April Showers - and more!

 

Here's Rose!

What's new?

Planning a new book, but taking my time over it.

I've had more texts, and I've been sorted out, if we can call it that. But I'm here, and in a way, I'm back.

I'm grateful that a few publishers have expressed interest in my latest project, but that's a long way from having the book done. But this time, I'm going back to my roots. It's Georgian. My little foray into the Regency was fun, but that's not where my heart lies. Give me the lusty, honest, fun-loving Georgians!

So, here we go again, I suppose. The plot is a bit more entangled, because I want to write a series, and I'm so sorry I'm being a bit obscure about it, but don't know myself yet!

It's exciting, the beginning of a project, with untold possibilities ahead. My plans are more like a guideline, leaving lots to enjoy and discover.

So what makes you feel that way, as an idea slowly rumbles into view and then fills your vision for a while?

Excerpt from Yorkshire

This is going right to the beginning. The story of Richard and Rose, the couple who took my imagination and ran with it. From the first book in the series, Yorkshire.

Rose Golightly is a country girl who thinks her life will continue on its comfortable course, but a series of events changes that for good. On a visit to the ancestral estate of Hareton Abbey, Richard Kerre, Lord Strang, enters her life. A leader of society, a man known for extravagance in dress and life, Richard is her fate. And she is his.

Richard is to marry a rich, frigid woman in a few weeks, and has deliberately closed his heart to love. Then a coach accident throws his wounded body into Rose’s arms.

With one kiss, Richard and Rose discover in each other the passion they thought they’d never find.

But the accident that brought them together was an act of sabotage. Somewhere, in the rotting hulk of a once beautiful stately home, a murderer is hiding.

Richard and Rose set out to solve the mystery, and find the layers of scandal go deeper than simply determining who is guilty. And that doing the right thing could separate them—forever.

Warning: This series is addictive. Passion and murder are a potent mix.

Chapter One

We walked into the Great Hall. Or something that had once been the Great Hall. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside. The great space felt gloomy and cold, clammy with disuse. Martha had described Hareton Abbey’s great marble entrance hall to us, but this couldn’t be the same place.

The staircase with its crimson carpet soared in front of us. Myriad life sized marble statues ranged around the upper storey. Dirt obscured the finer features of the marble, and turned the pure white on the gods and goddesses of a different age to a murky grey. Cobwebs stretched from fingertip to hipbone in a weird parody of the fine lace sported by the Southwood party. The once smart black and white tiles, laid in a chequered pattern, were blurred with dirt. Shuddering in revulsion, I took Lizzie’s arm. We held each other tightly and looked around in silence; all affected by the tomb-like silence of the once Great Hall.

Suddenly, shockingly, the stillness shattered. “My God, I wonder which bedroom Sleeping Beauty rests in.” A male voice, quiet, low but penetrating. I knew without looking that it was Lord Strang.

The man who had let us in waited for us by a small door at one side of the hall. He must be a servant, but his role wasn’t easily identifiable either by his appearance or demeanour. He wore no livery nor the quiet, smart clothes of an upper domestic, but a rough country coat, such as a gamekeeper might wear.

Lizzie glanced at me, eyebrows raised in a tacit comment. When I looked at her, I caught Lord Strang’s glance. He smiled. I looked away.

We moved towards the servant, who led the way through the door and along a passage, where we entered another world. The magnificence and filth changed to Puritan cleanliness. No paintings hung on the wall here, no ornaments adorned the well-polished country furniture, just plain, gleaming floors and whitewashed walls. Our feet clattered on the uncarpeted wooden floor.

The manservant led us to a door at the end that opened onto a modest parlour. Here the Earl and Countess of Hareton and the Honourable Edward Golightly waited for us. The men stood while the lady sat in a hard chair before of them. They were all completely rigid. No smiles marred their stern features. They wore perfectly plain garments, the men simulacra of the manservant, the lady in dark blue and white with no lace, only plain linen cuffs to her sleeves and no jewellery.

Nothing approximating comfortable domesticity spoiled the austerity of the little room. No ornaments decorated the old fashioned carved oak mantelpiece, no cushions added comfort to the hard chairs. I found the obsessively spotless parlour as disturbing as the abandoned magnificence we had just left.

Our hosts bowed rigidly, and the lady stood and curtseyed with an awkwardness that indicated she didn’t do it very often The answering bows from the Southwood party were awe inspiring, especially Lord Strang’s, which combined precision and elegance in one graceful gesture. It seemed more elaborate than the bow he had given us in the courtyard, mocking the Haretons with its perfection.

“Welcome,” said Lord Hareton. I felt anything but welcome here. The door opened to admit the manservant returning with a large wooden tray. It held a large teapot and several tea dishes.

There weren’t enough chairs for everyone in this small room, so the ladies sat and the men remained on their feet. Lady Hareton saw to the tea, practically and without comment. The brown teapot, like the one we had in Devonshire for the servants to use, contained a weak infusion, but we found it welcome all the same. The heated cup warmed me in this unfriendly place. Despite the chill outside, the fireplace was cold, the fire unlit.

“I am pleased to see all of you. I thank you for coming.” Lord Hareton’s tones were exaggeratedly formal, perhaps a legacy of his childhood. The formality of the Hareton household had been famous in the last generation; the children forbidden to sit in their father’s presence.

“I am surprised not to see Lord Southwood and his daughter.”

Lord Strang gave him an easy smile. “He sends his apologies. A minor disposition has delayed his arrival with my sister, but he sent me ahead as a token of his good faith.”

Lord Hareton nodded, his mouth a tight line of disapproval. “It is to be hoped that he doesn’t keep us waiting long. I have made arrangements for our family lawyer, Mr. Fogg, to visit us tomorrow. Also, my minister will arrive. I intend to collect him personally in the morning. He uses public transport. He deems private carriages an extravagance, and I tend to agree with him. I do not wish for a long betrothal period, and I would like the contract fulfilled as soon as possible.”

His glance at Lord Strang asked for complaisance, but he didn’t find it.

“Can the lawyer’s visit be deferred?” the younger man asked calmly, but I could hear the passion beneath. Lord Strang was in a temper.

“No, sir, it cannot. There is—”

Lord Strang lifted his chin. “I don’t know if my sister would be content here.”

“Contentment is in God’s hands, not ours.”

Lord Strang ignored the comment and continued to speak. Although his demeanour was rigidly polite, his low tones quivered with the anger beneath. “The betrothal was never a done thing; your father and my grandfather arranged it, but left it to my father and you to fulfil it. I am here as my father’s representative, and if I dislike what I see, I fear I cannot recommend the betrothal to him.”

Hareton smiled. It appeared malicious, but this interpretation surely must be wrong. I preferred the stern look; Lord Hareton had lost most of his teeth, and what remained weren’t in good condition. “Perhaps you need some time to reflect.” He used a soothing tone that made me want to slap him. “I would welcome an opportunity to bring your sister to God’s family. I hope, once you have met Mr. Pritheroe, our minister, you will come to see the error of your ways and join our family.”

Lord Strang stared, his eyes wide in anger and astonishment, momentarily transfixed. Abruptly Lord Hareton turned away and smiled at James. Now our turn arrived.

“I am pleased to welcome you back to my house, Sir James. I’m sorry not to see all of your family, as I requested, but it is not entirely necessary.”

“My younger brother, Ian, had a fall and injured his foot. He sends his apologies.” Lord Hareton nodded in response to James’s explanation. “My younger sister, Ruth, is barely out of the schoolroom and my children are too young to embark on such a long journey.”

Not the whole truth, but it would do. Ian’s injury was far from serious, Ruth was too headstrong and excitable and the thought of those lively children in a coach on a long journey made me shudder. Not to mention the odd rumours we’d heard about the state of the Abbey. We hadn’t imagined matters would be as bad as this, but it had given Martha and James pause.

Lord Hareton continued to speak. “I have asked you here as a witness to the betrothal, and to give you the opportunity to do something for God’s people.” James remained silent. Hareton ignored the rest of us. As women we were probably beneath his notice. I sipped my tea in an effort to appear unconcerned, waiting for the next bombshell. I had no doubt it would come.

“I have asked Mr. Fogg here for another reason. I wish to break the entail.” Seemingly oblivious to the sensation he caused, he continued calmly, “I do not wish to be known as the earl, and I do not wish for the wealth and privilege that go with it. I wish to live as a private citizen. If the entail on the estate is broken, I am free to do that. I cannot prevent or deny the earldom, but I do not have to use it or encourage people to use the title.”

James couldn’t speak. He stared at Lord Hareton rather in the way a rabbit watches a snake, fascinated, waiting for the final, killing stroke.

“Mr. Fogg informs me that in order to break this document, it must be signed by the heir, and the next heir, in line. That is my brother, and you, Sir James.” Our host smiled, as if this explained everything.

“And you want my sister to marry into this?” Mr. Kerre, who had up to now remained silent could no longer keep his indignation to himself. “Not only to live in a mausoleum, but to lose her standing in society, the privileges she has a right to expect?”

“Only by birth,” Lord Hareton responded.

“That is true.” Lord Strang’s quiet, low voice cut through the air, like the voice of reason. “And among those men born to high state, there are a few who deserve it. I don’t want to leave Maria here because it would make her unhappy. She wasn’t born to this. From what I have seen here, I don’t think I can recommend that my father brings her here.”

He paused, glancing around the comfortless room. “I, however, am strangely intrigued by your minister, and I’d like to stay a little longer, if I may.” His brother shot him a sharp glance, but remained silent.

“I am delighted to hear that, sir,” Hareton replied. “Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind.”

Hareton’s brother, the prospective bridegroom, showed no emotion at all. Intrigued, I wondered what other surprises this strange place held.

Hareton excused himself, saying it was time he went to pray. He looked askance at Steven in his dark clerical garb, but Steven said nothing, avoiding his gaze. I didn’t blame him.

After they left the room, we breathed a collective sigh of relief, and looked around at each other. Lizzie and I exchanged a smile, then a laugh as we felt the oppressive atmosphere slide away. The exotic Kerres seemed normal, next to the extraordinary figures of our cousins.

“When did you last come here, Martha?” I knew, of course, but needed the confirmation. Something to remind me of my normal life, my normal home.

“Ten years ago. The last earl sent for us when we were married. It was different then. Our rooms were magnificent, even though we didn’t have the best ones and a footman stood at every door.”

“A stickler for ceremony by all accounts,” said Lord Strang. “I have to confess there is no indisposition. My father sent us ahead to form an opinion. He has heard some odd rumours about Lord Hareton, and has serious doubts about the match. Society thinks Hareton is a recluse—they don’t know the half of it.”

“Indeed,” agreed Martha. “It’s all very shocking.”

James looked up from silent contemplation. “I don’t know what to do about this entail. If I refuse to sign it, will it still go through? It’s not that I expect to inherit. Indeed, I don’t wish for it, especially now I’ve seen the property, but I don’t think it’s right. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” I hated to see my beloved brother so worried. I would gladly have consigned the Haretons and the Abbey to perdition, if it would help him.

“I’m sure I’d feel the same.” Mr. Kerre studied James, his finely shaped lips pursed in thought. “In truth, sir, from what I’ve seen, I think the Hareton estate is bankrupt. He may talk of God and his minister all he likes, but I think his father bankrupted the estate with his extravagance.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Lord Strang. “Why would they leave all the treasures in the Great Hall to rot if that’s the case? I’m sure they could fetch a good price. What’s the rest of the house like?”

James frowned. “You have a point, but on the way here I studied the land. Some of the fields are uncultivated, the animal population is scarce and what buildings I saw are sadly in need of repair.”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Kerre, “I saw that too. I think you’re right, sir. The Hareton estate is bankrupt.”

My brother heaved a sigh. “So you think I should sign the entail away?”

“I would never presume to tell you what to do, sir,” said Strang, “but in your place, I would seriously consider it. The situation intrigues me. I want to see more of it, but be assured, sir, there will be no wedding. Please feel free to shake the dust of Hareton Abbey from your heels as soon as you wish.”

A maid chose that moment to come in and offer to show us to our rooms. It was early, but we accepted. When I passed James, he murmured to me, “Don’t unpack.”

I nodded.

I still love Rose!

You can get yourself a copy of Yorkshire here! https://www.amazon.com/Yorkshire-Richard-Rose-Book-1-ebook/dp/B07B6BSV4F/

December news and a new release!

Compliments of the season! So we're at the end of the year. I wish we could interact in some way because here I am telling you all about what I do at this time of year, and I love to know what you get up to. My tree isn't up yet (above is a picture of last year's tree), but the room is full of boxes, so tomorrow I'll get busy. In more ways than one, because Tuesday this week is a big day for me. More about that below. I don't want to wham and pow you with all that, because you probably know. But I can share more news with you, about what's next and what I'm planning. I love this time of year, when it gets dark early. I know some people hate it, but winter is an awesome season. And then there's the movies - Meet Me In St. Louis is my favourite Christmas film, and I love an old Bette Davis movie, The Man Who Came To Dinner. All that to look forward to! And today is when Boundless comes out. The title comes from Romeo and Juliet, "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep, the more I give to thee the more I have, for both are infinite." Isn't that lovely? So when I came to write Livia's story and reveal the secret she's been hiding since the start of the Emperors of London, I had to give her a love that would surpass all her difficulties. It's an explosive secret that could destroy Livia and by association, her family. And it's tearing her apart. But there's sadness as well, because this is the last of the Emperors (for now) even though there are members whose stories haven't yet been told. One day... Next? Kensington have accepted a brand new series with new characters. More later, but the first book is in edits. It's set in the mid-eighteenth century (of course!) and the first book will be out in the spring. I promise to tell you more in the next newsletter, when everything is more settled. And next summer, I have a series coming out from Tule Publishing, a contemporary (don't faint!) trilogy. I used to write a lot more of those, and I'd love to do more.

New Release This month sees the release of Boundless. Recently the previous book in The Shaws, Dauntless, hit the number one in Amazon Regency, and I got the orange flag that says it's a best seller. I'm so happy about that. Good sales means an author can continue doing what she loves best. So thank you for supporting me and buying the books. The Shaws are one of Britain’s most influential, dynamic families, but one Shaw prefers to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, the limelight can shine behind-the-scenes . . . She’s the unlikely wallflower of the extraordinary Shaw family. A woman who will never marry, but not for the reasons you might think . . . Attacked on the streets of London, Lady Livia Shaw is relieved when a gentleman comes to her aid—and startled to discover her rescuer is Adrian, the Duke of Preston, a notorious rogue. But their association—and instant attraction—does not end there, much to the Shaws’ distress. For Livia was robbed of a memento—one that is both her most precious possession and a reminder of a shameful secret. It is a secret she knows will cause her to lose Adrian forever, yet he is determined to track down the thief . . . Adrian never wanted to be anyone’s hero, but now he’s finding the prospect as pleasing as he does Livia’s company, and her beauty. Certainly he wants her in his bed, but what surprises him is how much she comes to mean to him. Which is why the revelation of her scandalous past is nearly his undoing. Arrogantly, he had assumed only he had the power to shock. But it is too late to turn back, and now Adrian may have to risk everything for Livia, even his heart . . . Excerpt Adrian slumped against the squabs of the hackney cab as it set off from his house in King Street. Correction––Ophelia’s King Street house. He’d already had the deeds put in her name, but she’d generously given him another day to quite the premises. In the shadows of the vehicle, he grinned. A house was a small price to pay to rid himself of the exquisite, grasping, tediously mundane person Ophelia d’Arblay had turned out to be. Every man in London wanted Desiree for his mistress. Well, she was back on the market and they were all welcome to her. With a groan, he stretched his limbs. After a tough all-night session in the House of Lords, he’d repaired here to find Ophelia entertaining one of the few peers not in Parliament that evening. Truly, he should have guessed she was seeing someone on the sly. But what had surprised him the most was his inability to care. Her subsequent spectacular tantrum merely bored him. It did not move him. She had broken his one and only rule, and she must suffer the consequences. Exhausted, he looked forward to falling into his own bed and leaving the day behind. A movement ahead caught his attention. A woman stood at the edge of the road, her gown a flash of bright blue, swirling around while children scurried like rats around her. One skinny youth had his mouth open, laughing, catching her attention while the other––Adrian spied trouble. And where trouble lurked, so did he. Grabbing his cane, he rapped the roof of the carriage. “Stop! Stop now!” Before the driver had managed to haul the nag to a halt, Adrian had opened the door and leaped into the street. Turning only to toss a shilling to the cabbie, who caught it deftly, pocketed it and gave his horse the office to continue in one smooth move, Adrian faced the trouble. That blue silk belonged to a lady, although the gown had become sadly smeared with mud and torn in her efforts to escape her tormentors. Her face was obscured by the broad brim of her bergère hat, its pink ribbons askew and the jaunty bow on top crushed. For all that, this was a lady. The gown was good, the skirts too wide for this part of London, and her linen fine, the nearly sheer veil over her tantalizing bosom hinting at the pink flesh beneath. Despite his recent disappointment, Adrian’s mouth watered. All this he absorbed as he headed at speed for the unfortunate woman beset by street urchins. He kept his attention on her while he struck out with his cane, lashing out right and left, ignoring the ensuing yelps and protests. The woman whirled right into his arms, and Adrian found himself with an armful of warmth and silk. That made wielding his cane trickier. Rolling the woman to the left, he looped his arm around her waist and used his right hand to advantage. Battle heated his veins, sending a fire coursing around his body and rousing him from his ennui. He had not felt this alive for a long time. Although he was only one man against six youths who had learned to fight on the streets, he made a good account of himself. The trouble was, they kept coming at him from different directions. Catching one importunate boy a crack across his shoulders appeared to deter them. All but one, who darted around the other side of the female before shrieking. The one in front crashed into her and a sickening crack rent the air before he tightened his hold on her and dealt the boy a telling blow to the side of his head with what was left of his cane. The responding yelp warmed his heart. “Let me go!” she said. “You can’t fight like this.” She was right. Her voluminous skirts and the cloak around her shoulders were hampering him. He snapped, “Don’t go out of my sight,” before releasing her and settling in to the rhythm of the fight. Fully awake now, all traces of tiredness gone, Adrian swung his cane, wielding it more like a club than a delicate weapon. Sooner or later it would break, and then he’d have to resort to his fists. He looked forward to it. “Come on then, you cowards!” he yelled as one of the assailants ran off, screaming. Crouching into a fighting stance, he stood ready, his cane held before him, waiting for the next attack. His maiden stood where he’d told her to, the bright blue of her gown a flag in this grimy London street. She leaned to one side. Had that crack he’d heard a moment ago been one of her bones? And yet she didn’t move. As if someone had waved a gun, the boys turned tail and ran, scattering into the alleys feeding the street, like the rats they were. He flicked his gaze over the woman, scanning her disheveled appearance. Clearly she needed help. With the blood of war still thrumming through his veins, he drew a deep breath, savoring the sheer joy of being here, alive and healthy. Why would he not? His relentless pursuit of life all led to that wonderful feeling, better than a case of wine, better than the best French brandy. And for sure better than a night’s gambling. Better than spending a night in his mistress’s bed? Perhaps. Not the one he had just discarded, but this one…he might have found his new interest. A well-dressed young woman in this part of London would hardly be the kind he’d meet in the ballrooms of Mayfair. “They got my purse,” she said then. Although her voice was soft, it still trembled. She was more shaken than she cared to tell him. “Did they take much?” She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “A few guineas, an ivory comb, a fine linen handkerchief––no, not much.” Aha. Any woman who considered that haul “not much” had recourse to more. Gallantly, he offered his arm. “You are shaken, madam. May I offer you the hospitality of my house?” At least, it was his house until the morning when the new deeds came into effect. “You may tidy yourself up and recover from your ordeal.” From beneath the broken brim of her hat, she regarded him warily. “You speak like a gentleman.” “And you sound like a lady.” Without warning, she sagged, dipping forward, threatening to fall. Adrian caught her, curving his arm around her waist at the front and tilting her gently back to lean against his shoulder. “Can you walk?” he murmured, his mouth so close to her ear that her curls tickled his skin. She had blonde hair with a hint of red. He’d seen that shade before, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where. She nodded, lowering her head to rest on his shoulder. If he had to, he’d carry her. To his relief, when he took a small, slow pace, she came with him. Although her feet dragged, he detected no sign of a stumble, or anything that would indicate she was hurt. If they took it at a snail’s pace, they could manage the distance. “The house isn’t far, at the end of King Street.” His hackney had almost reached Covent Garden. King Street abutted it. Since his mistress worked as an actress at Drury Lane, in fact was a star of the stage there, she liked the proximity. No doubt she would continue to do so. “I should not,” she murmured. Shock, he assumed. Tilting up her chin, anticipating the credit his good deed would accomplish, he gazed into her face. Damn and blast it. He recognized her. He would not be making this woman his mistress, sadly. But what was Lady Livia Shaw doing in this part of London, and on her own, too? ***** Buy Boundless Here: Publisher; Kensington Books  :  Amazon   :  iTunes  :  Kobo  :  Barnes and Noble Nook

Richard and Rose ride again!

 

Richard and Rose are back (again!). They've been on Amazon for a while, and now they are going wide. So whatever platform and media you want to read them in, they're here!

Wherever possible, the covers feature the actual books that I fictionalised for the series, and there's a lovely portrait of Richard and Rose on each cover, which I commissioned especially. My favourite covers yet! What do you think?

The Story of Richard and Rose I'm going to rattle through this, and maybe I'll put it on my website, too. Richard and Rose started when my babies were driving me crazy with Thomas the Tank Engine and Fireman Sam. Much as I love them, I needed something of my own to keep sane. Originally I planned to write a story for my own amusement, about a murder-solving couple in the mid-eighteenth century, my favourite era. They would be at the lower ranks of the aristocracy, and pass unnoticed in society, the better to observe. I went to Calke Abbey, where the first book, Yorkshire is based. The place is astonishing, preserved as the higgledy-piggledy mess it was when the National Trust took over. I knew I would write about that one day. So I had my heroine, the unassuming Rose, set foot in the ruin when her brother inherited the title of Earl of Hareton. All was going well. Then I "saw" the scene. I saw a popinjay, a dandified man of fashion who was for all his flamboyance, definitely male. Even then I didn't recognise him as my hero. He had a quieter twin brother, so I tried to make Gervase the hero. But it didn't work. I went back, and put Richard in his place and the whole book came to life. I wrote it in a fever, and I knew there would be more than one book. What happened after marriage? Would they be happy? And I wrote it in the first person, a technique I have never used before or since, but the story demanded it. I did try to change it to third person when a publisher took an interest, but it didn't work. The book died on me. So it stayed in first person and I found another publisher, a tiny one. I sold the book to a company called RFI West, but someone wrote to me and told me not to sign, because there were rumblings. I didn't, and when RFI West broke apart, I sent it to a spinoff company, NBI. they published the first three books, Yorkshire, Devonshire and Venice. Then the owner disappeared, together with the money. So when that ended, I sent the books to Mundania. Meantime I had joined Samhain with another series, and after Mundania spent nearly two years mulling over the books, I got the rights back and sent them to my editor at Samhain, Angela James, who'd been gagging to get her hands on them. So far so good. But Angela left, and the replacement editor and I didn't see eye to eye on anything. She was a great editor, but she didn't want my books, she wanted something else. We parted ways, and I got an editor who I could work with, but it was too late. The previous editor had torn apart my idea for the last book, Lisbon. After she left, I rescued it, but Richard and Rose nearly never had an ending, and I had already dumped one book half written, I was so dispirited with the way things were going. I'll never make a writer, I thought. And then last year Samhain closed. I was gutted. But I persevered, got the rights back and now they're out as self-published books. What astonishes me is that people still love them, still want them. After all this time. So thank you, and here they are again! Excerpt So how about a bit from the first chapter of the first book I ever had published? I sat in my best riding habit in the dirt at the side of the road, a man I hardly knew sprawled next to me, his head in my lap. I looked ruefully at my skirts as blood seeped into the material. I’d bought it especially for this visit, and now it was ruined. Mr. Kerre and the coachman kicked and pulled at the overturned roof of the stricken vehicle. The canvas covering was peeling away with age; its thin top splintered when the men aimed hard kicks at it. Mr. Kerre had pulled out his brother, the man whose head now lay in my lap. They had more difficulty reaching the other occupants. Our horses were safe enough, their reins thrown over the branches of a nearby tree. The unhurried shifting of their hooves matched the movements of the coach horses standing close by, cropping grass. Blood saturated my riding gloves as I held the gaping wound together in what seemed increasingly like a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. I daren’t move in case the outpouring worsened. Cramps spread across my back, and the hard pebbles of the road dug into my legs. My breath misted in the crisp autumn air, and I feared my patient would begin to shiver in that uncontrollable way I’d seen before in others. He might have lost so much blood he wouldn’t recover before we got him back to the Abbey. The thought, rather than the cold air, made me shiver. I hardly knew this man but I might not get to know him any better. He opened his eyes and looked directly at me, staring uncomprehendingly until he recovered his senses. I saw intelligence return to his face, and then something else. Something warmer. I stared at him transfixed. No, oh no. This couldn’t happen, to me, not sensible, shy overlooked Rose Golightly. But I had no way to stop it, and I couldn’t look away now. This wasn’t right, but my treacherous heart turned over when he smiled. “It’s you,” he murmured weakly. How could a visit anticipated so eagerly, regretted so bitterly, end in this? You can buy Yorkshire here: Amazon USA  :  Amazon UK : Barnes and Noble Nook : Apple iTunes : Kobo : Read an Extract

New release, out this week!

Lord Darius Shaw has never been in love before. But when he renews his acquaintance with lawyer Andrew Graham in a raid on a molly house, where men meet men for forbidden pleasure, they discover mutual feelings as deep as they are dangerous. For while society will turn a blind eye to an aristocrat’s transgressions, Andrew has far more at stake. The son of city merchants, Andrew has a disastrous marriage in his past, and a young daughter to support. He could lose his livelihood, his reputation and even his life—and drag Darius down with him.

Darius and Andrew’s only choice is to deny the true nature of their relationship. But when an enemy Italian spy threatens their secret—and their futures—the two set out to catch him. And in the process they are forced to face their desires—and make a life-changing decision.

Buy Sinless Here:

Publisher; Kensington Books  :  Amazon USA  :  Amazon UK  :  iTunes  :  Kobo  :  Barnes and Noble Nook

Read An Extract

So here he is - Lord Darius Shaw! Darius has everything - a powerful, wealthy family, a fortune in his own right, and he keeps telling himself he should be happy. But he is missing one thing, something he knows he can never have - love.

Until he meets Andrew.

Andrew is an up and coming man, a lawyer also trained as a barrister, a widower with a small daughter. But Andrew harbours a secret that could destroy his life. He prefers a man in his bed.

When Darius is sent to investigate a possible spy in a molly house (something I based on a real life case), he meets Andrew again. And this time they are pushed together. 

Because this is the only male/male novel in a series of male/female novels, I deliberately kept the sensuality light, more so than in the rest of the stories. There is one scene towards the end, but I couldn't leave Darius and Andrew unsatisfied, after I'd spent most of the story teasing and forcing them to confront what they'd been avoiding.

However, men of that time could never openly acknowledge their love. They could never marry, live together as a couple. Society would shun them. Darius's high birth wouldn't have saved him, if they couldn't somehow work out a way. There was always a price to pay and Andrew and Darius have to face the consequences of their love.

These days it seems unbelievable, but even in an age of great appetites and flamboyant behaviour, they would have had to face their critics.

What He Wants is What She Needs

This one comes out on March 14th, but you can pre-order it now.

What He Wants is What She Needs in the anthology

Seven Nights of Sin

Order the Book and read an extract:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

One night, one tryst can change everything... Seven Sensuous stories by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Sabrina York, with bestselling and award-winning authors Maggi Andersen, Lynne Conolly, Eliza Lloyd, Suzi Love, Hildie McQueen, and Victoria Vane. Enter a world of passion and mystery where dashing heroes and dauntless heroines come together in a scorching conflagration that will will tip your world on its end.

LUSCIOUS by Sabrina York
ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT by Maggi Andersen
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW by Victoria Vane
UNDER A SILVER MOON by Hildie Mcqueen
MY DEAR MR. FORRESTER by Eliza Lloyd
WHAT HE WANTS by Lynne Connolly
PLEASURE HOUSE BALL by Suzi Love

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Excerpt:

Annie let herself dream of something other than the business, her sons and their increased prosperity. She’d thrown herself into the challenge, subsuming all the passion in her nature into achieving it. Somewhere along the way it had become more than earning a living and keeping her family off the streets. It had grown to ambitions of creating quality items for people like her.

But that lay in the future, although this was one step toward it.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Though I would prefer to show it to you myself.” He lifted his hand, as if to touch her cheek, but held it a few inches away. What was she thinking when the urge to meet it took her? She wanted to close her eyes, lean her cheek into his palm and let him take control. Such impulses were foreign to her. To give someone else jurisdiction over her was unthinkable.

A knowing expression entered his eyes, warming and softening their expression. “Perhaps I should show you where I used to sleep in the house. Would you use the same room? Sleep in the same bed? We left it behind when we moved. It should still be there.” Snaking a hand around her waist, he drew her closer.

She didn’t pull away.

“Madam, I find you utterly bewitching. I am about to test a theory.”

His breath heated her skin as he brought his mouth down on hers.

His lips caressed hers, his tongue stroking her lips until she parted them and let him in. His hold on her tightened. Annie flung out her hands for balance, finding purchase on the silk of his waistcoat, roughened by gold threads that snagged against her gloves.

Her comfortable world exploded in heat and desire.

He delved deep, and she responded, her head going back until he dug one hand into her hair, holding her in place. His caresses thrilled her, took her to a place she’d never visited before, never dreamed existed.

Firmly and deeply, he explored her until she moaned into his mouth. A soft thud indicated her hat falling off, and landing—somewhere, she didn’t care where. His fingers rounded her skull, his other hand spread over her back, spanning the distance between her shoulder-blades. He took his time, caressing her with his tongue, building her arousal to a height she couldn’t define.

When he moved away, she pressed closer, urging him on because otherwise she’d have to stop and think.

Thinking was the last thing she wanted to do. Every tenet she had grown up with, every moral impulse her parents had instilled in her, every Sunday sermon she’d endured—all of it told her she shouldn’t do this. But inside, her body awoke, as if from a long sleep.

Why had nobody told her this lay in wait for her?

With a sound suspiciously like a chuckle, he moved away, only to return. He came at her from a different angle, drawing her closer to lay her head on his shoulder, while he kissed her and kissed her.

The initial overwhelming surge of passion settled and receded enough for her to think. The world surged in on her with a rush. When she pulled away he made a sound of protest and drew her back, but she insisted, pushing harder.

He released her quickly, so she had to grab the edge of his desk to retain her balance. She swallowed, staring at him. He spun around, then turned back to her. “I’m not apologizing.”

“No.” He was too arrogant for that. The aristocracy were all the same, demanding without paying the price. But even as she told herself that, the words rang hollow in her head. She was as much at fault as he. “Neither am I. But you should know everything I told you was true. I am a widow, searching for a way to expand my business. I want that house, but I don’t want a lover and I will not pay for the place with my body.”

He closed his eyes in a slow blink. “Are you sure?”

No, she wasn’t. She was far from sure. She couldn’t fit a lover into her life. She’d never had one before, so why should she not continue as she’d begun?

Her mind reeled, until she forced it back under control. “Perfectly sure.” Straightening, she located her hat, which had tumbled on to the desk, and plonked it back on her head. A curl tumbled down and with a most unladylike curse, she removed the hat and dropped it back on to the desk. The surface was covered with papers and cards, which scattered in all directions. “I’m afraid I made rather a mess—”

With a harsh laugh, he scrubbed a hand around the back of his neck, where she’d so recently touched. “It was worse before you started.”

Looking around, she found a mirror, a small, gilt-framed one on the wall by the largest bookshelf. Tilting her chin up she strode to it. Unfastening the strings of her cap, she dropped it on a nearby table. Then she plucked out a pin from her hair, using it to secure the curl. “Not perfect, but with my hat on nobody will notice.”

Silence from behind her. Turning around, she faced him, meeting his gaze. His eyes met hers, stark and honest. “How long is your hair?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Too long. I should have it cut.”

“No, don’t do that.”

His response was so swift and vehemently expressed that it made her blink. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Th-thank you. I think.” Her hair was somewhat—red. She’d tried to control it, and wore larger caps to cover most of it, but it sometimes shone through nevertheless.

“You should never powder.”

Had they gone this far? To exchange remarks so personal? They had missed out some important elements of acquaintanceship. “I can assure you sir, I rarely powder my hair.”

She shook his head, an expression of rueful sorrow curling his lips. “Madam, I’m sorry. You should not be so indescribably attractive.”

“Nobody has called me that before.” Her heartbeat quickened, then stilled back into its regular, steady rhythm. “I hate to call a lord a liar, though. Perhaps I should settle for outrageous flattery.” This time she kept her distance, at least two feet from him. Her heart was still throbbing double-time.

“You are lovely, you must know that,” he said bluntly.

She wanted to drag her hair back until it was completely hidden. “No.”

“Then the people around you are blind.” He leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Madam, I have a proposition for you.”

News for July, 2015

So, I’ve had a month since I got back from the US, and I’m not caught up yet! I’m thrilled with the success of the Waterloo books, too. “The Incomparables” went top 5 on Amazon Regency!

Basically this month I’ve been sitting at my desk, writing, writing, writing, trying to catch up. I now have two books on the way, and ready for their final run-through. I’ve written Julius’s story for the “Emperors of London” series, and another instalment in the Even Gods Fall In Love series.

I’ve done my first Facebook parties, too. One for “The Incomparables” and another to help my friend Monica Burns launch “Mirage,” and so I can launch “Danger Wears White.”

It’s hot here. Really hot, like in the mid 30’s. at Wimbledon yesterday, the thermometer topped 40, so we’re talking hotter than Hades. But we have fresh strawberries to cool us! I finally got to see the new Mad Max movie, which I enjoyed. Tightly constructed, nice pacing.

And I’m still writing, writing, writing!

This month Kensington is releasing “Danger Wears White,” which has an absolutely beautiful cover, IMO. It features one of my favourite places, although I’ve retitled it and resituated it a few miles north. But basically, Imogen lives in Little Moreton Hall in Cheshire. It’s an amazing place, built in the 16^th century with additions put on later. It’s a timber-framed building, with spectacular patterns.

The Hall was built with “green” timber, so it warped and bent under stress, but it held. Now there’s hardly a straight line in the place now. When one of the owners wanted to emulate his neighbours and have a Long Gallery, he built one on top of the existing building, thus blocking off a few rooms, which became “secret” rooms. Not built to be secret, but not much use for anything.

Little Moreton Hall is like something out of a fairy tale, so of course I had to base a book there! Imogen’s family have seen better days, and took the wrong side in the struggle with the Jacobites, so she’s been working, keeping out of trouble. That ends when she finds a wounded man on her property. She thinks he’s a Jacobite, but she can’t just give him up. He’ll die. So she takes care of him. She hasn’t found a Jacobite, she found an Emperor, Antoninus.

So then Tony has to keep Imogen out of trouble!

Danger Wears White

You can read an excerpt and preorder this book by clicking the following links
Amazon
iTunes
Kensington website
Barnes and Noble
“Full of political intrigue, steamy romance and plenty of twists and turns…a well crafted story that kept me on the edge of my seat until the very last page. If Lynne Connolly isn’t on your auto-buy list, she should be.”~Sharon Cullen, author of Sebastian’s Lady Spy
Hoping to live down her family’s connections to the traitorous Jacobite cause, Imogen wants nothing more than a quiet life in the country. When she stumbles upon a wounded man, the white cockade in his coat tells her he’s a Jacobite, and a danger to the crown. Yet there’s something about him she can’t resist . . .
In search of a document on behalf of his powerful family, Tony is shot and left for dead. Secreted away to a hidden chamber, he finds himself both a guest and prisoner of a beautiful but mysterious woman. What she wants and who she serves, he cannot know. But what he does understand is the desire burning strongly between them. And that neither of them will be spared until their lust is sated.
When the action moves to London, suddenly it’s Tony who has to act to save Imogen. Forced to become a lady in waiting to Princess Amelia, she is in peril from the Jacobites, who are convinced she is their salvation. Only the strength of Tony and Imogen’s love can save them now.

Read an Excerpt!

Imogen turned to Tony, anxious to see how he was.

Only for him to roughly haul her close and kiss her. It was brief, but it spoke of a hunger she found hard to believe but easy to reciprocate. Hooking her arm around his neck, she opened for him, and when his tongue entered her mouth she knew this was right. Once again, the world seeped away. Only this was real.

A slow burn crept through her as he tasted her thoroughly. He explored her, touching the roof of her mouth and sending shivers through her. He caressed her tongue with his, so carefully and tenderly that a lump came to her throat.

She’d nearly missed this. Missed him. He could have died. Losing someone to an infection happened so fast and had devastated not a few families she knew.

He spread his big hands over her back, encompassing her body, and she strained up toward him, pressing her breasts against his chest, loving his body heat. If he surrounded her with that heat and never let go she could stand anything. She just needed to keep it there.

When he finished the kiss and gazed down at her, she whimpered and tried to pull him down for more. With a groan, he obliged, and she lost herself in him. He moved her, swinging her to the side to lie next to him, and then he rolled to lean over her, all the time with their mouths locked together, drinking each other in.

A jerk disturbed her, a tiny wince, but that served to bring her back down to earth. About to grip his biceps in an unthinking action she stopped. Shame swept through her and she pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was rough. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to pounce on you like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do.” With an instinct as old as time she cupped his cheek, melting when he turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm.

“I’m sorry about the whiskers. There’s little I can do about that at present.”

When she rubbed her palm against his jaw, the bristles set up an abrasion that half-tickled, half aroused. These new sensations gave her new responses, but something deep inside her stirred and awoke. She could even put a name to it. Desire.

Imogen wanted this man with a desperation she couldn’t have imagined before she met him. If she didn’t have him, she’d regret it forever. She knew it. It was worth any price. Five minutes, ten, half an hour—she didn’t care.

Spinsterhood stretched ahead like an empty wasteland. But she could have this, once, this one time. Nobody would know. Unless the unthinkable happened, but she could even cope with that.

“I like it.” She smiled, letting her need show in her face, daring to open to him. He could reject her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. Or—her cheeks heated. She was forgetting far too much here, taking too much for granted. “Are you too tired to stay awake? Too weak?”

When he moved, something brushed her hip. His erection, hard and needy. Heat flooded her groin, and she shifted to ameliorate the desire to be touched.

“Does that feel weak? But you’re my savior. I’d be a poor man if I thanked you in this way. I can’t take advantage of you like that.”

She took umbrage at that remark. As if she had no choice in the matter. “Take advantage? I should strike you for that. But you’ve suffered too much hurt already. I can’t. How are you feeling?”

He tried to move away but she refused to release him. She pulled him back. His smile was rueful. “Sweetheart, if I don’t let you go now, I don’t think I will be doing it for some time.”

“I don’t want you to.” She bit her lip. “But you should rest.”

“I am resting. Here, with you. Don’t tempt me, please.”

The plea pushed her the rest of the way. She had to persuade him somehow or spend the rest of her life regretting it. “I want you.”

This close she saw the way his pupils widened. “I want you too. Never doubt that. But I cannot. How can I despoil what isn’t my right to take?”

“It’s your right if I give it to you.” She needed to tell him the truth. Well, not all of it. “I’m not married, nor am I likely to. I’m a maid, but I want you to take it as a gift. My virginity.”

His shock was evident in the way he froze, every part of his body stilling. “You can’t do that.”

“It’s mine. If I want to give it away, I will.”

He swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Are you up to the task?”

Her inadvertent double entendre gave him a smile, and his body relaxed against her when he laughed. All but one part. “Yes, I’d say so. I’ve suffered much worse in my time, and seen worse, too. Your prompt action saved me from harm, and Young George worked like a Trojan to reinforce what you started.”

“What did he do?”

“Washed out the wound every hour. Every trace of infection is gone. He fetched some brandy last night that you’re not supposed to know about, so don’t go telling him that I told you.”

Now he made her laugh, and on the heels of her laughter, he kissed her.

Mirth stopped, and passion took its place. At his taste, every part of her body strained up to him. Her yearning became undeniable.

Especially when he spread one hand over her waist and slid it up her body to touch that part of her breast that swelled above her stays. It felt so good, his warmth and the way he was stroking her, that she wanted more. She unfastened the first hook. He groaned. She kept going.

After brushing her hand away, he took over, rapidly unhooking her stays, and then broke their kiss at last. When he opened his eyes, the pupil was nearly all black. “Why don’t all women have their stays made that way?”

“They do.” He couldn’t have seen many women in their everyday wear. For some reason that made her happy. With a wicked smile, she wriggled, and the stays fell away.

He touched her as if she were sacred, feathering his fingers down her breast to the edge of her shift. When he pulled the bow undone, nothing stopped him pushing it out of the way. He made careful work of it, his fingers shaking against her flesh.

Anticipation made her center dampen. She bit her lip, trying to push some control back into her wayward body, but he smiled and dropped a kiss on her mouth.

“Take off your shirt,” she said.

“It’s all I have on.”