsome enough to tempt you.”

His face hardened. “If you were this obstinate towards your father’s authority, it is no wonder he gave up on your sisters and retreated to his stud—”

His eyes widened in shocked contrition, and his manner softened. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for and unkind. Please…trust me in this.”

“Trust you? You are asking me to trust you? After your reprehensible treatment of Lieutenant Wickham and your calculated separation of Charles from Jane, I have no reason to trust you.”

Darcy clenched his fist. “Perhaps had you read my letter explaining myself, you might think differently.”

“Letter? What letter?”

“The one I sent to Longbourn from London after our…encounter at the Hunsford parsonage. It detailed my dealings with Wickham and your sister. I suppose you were too prejudiced against me to even open it.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it, dumbfounded. Was it possible he had an explanation? She stayed an extra two weeks with Charlotte after the captain’s departure, but surely had a letter arrived at Longbourn, it would have been left with her other correspondence. Wouldn’t it?

He released a defeated sigh and broke the silence. “Although I no longer adhere to my principle that my good opinion once lost is lost forever, I suppose I cannot fault you for abiding by it. Good day, Miss Bennet.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

Elizabeth stepped back, wilting as she released a breath. Why did every encounter with him leave her breathless and weak-kneed? The tension that radiated between them was unlike anything she’d experienced before. It was somehow entrancing—both repelling and tantalising at the same time.

She headed towards the chateau and shook off the thoughts, not wanting to think on it any more.

…It is no wonder your father gave up on your sisters and retreated… She winced at the grain of truth. But she wasn’t the obstinate one, her sisters were.

She hastened her pace, but his words crept through to her consciousness again. A lady has no business out here alone….

She huffed at his presumptuousness. What made him such an expert on everything? She’d never seen anyone out here except the children who played with her stuffed dog, an occasional wagon on the road, or Sapper and his men at the cemetery. Under the captain’s authority, she’d already surrendered the dowager house and the annexe. She had no intention of following his every whim as if he were an omniscient god.

Besides, what was he doing out here gazing down the canal? Didn’t he go to the ward at the school every day?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ginger monetteGinger Monette won Charlotte Mecklenburg Library’s 2015 Picture This grand prize for her WW1 flash fiction piece, Flanders Field of Grey.

She lives with her family in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she enjoys dancing on the treadmill, watching period dramas, public speaking, and reading—a full-length novel every Sunday afternoon.

Website: GingerMonette.com
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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: To Tempt a Viscount (Entangled Nobility #1) by Naomi Boom

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Lady Laura Rosing knows two things: first, she will marry for love, and second, she detests rakes. When she meets Lord Gavin Farris, she understands immediately that he fails both her criteria, and worse yet, he is an absolute cad who refuses to leave her be.

Lord Farris has always appreciated women and cannot understand why Lady Laura is so resistant to his charms. While pretty, she is not his usual type, but something about her intrigues him. Much to his chagrin, he finds himself desperately in love with her, but he may be too late. His adamant refusal to marry just might have planted her firmly in the arms of another.

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EXCERPT

A large, intimidating figure stood framed in the doorway. She feared the erratic thumps of her heart would betray her apprehension as the notorious Lord Farris stepped into the library. He had clearly just come in from the outdoors, as he was still attired in his greatcoat and perfectly polished Hessian boots. The smell of the frigid fall air and an enticing male scent of horses and cigars wafted to where Laura was standing. Her nostrils flared slightly as she caught the pleasant aroma, but aside from that one slight movement, she remained rooted in her place.

Lord Farris stood momentarily still in the door frame. His bold, dark eyebrows slanted across his face above dark and foreboding eyes, which currently assessed her. Laura had never been so nervous in her life or more annoyed that she was now alone with a renowned rake.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he lazily drawled as his eyes took in her fully-clothed, albeit messy, figure. His appraising look changed to a charming smile. “Tell me your name, darling.”

Laura stood transfixed as a smile transformed his face. The stirrings of an unfamiliar emotion began to build in her stomach, but she shook herself from her trance. She absolutely detested rakes. Not that she had met many, but she had seen Lord Farris at a ball once and had been ashamed for the multitudes of women who had swooned over him. Rakes held no allure for her, especially alone at night. “I will not,” she finally said frigidly as she stepped toward the door. “Now, kindly remove yourself from my path so I may leave.”

Lord Farris ignored her request and bowed elegantly. “Well, let me start off the introductions then. I am Lord Farris.” Somehow his demeanor managed to convey what an honor it was to meet him, all while acting as though he did not care.

Laura continued her approach until she was standing in front of him. Placing a hand firmly on her hip, she looked up at him and said haughtily, “I guess we are bypassing all rules of etiquette tonight.”

He appeared to consider her words momentarily until a smirk appeared on his overly handsome face. “All rules?”

Blood rushed to Laura’s face as she processed the meaning of his words. She had never been so insulted in her life. For once, she wished Eleanor was here. Her cousin would know just what to say to a cad such as Lord Farris.

Laura did not want to be the sort to crumble in the face of adversity, so she mustered her courage and said, “Hardly, my lord. A lady does not do such things.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her while his eyes skimmed her from head to foot. “A lady?”

She stiffened. Why was he questioning her status? She knew her appearance was somewhat lacking presently, but she was certainly a lady. Anger coursed through her, overtaking common sense and her tongue. “Yes, a lady. And this lady knows you are not as attractive as you think, so please remove yourself from my path.”

Lord Farris’s dark eyes bored into hers before he stepped predatorily closer to her. He gazed down at her with his dark, smoldering eyes and said, “You do not truly believe that. Judging by your dilated pupils and the blush on your skin, you find me incredibly attractive.”

Laura scoffed and backed up a step. She needed room to breathe. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” She gulped nervously as his eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to her. Naturally, she continued to reverse her step until her back hit the bookcase.
He smiled as he slowly removed the glass of water from her hand and set it on the bookcase. He then brought his hands to either side of her and leaned in until their faces were mere inches apart. “Yes, I would like that very much. Unfortunately, I am too much of a gentleman to act on our mutual attraction.”

As he spoke, Laura could not seem to take her eyes away from his full lips, at least until his words sank in. Her eyes regained their focus as she realized he was standing much too near. This was precisely why she preferred normal gentlemen. They did not act strangely.

“Are you sure you are a gentleman?” Laura asked derisively. She immediately regretted her impulsive retort. He was just too near to her for her mind to perform rationally, otherwise she was sure she would have behaved herself.

One eyebrow lifted in question as he grinned wickedly. “Are you asking me not to conduct myself as a gentleman?”

His dark smile and wicked words made Laura pause as she stared at his lips, so near to her own. Her stomach was in knots, and she did not know if she should slap him or kiss him. She had never been kissed, but right now, she wanted his lips on hers more than anything. In Laura’s heart of hearts, she wished, just a little bit, that he would not behave as a gentleman. She could not form words, however, and only managed to shake her head slightly as common sense prevailed.

“In that case, my dear, I suggest you run along.” His feet moved silently as he stepped away from her, but Laura could not budge until he growled, “Go, or we both shall regret what happens.”

Her feet grew wings as she flew out the door and down the dark hallway. As she rounded a corner, she realized she had left her water on the bookshelf, although her bread and book were still clutched in her other hand. No matter how strong her thirst, she would never return downstairs now. Not when he was there.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NaomiBoompicNaomi Boom is a 27-year-old stay-at-home mom with a newly discovered love for writing. Her inspiration struck when she was searching for the perfect historical romance novel to read. Nothing sounded appealing, so she decided she would write her own. That one novel has morphed to a series and, hopefully, many, many more.

She currently resides in Kansas with her family but has her eyes firmly planted on an acreage in eastern South Dakota. Once her husband retires from the United States Army, they will return to her home state.

Find out more about Naomi at:

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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: And Then Mine Enemy (Feathers in the Wind #1) by Alison Stuart

and then mine enemy

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A family ripped apart in a country divided by war . . .

England 1642: Hardened mercenary, Adam Coulter returns to England sickened by violence, seeking only peace, but he finds England on the brink of civil war. He has seen first-hand what that will mean for every man, woman and child and wants no part of it.

King or Parliament? Neutrality is not an option and Adam can only be true to his conscience, not the dictates of his family.
Having escaped a loveless marriage, Perdita Gray has found much needed sanctuary and the love of a good man, but her fragile world begins to crumble as Adam Coulter bursts into her life. This stranger brings not only the reality of war to her doorstep but reignites an old family feud, threatening everything and everyone she holds dear.

As the war and family tensions collide around them, Adam and Perdita are torn between old loyalties and a growing attraction that must be resisted.

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EXCERPT

July 1642

A shudder of rain slewed across the sodden countryside, sending its cold fingers cutting through Adam’s already saturated cloak. He huffed out a misty breath and straightened his aching shoulders. Not for the first time he cursed his brother for summoning him to a meeting Adam knew would inevitably end in grief and recrimination.

The remote inn loomed out of the gloaming and led on by the cheerful light spilling through the front windows, Adam urged his weary horse forward. The miserable beast, the mud dragging at its every step, plodded forward.

A young boy ran from the stable, a sack over his head and shoulders. Adam threw him the reins and, taking a deep breath, strode into the inn. He tossed his hat and gloves to the innkeeper, his numbed fingers fumbled at the ties of his cloak

‘His Lordship’s in the private parlour.’ The innkeeper scowled as he held the dripping garb at arm’s length.

Adam pushed open the door the man indicated. The two men seated beside a cheerful fire that burned in the wide hearth rose to their feet. His half-brothers schooled their faces to a neutrality that Adam knew would not last. As they faced him across the room, a growing sense of despondency gripped him as he stood before them. Once more the cuckoo in the nest, always the acknowledged baseborn son but not even given the protection of his father’s name.

Denzil Marchant, just as Adam remembered him, tall and powerful, with a mane of tawny hair like his father, and his younger brother Robin, as tall but of a slighter, elegant build, his hair more auburn and sleekly curling.

‘Denzil, Robin,’ Adam acknowledged them as he stepped into the room. ‘I wish I could say, well met, but I would be lying.’

‘Adam Coulter.’ The deliberate use of his full name jarred, as Denzil no doubt intended. ‘I would scarcely have recognized you. Hardly the darling of the court now, are you?’

‘I found lovelocks and pearl earrings something of a hindrance to the life of a soldier.’ Without waiting to be invited, Adam poured himself a full measure from the bottle of wine that stood on the table, hoping that they would not mark that his hand shook.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alison Stuart picAward winning Australian author, Alison Stuart learned her passion for history from her father. She has been writing stories since her teenage years but it was not until 2007 that her first full length novel was published. Alison has now published seven full length historical romances and a collection of her short stories. Her disposition for writing about soldier heroes may come from her varied career as a lawyer in the military and fire services. These days when she is not writing she is travelling and routinely drags her long suffering husband around battlefields and castles.

Connect with Alison at her website, Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads or subscribe to her newsletter for exclusive free reads, contests and more…

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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes

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When society reporter Adeline Ellsworth’s cousin, a police inspector, is murdered in 1896 San Francisco, she immediately sets out to uncover the truth. This could be her chance to leave frivolous fashion gossip behind for a career reporting on important issues. But her investigation leads to danger—and she wakes up tied to Alec McCairn, Lord Peyton.

In California to set up a new office, the Scottish peer definitely wasn’t looking for a romantic entanglement, especially with an independent, opinionated reporter. But he suspects the beguiling Adeline is in over her head and too proud to ask for help. He vows to protect her, no matter how hard she balks.

A widow, Adeline guards her heart carefully and doesn’t want Alec ruining her chance to expose this corruption, no matter how attractive or charming he is. But then the main suspect kidnaps her younger brother and demands Adeline’s research as ransom. To save him and crack the case, they must work together. But the biggest mystery they end up solving might just be how to capture each other’s heart.

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EXCERPT

San Francisco, 1896

Opening his eyes, Alec MacCairn groaned. Pain radiated from the lump on the back of his head. A lantern hanging from a hook gave off a dull yellow glow that did little to light the room. Rough wooden walls, some crates, and bits of broken wood didn’t offer many clues, though the quiet slapping of waves against a wooden hull and a small porthole on one wall gave him an idea of where he might be. Flexing his arms, he knew they were tied behind him and someone was at his back. What the hell happened? he thought, anger roaring through him.

“This is all your fault,” a familiar female voice said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

Dropping his chin to his chest, he realized he was not alone—and just whom he was bound to.

“How in that twisted brain of yours can you possibly think that?” he asked. “In no way did my attempt to stop your meddling get us here. I can assure you, Miss Ellsworth, this sits squarely on your shoulders.” He had approached her at the mayor’s party earlier in the evening. He’d recognized her as the reporter who’d interviewed him for the society column of her newspaper. He still didn’t know why she had been acting so secretive, hiding behind columns and scribbling notes on a small pad. He had pulled her aside to ask what she was doing, when they’d been attacked.

Pain ripped through his shoulders. He knew Adeline Ellsworth was twisting her body around as much as the ropes would allow, trying to look at him. “Of all the … If you hadn’t alerted those miscreants to our presence, we wouldn’t be in this conundrum now!”

“I was trying to protect you from yourself.”

“And see how well that worked.”

Alec could feel her against his back, wriggling like a worm on a hook, trying to loosen the ropes that bound them together.

“Stop squirming so I can think,” he snapped. “When we are out of this, you have a great deal of explaining to do.”

“You have ruined months of investigation. I’ll never find out what really happened.” The anger in her voice was palpable.

“It was your blasted eavesdropping that got us in this mess,” Alec grumbled. “If you hadn’t tried to listen to conversations not meant for you, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“That’s what I do, Lord MacCairn.” He could hear the disdain in her voice as she used proper address. Even though he had told her when they first met it was unnecessary, she persisted. At first she’d called him Viscount Peyton until he made it clear he would not accept the address from an American. “I am a reporter. I try to tell the world of the injustices being done.”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you a society photographer and reporter? I didn’t know I was in the presence of Nellie Bly.”

“I am working toward being taken seriously as a journalist. This investigation is part of that.”

“Well that won’t help get us out of these ties, now will it?” Alec flexed his wrists, trying to stretch the ropes. He could feel Miss Ellsworth trying to follow suit.

He noted that while their hands were tied to each other, their legs were tied separately. Hers were tied together, while his were stretched to the sides and tied to the chair legs. If one of them could reach down and get the sgian-dubh from his boot, he could cut them loose. Twisting against the ropes, he tried to see her over his shoulder.

“Miss Ellsworth, do you think you can lean to your left and reach my ankle?”

“Why?”

“There is a small knife tucked into the top of my boot.” He felt himself being pulled to the side as she stretched to reach his calf. As her fingers crawled down his leg, the random thought crossed his mind of how pleasant that would be in another time and place.

“I’ve got it!” she cried triumphantly as she straightened back up, instantly easing the ripping pain in his shoulder. “Can you feel it?”

He stretched and twisted his fingers until he felt the smooth steel of the knife blade. Wrapping his fingers around it carefully, he took the knife from her, rotated it until he grasped the handle, and positioned the blade alongside her wrist.

“Try not to move, so I don’t hurt you.” Alec closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the blade, keeping it from twisting and cutting into her skin. After what seemed an eternity, the rope parted and their arms separated. He pulled his arms up, removing the remnants of rope dangling from his wrists. Leaning over, he cut the ropes binding his ankles, stood, and turned to free Miss Ellsworth. When he saw the raw red skin where the rope had chafed her, his temper flared.

“Hold still while I cut the ropes on your ankles.” He leaned down, gently grasping her leg. “Are you injured?” The knife easily sliced her free.

“Other than a little stiffness and raw skin, I am fine. Thank you.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DianeJ2Diane grew up in the deserts of New Mexico, riding her horse for hours and creating characters and stories along the way. After graduating with a degree in journalism and a minor in history, she married and had two wonderful children. Now a grandmother of three and living in Colorado, she has brought those characters to life in her books.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), Hearts Through History Romance Writers (HHRW), and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers (RMFW).

Find Diane R. Jewkes at www.dianerjewkes.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @DianeRJewkes.

SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: Love and the Shameless Lady by Barbara Monajem

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Disgraced lady Daisy Warren serves ale in a tumbledown inn, sings crude songs for the smugglers, and writes romantic novels in her spare time. Shunned by her own class, she’s resigned to her lowly life—until someone tries to kill her.

Gentleman spy Sir Julian Kerr noses out seditionists and traitors. When he visits the inn to investigate two suspicious Frenchmen, he meets the lovely but hostile Daisy. He doesn’t intend to get involved with her—but then he learns that someone is threatening her life.

He wants to find out more—it’s part of his investigation.
He wants to protect her—he’s a chivalrous man.
He just wants her.
But will Daisy’s bitter past allow her to risk love again?

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EXCERPT

Julian intended to find out whether the Frenchmen were spies. In the meantime, he played darts middling well and got mildly soused on ale.

“Daisy! Daisy!” One of the locals pounded the table with his empty tankard.

Another joined in. “Aye, play for us, Daisy!”

Julian raised his brows at Mr. Bennett, who returned the slightest shrug.

Daisy opened the kitchen door and scowled at them, arms akimbo. “I’m busy, you louts. Do you or don’t you want bread to eat?”

“Aw, leave the baking to Sally,” said the one who’d called her first. “Play for us, love.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’m writing a recipe. I can’t play just now.” She rejected their pleas with a swing of the hips that would have done justice to any tavern slut.
Julian wondered if perhaps he’d drunk too much ale.

“Daisy! Daisy!” Soon they were all banging the tables with tankards and fists.
Appalled, Julian felt himself darkening with rage. He caught the amused gaze of Mr. Bennett, who shook his head. “Leave them be.”

Devil take him, he was as bad as the rest. Julian half stood, fists clenched. He would knock a few heads together, throw a few punches . . .

A pair of firm hands pushed him into his chair again. Behind him, his fingers gripping Julian’s shoulders, Mr. Bennett called out, “Come, Miss Daisy, kindly grace us with your presence.”

“Go,” Sally said from behind the kitchen door. “I’ll take care of the bloody bread.”

Daisy muttered something unintelligible.

“I’ll take it out when it’s done. I’ll write down how long it took.”

“But—” Daisy began.

“Coward,” Sally said in a stage whisper.

Julian shoved Mr. Bennett off and leapt to his feet.

“You’ll regret this, Sally.” Daisy stormed into the room.

***

Pure humiliation.

Daisy glowered at the drunken revelers. One would think she’d be accustomed by now, but no. She was used to playing for the smugglers. She even enjoyed it. Liked acting coy and mock-threatening Sally for teasing her. But to play and sing bawdy songs while Sir Julian Kerr watched . . . oh, the mortification was enough to make her ill.

Which was absurd, as she didn’t give a hedgehog’s arse what the man thought of her. She’d been nowhere near as mortified in front of that Frenchman, Bonaventure, who often came to stay for a few days. Perhaps this was because Sir Julian knew she was a lady, whilst the Frenchman didn’t. Damn Mr. Bennett for introducing her properly.

Sir Julian rose to his feet upon her entrance, a fearsome scowl on his handsome face.

Oh, God, he probably thought she’d been insulted. Well, to hell with him. She didn’t need defending. She would show him just how low she had become.
She sashayed over to the frightful old pianoforte. She had become quite accomplished at swaying her hips like a lightskirt. With a murmured apology for displacing it, she pushed the kitchen cat gently off the bench and sat down.

Whoops and cheers greeted her. She ran her fingers up and down the keys and played the opening bars of “Watkin’s Ale,” which was the least bawdy song they might enjoy. It even had a moral, one that didn’t quite apply to her, as she luckily hadn’t become pregnant when she’d given in to her lust for a smuggler.

She led them through all eight verses, glancing after three or four at Sir Julian. He was slouched in his chair, eyeing her with . . . what? Disbelief? Disgust?

She’d give him something to truly disgust him. She didn’t always take requests, but tonight, why not? Most of the men were smugglers, many of them sailors, so their taste in songs was horrid.

With a flourish, she played the final chords of “Watkin’s Ale.” “What next, boys? Tonight it’s your turn to choose.”

They roared with approval and shouted their requests.

***

Julian stared, both aroused and appalled. She was behaving like a common whore.

No, perhaps not a common one. Most whores couldn’t play the pianoforte so very well. She had a pleasant singing voice, too, although after leading them through “Watkin’s Ale,” she merely played the accompaniment.

Rightly so. Any decent woman, and many an indecent one, would balk at some of those lyrics. More than bawdy, they were downright vile, which was hardly surprising considering how many of the men were sailors. Good God, someone had even put a lewd poem by the Earl of Rochester to music.

He watched Daisy’s face for some sign of mortification. None. She was extremely competent on the keyboard, hardly glancing at it as she moved from one key to another, one song to the next. The instrument was out of tune, but that didn’t seem to matter. She smirked and winked at the men, jested at their requests, glowered at Mr. Bennett, and avoided Julian’s eyes entirely.

Did that mean she was embarrassed by his presence? Perhaps. Or perhaps because he was so strongly attracted to her, he was seeking redeeming qualities where there were none.

In any event, it was his mission to fit in, so he clapped and cheered with the rest, even joining in when he knew the lyrics.

At last, when they were all uproariously drunk on songs and ale, she played “Hush-a-Bye Baby.” They all laughed. Evidently a lullaby meant she was done. She ignored the few desultory pleas for more, curtsied lavishly, and was gone.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Winner of the Holt Medallion, Maggie, Daphne du Maurier, Reviewer’s Choice and Epic awards, Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young, then moved on to paranormal mysteries and Regency romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes (or vice versa).

Barbara loves to cook, especially soups. There are only two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding (because it’s too weird to resist) and succeed at knitting socks. She may manage the first but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second. This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.

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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: Married for His Convenience by Eleanor Webster

married-for-his-convenience

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Tainted by illegitimacy, plain Sarah Martin has no illusions of a grand marriage. So when the Earl of Langford makes her a proposal that will take her one step closer to finding her half sister, she can’t refuse!

Sebastian’s dreams of romance died with his late wife’s affair, so now he needs a convenient wife to act as governess for his silent daughter. Yet Sarah continues to surprise and challenge him, and soon Sebastian can’t deny the joy his new bride could bring to his life—and into his bed!

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EXCERPT

But even as the thought passed through her mind, a hand clamped across her mouth and she was pulled against a hard, muscular figure.

She tasted cloth. Her heart beat a wild tattoo. Her body stiffened, paralysed not only by fear but an almost ludicrous disbelief as she allowed her valise to slip from her hand.

Dramatic events never happened to her. Ever.

‘If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?’ The voice was male. Warm breath touched her ear.

Sarah nodded. The man loosened his hold. She turned.

Her eyes widened as she took in his size, the breadth of his shoulders and the midnight-black of his clothes.

‘Good God, you’re a woman,’ he said.

‘You’re…you’re a gentleman.’ For the cloth he wore was fine and not the roughened garb of a common thief.

She grabbed on to these details as though, through their analysis, she would make sense of the situation.

‘What was your purpose for spying on me?’ His gaze narrowed, his voice calm and without emotion.

‘Spying? I don’t even know you.’ The rabbit squirmed and she clutched it more tightly.

‘Then why are you hiding?’

‘I’m not. Even if I were, you have no reason to accost me.’ Her cheeks flushed with indignation as her fear lessened.

He dropped his hand, stepping back. ‘I apologise. I thought you were a burglar.’

‘We tend not to get many burglars in these parts. Who are you anyway?’

‘Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Langford, at your service.’

He made his bow. ‘And a guest at Eavensham.’

‘A guest? Then why are you in the kitchen garden?’

‘Taking the air,’ he said.

‘That usually doesn’t involve accosting one’s fellow man.

You are lucky I am not of a hysterical disposition.’

‘Indeed.’

Briefly, she wondered if wry humour laced his voice,

but his lips were straight and no twinkle softened his expression. In the fading light, the strong chin and cheekbones looked more akin to a statue than anything having the softness of flesh.

At this moment, the rabbit thrust its head free of the shawl.

‘Dinner is running late, I presume.’ Lord Langford’s eyes widened, but he spoke with an unnerving lack of any natural surprise.

‘The creature is hurt and I need to bandage him, except Mr. Hudson, the butler, is not fond of animals and I wanted to ensure his absence.’

‘The butler has my sympathies.’

Sarah opened her mouth to respond but the rabbit, suddenly spooked, kicked at her stomach as it clawed against the shawl. Sarah gasped, doubling over, instinctively whispering the reassurances offered by her mother after childhood nightmares.

‘You speak French?’

‘What?’

‘French? You are fluent?’

‘What? Yes, my mother spoke it—could we discuss my linguistic skills later?’ she gasped, so intent on holding the rabbit that she lost her footing and stumbled against the man. His hand shot out. She felt his touch and the strangely tingling pressure of his strong fingers splayed against her back.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes—um—I was momentarily thrown off balance.’

She straightened. They stood so close she heard the intake of his breath and felt its whisper.

‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘you could see if the butler is in the kitchen? I do not know how long I can keep hold of this fellow.’

‘Of course.’ Lord Langford stepped towards the window as though spying on the servants were an everyday occurrence. ‘I can see the cook and several girls, scullery maids, I assume. I believe the butler is absent.’

‘Thank you. I am obliged.’

Tightening her hold on the rabbit, Sarah paused, briefly reluctant to curtail the surreal interlude. Then, with a nod of thanks, she stooped to pick up the valise.

‘Allow me,’ Lord Langford said, opening the door. ‘You seem to have your hands full.’

‘Er—thank you.’ She glanced up. The hallway’s flickering oil lamp cast interesting shadows across his face, emphasising the harsh line of his cheek and chin and the blackness of his hair.

She stepped inside and exhaled as the door swung shut, conscious of relief, regret and an unpleasant wobbliness in both her stomach and knees.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eleanor Webster has a passion for many things, the most ardent likely being shoes. But she’s also passionate about a story well told. With the help of some debutantes and viscounts and a twist of the unknown, Eleanor’s stories weave a tale of enchantment, hope, and most importantly, love.

When not writing, you’ll find Eleanor dreaming of being a world traveler, reading, running, reading, hiking in the wilds of British Columbia, where she makes her home with her husband and two daughters, and – did we mention reading?

Connect with Eleanor:

Website: https://eleanorwebsterauthor.com/
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VIRTUAL TOUR: Lord Sebastian’s Secret (The Duke’s Sons #3) by Jane Ashford

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Proud. Cunning. Battle-hardened. Lord Sebastian Gresham is the epitome of military might and excellence. He’s wealthy. The son of a Duke. There’s just one problem: he can’t read. It’s those damned words. He doesn’t see them in the same way everyone else does. It’s a secret he’ll never tell, certainly not to his new bride-to-be.

Brilliant. Witty. Beautiful. Lady Georgina Stane has always known she’d make the perfect bride, that is, if her eccentric family didn’t scare off every potential suitor from London to Bath. After carefully orchestrating a London season with her parents out of the picture, she secured an engagement to an impeccable gentleman. And when Lord Sebastian arrives at her family’s estate to meet her parents, she’s not about to let their antics ruin her perfect marriage.

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Publisher and Release Date: Sourcebooks Casablanca, January 2017

Time and Setting: Regency England
Genre: Historical Romance
Heat Level: 2
Reviewer Rating: 3.5 stars

Review by Lady Cicely

Can love survive secrets? Lord Sebastian Gresham is madly in love with Lady Georgina Stane and she with him; however, they both harbor secrets.

Georgina’s secret comes to light the moment Sebastian steps foot in her family home. Georgina fears it will affect Sebastian enough for him to call off the wedding, and it soon appears her fears may be well founded.

Sebastian is terribly ashamed of his secret. So ashamed his family isn’t aware of it, and it’s something only his trusted valet knows. It’s a secret he prays his beloved will never uncover, for if she does he worries she will no longer love him. When Sebastian’s secret comes to light will it cement the love between them or break them apart?

A pack of pugs, an eccentric family (and that’s putting it mildly), mischievous sisters, and a loon governess provide added stress to the lovebirds while entertaining the reader.

Lord Sebastian’s Secret is the third in Jane Ashford’s series The Duke’s Sons. Ms. Ashford writes a sweet tale of love no matter the circumstances, and her writing style pulled me into feeling each character’s fears. She had me laughing at the antics of Georgina’s family, holding my breath in anticipation of Georgina’s reaction when she learns Sebastian’s secret and weeping when Georgina learns what it is and the way she handles it.

This is the first book I have read of Ms. Ashford’s, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Her mention of Sebastian’s family, their suspicions of his difficulty and the way they handle it has me wanting to go back and read the rest of the series.

EXCERPT

Sebastian closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could all too easily picture the astonishing news that he had eloped running through his family—the letters flying back and forth, the disbelief and consternation. The surreptitious brotherly smirking. An image of his mother’s astonished face made him wince.

“Some people think I don’t care about convention,” muttered the marquess. “Not true. And this was too much. An elopement!”

“Except that it wasn’t, Papa,” Georgina pointed out. “It was an unfortunate accident. I think you might have had more faith in my character.”

Frowning at the floor, the older man said something too softly to be heard. Sebastian thought it might have been,

“It wasn’t you I was worried about.”

“The duchess is sending your brother,” said Georgina’s mother. She tried to speak blandly, but Sebastian got a clear sense of a woman getting the better of an argument at last.

The marquess glared at the group with a mixture of defiance and contrition.

“Which brother?” Sebastian asked.

“Randolph,” supplied his hostess.

Sebastian groaned softly. If anything could have killed his appetite at this point, the news that a brother had been dispatched to sort him out would have done it. He supposed this was his mother’s idea of just retribution for what she probably characterized as “antics.” She would have known that he would never elope.

If she’d had to send a brother, she could’ve drafted Robert. He’d have made a joke of the whole matter and charmed everyone so thoroughly that they saw it the same way. Alan or James might have refused to be embroiled in such a tangle at all. Nathaniel was still on his honeymoon. Mama couldn’t order him and Violet about quite so easily, anyway.

Randolph, though. Sebastian nearly groaned again. Randolph was usually glad for an excuse to take a few days’ leave from his far-northern parish. And he positively delighted in helping. Sebastian supposed that was why he’d become a parson. Part of the reason. He’d also been asking “why” since he could speak. According to family legend, that had been the first word Randolph learned. Sebastian certainly remembered being followed about by a relentlessly inquisitive toddler.

Nathaniel, a responsible six-year-old, had become so tired of saying he didn’t know that he’d taken to making things up. Sebastian still sometimes had to remind himself that discarded snakeskins were products of reptilian growth rather than intense surprise. Sebastian smiled. Randolph had spent several months trying to startle snakes out of their skin after that tale.

Then Sebastian’s smile died, and he put down his last sandwich. Randolph would revel in Mr. Mitra and the marquess’s lectures on reincarnation. There would be no end to his questions, or to the incomprehensible discussions after the ladies had left the dinner table. Sebastian only just resisted putting his head in his hands.

Georgina was looking at him, though, her expression anxious. He tried a reassuring smile. From her response, he judged that it was only marginally effective. He bolstered it, vowing to deal with Randolph. He would face anything to save her distress.

Georgina stood, holding her still half-full plate to her chest. “I believe I’ll go to my room now,” she said. “I’m quite tired.”

Her father looked guilty, her mother approving. Sebastian wondered at the determination on her face. It seemed excessive for a walk up a few steps. Was her leg hurting? One look at her father told him he would not be allowed to assist her to a bed.

Night had deepened by the time Georgina managed to hunt down Hilda and corner her in a little-used reception room, where she’d apparently been holed up for a good while, judging from the cake crumbs. Georgina stationed herself between her youngest sister and the door and confronted her with hands on hips. “Have you lost your mind?” she demanded.

For a moment, it seemed that Hilda might deny everything, but then she slumped back on the sofa and let out a long sigh. “I only meant to leave you overnight, but everything went wrong from the very first. Whitefoot didn’t like being led. He jerked the rein right out of my hand and ran away. I had to take your Sylph to the Evans farm before I could chase after him. It took hours before I got him there as well.” She paused and looked indignant. “Emma abandoned me! She turned tail and rode home. And she’s been practically hiding in her bedchamber ever since.”

“Perhaps she feels a sense of remorse for having done something absolutely outrageous,” Georgina suggested.

Hilda wrinkled her nose. “Well, we came back first thing the next morning to get you.”

“That does not excuse…”

“And you were gone!” Hilda actually dared to look reproachful. “As if you’d vanished into thin air.”

“Thick mud, more like,” said Georgina.

“If you had just waited, or only walked a little way along the trail, we would have found you. And there wouldn’t have been such a very great fuss. Why didn’t you? How could you be so clumsy as to fall into a gully?” Hilda cocked her head. “I never even knew it was there.”

“Don’t even dream of blaming this on me!” Georgina gazed at her sister. They were alike in coloring and frame, but apparently their minds ran on entirely different paths.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

jane-ashford_-author-photoJANE ASHFORD, a beloved author of historical romances, has been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews.

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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: The Velvet Cloak of Moonlight by Christina Courtenay

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“As the velvet cloak of moonlight settled over the ruined towers of Raglan Castle, the shadows beneath them stirred…”

When newly widowed Tess visits Raglan Castle, she experiences an extraordinary vision that transports her to seventeenth-century Wales and a castle on the brink of a siege.

Even when Tess leaves Raglan to return to Merrick Court, her late husband’s home, the strange dreams continue as her life becomes increasingly intertwined with the past. And when the new owner of the estate arrives – New Zealander Josh Owens – the parallels become even more obvious.

But perhaps the visions aren’t just trying to tell their own story, maybe they’re also giving a warning…

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EXCERPT

Deep in thought, Tess rounded a corner of the brick wall that enclosed the vegetable patch and almost rammed into a man who was bent over, pulling at a sapling that clearly shouldn’t be there.

‘Whoa!’ Tess swerved, then stopped dead as the man straightened up.

Tall, with black hair that was shaggy and tousled, and with matching dark stubble, he had the kind of face that could sell millions of bottles of aftershave. Clear green eyes under perfectly sculpted eyebrows – Tess could picture them staring moodily out of an advert in a glossy magazine – and if he hadn’t oozed masculinity, she would have sworn he was wearing mascara, so thick were his eyelashes. He was lean and rangy, but not too thin – his shoulders and arms powerful – and as he was shirtless she could see that his upper body was nicely defined under a stunningly deep suntan. There was some sort of tribal tattoo high up on his left arm and his faded and torn black jeans showed that his legs were as muscular as the rest of him.

‘Who the hell are you?’ she blurted out, then felt her cheeks heat up. Not exactly a subtle way to greet one of the hottest men she’d ever met, but he had no business being in her garden. Well, Merrick Court’s garden. And she had no business finding him attractive – she was recently widowed, for heaven’s sake, and the last thing she needed at the moment was a man to complicate her life.

‘And g’day to you too. I could say the same, eh?’ He leaned on the spade he’d been using to dig out the root of the sapling and regarded her with his head to one side as if he was wondering what she was doing there. His accent was Australian, or maybe New Zealand – Tess had had both Aussie and Kiwi friends at art college but could never tell which was which. Deliciously Antipodean in any case – she was a sucker for accents.

She ignored his greeting. ‘I’m sure Bryn knows there’s no money to pay for help in the garden at the moment.’ Although in truth she couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d talked to the old gardener. She had been kind of a hermit of late.

‘Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t need paying,’ he said, with a smile that she found both infuriating and amazingly alluring. Yep, definitely model material. Was that why he didn’t need to be paid? He was already rich? But he wasn’t exactly dressed like a millionaire.

‘I’ll have to discuss this with Bryn.’ She picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and almost overbalanced it in her haste to get away from this man. He was disturbing her equilibrium and he shouldn’t be in her garden. Damn it, Merrick Court’s garden. When would she stop thinking of it as hers?

‘I’ll come with you. I want to hear this.’ The guy fell into step beside her, walking with long unhurried strides. ‘Want any help with that?’ Again, that annoying smile and his eyes were twinkling too as if he was amused by her efforts to stay calm.
‘No, thanks, I can manage.’

She did, but only just, and she ended up panting with the effort of upending the barrow onto the compost heap, which didn’t help. Nor did the stranger, who followed behind her but didn’t offer assistance again. Instead he crossed his arms, making his biceps bunch up in the most eye-catching way. Annoying man, he was probably doing it on purpose so she’d look at him. She didn’t want to but Tess had to force herself not to stare at the tattoo, which was strangely fascinating. By the time they got to the potting shed, where Bryn could usually be found if he wasn’t outside, she was ready for some answers.

‘Bryn, are you there?’

‘In yere.’ The old man’s Welsh lilt was one of the things she loved about him. That and his ready smile. ‘Just making tea. Would you like some, my lovely?’

Tess walked into the shed, closely followed by the shirtless stranger. ‘Yes, please, but Bryn ―’ She didn’t have time to finish her sentence.

‘Oh, there you are, er … Josh. Come and have a cuppa as well, won’t you?’

‘Sure, sweet.’

Bryn looked from one to the other. ‘So you’ve met his lordship then.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Tess swivelled towards the younger man. ‘L-lordship? What do you mean?’

‘The new owner of Merrick Court,’ Bryn explained patiently. ‘Josh, he says to call him, but I don’t know…’ He scratched his balding head.

But Tess wasn’t looking at him. She glared at the newcomer. Josh, Lord Merrick? He couldn’t be, could he? ‘Why didn’t you mention that?’

He grinned. ‘You didn’t ask.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ Tess stared at the man. Why hadn’t he told her who he was instead of letting her think he was just some workman? But then she had been rather rude so perhaps he’d wanted to punish her a little? She felt her cheeks heating up, embarrassed now by her lack of manners.

‘And who are you?’ Josh said. ‘I thought no one else worked here.’ He raised his eyebrows at the old man as if they’d been discussing this earlier.

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ Bryn tutted at himself. ‘This yere is Lady Merrick.’

‘What?’ Josh’s eyebrows shot up even further. ‘But I thought…oh, bollocks.’

‘Er, would you care to explain that eloquent statement?’ It was Tess’s turn to cross her arms.

He looked a bit sheepish. ‘Uhm, well, I was expecting what the lawyer called a “dowager”. I mean…’

Tess cottoned on. ‘Ah, an old-age pensioner? Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I wouldn’t say I’m disappointed exactly.’ Josh grinned briefly again as his gaze travelled the length of her body, lingering on her curves and long, honey-gold hair which was currently piled on top of her head and fastened with a clip. But then he seemed to recollect that he was talking to a widow and the smile disappeared. ‘That’s to say, your age doesn’t matter to me. I was just surprised, is all.’

‘I should hope not too.’ Tess was annoyed to find that the warmth in his eyes as he’d given her the once-over made her hot and flustered. He was disturbingly handsome. How old could he be? Probably in his early thirties, although possibly younger as he was so fit. It was hard to tell.

‘Come and have some tea and then you can get to know each other,’ Bryn suggested.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christina Courtenay lives near Hereford, England and is married with two children. Although born in England she has a Swedish mother and was brought up in Sweden. In her teens, the family moved to Japan where she had the opportunity to travel extensively in the Far East.

Christina’s debut Trade Winds was short listed for the 2011 Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Pure Passion Award for Best Historical Fiction.The Scarlet Kimono won the 2011 Big Red Reads Best Historical Fiction Award. Highland Storms (in 2012) and The Gilded Fan (in 2014) won the Best Historical Romantic Novel of the year award and The Silent Touch of Shadows won the 2012 Best Historical Read Award from the Festival of Romance.

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SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: The Highlander Who Loved Me by Tara Kingston

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Johanna Templeton is on a life-and-death quest. Swept into an intrigue that rivals the tales she pens, she joins forces with a Highland rogue to find the treasure that will save her kidnapped niece—a prize the Scot seeks for reasons that have nothing to do with ransom. Engaging the Highlander in a sizzling battle of the sexes, Johanna shields her heart.

Connor MacMasters, spy for Queen Victoria, is a man on a mission—keep a legendary gemstone from an evil man. Trailing an American novelist who holds the key to the treasure should’ve been simple, but Johanna awakens feelings he’d long thought dead. Torn between duty and desire, he wants her in his bed, but loving her would be a fool’s game. Blasted shame his heart doesn’t agree.

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EXCERPT

“My, lass, this is a surprise.” His husky burr was slow and deliberate and so very male.

Johanna lowered the lamp and slowly pivoted to face him. Oh, my!

Connor MacMasters stood before her. Fully, gloriously naked.

Gulping a breath, she forced her gaze to remain above his waist. His hair was damp, and he hadn’t shaved yet. Thick, dark stubble accented the strong contours of his jaw. Her gaze trailed lower. A slight sheen glistened on his broad, muscular shoulders while tiny beads of moisture dotted the dark hair on his chest.

That full, sensuous mouth of his quirked at one corner. “Have ye come to show yer appreciation for my chivalry? Or have ye decided my company is preferable to the specters that roam this old house?”

Liquid warmth filled her, a longing that penetrated to the bone. For a moment in time—a heartbeat, perhaps—she could think of nothing but the taste of his kiss, the feel of his lips against hers, the sound of her name in his raspy burr, whispered in a moment of passion.

That hint of a smile broadened. “Something wrong, Miss Templeton?” His tone faintly teasing, he put undue emphasis on her state of wedlock—or lack of. “Am I to believe ye werenae expecting me?”

She forced her head to shake in weak denial. “I…I wondered where you were. I heard noises.”

“Noises, eh?” He arched a dark brow. “The rattling of chains? Ghostly moans? Or weighted footsteps, perhaps?”

“Nothing like that. Probably just a mouse.”

His other brow lifted. “After all ye’ve been through, a mouse sends ye running?”

“I detest the filthy little creatures.” That, at least, came out with the conviction of truth. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

“Not yet.”

Damn him, the Scot made no move to put on a stitch of clothing. Not so much as a towel. Unable to help herself, her gaze dipped lower to the etched, muscular plane of his abdomen. A line of sable hair traced a decadent path from his navel lower, to a thick patch of hair even darker than that on his head.

She snapped her eyes up. He caught the motion, his mouth twisting with wry amusement he made no effort to hide.

“Am I to believe ye entered my chamber—searching for me, no less—because you feared a rodent might launch an attack?”

“I feared no such thing,” she countered. Her pride chafed at the incredulous humor in his voice. “I was alarmed. Nothing more.”

He folded his arms at the waist and rocked back on his heels, infuriatingly casual for a man who stood without a stitch to cover him. “By the saints, I’m the one should be alarmed. ’Tis not often that I emerge from my bathing chamber to find a comely lass beside my bed, threatening to compromise my fine reputation.”

“Compromise…your reputation?” The words plopped from her tongue like the last stubborn drops of molasses in an upended jug.

“Aye. I am an unmarried mon. What would anyone think, finding me alone in this room with a bonny lass who’s gone to such lengths to seduce me?”

“Seduce…seduce you?” Dash it all, she sounded like a parrot that had fallen off its perch and landed on its head.

“I can think of cruder terms. Would ye enjoy that?” He prowled toward her, his toes sinking into the plush carpet with each step. Lamplight gleamed over the contours of his chest, warming his skin with soft, golden rays.

She gave her head an urgent shake, as if to clear it. Stiffening her spine, she held his gaze. “I assure you there’s no need.”

His head moved slowly up and down in agreement. “Verrae true. Who needs talk at a time like this?”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

tara-kingstonAward-winning author Tara Kingston writes historical romance laced with intrigue, danger, and adventures of the heart. A Southern-belle-out-of-water in a quaint Pennsylvania town, she lives her own love story with her real-life hero and a pair of deceptively innocent-looking kitties in a cozy Victorian. The mother of two sons, Tara’s a former librarian whose love of books is evident in her popping-at-the-seams bookcases. It goes without saying that Tara’s husband is thankful for the invention of digital books, thereby eliminating the need for yet another set of shelves. When she’s not writing, reading, or burning dinner, Tara enjoys movie nights, cycling, hiking, DIY projects, collecting dolls, and cheering on her favorite football team.

SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: His Lordship’s Wild Highland Bride by Kathleen Bittner Roth

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A match made for mayhem.

Far from her beloved Highlands, Lainie MacGregor’s fate is sealed.

Ridley Malvern, Lord Caulfield, desperate for her dowry, agrees to marry a wealthy Scot’s daughter sight unseen. He is unaware his tantalizing bride is running from the law. Despite their sizzling attraction, all Lainie desires is to return to her clan. Attempting to make things right, Caulfield takes his wife back to the Highlands only to discover why her father sought the marriage—Lainie is wanted for murder. For her safekeeping, they must remain in England. Now Ridley needs to win her affections and prove that a wild Highland lass and an English lord, can find a love match, after all.

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EXCERPT

Ridley Malvern, Lord Caulfield—given the title of baron by the queen for saving her favorite son from drowning—was about to marry a total stranger.

He stood at the altar of the small chapel located on his parents’ estate, doing his best to appear the eager groom. As the organist played the first notes of a tune he failed to recognize, and his heavily veiled bride started down the aisle on the arm of her strapping older brother, Ridley’s gut wrenched. It was all he could do to keep from bolting. His eldest brother, Lord Eastleigh, stood beside him acting the part of groomsman. Eastleigh tilted his head toward Ridley and spoke through his teeth. “Do you think she might resemble her sibling?”

“God, I hope not. Look at his hair and beard, would you? They’re so orange and thick, he could hide a carrot with none being the wiser.”

Eastleigh’s lips twitched. “I doubt she sports a beard. But then, one never—”

“Sod off.”

Jamie MacGregor strode down the aisle with his sister on his arm as if heading into battle, his red and green plaid kilt fluttering about his bare knees. He was a broad-shouldered man with legs thick as tree trunks. A small knife tucked into the top of MacGregor’s heavy knit stocking reminded Ridley that a Scot was always prepared.

Ridley let out a soft groan. “Why the bloody hell did I agree to this charade?”

“Because you were too bloody stubborn to accept my offer of a loan.”

“Bugger me.”

“Thank you, no.”

When he’d been swimming in wealth, Ridley had halfheartedly engaged London’s ton in his quest for a proper wife, yet none had met his stringent requirements. Now that he’d lost everything he’d worked so hard to achieve, he was about to wed Lainie Margaret MacGregor, a Highland lass he’d never set eyes on until this very moment. He had to remind himself that the marriage would make him fabulously wealthy.

But at what price—my soul?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

kathleen-bittner-rothKathleen Bittner Roth is an award winning author who creates passionate stories featuring characters faced with difficult choices, and who are forced to draw on their strength of spirit to overcome adversity and find unending love.

Her own fairy tale wedding in a Scottish castle led her to her current residence in Budapest, Hungary, considered one of Europe’s most romantic cities. However, she still keeps one boot firmly in Texas and the other in her home state of Minnesota.

A member of Romance Writers of America®, she was a 2012 Golden Heart® finalist.