Craig’s Legacy by Terry Campbell
ASIN: B004OYUH8S
Publisher: Black Opal Books
Release Date: 9/20/2011
Blurb:
She’s from the twenty-first century…
Thrust back in time, Frankie Mathews is the quintessential fish out of water. She’s gone from running a major money market fund to a world where women milk cows. Too bad for Frankie that the nearest she’s ever been to a cow is a “Got Milk” commercial. Now, she has to save the life of Confederate Colonel Benjamin Craig and return to her own century with him in tow, before she changes history beyond recognition—and gets killed in the process.
He’s been fighting the Civil War in 1864…
To survive the Union deserters and his grasping, widowed sister-in-law, Ben needs Frankie’s quick thinking and never-give-up attitude that comes from her independence as a 21st Century woman.
But can the two lovers span the centuries between them and find a common future?
This book spans centuries to bring two soul mates together. Craig’s Legacy combines outstanding characters and a beautifully told love story mainly set in war torn Virginia to produce a engaging story that is a must read. One of the most realistic time-travel romances I’ve read in a long time!
Craig’s Legacy was a wonderful surprise for me to read. I’m not sure what I expected from the blurb, but what I found was a wonderfully warm, humorous, gentle romance. Frankie Matthews has been voted the Twenty-First Century’s Financial Wunderkind. She’s a tiny little thing, but she carries a punch in the financial world as she is the portfolio manager for a major investment fund. She was orphaned at an early age and has grown up with her Aunt Ginny and Uncle Max as her “parents”. They own Craig’s Knoll – property that has been handed down through the generations, and Frankie has decided to move back home after being away from home for years. But her dreams start up again and neighbours claim that the house has a ghost. Next problem – she can see the ghost and he’s yummy! Not only that, he talks to her about saving him and leaves her flowers.
Ben Craig was killed by deserters in 1864 while trying to protect his family. He is now a ghost waiting for the right woman to go back in time to save him and recover his legacy. He feels that he has found the right woman in Frankie. He says “We’re soul mates. We’re meant to be together, in life as well as death. You must trust in yourself and me. We’ll be joined, but not in your time.” Frankie is understandably unwilling to go bak to a time with none of the comforts that she currently enjoys, but Ben pushes her into a wardrobe and she lands in 1864.
This is one of the few time-travel novels that I’ve read that dealt with the “realities” of a person being in a different time well. Frankie was not pleased to be sent back in time. The lack of e-mail and tampons did not make her a happy camper! She was continually being caught doing or saying something modern and as a result was looked at as being a bit touched in the head! The situations that she got herself in had me chuckling and even laughing out loud at points! Ben, the ghost, was an attractive, charismatic man accustomed to the customs and conveniences of the 21st century. Ben in 1864 was a somewhat chauvinistic man, typical of his time. It was interesting to see the clash of a woman from the 21st century and a man from the 1800s! It made for some lively disagreements!
The secondary characters were also outstanding. Beatrice is one of the evil characters and was so well written you just wanted to slap her! I loved the character of Uncle Henry. He was smart, pragmatic and full of humor. He served as Frankie’s ally and his character allowed the author to bring in all sorts of information, from the place of slaves in the 1860s to folk medicine.
This isn’t a short cute story. At about 400 pages, it could be an intimidating read. I found that it started out slowly – the first 50 or so pages almost dragged as it set the scene for the rest of the book. The slow feeling really didn’t last beyond that, in fact, I became so absorbed with the story that I read the last 200 or so pages without stopping. Happily finishing with tears and a kleenex!
I certainly recommend this book! It is a great time-travel novel and filled with great information on the civil war!
Craig’s Legacy is available on Amazon
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel! 
Today we are welcoming Sky Purington to the blog. She is the author of Highland Defiance, and is here to share some information about her book as well as give away some prizes in a Rafflecopter giveaway. She is giving away:
- $25 Amazon gift card
- 5 eCopies of Highland Defiance
Highland Defiance
The MacLomain Series- Early Years
Sky Purington
Book Blurb:
Mildred, a young woman living in New England during the onset of World War II, worries about her family. What is to come? How will life change? Little does she anticipate change is to come not from war, but from an unexpected trip back in time to medieval Scotland.
Adlin, Chieftain of the MacLomain clan, will never forget the moment he lays eyes on her. Though he rules one of the most powerful clans in Scotland, Mildred redefines the man he thought he was. Her quick wit and perseverance humble his natural arrogance. Her sensuality cripples his defenses.
The maddened determination of a rival chieftain threatens their very existence. Caught together in time, they must find a way to evade the mighty MacLeods and keep peace in the Highlands. But lust, rage, and potential war simmer on the edge of their every move.
Will Mildred and Adlin find true love despite the odds? Find out in HIGHLAND DEFIANCE.
Stories from the original, MacLomain Series, include The King’s Druidess (Prelude), Fate’s Monolith (Book I), Destiny’s Denial (Book II) and Sylvan Mist (Book III). Also available in The MacLomain Series Boxed Set (Books 1-4)
About the Author:
Sky is the best-selling author of seven novels and several novellas. A New Englander born and bred, Sky was raised hearing stories of folklore, myth and legend. When combined with a love for nature, romance and time-travel, elements from the stories of her youth found release in her books. Readers have described her work as “Refreshing” and “Unforgettable.”
Purington loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at Sky@SkyPurington.com. Interested in keeping up with Sky’s latest news and releases?
Visit Sky’s Website, www.skypurington.com, to download her free App on iTunes and Android.
Website: www.skypurington.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/skypurington
Twitter: www.twitter.com/skypurington
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/skypurington
Blog: www.skypuringtonwrites.
Highland Defiance can be purchased at Amazon
* * * * *
Excerpt:
More silence, too much silence.
It upset him. All his life he’d been patient with everyone now this mere slip of a girl was making him wait longer. Fully aroused and unbelievably out of character, he tightened his hold and ran his lips along the edge of her smooth, damp jaw.
Inch by inch, he ran his lips down toward the edge of her lips only to notice that they were quivering. Before he—with five hundred years of wizardly knowledge under his belt—knew what was coming she reached around and turned not only her lips to his but her entire body until her front meshed against his.
He growled with need, cupped her arse and pulled up, meeting the swift rise of her legs as they wrapped around him. Lips sweet with sea water crushed against his. Their tongues swooped and crashed more thoroughly than the consuming, eager ocean that cocooned them.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured into her mouth.
Unlike Mildred, he was without clothing and his member struggled against her warm belly like an anxious serpent desperate for a deep, clenching mystery. For all her youth, her lithe body seemed to have an excellent grasp of the male anatomy. Her legs tried to climb his torso and her lips molded to his with the talent of a sensual sea siren.
Before he understood what he was doing, Adlin shoved through the waves and turf and had her pinned beneath him on the less-than-smooth Scottish shore. Would this woman never stop pulling dangerous magic from him? It mattered little as he clasped her hands and dragged her arms above her head.
They still had so much to talk about. So much he needed to tell her. When a tiny, little whimper of pleasure fell from her parted lips, Adlin didn’t give a bloody hell about anything anymore but getting as deep inside her as possible. With a sharp tug he pulled down the front of her clingy, wet, white garment and wrapped his lips around an eager nipple. Arching in pleasure, she cried out.
He almost burst with release.
Forget magic. Shoving this flimsy thing up her wet thighs and settling in for the plunge seemed so much sweeter an idea.
My Thoughts:
As you can read above, Highland Defiance is described as ‘The MacLomain Series – Early Years. As you can well imagine, this book is the beginning of a series. It tells the story of Adlin, the Chieftain of the MacLomain clan and Mildred. It is a time-travel romance with the book starting in 1942 with Mildred and her family getting ready for work at the factory and commenting on how many men are going off to fight in the war. Mildred apparently faints and finds herself in Scotland in 1050 and in the presence of Adlin.
This relatively short story sets the tone and the details for the the following books in this series. We discover all the various characters and their connections, but the main focus of this book is the relationship between Mildred and Adlin. Their connection is an achingly beautiful love story. The story is told in such a colorful lyrical style that the reader is immediately drawn into the world of ancient Scotland and the twists and turns of this relationship.
A beautifully told story – easily read in a couple of hours – certainly worth picking up a copy and experiencing this author’s storytelling!
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel
Today we are welcoming Heather McCollum to the blog. She is the author of Highland Heart and is here to answer some of my questions and to share some information about her book. If this sound like the type of book that you would be interested in reading, please find some buy links at the bottom of the post and pick up a copy!
Barb – Tell us about your new release?
Heather – Thank you so much for having me in today to talk a bit about my latest romantic adventure! HIGHLAND HEART is the prequel novella to my full length Scottish Historical romance, CAPTURED HEART. HH starts about twenty five years before the full length and follows the start of one of the families involved throughout the series (HIGHLAND HEARTS series).
These adventures take place in 16th century Scotland and England around the time of Henry VIII. They involve the lush world of a traditional Scottish Historical romance but have the added spice of magic. Each woman in the Brindle family line possesses the magical ability to heal, and is marked with a dragonfly-shaped birthmark.
Barb – Tell me a little about yourself.
Heather – I am a mom of three kids (ages 14, 11, and 5) and a crazy rescued golden retriever. I’m extremely lucky to have found my own Highland hero, my husband, Braden. When I’m not writing, making meals for perpetually hungry kids, and walking my dog, I’m usually on my “soap box” educating women about ovarian cancer.
Six months ago I finished 15 months of chemo to kill that silent, sneaky, deadly beast. I’m using whatever talents I have to spread the warning about the whispered symptoms of ovarian cancer. My full length, CH, has them listed in the back.
Barb – If you wouldn’t be a writer, what you would be?
Heather – I love birthday parties, kid’s theme parties. I’m rather known in my circle of moms as the creative genius behind parties like “Life-sized Candyland” and “Storm trooper training camp.” I would definitely put together creative theme parties for groups if I wasn’t in love with writing magical novels.
Barb – Who are your cheerleaders?
Heather – Holy Pom-Poms, Batman! I have an army of cheerleaders. When I was diagnosed with cancer, people far and wide jumped in to help me and my family. They all became teal warriors (teal is the ovarian cancer color) in my fight to live. As I move on now to grow in my writing career, they continue to cheer for my successes.
My husband is at the head of the army, helping me anyway he can. Even when I was too scared about dying to write fiction, he encouraged me to write to save my sanity. So I blogged about my cancer journey on caring bridge. Now I have wonderful material that I will one day use in a cancer book to help others reeling from that blow.
Barb – What do you love about writing?
Heather – I LOVE it when a scene comes together. I’m a cross between a pantzer and a plotter. I know basically where I want to go, but I usually end somewhere a bit different. My characters become real, developing their own personalities and leading me to different end points. If I try to force them on my original track, they usually rebel and some long lost evil twin shows up. So I’ve learned to let them lead the way (or so I let them think – shhhh!!).
So when the scene comes together it is a tears-of-joy sort of feeling where I do usually shed tears of joy and jump around the house while my husband grins and shakes his head. I worked for over a decade in a corporate setting, and I never felt such satisfaction and happiness when sealing a deal as I do when all my creative twists and loops become a magnificent bow of a story.
Barb – Did you do any research before starting or during the writing of the books?
Heather – I write stories in many different time periods from the 10th century up to present day, so research is a requirement. I think late 16th century Britain is my favorite though, so I know it the best and don’t need to look up every little facet of my characters’ lives (like what they use for a toilet). But I still need to make sure that any true historical figures or events (which do show up in many of my books) follow historically accurate details, although sometimes I can twist them a bit.
I keep my historical reference books, Gaelic and Latin dictionaries, and reliable web sites close by.
Barb – Your favorite books and author?
Heather – I have so many! This is a hard question to answer. I do LOVE Karen Marie Moning’s work. Her original Highlander series, with its plethora of rugged Highlanders and Fae magic, has inspired a lot of my work. I also love her dark urban fantasy FEVER series. Jericho Barrons – YUM!
Barb – Where can readers find your books?
Heather – HIGHLAND HEART and CAPTURED HEART are available at Barnes & Noble as well as on Amazon. HH is digital only since it is short. CH is in both print and digital formats. I’m very excited to see CH in Barnes & Noble stores. I had my daughter take a picture of me by the book stack where it was shelved!
Barb – Favorite place in the world?
Heather – The Scottish Highlands, with its jutting mountains, curious “fairy rings” and marvelous castle ruins, is one of my favorite places. My family and I will be visiting there this summer, and we are terribly excited about the trip.
We also spend time on coastal Maine which reminds me a lot of Scotland. There is an obscure little beach called Jasper Beach covered with rounded river-type stones. The wind is cold, the fog curls in from around an off shore island, but the stones are always warm from the sun. I lie flat on the round rocks as the heat soaks into my back and the waves pull the stones on the waterline out to sea. They clatter against each other, tumbling into the Atlantic. It sounds just like applause. There is definitely a Maine series in my future.
Barb – What is in the works for you next?
Heather – Right now I am completing the second book in the HIGHLAND HEARTS series. It follows Ewan Brody as he travels down to Henry VIII’s English court and runs into the most complicated lass he’s ever likely to meet.
My fourth book of THE DRAGONFLY CHRONICLES series is in edits right now and I have a YA paranormal romance coming out in 2014. I’m also journaling about my recovery from cancer over this year in hopes to make that into a survival story.
Alec Munro, chieftain of the Munros, has captured the Englishman who swindled his father. Set on retribution, he’s caught off-guard by the thief’s beautiful daughter, a lass whose beauty and spirit leave him questioning the value of revenge. Rachel Brindle has a secret: she can heal people with her magic. While journeying with her father and sister into the Highlands, she becomes a prize sought between two warring clans. She must use her cunning and her healing magic to prevent the same slaughter that started the blood feud a century ago. But when her secret is exposed, will it condemn her in the eyes of the barbarian who has capture not only her family, but also her heart?
Heather can be found:
Highland Heart can be purchased:
Excerpt:
Edge of Loch Tuinn
Highlands of Scotland
August 1512
Rachel Brindle sat her mare with ease, just like any well-bred Englishwoman. She twisted an escaped strand of dark brown hair and poked it under her velvet cap. Foolish hat! It couldn’t possibly contain her wild curls.
The wagons of provisions rambled behind Rachel and her sister, Isabelle, as they skirted the large lake that glittered with a million diamond-like bits of sunlight. The water looked so cool, but their father hadn’t allowed them to wade in it. She and Isabelle had been commanded to sip water and pray while everyone else refreshed.
Rachel huffed at the rebellious strands. She looked askance to her sister. “Do you think we’re almost there?”
Isabelle shielded her eyes against the sun. “I remember the lake from when we visited with Father years ago. We’re close.”
They were traveling to Munro Keep to meet with the elderly Hamish Munro, great Highland chieftain and her father’s business partner. William Brindle brought shillings and provisions in exchange for the fine wool that the Munros grew on their herds. It had been ten years since Rachel and her sister had accompanied him to the Munros, back when he smiled, back when their mother still lived.
“I’m melting.” A trail of perspiration tickled between Rachel’s breasts. Perhaps she shouldn’t have begged their father to bring them along to escape the boredom of country life. Even with the summer heat, her father had insisted she wear long sleeves when outside their home to hide her strange dragonfly-shaped birthmark. She dabbed at her forehead and chest with a lacy handkerchief.
“If I succumb to vapors will you revive me?” Rachel teased. As usual, Isabelle frowned at any mention of their special healing abilities.
“I’ll pour water on your face,” her sister threatened.
Rachel laughed. The sound cut off as her glance strayed through the copse of thick pines on their left. Her lips opened on an unuttered gasp as her gaze locked with the intense stare of a man. He sat statue-like on his horse a hundred yards back in the thick growth. His massive chest was bare like that of a barbarian. Red-brown hair nearly reached his broad, tanned shoulders, giving him a wild look. Though the forest shadows dappled along his skin, Rachel could see sculpted muscles protecting his ribs. He held a sword in one arm, his bicep large, as if accustomed to holding its weight for long periods of time.
Narrowed eyes assessed her, judging, waiting perhaps for her outcry. But Rachel kept silent, her thudding heart the only warning. Her chin rose as she met his challenge in defiance.
“Did you see that plant?” Isabelle pointed into the high grass of the small meadow they were crossing. “I think it’s shepherd’s purse.”
Rachel forced her eyes from the man even though the effort seemed ridiculously difficult. “Nay, Isabelle, I missed it,” she murmured. Should she alert her father? Who was the barbarian? Rachel didn’t even know whose land they traveled across. She knew the Munros warred with a neighboring clan, but surely her father would have kept their route along friendly territory.
“Isabelle,” Rachel asked casually. “Do you have your arrows within reach?”
“Yes, but I don’t think father wants me hunting this close to the Munros.”
“Keep them close.” Rachel looked at her sister, her eyes intense. “Just in case.” She pulled her dagger out and set it amongst the folds of her green buckram skirt. Granted it was only one small weapon, but with a single snap she could lodge it into a man’s skull.
Theoretically, of course, since she’d only practiced with turnips at home.
Isabelle nocked an arrow into the bow she’d retrieved from behind her. She glanced around. “You saw something,” she whispered.
Rachel tipped a brief nod. “Just keep alert.”
“You should tell—”
“Munros! Batail!” The roar sliced through her sister’s words, echoing off the trees and boulders flanking them.
Rachel whirled around in her saddle, dagger poised. Men ran and jumped through the trees, not toward them, but back the way they had come.
“Ride, girls!” their father yelled from up ahead.
Rachel kicked her mount’s flanks and leaned low as it lurched forward. Isabelle raced next to her. The meadow ended and they fled into the dappled light of the thick woods. Their father waved his arm overhead to urge them to follow as he wove through the trees.
The guttural sounds and clang of steel mixed with Gaelic curses. Had the barbarian followed? Rachel glanced at Isabelle. Her sweet, dutiful younger sister; would she be murdered by marauders because Rachel had failed to warn everyone? Rachel swallowed against the dry panic in her throat as she thought of the man, his piercing eyes, his proud stare. What if he was in jeopardy?
“Watch out!” Isabelle shouted as they galloped toward a thick uprooted tree.
Rachel veered and yanked the reins to the right, while Isabelle tore off in front of her to the left. Lost in the heavy growth of trees, Rachel steered the horse in a tight circle. Her gaze wove through the dense woods as she tried to discern the sound of the battle over her thumping heart. She continued to circle, hoping to find a clear-cut path through the thickets.
“Blast!” She cursed low and looked up at the giant trees. She had absolutely no sense of direction. She shifted in her seat, breathing the moist earthy air while the halted horse quivered beneath her. Which way?
She scanned the woods, looking for any familiar path. And stopped. The barbarian stood amongst the trees. He held his blood-streaked sword ready, his legs braced apart as if waiting for another target to strike. In a fluid motion he pivoted, sharp eyes connecting once again with Rachel’s as if they were magnets. There was something…something familiar about his eyes. A distant memory fluttered in her mind. A Highland festival, a young boy several years older than she.
The man took a step toward her, dissolving the image. The whoosh of an arrow made Rachel drop low against her horse’s neck, but she watched in horror as the arrow slammed into the man’s shoulder.
“No!” Rachel screamed and pushed her horse through the undergrowth to him. She slid down into the ferns. Her little slippers found no purchase and she tripped and slipped toward him, where he lay surrounded by green fronds. He wore a kilt draped loosely around narrow hips. His eyes were closed, but he swallowed. Her breath hitched as she saw the faint line near his right ear. A scar.
Rachel forced a deep breath and looked away from the mark, her mark. The tip of the arrow protruded from his chest, its shaft all the way through.
Rachel ignored her shaking and placed her hands on his hot skin. She closed her eyes and released the bubble of power that churned behind her ribs, funneling it through him in search of physical details. She heard his blood whoosh through his veins. The hollowness of his stomach and bladder indicated they were empty. The hard echo of his pounding heart beat through her, straining with the injury. But where exactly was it? The whisper of a leak caught Rachel’s breath, a nick in the artery, blood pooling in his chest cavity.
“Holy Lord,” she whispered, and opened her eyes. In the distance she could hear shouting, guttural and fierce. She flattened her blood-smeared hands on the wet grass, pawing, searching. Yes! A rock! She clawed at the fist-sized rock at the base of a fern, dirt cramming under her nails. Her eyes dropped to the man’s jagged flesh, holding the arrow. She breathed, and hefted the rock high. “Holy Lord, help me.”
Her stomach tightened. Can I really do this? I must! Holding her breath, she slammed the rock against the protruding arrowhead.
The man gasped but didn’t wake.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and tugged his arm. Holy Lord, he was heavy! She braced her muddied feet against the side of a large pine and used her legs to yank, turning him onto his side. In the shadows before, she hadn’t seen the crisscrossing of scars marring his skin. This man had seen battle—a lot of battle. Guilt took hold of her, lending her strength. He’d survived all this time only to be shot when she stole his attention.
The shouts crept closer. Were they looking for him? Rachel sunk lower into the ferns as she wedged her feet against his bloodied back. With a great yank, the shaft slid free. The unconscious man groaned. She straddled him, kicking her skirts out of the way. He was so broad her knees didn’t reach the ground, and she balanced on his hip while slamming one hand on each bleeding hole, front and back.
She breathed in the tang of blood, of sweat and mud, of his masculine scent as she released her magic, directing it through her splayed hands into his body. The nick first. She cringed as she felt the larger tear along the thin wall of his artery, a consequence of removing the splintery shaft. Her eyes flickered closed as she imagined the smooth lines of healthy tissue. She pushed her power into the torn muscles, moving outward, repairing, smoothing. She knit the splintered edges of a rib and healed the broken and seeping blood vessels feeding the muscles. Finally, the skin over the holes. Rachel breathed deep, feeling her energy feeding into the man. Her head swam and she slumped forward, draping him in blood-stained green buckram. Would she have enough strength to escape?
“Lass.” The whisper tickled at her ear and she felt her body lowered gently to the soft earth. Warm fingers brushed the hair from her cheeks and her eyes fluttered open. “What are ye?” Dark blue eyes stared down into her own, intense, questioning, stunning, but what captured her full focus was the telltale slice near his ear.
“There! A horse! I know I shot him. Over there!”
The barbarian glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. His sensuous lips thinned into a line of frustration. “I’ll come for ye.”
Come for her? Where was she going?
Rachel’s consciousness slipped over the edge into comfortable darkness.
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!
Today we are welcoming Christine Young to the blog! She is the author of A Marriage of Inconvenience and is touring her book with Goddessfish Promotions. She’ll be giving away a $25.00 Gift Card to a commenter from the tour. If you want to increase your chances of winning, click HERE for the list of blog to leave more comments 
I hope you enjoy what Christine is sharing from her book. Be sure to leave a comment in order to win!
A Marriage of Inconvenience
by Christine Young
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A REGAL BEAUTY
When the duchess decides to wed her to a wastrel and a fop, Ravyn Grahm takes matters into her own hands and declares her engagement to another man. Instead of fessing up and telling her great aunt what she has done, she goes through with the pretense. Aric Lakeland is the bastard son of an earl and has a dangerous reputation. But Ravyn is willing to do most anything to keep the duchess from discovering the lie.
A DEVIL-MAY-CARE SMUGGLER
He’d bought land in America, looking to put down roots and end his life of adventure, but Aric Lakeland got more than he bargained for when he encountered a beautiful heiress who made a promise she didn’t want to keep. But the promise could not be undone and standing between them were more obstacles than either ever dreamed. Aric had made plans to spend the rest of his life in America and that was at odds with Ravyn’s plan of living in England and running her father’s estate. Now, he’ll have to choose between his dreams and the woman he loves more than life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT:
“Well, I can see that marriage hasn’t trimmed Amorica’s tongue one bit,” Aric said wryly as he undid the saddle cinch. “She can still tear a mean strip when she has a mind to. Only thing she does better than make biscuits.”
“Of course,” Damian said, lifting the saddle one-handed from the horse’s back, “the fact that a man knows he has it coming tends to make it sting all the worse.”
Aric spun around, ready to vent his frustration, furious with Damian’s calm words, but the other man had already turned away. Saddle balanced on one shoulder, saddlebags and bedroll slung over the other, Damian was walking through the barn door, whistling.
Letting out another long breath, Aric made another stab at reining his temper. The whole point of bringing Ravyn to the farm had been to show her how completely unsuited to this lifestyle she was. It had not been to point out what a beast he had been to her. He knew that already. And he felt guilty as hell. He didn’t need Damian to make those feelings grow.
Just as he knew his plan to make Ravyn cry annulment was working. Slowly, surely, day-by-day, hour by hour, minute by minute, he was wearing her down. He could hold out longer than she could.
I shall not say the word.
Yes you will.
Every moment brought Ravyn closer to that time when she would have to admit defeat and free both of them from the cruel trap they had entered into that fated day in England. They needed to be free of a marriage that should have never happened, no matter how promising it had seemed at first.
Aric hoped Ravyn would give up soon. Each day with her became harder to endure. Her scent, the memories of how she felt in his arms and the knowledge of what they might have had tormented him. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on grinding a beautiful little imp into the dirt. He had never felt another person’s anguish so completely. He would rather suffer a thousand deaths than put Ravyn through this. He would rather be hurt himself than to inflict the pain on Ravyn. Long ago he had learned how to endure pain, how to control it. When he had learned he was a bastard and had suffered insult after insult from the very people who embraced his brother with respect and love, he had learned to hide the anguish and the loneliness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Born in Medford, Oregon, novelist Christine Young has lived in Oregon all of her life. After graduating from Oregon State University with a BS in science, she spent another year at Southern Oregon State University working on her teaching certificate, and a few years later received her Master’s degree in secondary education and counseling. Now the long, hot days of summer provide the perfect setting for creating romance. She sold her first book, Dakota’s Bride, the summer of 1998 and her second book, My Angel to Kensington. Her teaching and writing careers have intertwined with raising three children. Christine’s newest venture is the creation of Rogue Phoenix Press. Christine is the founder, editor and co-owner with her husband. They live in Salem, Oregon.
http://christineyoung-romancewriter.blogspot.com/
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel
Today we are welcoming Vivienne Westlake to the blog. She is the author of A Marquess for Christmas and is here to share some information about her book. If this sound like something that you are interested in reading, please find a buy link at the bottom of the post and pick up a copy!
A Marquess for Christmas
Vivienne Westlake
Genre: Regency, erotic romance, historical romance
Word Count: approx. 25K-30K
Cover Artist: Vivienne Westlake
Book Description:
A proper widow. A rakish marquess. He rescued her from thieves, but will she be able to save him from himself?
When Violet Laurens is rescued from highwaymen, the furthest thing from her mind is that her heart might tumble next. She loves her independent life, no matter her lonely bed. The handsome stranger reawakens the passion she thought buried along with her husband, pushing her to new heights of desire. But she knows it’s only a matter of time before he remembers his name and leaves her.
The dissolute Marquess of Kittrick has vowed never to marry, causing a rift in his family that sets him on the road just in time to do battle with ruffians intent on stealing a lady’s coins—and more. Discovering the fiery wanton beneath the widow’s oh-so-proper demeanor makes him want nothing more than to forget who he is for just a bit longer. Maybe forever.
When Kit is forced to acknowledge who he is, will the truth trump their shared passion, and the love they can’t quite admit to? Or will Violet overcome her fear—and Kit his dissolute ways–and be able to lay claim to A Marquess for Christmas?
About the Author:
Vivienne Westlake has been reading and writing romance since the age of fifteen. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature and when she’s not plotting stories about sexy heroes and sassy heroines, she’s buying a book on British history, watching the latest teen vampire show, doing an art project or singing karaoke with friends. Vivienne is an active member of Romance Writers of America, Romance Divas, and Indie Romance Ink.
Vivian can be found:
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A Marquess for Christmas can be purchased:
Excerpt:
“He still sleeps fitfully, my lady.” Avery put his hand to the man’s head. “A little warm. We should get some ice and keep his temperature down.”
“And you have checked his bandages?” The bleeding had stopped, but the chance of infection was high. She stood by the four poster bed, looking down at her savior, who lay still and quiet, despite the people in the room.
“Yes, the wound is not healed, but neither is it as gruesome as it was yesterday.”
“And he has not awoken?”
“He tosses and murmurs and has managed the chamber pot a couple of times, but he does not speak and his eyes are glazed and unfocused.”
It had been two days since the incident. She prayed it was the laudanum keeping him so dazed and not his injury. But they could not be sure yet.
“If he does not awaken in the next day or two, we shall have to fetch Doctor Littleton. For now, let us keep him cool and make sure that someone checks on him every hour.”
Violet went to the window and opened it. The sky was cloudy and the ground covered with a thin layer of snow. “The fresh, cool air should do him good.” She rang the bell then went back to the bed and sat down. The man’s hands felt hot under hers, but she raised them to her cheek to be sure. Definitely too warm.
“My lady?” Miriam entered the room.
“Go and fetch some ice please. If there’s no ice, send a footman outside and gather snow. We need to keep him cool until his fever breaks.”
She leaned over to the small bedside table, dipped a cloth into a small ceramic basin, and wrung it out. “I will see to him for a while, Avery.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
Gently, she took the cloth and wiped the man’s face, always conscious of the bandage. She hummed as she worked. It was a very old song that she’d learned as a girl. Sometimes her mother would sing it as she stitched.
“Come live with me and be my love and we will all the pleasures prove. The hill and valley, dale and field, and all the craggy mountains yield.”
She washed his arms, noting each twist and turn of muscle. She even tested it with her finger to see if it was as firm as it appeared. Nothing about him was soft– except for his lips and the silky threads of his hair.
She brushed the towel over his neck and down to the exposed skin at the opening of his tunic. The hair there was thin and fine. She couldn’t help but stare as she swept over his chest. His nipples were wide, but tightened into little nubs when she touched them.
What would it feel like to run her palms over them? Would they react to her as they did to the damp cloth? What about her mouth?
Violet turned away and blushed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember him fighting off the thief and the moment when he’d taken the fateful blow. She needed to focus on her task and not on the yearnings she felt for a man she barely knew.
She might be fantasizing about a man of base morals or a man with a wife and four children. Or, what if he was a clergyman? That she doubted considering his skill with weapons and his readiness to fight, but what gentleman would watch an innocent woman get attacked by thieves and not come to her rescue?
A man does what needs must. Even a man of the cloth will take up a pistol if his life or his country demanded it. She had seen boys barely old enough to carry a gun with gaping holes in their chest and villages ravaged and burned in the war.
And this man would die like the rest, if she did not do her duty to him. He’d saved her and now she must do the same for him.
With such thoughts distracting her, she didn’t realize she’d paused her singing until she heard a low, gravelly voice.
“Sing.”
She looked down to see dark eyes watching her.
“You are awake!”
“Sing,” he repeated, but he’d barely finished the word when a ragged cough took over his body.
“A belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral clasps and amber studs, and if these pictures may thee move, come live with me and—”
“Be my love.” His voice was hoarse, even more than she expected for someone who’d slept for two days. She lifted from the bed to pour water from the pitcher into a cup.
When she lifted the cup to his lips, he coughed and it dribbled down his chin. “Easy.” They tried again, but still, most of the water ended up down his chest. His tunic absorbed the excess liquid and clung tightly to his body, so she could see every line and curve. His nipples hardened again.
“Let me try this another way,” she said. This time, she dipped her fingers into the cup and let the water drip into his mouth.
He opened wide for more. She leaned closer, her bosom near his face, and poured more water from her fingers.
After the third time, he put her two fingers to his lips and sucked them. A flash of heat shot through her limbs. If she’d been standing, she would have faltered and lost her balance.
His mouth was hot and she suspected it had little to do with his fever.
“More,” he whispered. He stared at her and she could not move, could not speak.
There was a knock behind them and that jolted her out of her frozen state. Miriam stood in the doorway with ice and more water. The man groaned.
She motioned for the maid to come in. As soon as the girl was close, Violet took a tiny chip of ice and put it in the man’s mouth.
The ice would help his thirst, but she also was afraid for him to speak. The need in his eyes was too real, too close to the desire that she felt. But he was a stranger. A beautiful, dark, bewitching stranger who had risked his life for her, yet she knew almost nothing about him.
A fact that she could remedy. No. What was she thinking? He was wounded, disoriented, and who knows if he mistook her for his wife or some mistress. A sharp pang twisted in her gut. Did he have a mistress? She’d already considered that he could be married, but she hadn’t thought about the possibility of a mistress.
He was a virile, handsome man with a body any sculptor would worship and carve into stone. She’d seen it all, every wicked inch of him. The thought of that body being pleasured by some other woman made her ill.
“Do you or the gentleman need anything else, my lady?”
“Perhaps the cook has some broth. But please make sure it is tepid, not hot.”
Miriam set down the tray of ice and curtsied before exiting the room.
He rubbed his temples, then when Miriam was gone, he turned back to her. Though he whispered the word, “Water,” his eyes said something else.
She plopped another ice sliver into his mouth. He sucked on it, watching her still. She felt a flush run down from her ears to her belly. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought his fever was catching.
A foolish part of her longed to demand if he had a mistress, but she bit her lip. That was not the first question she should ask him. And, he was so weak, it was better if he didn’t speak at all.
She put her hand to his mouth. “Do not try to speak, sir. You are weary and hoarse.”
He opened his mouth and before he could argue, she fed him another ice chip.
“You have a fever and you need to rest.”
His forehead was still warm. It could be a long night if his fever didn’t break. But he was at least alert for now, which was a good sign.
She stood up, intending to move aside the blankets and leave him with the sheet, but he reached for her arm.
“Don’t.” Under his stare, she froze again. “Do not. Leave.” Though the words were gravelly and low, it was a command, not a plea.
“Very well.”
She pulled aside the blankets, careful not to touch his thighs, and moved a chair close to the bed. The mere foot of space between her seat and the bed seemed much farther. Every little movement made her aware of the hard chair beneath her and the cool air brushing over her skin.
She missed the heat of his body next to hers.
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel
Today we are welcoming Kristabel Reed to the blog! She’s the author of Seduction of my Proper Wife and is touring with Goddessfish promotions to create some buzz about her book. She’s going to share some information about her book with us.
Kristabel will be giving away an eBook copy of any backlist title and one randomly drawn commenter from this tour will receive a $25 Amazon or Barnes & Noble gift card plus a copy of any eBook backlisted title. To increase your chances of winning, click HERE to find other blogs to comment on.
Barb – Tell us about your new release?
Kristabel – Seduction of my Proper Wife is a thinking woman’s erotica. It takes Victorian sentiments on sex and so totally turns them on their ear; Victorian prudishness meets ménage happily ever after. I enjoy taking an historic plot device and twisting it. What better way to twist it than make it into a ménage?
Philip Thornton only wanted to help his frigid wife enjoy their marriage bed.
Lillian agreed, but once freed from her past, hadn’t expected such a fierce transformation.
Aria was paid to educate and entice, but what she found was more than she ever dreamed possible.
The Parisian Exposition of 1889…the world is changing and the three of them are caught in its whirl. Philip and Lillian went to Paris to save their marriage and to help Lillian overcome her fears. Aria danced and seduced Lillian, but before Lillian left, Aria found herself seduced, in turn, by the beautiful Englishwoman.
When Philip and Lillian break all the rules and escort Aria around Paris for a week, will it be the beginning of their future? Or will this seductive interlude be nothing more than a dream?
Barb – What’s your current guilty pleasure?
Kristabel – Chocolate is the eternal favorite, however I’d have to say my current one is Chris Hemsworth. I’ll see anything with him in it. J
Barb – If you wouldn’t be a writer, what you would be?
Kristabel – Congress or the senate or a local office because I always feel I can do a better job than our current politicians. But with my luck (and writing history!) I’d probably be involved in a ménage sex scandal.
Barb – What are your favorite hobbies?
Kristabel – Reading, TV, movies, gardening, beach, travel to new places or old favorites. I love to see new places to use for research.
Barb – What do you love about writing?
Kristabel – I get to play in the imagination sandbox and call it my job! I love imagining new stories!
Barb – Why did you choose the genre you write in?
Kristabel – My publisher had a hole in her lineup for a ménage historical anthology and asked if I’d fill it. I’d never written a ménage before, but said yes. Once I finished that short story, I wanted to write a longer ménage, to really get a feel for the characters and flesh them out. After that first one, it snowballed from there and now I can’t imagine not writing them!
Barb – Where do you get your inspiration?
Kristabel – For Seduction of my Proper Wife, I had read Devil in the White City and wanted to set a story either during a World’s Fair or at least in Victorian Era Chicago. In that one they talk about this World’s Fair, so I looked up Paris 1889. Not much on it, but it was fascinating enough and with the Eiffel Tower there almost too exotic a setting to ignore. Given what I write, it had to be a ménage, lol, but I am enjoying the setting itself. I love the research I can do on Paris 1889. If you get a chance to read Devil in the White City or Eiffel’s Tower, do so.
Barb – How many books do you read/month?
Kristabel – I tend not to read a romance or ménage while writing because I don’t want to accidently take away something from that story and use it in mine. But I’d say on average, I read about 5-7 books. Between ebooks, library books, and audio books, it’s easy to juggle.
And I enjoy a very wide variety of stories, non-fiction historicals, spiritual things like finding your animal spirit, thrillers, YA books (some) children’s books, and especially romance.
Barb – Do you prefer Twitter or Facebook?
Kristabel – Twitter. I can update that frequently and not compete with cute animal pictures. While I enjoy those pictures I find facebook very crowded and cumbersome. Course Twitter is shorter, 140 characters and all. So if anyone wants to start a conversation you can find me at @kristabelreed
Barb – What are your thoughts on ebooks? (i.e. love them, hate them, wave of the future)
Kristabel – Love them, they are the wave of the future. Don’t get me wrong, I love holding a book, but let’s face it; I can download an almost infinite number of books onto an e-reader or tablet and not have to lug them physically around.
And, too, there’s the shame factor—like you’re buying a box of condoms at the pharmacy where your date’s father works. I doubt very much anyone would buy my books if they had to go into a bookstore and have everyone stare at them with a threesome on the cover and words like Victorian Ménage in the title. With an e-book you can download it and not worry who’s looking at you because they probably won’t be able to see what you’re reading!
Barb – If you could ask your readers one question, what would it be?
Kristabel – I was going to talk about my upcoming releases, but I really like this question instead. So what would I ask? I’d ask what they like to see in a story. Plot is important, I’m in total agreement, but what sort of plot? What do you like in a story, in a romance, in an historical, in a ménage?
Thanks for hosting me, I look forward to chatting with everyone!
BLURB:
Philip Thornton adored his new bride but found she was frigid in their marriage bed.
Lillian did not know how to ease her fear of the bed until she was freed from her past.
Aria was paid to educate and entice, but what she found was more than she ever dreamed possible.
The Parisian Exposition of 1889…the world is changing and the three of them are caught in its whirl. Philip and Lillian went to Paris to save their marriage and to help Lillian overcome her fears. Aria danced and seduced Lillian, but before Lillian left, Aria found herself seduced, in turn, by the beautiful Englishwoman.
When Philip and Lillian break all the rules and escort Aria around Paris for a week, will it be the beginning of their future? Or will this seductive interlude be nothing more than a dream?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
Puzzled at such a dichotomy, she allowed Philip to pull her along. They passed a pair of men sitting cross-legged on the ground. They smoked from a long tube attached to a tall, thin, glass spiral of some sort. Fascinated, Lillian tried not to stare, it was rude after all, but wondered what the contraption was called and what the men smoked from its cloudy insides.
They entered a building with beautifully mysterious music and slight tinkling sounds. When Lillian looked up, she saw the dancers. They wore swaths of sheer fabric for skirts, covered in dozens and dozens of gold coins. Their bellies were bare, but their faces veiled.
Philip, still silent as he’d been since leaving their hotel room, guided her through the crowd to the front of the stage. Lillian, almost entranced by the sight, didn’t care who saw her or what they thought, she watched, mesmerized by the way these women’s bodies moved.
It was the most sensual thing she’d ever seen, and Lillian knew she should be ashamed, but couldn’t be. The danced ended and the women filed off stage. The crowd waited, clearly waiting like she was, to see if more was to come. But nothing more happened, save the men playing their strange instruments continued to do so.
As the crowd left the room, Philip smiled tenderly down at her and she felt that same fluttering in her belly she had the first time he’d done so. Straightening her shoulders, Lillian vowed to make this work. Even if she had to…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Kristabel Reed lives on the East Coast and loves to explore the steamier side of historical romance. “There are so many sexy situations that didn’t just pop up in the 21st century and my goal is to burst the myth of the prim and proper debutante.”
She loves romances but historical ménages particularly which add an element of danger and discovery not seen in contemporaries. Historically speaking, unusual romantic connections put lives on the line-people were ostracized and some even put to the death.
She loves reading, watching old movies, and anything Cary Grant. And is always interested in talking about erotic romance, so drop her a line: kristabelreed@yahoo.com; or Tweet her @kristabelreed; find her blog: kristabelreed.blogspot.com
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!
Scheduled to day is a book review for a book that I read a bit ago and LOVED! If you have been reading my reviews, you will realized that I haven’t met a Grace Burrowes story that I haven’t fallen in love with. The same is true with this one. I hope that you enjoy sharing this book with me. I’ve included a buy link at the bottom if you want to pick up a copy!
The Bridegroom Wore Plaid by Grace Burrowes
ISBN: 9781402268663
Release: December 2012
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Source: I received a copy of this book from the publisher to read and review
Blurb:
The Bridegroom Wore Plaid
In an effort to preserve the family estate, Ian MacGregor, the Earl of Balfour, must marry for money. When a promising match emerges in the form of Genie Daniels, a rich English heiress, Ian begins devising a strategy to woo her. When he meets Genie’s poor cousin Augusta, he discovers a new avenue to Genie’s heart. But after spending time with Augusta and falling for her charms, Ian begins to question whether or not he’s willing to forfeit his heart to save the family name…
* * * * *
Welcome to Grace Burrowes’ new series of books! The Bridegroom Wore Plaid is the first book in the Scottish Victorian Series. To admit a bias, I became a fan of Grace Burrowes with the first book of her’s I read, The Heir, back in December 2010. I have fallen in love with the Windham family as I have read 6 of their stories to date. Now we start a new series and change gears a bit.
The Bridegroom Wore Plaid as it’s name suggests is set in Scotland. Ian MacGregor, the heir to the Earl of Balfour needs to marry money to keep his estate afloat. His older brother, Asher, has been missing in the Canadian wilderness for years and they are considering declaring him dead so that the estate can carry on. Ian is uneasy about this, but after surviving years of bad crops, English rules and having siblings and clan members to support, he has to face facts. He has opened his house to paying guests for several years, and he live close to Balmoral, the Queen’s favorite summer place. This book starts with Ian and his brothers Gilgallon and Connor meeting their next set of guests at the train station. This set is different, though as one of these guests could potentially become his wife.
Augusta is the poor cousin that is compelled to accompany her heiress cousin, Genie Daniels and her family on their jaunt into the Scottish highlands for the summer. Genie is expected to marry Ian MacGregor, but after years of witnessing her father abuse her mother, she is reluctant to marry anyone, regardless of how kind they seem.
I loved the set of new characters to learn in this book! They are colorful as they are different. Ms.Burrowes does a wonderful job of creating characters that seem to just jump off the page. It is easy to picture Mary Fran ordering her brothers around. Mary Fran’s daughter Fiona is simply delightful. Ian is the picture of duty, quietly tucking the real him away for the sake of the family. The glimpses of Ian that Augusta bring out are wonderful. As with any good romance, there is the villain and the villain in this book is delightfully wicked, soulless even.
I loved the story of Ian and Augusta and I look forward to the next story in this series. I also look forward to continuing the Windham series. Ms. Burrowes’ website is a fountain of information about upcoming books. I encourage you to visit and find out what is coming next.
I leave you with a rather lengthy excerpt from this book that I snagged from the website! Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single, reasonably good-looking earl not in possession of a fortune must be in want of a wealthy wife.”
Ian MacGregor repeated Aunt Eulalie’s reasoning under his breath. The words had the ring of old-fashioned commonsense, and yet they somehow made a mockery of such an earl as well.
Possibly of the wife too. As Ian surveyed the duo of tittering, simpering, blond females debarking from the train on the arm of their scowling escort, he sent up a silent prayer that his countess would be neither reluctant nor managing, but other than that, he could not afford—in the most literal sense—to be particular.
His wife could be homely, or she could be fair. She could be a recent graduate from the schoolroom, or a lady past the first blush of youth. She could be shy or boisterous, gorgeous or plain. It mattered not which, provided she was unequivocally, absolutely, and most assuredly rich.
And if Ian MacGregor’s bride was to be well and truly rich, she was also going to be—God help him and all those who depended on him—English.
For the good of his family, his clan, and the lands they held, he’d consider marrying a well-dowered Englishwoman. If that meant his own preferences in a wife—pragmatism, loyalty, kindness, and a sense of humor—went begging, well such was the laird’s lot.
In the privacy of his personal regrets, Ian admitted a lusty nature in a wife and a fondness for a tall, black-haired, green-eyed Scotsman as a husband wouldn’t have gone amiss either. As he waited for his brothers Gilgallon and Connor to maneuver through the throng in the Ballater station yard, Ian tucked that regret away in the vast mental storeroom reserved for such dolorous thoughts.
“I’ll take the tall blond,” Gil muttered with the air of man choosing which lame horse to ride into battle.
“I’m for the little blond, then,” Connor growled, sounding equally resigned.
Ian understood the strategy. His brothers would offer escort to Miss Eugenia Daniels and her younger sister, Hester Daniels, while Ian was to show himself to be the perfect gentleman. His task thus became to offer his arms to the two chaperones who stood quietly off to the side. One was dressed in subdued if fashionable mauve, the other in wrinkled gray with two shawls, one of beige with a black fringe, the other of gray.
Ian moved away from his brothers, pasting a fatuous smile on his face.
“My lord, my ladies, fáilte! Welcome to Aberdeenshire!”
An older man detached himself from the blond females. The fellow sported thick muttonchop whiskers, a prosperous paunch, and the latest fashion in daytime attire. “Willard Daniels, Baron of Altsax and Gribbony.”
The baron bowed slightly, acknowledging Ian’s superior if somewhat tentative rank.
“Balfour, at your service.” Ian shook hands with as much hearty bonhomie as he could muster. “Welcome to you and your family, Baron. If you’ll introduce me to your womenfolk and your son, I’ll make my brothers known to them, and we can be on our way.”
The civilities were observed, while Ian tacitly appraised his prospective countess. The taller blond—Eugenia Daniels—was his marital quarry, and she blushed and stammered her greetings with empty-headed good manners. She did not appear reluctant, which meant he could well end up married to her, provided he could dredge up sufficient charm to woo her.
And he could. Not ten years after the worst famine known to the British Isles, a strong back and a store of charm were about all that was left to him, so by God, he would use both ruthlessly to his family’s advantage.
Connor and Gil comported themselves with similarly counterfeit cheer, though on Con the exercise was not as convincing. Con was happy to go all day without speaking, much less smiling, though Ian knew he, too, understood the desperate nature of their charade.
Daniels made a vague gesture in the direction of the chaperones. “My sister-in-law, Mrs. Julia Redmond. My niece, Augusta Merrick.” He turned away as he said the last, his gaze on the men unloading a mountain of trunks from the train.
Thank God Ian had thought to bring the wagon in addition to the coach. The English did set store by their finery. The baron’s son, Colonel Matthew Daniels, late of Her Majesty’s cavalry, excused himself from the introductions to oversee the transfer of baggage to the wagon.
“Ladies.” Ian winged an arm at each of the older women. “I’ll have you on your way in no time.”
“This is so kind of you,” the shorter woman said, taking his arm. Mrs. Redmond was a pretty thing, petite, with perfect skin, big brown eyes, and rich chestnut curls peeking out from under the brim of a lavender silk cottage bonnet. Ian placed her somewhere just a shade south of thirty. A lovely age on a woman. Con would call it a dally-able age.
Only as Ian offered his other arm to the second woman did he realize she was holding a closed hatbox in one hand and a reticule in the other.
Mrs. Redmond, held out a gloved hand for the hatbox. “Oh, Gus, do give me Ulysses.”
The hatbox emitted a disgruntled yowl.
Ian felt an abrupt yearning for a not-so-wee dram, for now he’d sunk to hosting not just the wealthy English, but their dyspeptic felines as well.
“I will carry my own pet,” the taller lady said—Miss Merrick. A man who was a host for hire had to be good with names. She hunched a little more tightly over her hatbox, as if she feared her cat might be torn from her clutches by force.
“Perhaps you’d allow me to carry your bag, so I might escort you to the coach?” Ian cocked his arm at her again, a slight gesture he’d meant to be gracious.
The lady twisted her head on her neck, not straightening entirely, and peered up at him out of a pair of violet-gentian eyes. That color was completely at variance with her bent posture, her pinched mouth, the unrelieved black of her hair, the wilted gray silk of her old-fashioned coal scuttle bonnet, and even with the expression of impatience in the eyes themselves.
The Almighty had tossed even this cranky besom a bone, but these beautiful eyes in the context of this woman were as much burden as benefit. They insulted the rest of her somehow, mocked her and threw her numerous shortcomings into higher relief.
The two shawls—worn in public, no less—half slipping off her shoulders.
The hem of her gown two inches farther away from the planks of the platform than was fashionable.
The cat yowling its discontent in the hatbox.
The finger poking surreptitiously from the tip of her right glove.
Gazing at those startling eyes, Ian realized that despite her bearing and her attire, Miss Merrick was probably younger than he was, at least chronologically.
“Come, Gussie,” Mrs. Redmond said, reaching around Ian for the reticule. “We’ll hold up the coach, which will make Willard difficult, and I am most anxious to see Lord Balfour’s home.”
“And I am anxious to show it off to you.” Ian offered an encouraging smile, noting out of the corner of his eye that Gil and Con were bundling their charges into the waiting coach. The sky was full of bright, puffy little clouds scudding against an azure canvas, but this was Scotland in high summer, and the weather was bound to change at any minute out of sheer contrariness.
Miss Merrick put her gloved hand on his sleeve—the glove with the frayed finger—and lifted her chin toward the coach.
A true lady then, one who could issue commands without a word. Ian began the stately progress toward the coach necessitated by the lady’s dignified gait, all the while sympathizing with the cat, whose displeasure with his circumstances was made known to the entire surrounds.
Fortunately, Mrs. Redmond was of a sunnier nature.
“It was so good of you to fetch us from the train yourself, my lord,” Mrs. Redmond said. “Eulalie told us you offer the best hospitality in the shire.”
“Aunt Eulalie can be given to overstatement, but I hope not in this case. You are our guests, and Highland custom would allow us to treat you as nothing less than family.”
“Are we in the Highlands?” Miss Merrick asked. “It’s quite chilly.”
Ian resisted glancing at the hills all around them.
“There is no strict legal boundary defining the Highlands, Miss Merrick. I was born and brought up in the mountains to the west, though, so my manners are those of a Highlander. And by custom, Ballater is indeed considered Highland territory. We can get at least a dusting of snow any month of the year.”
Those incongruous, beautiful eyes flicked over him, up, up, and down—to his shoulders, no lower. He tried to label what he saw in her gaze: Contempt, possibly, a little curiosity, some veiled boldness.
Shrewdness, he decided with inward sigh, though he kept his smile in place. She had the sort of noticing, analyzing shrewdness common to the poor relation managing on family charity—Ian recognized it from long acquaintance.
“How did you come to live in Aberdeenshire?” Mrs. Redmond asked as they approached the coach.
An innocent question bringing to mind images of starvation and despair.
“It’s the seat of our earldom. I came of age, and it was time I saw something of the world.” Besides failed potato fields, overgrazed glens, and shabby funerals. He handed the ladies in, which meant for a moment he held the hatbox. His respect for the cat grew, since from the weight of the hatbox, the beast would barely have room to turn around in its pretty little cage.
Ian knew exactly how that felt.
He handed the cat up to the coachman, closed the coach door, and swung up on Hannibal, because his brothers were already in their respective saddles. Up on the box, Donal waited for the riders to go ahead, lest the mounted contingent have to eat an unnecessary helping of summer dust.
And then they were leaving the crowded surrounds of the Ballater train station, leaving the sound of steam belched from the train, the hubbub of greeting and parting in the station yard, the stomping and tail swishing of coach horses impatient—as Ian was impatient—to be away from the noise.
“What can you tell me?” Ian asked his brothers as they slowed their horses to a walk. The coach had fallen hundreds of yards behind, the aging team needing a modest pace on the many inclines on the road to Balfour House.
“The younger daughter, Hester, is harmless, but not stupid,” Connor said. “My guess is she knows she has to wait until the older one is wed before she herself goes on the block. She won’t be a problem.”
“See that she isn’t.”
Connor nodded, no doubt resigned to having to dance and flirt—as best he could—with yet another English miss.
“Gil, what about my prospective bride?”
Gil fiddled with his reins, adjusting the balance of curb and snaffle. “Pretty, which should make married life a little easier, at least during daylight hours.”
“What does that mean?”
Gil’s lips flattened. “She’s… nervous. Anxious, but many women are not pleased to be making long trips by train. I can’t say in five minutes of her company I came to any significant conclusions about Miss Daniels.”
Gil had gotten a generous helping of the family charm along with his blond good looks. If there was more intelligence to gain regarding Miss Daniels, he was the best man to gather it.
Con glowered at nothing in particular. “It was MacDaniels until a few generations ago.”
“It’s Daniels now,” Ian said. “Well, keep your eyes and ears open. The shorter chaperone strikes me as pleasant enough, though those types are easy to underestimate. The taller one is decidedly lacking in cheer.”
Con’s mouth quirked up. “Serves you right.”
“She could be an ally,” Ian said. “If she’s willing to see her cousin matched to a Scottish earldom, then a fat English dowry is that much closer to our dirty, grasping hands.”
Con’s smile disappeared as he glared at his horse’s mane. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” Gil’s tone was weary. “Thank God that Her Majesty has made all things Scottish fashionable, particularly strutting about the Highlands in summer. The paying guests get us from year to year, from crop to crop and shearing to shearing. We’d be on the boat to Nova Scotia without them. They will not keep Balfour in any sort of repair, though, and they leave us precious little to send along to the others.”
“We’re doing all right,” Ian said. But just all right. Another blight on the crops, a sickness in the flocks, a new tax from London, and all right would not be good enough. As much coin as they sent to their myriad relations in the New World, there was always a need for more.
“We’re waltzing and flirting our lives away,” Con said. “It’s enough to make that boat to Canada look very, very good.”
He’d let his diction lapse: verra, verra guid. As the youngest, Con had come down from the mountains most recently, but it was more than that. This charade took a toll on them all, but on Con worse than Ian or Gil. Con was their horsemaster, a man more comfortable out-of-doors among the beasts than swilling tea in his dress kilt.
“Race you!” Gil drove his heels into his horse’s sides, shooting out from between his brothers like a blond streak. Con thundered after, while Ian held Hannibal back through a series of impatient crow hops and props.
“Settle, you. A fellow of your dignified years has no business disporting like a cocktail lad of three.”
At the sound of Ian’s voice, the gelding ceased his antics. They were both getting too old to caper around for the sheer hell of it, but as Ian watched the coach come lumbering up the hill behind him, he wheeled his horse and shot off after his brothers.
The Bridegroom Wore Plaid is available at Amazon
A Little Mischief by Amelia Grey
ISBN: 978-1-4022-3980-0
Re-release: August 2012
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Source: I received a copy of this book to read and review by the publisher
Blurb:
How can a lady avoid a scandal…
Just as Miss Isabella Winslowe is finally achieving comfortable respectability, the fascinating and decidedly unrespectable Earl of Colebrooke inconveniently appears…
When a gentleman is so determined to flirt…
The darkly handsome Daniel Colebrooke is intrigued and alarmed when an alluring young lady arrives at his door in need of assistance. In a moment of impetuosity, Daniel decides he must keep a close watch on Isabella, and what better way than to strike up a not–so–innocent fliration…
Together they’ll cook up more than a little mischief when a disappearing dead body and a lascivious scandal spins their reckless game entirely out of control.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I received a copy of A Little Mischief from the publisher to read and review. This book is a re-release, yet one that I didn’t read the first time around. Miss Isabella Winslowe has created The Wallflower Society in order to help some of the shy women who are trying to make their way in polite society. She feels that she can help them gain much needed confidence through their weekly meetings and discussions. Lady Gretchen Colebrooke is one of the spunkier members of the group, and when she finds herself with a dead body during one of the meetings, Miss Isabella intervenes by seeking Gretchen’s brother’s help. Daniel Colebrooke knows trouble when he see it! The fact that his sister appears distraught after supposedly seeing dead body at Miss Isabella’s house certainly classifies as trouble. The trouble continues when he returns with Miss Isabella to deal with the dead body, only to find the body gone. This is the start of a rocky relationship between Daniel and Isabella. In this part mystery, part romance, part comedy, the characters keep the reader guessing as the clues are presented and laughing at the action.
Pick up a copy of this book and enjoy this cute little read! I found it to be delightful!
Lady Louisa’s Christmas Knight by Grace Burrowes
ISBN: 978-1-4022-68632
Release: October 2012
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Source: I received a copy of this book to read and review from the publisher
Blurb:
‘Tis the Season for Scandal…
Years ago Lady Louisa Windham acted rashly on a dare from her brother, and that indiscretion is about to come to light. She knows her reputation will never survive exposure. Just as she’s nearly overwhelmed by her dilemma, Sir Joseph Carrington offers himself to her as a solution…
But Sir Joseph has secrets as well, and as he and Louisa become entangled with each other, their deceptions begin to close in on them both…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Welcome to Book 6 of the Windham series by Grace Burrowes! For those of you who read along with my blog, you will know that this is a series that I have greatly enjoyed. Each book has it’s special little part that makes it unique from the others. In Lady Louisa’s Christmas Knight, we have the opportunity to meet Lady Louisa, one of the many siblings of the Windham clan. She is about to “pay” for a youthful indiscretion and you are told in the blurb for this book. I’m not going to tell you what the indiscretion is, as you are well into the book before you find out. She, like her siblings is very bright, and has yet to find a man who will be her equal intellectually. This, two is about to change. She finds herself in the position of rescuing Sir Joseph from a group of marriage minded women and also in the position to get to know him a bit better. Sir Joseph served his country honorably and is now that the war is over he is home, widower, father and land owner. He sees it necessary to marry to provide a mother for his children, and settles on Lady Louisa a a potential wife.
Although I have included a thoroughly delightful excerpt I found on Ms. Burrowes’ website, I hesitate to give away any real details of this story. As I’ve said, each one of these stories is delightful in their own way, I think that this one show the Windham family as a functioning, interacting family. Yes, the focus is Louisa, and Sir Joseph as the hero and heroine, but I think there is more interaction than in previous books. In previous books I have been thoroughly delighted at the machinations of “His Grace” or Percival. He’s a meddling old fool that loves trying to manipulate his children’s lives. We get glimpses of the real mastermind behind him – his wife – “Her Grace”. In this book, we see much more of Her Grace and I find her to be as delightful as her husband. I think in some respects, Their Graces almost overshadow the real story that is going on
If you haven’t been following this story, jump in and join the journey. Each book so far can be read as a standalone including this one, but they do exist in a series and some “secrets” will be given away if you read them out of order.
Now, I hope you enjoy the opening passages of the first chapter of Lady Louisa’s Christmas Knight. I hope that you pick up your own copy to read this delightful series!
CHAPTER ONE
Sir Joseph Carrington acquired two boon companions after doing his part to rout the Corsican. Carrington was accounted by no one to be a stupid man, and he understood the comfort of the flask—his first source of consolation—to be a dubious variety of friendship.
His second, more sanguine source of comfort, was the Lady Ophelia, whose acquaintance Carrington had made shortly after mustering out. She, of the kind eyes and patient silences, had provided him much wise counsel and companionship, and that she consistently had litters of at least ten piglets both spring and autumn could only endear her to him further.
“I don’t see why you should be the one moping.” Sir Joseph scratched the place behind Lady Opie’s left ear that made her go calm and quiet beneath his hand. “You may remain here in the country, leading poor Roland on the mating dance while I must away to London.”
Where Sir Joseph would be the one led on that same blighted dance. Thank God for the enthusiasm of the local hunt. Riding to hounds preserved a man from at least a few weeks of the collective lunacy that was Polite Society as the Yuletide holidays approached.
“I’ll be back by Christmas, and perhaps this year Father Christmas will leave me a wife to take my own little dears in hand.”
He took a nip of his flask—a small nip. Unless he spent hours in the saddle, or hours tramping the woods with his fowling piece, or a snowstorm was approaching, or a cold snap, his leg did not pain him too awfully much—usually.
“I honestly do not know how you manage it, my dear. Ten piglets, twice a year, for at least as long as I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
She apparently hadn’t caught yet this season, though, and winter had arrived. This was worrisome on a level a man not yet drunk didn’t examine too closely. Ophelia’s fecundity provided reassurance of a fundamental rightness about life—reassurance far more substantial than that held by Sir Joseph’s flask.
“Get me some piglets, your ladyship.” He switched ears, and his friend tilted her heavy head into his hand. “Get me the kind of babies I can sell at market and grow rich on. Richer. For Christmas, a litter of twelve would do nicely.”
Her record was eleven, and every one of them had lived. That had been two years past, when Sir Joseph had been desperately in need of some kind of positive omen.
A groom whistling the aria “He Shall Feed His Flock” in the manner of a holiday jig let Sir Joseph know that his mount was ready. The lad would not intrude on a private audience between Sir Joseph and Lady Ophelia, not when the groom could abuse poor Handel without mercy instead.
“I’m off. Say a prayer for Reynard.”
With a final pat and a scratch, Sir Joseph left his porcine friend to join his neighbors.
Hunt meets reminded Sir Joseph of the army on parade: All the finery was visually impressive and the great good cheer and bonhomie on both occasions fueled in part by nerves and liquor. The agenda of the day in both cases was ostensibly virtuous, and yet, if all went according to plan, somebody not of the assemblage would die a bloody death.
That the somebody was a fox—mere vermin—and outnumbered by the hounds often thirty-couple to one never seemed to bother anyone but Sir Joseph. Even amid the great good cheer of a December hunt meet, he knew better than to share his sympathies for the animal with another human soul.
Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!
Today, a review of a book that I received as part of my Avon Addict packages. This was a new author to me, but one that I will seek out for more outstanding novels! I hope you enjoy my thoughts on this book! For those of you who have not heard of Avon Addicts, this is a great opportunity and one that you should investigate if you are a reader like I am!
A Scandalous Scot by Karen Ranney
ISBN:978-0062027795
Release: June 26, 2012
Publisher: Avon Historicals
Blurb:
One scandal was never enough . . .After four long years, Morgan MacCraig has finally returned to the Highlands of his birth . . . with his honor in shreds. After a scandal, all he wants now is solace-yet peace is impossible to find with the castle’s outspoken new maid trying his patience, challenging his manhood . . . and winning his love, body and soul.
Jean MacDonald wants to leave her past behind and start anew, but Ballindair Castle, a Scottish estate rumored to be haunted, hasn’t been the safe haven she envisioned. Ballindair’s ancestral ghosts aren’t as fascinating as Morgan, the most magnificent man she’s ever seen. Though their passion triggers a fresh scandal that could force them to wed, Jean must first share the secrets of her own past-secrets that could force them apart, or be the beginning of a love and redemption unlike anything they’ve ever known.
A Scandalous Scot is a book that came in my “Avon Addict” box. These boxes filled with books have been a joy to receive for the last few months. My husband groans every time new books come into the house, but these boxes delivered by the friendly courier man, have brought some interesting books into my house. I have never read a book by Karen Ranney, but as soon as I was finished this book, I was on line searching out some of Ms. Ranney’s back list.
This book features Morgan MacCraig, and Earl who no longer has a place in parliament in England. He had such high hopes when he headed off to England to take his father’s place when his father died. With no one to guide him, he stumbles along the way. He remains true to his sense of morals, however. Although he doesn’t marry the first woman who comes his way, he certainly makes a bad choice. When he can no longer stand the titters and pitying looks from his friends, he admits defeat. He will never convince his wife to stop her blatant adultery, and he files for divorce. This action, although he sees it as the right one, makes him an outcast. He finally gives up and goes home to his beloved highlands. Since he hasn’t been home in many years, his arrival requires an adjustment to his staff as well as his understanding of his world through adult eyes.
Jean MacDonald is also an outcast from society because of the actions of her doctor father. After the death of her father, she and her sister are taken in by their aunt and put to work as maids in the MacCraig castle. Within moments of Morgan’s arrival home, he encounters Jean, and the encounters continue. He never knows where he will find her, but he knows that their encounters leave him unsettled. When he is put in the position of having to marry Jean, he is not pleased, but the ensuing story is a wonderful one that only Ms. Ranney could do justice to.
This was a different sort of a story. It wasn’t one filled with wild passion, but there was passion. It wasn’t the prince meets princess type of story, but each main character could have easily fit into a fairy tale scenario. Morgan needed a common sense helpmate to lead him through the discoveries that he had to make, and Jean needed a strong man to lean on for the first time in her life.
This wasn’t a fast moving story. I was busy when I read this story and didn’t have the time to read for hours at a stretch. I picked up and put down this story many times, but the story stayed with me as I did what ever I was doing in the inbetween times. I would mull over what would happen next, and worry about what would happen to the various characters.
This author is new to me, and this writing style is new to me. I’m used to being swept off my feet and overwhelmed by a story. This was more of a pleasant surrounding or immersion into a world. I like this style of writing, and I’m looking forward to the three new books sitting on my bedside table!
A Scandalous Scot is available at: Amazon
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