News for October 2017

Happy October!
Frankie says hello!

This month is all about the books. At the very end of September, Entangled Publishing released all of the Even Gods Fall In Love series!
I am, of course, thrilled to bits to see this series back in print, and if you love it too, there's a prospect of more books to come! It has spiffy new artwork and I've updated my website to show it off.
In case you've forgotten, this is the series about the gods being reborn in eighteenth century Britain. The Titans, mortal enemies of the Olympian gods, want to restore the old ways, when the gods ruled the world with rods of iron, reducing the human race to slaves. The Olympians believe in free will. They want the human race to be self-governing, and they will fight to the death to achieve that.
Unfortunately, thirty years before the stories start, the Titans delivered what was nearly a mortal blow to the Olympians. When they gathered in an estate in England for a reunion, the Titans blew up the venue, and even gods die if enough explosive is put under them!
Reborn in new bodies, the gods must reassemble in order to save the human race from perpetual enslavement. Oh yes, and fall in love in the process. They're a passionate lot, the Olympians!
I loved writing this series. There are so many parallels between the myths of the Greek and Roman gods and the eighteenth century that they slotted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes they surprised me with the ease with which they did it. Sometimes I made amazing discoveries, such as when I created the Pantheon Club as a place for the gods to meet.
 

New Release and Excerpt

Even Gods Fall In Love

Where It All Began 1724, England Thunder rolled dully over the plain. Jupiter glanced up, mildly surprised because he hadn’t commanded thunder tonight. He shrugged. What else could he expect of such a godforsaken country as England? The great stones on one side of the road called to him, speaking of mysteries not his, a time not his. He ignored them. He would head back to Italy and the sun as soon as this meeting finished. What maggot had got into Bacchus’s head, to call a meeting here? And why did the man decide to become an Englishman? They didn’t even make their own wine, and since that was the one thing that kept Bacchus sane, his decision didn’t seem rational. He kicked his horse into a canter. You could never tell with Bacchus. Unpredictable to the last. The house at the end of his destination glowed with golden candlelight, every window gleaming in welcome. Hoping for a warm fire, Jupiter left his mount in the care of a groom, tossing him a coin in thanks. He strode up the shallow stone staircase to the open door. Better, much better. A fire blazed in the hearth, and Jupiter walked towards it, not checking his pace, a smile of satisfaction curling his mouth. The doors clanged shut behind him. He must be the last to arrive. People cleared a path for him, but he hardly noticed, because he was accustomed to the deference. One of the oldest of the gods left alive he was the original Roman incarnation of Jupiter. He’d seen much, lived through times strange to him, suffered the falling away of his support, but he continued. He felt good. Jupiter turned as a tray bearing a steaming mug of something fragrant appeared at his elbow. Bacchus bore the tray. Jupiter smiled in greeting and accepted the offering. “It’s good to see you again. It must be ten years.” Bacchus looked the same, but then, Jupiter expected him to. The gods never aged, unless they wanted to. The man wore his dark hair longer, tied back from his face in the current mode in a glossy queue, and was dressed a coat of deep red satin, embroidered elaborately in green and gold with a cream waistcoat underneath and breeches the same color as his coat. Bacchus grinned. “Ten years and more, sir.” Currently known as the Marquess of Stretton, Bacchus was one of the leaders of London society, which meant he was of the particularly debauched and half-crazed variety. It suited him well. This Bacchus was a lithe, clever man who managed his special gifts with skill and humour. A necessary and unfortunate result of being the god of wine and madness was to occasionally suffer madness oneself, but at least it was subject to his own will. Bacchus was far from mad today. Intelligence lit his light grey eyes and he amusement that was part of this man. Every vessel the god took added something of its own to the essential character of the god. Jupiter liked this one. People thronged around Jupiter, eager to greet the only one of the original Roman Pantheon left alive. Although immune to disease and aging, other factors could and did kill them, but they always reincarnated, their essence migrating to the nearest unborn child. The remaining gods searched for the babies, discovered and carefully reared them, showed them their attributes and taught them to conceal them. Men no longer wanted gods, and the Olympians had survived by realizing this and living among them unrecognized. Times had changed. Some would never accept that, but they weren’t here tonight, and wouldn’t be welcome. It had been a good life so far. Jupiter hoped it would continue in the same way for many years to come. He’d enjoy this reunion. So many of his kind had survived, despite opposition by The Ancients and fanatical humans. Time to savour their survival and celebrate it. A short distance away in Hill House, the Duke of Boscobel stared out the window of the Gold Salon at the fast darkening sky overhead. The festivities in the old castle must have begun by now. The building had been long derelict, but the central hall remained intact, and the cellars underneath. He’d had the house constructed in the ruins, a picturesque folly for parties. A perfect place for the private gathering of old friends. And a perfect place for murder. Boscobel had discovered the real identity of Jupiter quite by accident. Ironic that the very people he’d spent years hunting had eventually found him. The Italian nobleman had not recognized him as their old enemy Kronos, and after his first wariness, Boscobel had known himself safe from discovery. Jupiter showed all his old arrogance and superiority. This time it would be his downfall. Everything was in place and tonight would see the culmination of his carefully laid plans. Nothing could go wrong now. He wouldn’t allow it to. When he heard a female groan from the room above Boscobel grinned broadly. He glanced across the room at his friend Manningtree, who sat uncomfortably in one of the fashionable salon chairs. “Not long now.” “It had better not be,” Manningtree replied grimly, shifting in his seat. “One of mine has podded already.” Boscobel shrugged. Another cry came from above. “If they can hold on for half an hour longer the thing will be done and we’ll have at least half of them.” Cosgrove strode the room, like any eager, expectant father, except he’d personally impregnated three of the women in the bedrooms above. “God, you’re a cool one! Anyone would think your own wife wasn’t involved.” “She is there to serve the same purpose as the others,” Boscobel stared at the plasterwork ceiling above him as though he could see right through it. “If she doesn’t succeed, I’ll kill her. She knows that.” “Are you sure this will work?” Sulgrave asked, voice strained with anxiety. Boscobel turned on him, a sneer curling his thin mouth. “Yes of course. I’ve been planning this event for years. While you enjoyed your endeavours of nine months ago, there was far more to this than putting a few women in the family way. There’s no mistake. We will have them, gentlemen. For the glory of England.”  His fellow Titans had been only too willing to help him. “After all,” Manningtree had said, “If we’re wrong, we just have a few more brats to cope with.” Not long now. With the gods safely locked in their prison, and the pregnant women upstairs as receptacles for the new gods, at last Kronos would regain control. He should never have lost it in the first place. A practically clad middle-aged woman burst into the room, and without preamble addressed Boscobel. “Another one, your grace.” Ire rose in his breast. “Damn! Can’t you stop these women? Hold the babies in somehow?” The woman gave Boscobel a narrow eyed stare. “Your wife is in the third stage of labour, your grace. With any luck your heir will be born within the hour.” He turned away. “Good.” He hoped it would be, and his child would be in time to inherit. More power under his roof, more control. Sons were the very devil. In a previous incarnation, his son had taken everything from him. He’d never trusted them, but this time he’d control the child from the start. Make him his, instead of hiding him away and trying to destroy him. When he turned his back, he heard the woman leave in a soft shush of skirts. Kronos wondered how Jupiter would feel just before he died when he realized he’d betrayed his fellow gods. Not long now. The gunpowder he’d seeded under the castle would be primed by the grooms. They’d die with the explosion, since the slow matches he’d installed weren’t as efficient as he’d led them to believe. His watch still in his hand Boscobel consulted it once more, but as he did, a new light flashed across the sky, followed by a dull booming sound. Just like thunder and lightning. Very appropriate. Everyone in the room rushed to the windows to see a great sheet of golden flame arch up to the heavens, a cry for help, a cry of despair that no one would ever answer. He had done it.

You can find the details about Even Gods Fall In Love here;
Lynne Connolly site
LM Connolly site
Amazon US
Entangled Publishing

News for June, 2017

Newsletter

News for June, 2017

Here’s an overview of what I’ve been doing:
At the end of March, I went with my husband to Dublin for a short break. Afterwards, he went home, and I flew on to the USA, Los Angeles to be precise. I had a wonderful time there, and then we drove to San Diego, and I went to the zoo. After that, we flew to Boston, where Megan Bamford and I stayed with the wonderful Dalton Diaz, and Samantha Cayto came over to see us. Then we drove to New York, met with the RT people, went to a Broadway play, and then flew to Atlanta. That was where the RT Convention was this year. After that, I flew back to LA for a few days, and then came home.
Phew!
So I’m not going to get all that in one newsletter, much less talk to you about writing and my books. Of course it all feeds in, since I use my experiences in the US to help me write the books, especially the contemporaries. Bit by bit, or I’ll exhaust you with traveller’s tales!
Maybe I should start at the beginning, with Dublin!
I’ve never been there before. Can I say it was wonderful? Mostly, anyway, but when we went Dublin was one big building site. They’re extending the tram network, which entails digging up all the roads. So there was that. If you’re visiting Dublin, don’t plan to drive!

The city is full of wonderful buildings, mostly from the eighteenth century, gracious and beautiful. We went to the museum and saw the bog people. Astonishing to see the level of preservation of those bodies, and not a little creepy, too. But I loved the treasures that have been unearthed, the huge torcs and the jewellery belonging to the proud warrior nation.
My favourite place was, not surprisingly, Trinity College Library. Ranks and ranks of books. My husband wanted to take a picture of me reading, but I only had my tablet with me. Still, it makes an interesting comment on the way people read, and for me at least, it’s the message and not the medium that matters. The story is the most important thing, how you read it comes a distant second.

We visited pubs. Oh my, did we visit pubs! My favourite was The Brazen Head, close to the river. It was first built in 1195, but it’s holding its age well. It was packed, always, but you never had to wait for a drink, and the Guinness was wonderful. We did go to the Guinness Storehouse, that was fun, and the price of admission includes a free pint of Guinness.
Of course Dublin is touristy, but if you accept it and go with the flow, it’s a wonderful place to visit.
Then came America!

Book News

I have a new publisher! Entangled offered me a contract for the six books in the Even Gods Fall In Love series. I so loved writing these, and with a new publisher, I could continue to write more in the series. The first phase finished with Her Quicksilver Lover, but I would dearly like to write the next story, starting a new cycle! I had planned to self-publish them, as I have with the Secrets trilogy and The Triple Countess. I also plan to reissue Richard and Rose myself, and I have a wonderful artist working on an image for the covers.
Self-publishing isn’t my thing, I much prefer to write, but since those books went off the market when Samhain closed, I’ve had a lot of letters asking me to republish. It’s been, if not total pleasure, certainly an interesting experience!
And in case you’re wondering, I did all the covers myself.
I’m still writing contemporaries and paranormals as L.M. Connolly, and I’d love to find a home for a brand new series about an antique house and the shape-shifting secret agents who work there! Having spent some time away from the first book in the series, I can see the problems a lot clearer. I plan to rewrite it completely, and change some aspects of the plot.
And Fearless, the first book in The Shaws trilogy is out soon! More about that later, but if any of you are reviewers I have ARCs for you!

September News!

Newsletter, September, 2016

Goodness me, it’s September!

Outside it’s raining and I’m wearing a long-sleeved top. Tonight the new series of Strictly Come Dancing starts (don’t judge me!) so I know it’s autumn. I’ve still have obligations to fulfill from my trip to America in April – a couple of novellas, which I’m looking forward to writing.

I sit here with my computer which is now a year old, and try not to panic. At least I don’t have school age children any more. If I did, they’d be back at school already.

I went back to my home town of Leicester recently, to visit my mother and my sister, who had a health problem. But I did get a chance to nip into the cathedral and see the tomb of Richard III. They did a beautiful job. Richard has his own chapel, and the tomb has a deep cross carved into it, with his name around the plinth in gold. Very simple. I’m a bit of a Ricardian, tempered with commonsense. I don’t think he killed the princes, I think that opportunist Buckingham did it in order to foment (fabulous word!) rebellion. But I don’t think Richard was incapable of the deed. His yearning for order, everything in its place, speaks to us, though dimly, because of the destruction of the evidence that came later. However Richard did start the reform of the law that his successor continued. Buckingham’s rebellion failed, but two years later, the future Henry VII succeeded. Someone said that if it wasn’t for Shakespeare, Richard would probably be viewed as a minor king, one people barely remembered. So is it better to be remembered as a villain, or not at all?

I remember Leicester as a gray place, one with a lot of industry but not much leisure. That’s changed completely. It’s now a wonderfully multicultural city, full of colour and sound. I’d go back to live there in a heartbeat, if I could. But my heart was never there. That belongs to Manchester. I stepped off the train for an interview at the Polytechnic, and fell in love with the place. I stayed there, did my degree, and then crossed the road to Manchester University to do another one, and just stayed.

Once, most people rarely left the vicinity of their homes. They would live and die in the space of around 20 square miles, or even less, and never see anywhere else. We forget how small the world has become.

My, aren’t I philosophical? That probably comes from writing historicals. When I research, it’s like visiting another country, another place that is familiar but not. The time it took to go any distance, the lack of instant communication are things that are easily forgotten, as is the size of the social groups most people moved in. Very small. I’ve written the first book in a new trilogy for Kensington, about the Shaw family, and I had to recall how long journeys took and what a huge undertaking they were.

In “Dilemma in Yellow Silk” (which hit number 12 in Amazon this month, yay!) the hero and heroine travel from Yorkshire to London, getting away from their pursuers, who want to kill her. That part took a lot of the book, which only seemed fair because the journey would have taken so long! The following book, “Reckless In Pink” is, by contrast, set mostly in London, and has Claudia Shaw, the well born heroine, inheriting a house that turns out to be a brothel! Claudia wants to see it before her family makes her sell it and add the sum to her dowry, and that’s where her adventure starts. Doing the research for that one reminded me how close the classes of society lived. In retracing Claudia’s steps on a visit to London this year, it is fascinating to see the houses she would have seen still standing, and mark the differences between the houses in the West End, and the crammed-together, ramshackle ones crowding around Covent Garden.

I did pick a house for Claudia to inherit. That’s the beauty of personal research. That and the shopping, because most of the houses around the Garden are lovely little boutiques, and I had to see the inside of them, didn’t I?

“Reckless In Pink” is 99 cents this month, as we’re building up to the release of the next Emperor book, which features Julius and the woman he falls head over heels for!

So pick up “Reckless In Pink,” and if you like it, preorder “Veiled In Blue” to continue the story!

Oh yes, and we had a cover reveal for the last in the series, “Wild Lavender,” which I’ve put above this post. What do you think? Me, I'm in love with the image!

Newsletter, August 2016

After a great spring and summer, I’m settling down to some solid writing time. No more visits for a while. I was very tempted to attend two writing summer schools this year, but I really don’t have the time. I have to get cracking on some new books. And, as usual, avoiding the promo I seem to be so bad at. I do have plans, this list included, to move the email list to another server. Yahoo is getting very iffy for reliability these days. I remember the good old days of yahoo groups, and in many ways my system is set up to serve that. I can wish for a great admin assistant for Christmas! You never know, maybe I’ll get one. I love writing, but the “buy my book” promotions have me scratching my head. I know I hate too many cold phone calls and promos dropping in my inbox, so I feel embarrassed adding to them. But I’m probably not serving my books properly by not doing more. It’s a constant dilemma, and not one I’m anywhere near solving.

I do a great ostrich.

But I have had a lot of incentive to work. With all the political stuff raging over the media, I can take note and get back to writing. Not that the Georgian era was any less turbulent, but at least that’s over and done. Except in my books. I can make anything happen.

I always stick to the facts, and then vary from there. In history there are very few hard lines, when you take a closer look. True, the Battle of Waterloo happened on a mud-clogged Belgian plain in June, 1815, but when you take a wider view, it gets fuzzy. Similarly, when I look at Culloden, and the aftermath, there were few hard lines. Would what happened to the Scots have happened anyway? What if the Young Pretender had won and marched to London in triumph?

Very little, probably. After the headlines, he would have had to accept the British constitution as it was, and the politicians he had inherited. He might have introduced a few new ones, but they were too influential and too well entrenched for him to ignore. The days of absolute monarchy had long gone, and the laws had changed. One man couldn’t have changed them back.

There is evidence that the Young Pretender wasn’t the brightest of sparks. If he had married and begat children he would have prolonged the Cause more effectively, providing a line of succession to rival the Hanovers, but he didn’t. In fact, he consistently refused to marry. Perhaps his parents’ marriage was a reminder to him. In history, the Old Pretender’s wife left him soon after the birth of their son Henry. Then she went into a nunnery, in the same city, but she rarely saw her husband after that. That was the gap that I used to create the Emperors of London series.

That’s what I look for – believable gaps in real life stories, or characters that just beg to be put in a book. I’m currently channeling the Duke of Somerset, known as the Proud Duke for the book I’m currently writing, which you won’t see for a while yet.

In contemporary paranormal news, I’m trying to get the re-release of the STORM series off the ground. Two books are out so far, with four to come over the coming weeks. This was another what if – what if humans discovered they’d been sharing the world with vampires, sorcerers and shape-shifters all along? I bunched them together into a group known as Talents. Basically it’s the same world as Department 57, but with the Talents living openly. The books happen when the revelation is first disclosed and everybody is trying to get used to the change. I fell in love with every single one of these heroes. And now they have new covers and a bit of editing (lower on the sex, higher on the action) I’m even more proud of them.

Over here, we had our week of summer. Now it’s raining outside, which is how I like it. I hate too hot or too cold. A few years ago we had a holiday in Rome in August. Over 100 degrees had me fainting, and it was so frustrating because I wanted to see a lot more than I did!

Lynne Connolly Newsletter, April 2016

Happy April!

I’m having to write this in advance, because I’ll be on the road when the first of April rolls around! I’m about to leave on my big annual adventure, and I am so excited I could burst! I’m flying with my husband to New Orleans, where I’ll visit lovely Laurie Pennison, who writes amazing romantic suspense novels, and then stay in the French Quarter for a few days.

If I have time, I’ll do some updates.

After New Orleans, we’re flying to Las Vegas! I’ve never been to Vegas before, and I really want to dig into the history for a while. There is some, although the minute something isn’t useful to them any longer, they knock it down. I’m still mourning The Sands. I so wanted to see it!

RT Convention will probably be its usual mad self. We don’t come home until late April, after a quick visit to lovely Anna Albergucci.

New Release

And of course this month I have a big release! DILEMMA IN YELLOW SILK is the latest offering from the Emperors of London series.

This book features the seemingly staid Marcus Aurelius, Lord Malton, and the daughter of his land steward, Mr. Gates. Viola knows the deadly secret that follows her around, but until she is attacked, she believes she is safe. Marcus steps up. Of course he does!

Buy the Book and read an extract:PublisherAmazon USAAmazon UKiTunesKoboBarnes and Noble NookAll Romance E-Books

Ever ready to do the right thing, The Emperors of London act bravely—and when it comes to matters of the heart, impetuously…

Despite her cover as the daughter of the land steward for Lord Malton, Marcus Aurelius, spirited Viola Gates is tied by birth to the treacherous Jacobite legacy. Not that this keeps her from falling for the dashing Lord from afar. Despite his staid demeanor, Marcus is devastatingly handsome—and hopelessly beyond her reach. Then Viola’s father is mortally wounded and her secret identity revealed, sending her straight into danger’s path—and Marcus’s arms…
For years, he’d only known her as a wild child, the tempting—and forbidden—daughter of his trusted steward. But when Viola’s life is threatened, Marcus must act as duty—and his barely contained passion—dictates. Ferrying the bold beauty on an eventful journey to safer quarters, he offers her the protection of his name. Their tempestuous union might succeed in vanquishing their enemies, but will the chivalrous lord and his unsuitable wife surrender to the power of love?

“Lynne Connolly writes Georgian romances with a deft touch. Her characters amuse, entertain and reach into your heart.” —Desiree Holt

“Plots, deviousness and passion galore…a truly enjoyable read.” –Fresh Fiction on Temptation Has Green Eyes

Excerpt:

Concentrating on her music, Viola nearly jumped out of her skin when a large body plumped down on the stool next to her. She shrieked, spun around, and closed her eyes. “You!”

“Why, weren’t you expecting me?”

His expression of innocence did not fool her for a minute.

“Not here, not like this. Did you run from the last staging post?” she demanded. She should not talk to the Earl of Malton like this. Right now he was less the earl and more Marcus, the boy she’d known so long ago. “Oh, my lord, sir, I’m sorry!”

She should recall her place, but she was finding the task difficult when he was wearing the same mischievous grin he’d used at nine years old.

“I couldn’t resist. Do you know what you were playing?”

The heat rushed to her face. “Yes.” No sense dissimulating. Of course she knew.

“And if you don’t stop ‘my lord’ and ‘sir’ing me, I’ll have you sent home forthwith. When we’re alone, it’s still Marcus.”

What had happened to him? Marcus had slowly moved away from her, gone from a childhood friend to a dignified, proper aristocrat. She understood the move, because he would have responsibilities to take care of, but sometimes she missed him. He’d remained a distant figure ever since, growing more pompous every time she saw him. Now he seemed to have cast all that off.

“I thought—that’s not right.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “And I’ve stopped you playing. A pity—I was enjoying that. Carry on.”

“Is that an order—sir?”

He growled deep in his throat, such a small sound she’d have missed it if he were not sitting so close to her. “Stop it. I’ll be Malton in about an hour.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve spent the last three days in a closed carriage with my father, and I want to forget the stateliness. He would, given the chance. But with outriders and men riding ahead to warn innkeepers we were on our way, we had little chance.”

“So they commit the great crime of ensuring the best bedrooms are free. The cook is bursting from his waistcoat, trying to cook the best meal he’s capable of making. If only my journeys were so tedious!”

His laugh rang around the room. “Exactly. But we’re welcomed with ‘Good evening, my lord,’ and ‘How can I serve you, my lord?’”

“You poor thing.” She should guard her tongue, but she delighted in reacquainting herself with the man she used to know.

He rewarded her with another laugh. “I know. It’s such a hardship.” Lifting his feet, he spun around on the bench so he faced the keyboard, as she did. “You got a phrase wrong. The tune is based on the traditional one, but it’s varied in the last line of each verse. Slightly different each time. Like this.”

When he demonstrated, Viola understood exactly what he meant. But with the amusement, her heart ached. She had missed him so much. At the delicate age of nine, two years after his breeching, Marcus had begun his training, and since then, he’d become engrossed in his life’s work. Before then, the laughing boy had had no cares, and they’d played together.

Until someone remembered their different stations in life, and she did not think it was Marcus.

“Your turn.”

After giving him a doubtful glance, she copied the phrase. He sang the verse along with her, his baritone blending with her untrained mezzo. At the end of the verse they continued with the next one. Then he added one she hadn’t known about.

By the end of the song, she was quite in charity with him. The years slipped away. Or rather, they did not, because never at any time did she forget that a man sat next to her, not a boy.

Viola hadn’t been this close to Marcus for years. In this lovely room, with sunshine streaming in through the windows, they could be in another world—one of their own, a place out of time.

Playing scurrilous songs on a valuable string instrument seemed part of their world. Eventually she joined with him as his infectious laughter rang around the room.

“Do you remember this?” She played a few notes. A two-handed exercise taught to children to help them accustom themselves to the keyboard.

“Ha, yes I do.”

He joined in, taking the upper part of the tune. It was simple but capable of infinite variations. At the end of the piece she changed the pitch and they continued. Four times they went around, until she stopped with an emphatic chord.

She rested her palms on the edge of the harpsichord. “This was tuned last week. I was only supposed to check it, not play it until it’s out of tune again.”

“Do harpsichords lose their tuning so easily?”

He really didn’t know? “It’s a harpsichord. The strings are delicate. Even damp can send them completely wrong. Each quill has to be checked and replaced if necessary. Don’t you know anything?”

He shrugged. “I know how to address a duchess and how to dance a minuet. I can shoot straight and use a sword.”

“So can I. The last part.”

He widened his eyes. Such a perfect shade of blue they were. She hadn’t seen them this close for years. Far too long. “You can fence and shoot?” he said, his voice rising.

“I shoot better than I fence, but I know one end of a sword from the other. I know how to stop someone taking it off me.” Considering her position, her father had considered the training useful. The daughter of a land steward, especially an only child, needed to know how to take care of herself.

“I will certainly test you on that.” He patted his hip. “But I don’t generally travel with a sword at my side. We have them in the carriage, though. Shall I send for them?”

She bestowed a jaded smile on him. “No. Or fetch them yourself, come to that.”

His cheek indented slightly, as if he were biting it inside. Stopping laughter? Then she was a source of ridicule? No, he wouldn’t do that, not the Marcus she’d known.

But she had not known him for years. Only seen him at a distance and occasionally exchanged polite nothings.

He shook his head as his smile faded. “Why did we not tell my tutors to go to the devil, Viola? What harm did our friendship do?”

“They were teaching you to be an earl, and eventually a marquess.”

“Ah yes. That. But you continued to play with my brothers and sisters.”

She lifted one shoulder. “I hardly missed you at all.”

That was a lie. She had missed him very much. His way of talking, the way he would say what he was thinking without hesitation—but he would hardly do that any longer. People hung on his every word, at least some people did. The people wanting the ear of his father, or for Marcus to do them a favor.

“I missed you,” he said softly. “I would like us to be friends again, as we used to be.” He covered her hand with his own.

Startled, she stared at it, but she didn’t move. His warmth seeped through her, heating more than her fingers. He’d been her childhood sweetheart, but they had both known they were only playing.

He did not mean it in that way. Occasionally she’d allowed herself to dream of him, but never allowed her fantasies to creep through to real life.

Marcus had grown up tall and handsome, and unlike most men she knew, he wore his own hair tied back in a simple queue. He rarely powdered, his one concession to his wishes rather than the dictates of fashion, but he would consent to wear a wig on ceremonial occasions.

The first time she’d seen him dressed for a grand occasion had served to distance him completely from her. Without those glossy dark brown locks, and dressed in the finest London could provide, Marcus appeared a different person, one Viola didn’t know at all. So when he said he missed her, he probably meant the carefree days of his childhood.

Viola could not pass this opportunity by. She turned her hand and curled her fingers between his. He clasped her hand warmly.

She stared at that symbol of friendship, as if it weren’t her hand. “I missed you, too.”

“You’ve grown up a beauty, Viola,” he said softly.

Watch for the March Mayhem banner! There are interviews and extracts galore!

Newsletter March, 2016

News

March, and yes, it came in like a lion, as the saying goes. I heard on Friday that Samhain Publishing is closing, but then I heard different things. It's too early to tell. Whatever happens, I can promise you that my Samhain books, the Triple Countess series, the Secrets series, Richard and Rose, the Waterloo book and the Even Gods Fall In Love books will continue to be available. The books are still for sale at Samhain, and if I get my rights back, I'll turn them around and get them straight back up. That's a promise.I am plodding along, and writing. I'll always write, published or not, but it looks right now that it's either the big publishers or self-publishing, which is a shame. The admin, the promotion, the production parts of self-publishing all stop me from writing, which is what I really want to do.Ideally, I'd write historical romance, sprinkled with a few contemporary romances to leaven the mix. It's great to get away from the intensive research needed for the historical romance, and write in this world for a change but the thirst for the historical comes, and I can't resist it.I've done a new intro for my website, and tried to express what I want readers to feel. I want them to be taken back to a new place, but a place that existed in time, so they can feel the cobbles under their feet and hear the horses clattering past.I'll be releasing the STORM books soon. I loved writing them so much, and they're ready for a revamp. I've given them a light edit, cutting some of the graphic language in the sex scenes, and making them more romantic suspense, but they're still hot stuff!Later on this month, I'm travelling across the Atlantic for a little vacation before RT kicks off the second week of April. I am so psyched about this, I can't tell you because I'm not going alone! No, this time I'm sharing the madness with my husband. We're having a break in New Orleans first, then flying to Las Vegas, with a side visit to the Grand Canyon. So cool!So he gets to see the convention for himself. I wonder what he'll make of it?New Releases and Excerpt:The next release is  Dilemma in Yellow Silk, the next Emperors of London book, out on 12th April, but already up for pre-order. I'll tell you about it now, because I'll be on the road next month, and I don't know if I can get a newsletter out.

Ever ready to do the right thing, The Emperors of London act bravely—and when it comes to matters of the heart, impetuously…Dilemma in Yellow SilkDespite her cover as the daughter of the land steward for Lord Malton, Marcus Aurelius, spirited Viola Gates is tied by birth to the treacherous Jacobite legacy. Not that this keeps her from falling for the dashing Lord from afar. Despite his staid demeanor, Marcus is devastatingly handsome—and hopelessly beyond her reach. Then Viola’s father is mortally wounded and her secret identity revealed, sending her straight into danger’s path—and Marcus’s arms…For years, he’d only known her as a wild child, the tempting—and forbidden—daughter of his trusted steward. But when Viola’s life is threatened, Marcus must act as duty—and his barely contained passion—dictates. Ferrying the bold beauty on an eventful journey to safer quarters, he offers her the protection of his name. Their tempestuous union might succeed in vanquishing their enemies, but will the chivalrous lord and his unsuitable wife surrender to the power of love?“Lynne Connolly writes Georgian romances with a deft touch. Her characters amuse, entertain and reach into your heart.” —Desiree Holt“Plots, deviousness and passion galore…a truly enjoyable read.” –Fresh Fiction on Temptation Has Green Eyes

Excerpt:

The first time she’d seen him dressed for a grand occasion had served to distance him completely from her. Without those glossy dark brown locks, and dressed in the finest London could provide, Marcus appeared a different person, one Viola didn’t know at all. So when he said he missed her, he probably meant the carefree days of his childhood.Viola could not pass this opportunity by. She turned her hand and curled her fingers between his. He clasped her hand warmly.She stared at that symbol of friendship, as if it weren’t her hand. “I missed you, too.”“You’ve grown up a beauty, Viola,” he said softly.She shook her head vigorously. “No. I’m ordinary. You’re—” She cut off her words, fearing she would give away more than she meant to.“Your hair is darker than mine, and it shines like a raven’s wing. Your eyes are fathoms deep.”His words made her laugh, but that was to prevent her heart cracking. Once she’d dreamed of a man saying such things to her. But now she knew better. She would never hear that in love. Friendship would have to serve. “My face is too narrow, and I’m too tall.”“You are only too tall for short men,” he said. “I’ll show you. Stand up.”His voice did not ring with command, as she knew it could. Nevertheless, she pushed against the floor and got to her feet, rounding the end of the stool to avoid stumbling. She wanted to put something between them, because her emotions rose until she was barely able to keep her features still.Their hands were still linked. “Satisfied?” She made to pull her hand away, but he only gripped it more firmly.“Not nearly.” He stood too, and then stepped over the bench so they were close.Far too close. In his simple traveling clothes he had the appearance of a gentleman rather than a great lord, but that did not fool her for a minute. She could not think that way. Must not, if she wanted to keep her peace of mind. This close, closer than he’d been for years, he devastated her senses.“See?” he said brightly. “You come up to my shoulder. Far too few ladies do that.”“It makes me stand out too much,” she grumbled. She was not freakishly tall, though. Lanky Annie, the woman in the village who took in sewing from the hall, she was oddly tall. Six feet, her father said.“Not at all. It makes you graceful.” He touched her chin, tilting her head up.This close, the little black pinpricks of beard under his skin were apparent. The way his eyes shaded darker at the edge, to the brilliant shade inside. She stared in wonder, reacquainting herself with him this close.Something else sparked in his eyes, passion and heat, passing from him to her and back again.“A kiss of friendship, Viola,” he murmured, and suited words to actions.Viola lifted her hands, grasping for purchase, and found his coat. She clutched it gratefully as her world spun, realigning into a new space.When he touched her lips with his tongue she opened for him, and he tasted her. Delicately at first, licking softly, like a cat at milk, but then stronger, he entered her mouth with a mastery that made her helpless under his onslaught.Nobody had ever kissed her like this.

You can buy Dilemma in Yellow Silk here:

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple
All Romance Ebooks
Kensington (Publisher)
See you soon!

Newsletter, February, 2016

You can tell it’s chilly, because our elderly cat has taken to living next to the radiators. When the heating goes off, he finds somebody to complain to until it comes back on.

I feel a bit like that, sometimes.

I entered a book into the Kindle Scout program because I have this book and love it, and I want to write the series that it could be a prequel for. It’s a contemporary. The band manager from the Nightstar series (to which I have all the rights back, yay!) gets his own story in this. He meets a pop singer trying to revamp her career when they’re both judging a reality show. Did I have fun writing this one!

I would really, really appreciate your support. Apparently Kindle Scout is some kind of popularity contest, so if you want to check the program and my entry out, it’s here:

https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/1I5VGFGPKS3FO

I don’t know how I get so busy, because at the moment, I’m retooling and rethinking things. The Even Gods Fall In Love series is ready to go into a natural hiatus, and I have some new ideas which I’m discussing with my editor. Don’t worry, it’s still Georgian, and still romance!

Paranormal historical romance is an exciting field, but I want to give new readers time to get used to the world I created for the gods series. It was so unlike any paranormal I’d attempted before, and it’s given me new ideas of how to develop my stories in new ways. The reception of the series was heartwarming, too.

The Emperors of London series has come to a crossroads, too. I’m waiting to hear about the continuation, and this has also come to a break. But I have definite plans to continue, and I’ve proposed a trilogy to take the stories into new and exciting areas. The struggle between the Stuarts and the Hanoverians was still very much alive right into the 1770’s, when it became obvious the Cause was dead—just in time for new conflicts with France and the future USA to come into force!

I have a new story coming out next month in the Seven Nights of Sin anthology, and while I was writing it, characters happened, the way they do. The hero of this story has three sisters, all of whom are far more interested in things other than entering society. One is an amateur astronomer, one loves literary pursuits and the other is a gardener, all things that people in the era got very excited about. What do you think? Should I write it, even though I haven’t found a publisher for it yet?

In the meantime, you can check out Seven Nights of Sin here:

http://www.amazon.com/Seven-Nights-Sin-Bestselling-Historical-ebook/dp/B019EP2X06

The way the men and women of the era coped with these challenges has always fascinated me. I’ve heard it said that “times then were so much simpler,” but that’s only distance speaking. They weren’t, but they were complicated in different ways. The more I read, the more real the era gets, and the nearer it gets to real people living real life. That’s why I try to keep my books as true to the period as I can. I want to bring those times to life.

The heating must have gone off, because the cat is pestering me again. Plus, he can smell the chicken roasting in the oven!

Excerpt:

Dreaming Of Waterloo

Since the highly successful (thank you!) anthology The Incomparables has gone away, I’ve released my novella from it, Dreaming of Waterloo, as a separate book. You can get it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Dreaming-Waterloo-Regency-Lynne-Connolly-ebook/dp/B01AQ1PCFA

And here’s an excerpt, with the spiffy new cover:

Description

They called him “Lucky,” but he had hidden injuries nobody knew about. Plagued by headaches and living nightmares, Paul, Lord Sherstone returns from the field of Waterloo to London to find a wife he doesn’t know and an estate he has to manage. He daren’t let her close, even though he is falling in love with her all over again.

Married and abandoned in a month, Hetty learned to manage a large estate and fend off would-be lovers, but a threat emerges much closer to home and from an unexpected place. In need of help she turns to Paul but since his return he has only shut her out. Refusing to give up on the man she fell in love with five years ago, Hetty has to persuade her husband to let her into his bed—and his heart.

Excerpt:

The crowd parted.

They were not dancing, having left off in favor of supper, so Paul walked straight across the room to face Hetty. His gait was loose and easy, but he ate up the ground with no regard to the careful, mincing steps of the fashionable gentleman. His Hussar uniform, one of the most flamboyant in the army, looked as good as any ever did on his broad shoulders, and tall, muscular form. Gold was so heavily laced across the front that the red cloth beneath could hardly be seen. The pelisse that hung from one shoulder, red lined with blue, was equally fine.

Despite the magnificence, the man outshone the uniform, his carefully brushed dark hair and square jaw more than adequate to the task. The grim purpose delineated in every spare line of his form embellished the uniform rather than the other way about.

Hetty drew her hand away from Lewis’s arm, and stood clear of him. Paul bowed to her. “My lady.”

“My lord.”

Thus, a year of silence was broken.

She held out her gloved hand, proud that it did not waver, even though her pulses throbbed and her throat had tightened so she could scarcely breathe.

He took it and bowed over it in the approved manner. Then he glanced at his cousin. “Lewis.”

“Welcome home, Sherstone,” Lewis said, his voice slightly higher than usual.

“Thank you.” Straightening, his eyes met hers again, and once more he transfixed her.

Her mind flashed back to the first time they had met. Like this, in a ballroom, before she knew he was to be her husband.

But of course, this was nothing like that time. He was a soldier, but not a major, as he was now. He didn’t have that hard expression in his eyes then, either.

Five years had passed between that day and this, and a wealth of experience. Not to mention heartbreak, on her side at least.

Because of the woman she was now, not the one she had been once, Hetty put on her practiced society face of mild interest, allowing her lips to tilt upwards very slightly. “I had not known you were coming.”

“My arrival was somewhat confused, my lady. I was prepared to accompany Wellington to Vienna, but he had other plans. So I climbed on to one of the many ships transporting the wounded to England instead.” His lip curled in a self-deprecating sneer. “I was assured I was not taking the place of someone who needed it more than I did.”

For this was the hero, the talisman of the army. “I see you are not hurt, sir. Or is some part of you damaged beyond repair?”

The sneer turned to a smile and his dark eyes lit with amusement. Eyes that dark caught every spark of light that passed by, reflecting it with an adamantine glitter. Hetty had never been sure if she imagined the volatile moods that shaded them, or whether it was the light affecting them. But this was unmistakable. “I am never wounded. I thought you knew that.”

“Yes.” She wet her lips and watched his gaze settle there before lifting once more to encompass her face. “You have that reputation.”

“I do seem to, do I not?” His nickname of ‘Lucky’ had never been bestowed on a worthier candidate. He had been at the heart of every battle Wellington had sent him into. Men fell around him, but Major Lord Paul Sherstone remained upright and unscathed. Men strove to join his company, which had fewer casualties than others. Prints were made of him standing in bloody battlefields, staring at the carnage going on around him. Handsome and tall, the picture of a perfect officer, Paul had captivated the popular imagination.

He was doing the same now. Around them, a hush was barely broken. People watched him, most of them with awe or smiling. He ignored them all in favor of his wife and cousin, but Hetty was painfully aware of all of them. Usually she moved around society as one of many, as part of it, but not standing out. Just the way she liked it. Suddenly she was the center of attention. “I—I went to Horse Guards. They wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

He shrugged. “They probably had no idea. I told them I was selling out. My superior officer should have told the authorities.” He frowned. “You mean you did not know if I was alive or dead?”

“Exactly.” Good of him to put it so succinctly.

Fire sparked in the depths of his eyes. “That is not acceptable. It’s been ten days since the battle. I wrote to you. Did you not receive my letter?”

She shook her head. “But you are here now, my lord.” His words eased her somewhat. Before, she had imagined that she was of little importance in his scheme of things, but it appeared he had made efforts to contact her.

“And you are not one to sit before the fire, wringing your hands, are you?” A steely tone had entered his voice.

Did he expect as much? Once she might have done just that, but these days Hetty was more inclined to take her fate into her own hands. “I will find out more here than at home, waiting for something to happen.”

He gave a brief, terse nod. “True enough.”

He glanced around. “You were heading for the supper room? Allow me to escort you.”

After a nod to his cousin, Paul took Lewis’s place. He offered her his arm and she laid her hand on it. Now she trembled. Heat rose from his body through the unblemished cloth to her hand. Like this, Paul appeared as nothing more than a dandy, dressed more flamboyantly than anyone with a dozen fobs to his waistcoat. Underneath, his body was honed and sharpened to a killing edge.

As they moved away, leaving Lewis behind, chatter rose up once more.

Paul let out a long breath. “Well that was difficult.”

She felt cold, numb with shock.

“I had no idea you didn’t know I was alive.” He cast a glance over his shoulder to where Lewis was standing. “I regret you had to discover it in such a way. I suggest I find you something to drink, and then we may sit and try to appear unobtrusive.”

There was an edge of wildness to her laughter. “You? Unobtrusive?”

His mouth tightened in a mirthless grin. “I try. I should have more success soon.”

He said no more until he had procured wine for them both. After she refused food, he took her to a seat by the side of the room. “Let us hope that our reunion deters people from approaching us.”

But that was not to be. First one person then another offered him their felicitations and expressed their admiration of his prowess. Paul greeted them all with a smile, reminded them that his wife was with him, so they had to get to their feet and bow and curtsey.

“This will not do,” Paul said. “I wish to speak to you privately. We have much to discuss, my lady.”

-- 

Newsletter, October, 2015

Here we are again, October, who’d have thunk it?

I had a new release recently, and there is other fun and games afoot! I’ve spent the month trying to catch up, and get myself organised, but I’m nowhere near that point yet. Maybe I should just accept that I live in a permanent state of confusion and get on with it.

In news, you might have heard that I’m no longer an Ellora’s Cave author. Writing for EC was a great adventure, but it’s over now. I’ve changed the way I write, and EC is heading in a direction that isn’t for me. I asked for all my rights back and received them. Already Pure Wildfire is back up, and I have plans to reissue the STORM and Nightstar series in due course, too.

I booked my place at RT 2015, too. How could I resist a convention in Las Vegas? It’s taking place at the Rio, the residence of the Chippendales, so that should be interesting! I’m taking side trips, to New Orleans and the Grand Canyon, so if anyone is around in April next year, then maybe we can meet up!


I went to London last week, and did a talk at the Royal Overseas League, with lovely Nicola Cornick and Imogen Howson, which went swimmingly. The photos are of me in action, so I’ll have to show you one of those. We talked about selling romances in the USA, what expectations are and what the experience is like (terrific!)

of course, while I was in London, I did do a bit of shopping and visit a few museums. They’re still there, we left them intact, but it’s like refilling the well, visiting these places. I also took the chance to do a trawl of Portobello Road Market, which I highly recommend if you find yourself in those parts. We didn’t get to the end, but we did pick up some bargains.

Writing? Well, I’m doing a pseudonym book right now, but then I’m starting to write the last in the current tranche of the Emperors of London series. Don’t worry, though, the publishing schedule is a way bit behind, so you have lots to come! The next release will be in December, so I’ll talk more about it then.

My other series, Even Gods Fall In Love is also coming on apace. I have just written another, and had one accepted. I can’t tell you how much fun this series is to write, though plotting can be a bit of a nightmare at times. I try to put lots of easter eggs there, so if you know your mythology, you can pick them up, and if you don’t, it really doesn’t matter, because the book is a solid, coherent story. The next release is War Chest, featuring Mars, who is also the Duke of Lyndhurst, and I think you’ll be surprised at his story!

Contemporary releases are quieter. That’s partly because of the pseudonym, but it’s also because I’ve been concentrating on the historicals. Paranormals don’t sell nearly as well as they used to, so I need to rethink what I’m doing there. At one point they were my best sellers, so it just goes to show how the market can change!

As always, I'd really, really appreciate your help getting the word out about my books. These days you have to shout a lot louder to get people to look, and I find it hard to shout that loudly!

New Release

This month I have a re-release of Strangers No More, now re-edited and republished by a new to me company. It’s been a delight, working with Evernight Publishing, and I’d love to do more of these stories! And it’s an Editor’s Pick!

Passion In The Dark

Buy from All Romance Ebooks - https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-passioninthedark-1894040-149.html

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  Buy from Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Passion-Dark-L-M-Connolly-ebook/dp/B015OTE29G
  
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  Buy from Evernight - http://www.evernightpublishing.com/passion-in-the-dark-by-l-m-connolly/
  

Two people meet in the dark to have hot, sweaty, anonymous sex… But Whitney is increasingly drawn to her stranger. He’s powerful but gentle, and murmurs to her in Greek. But if he saw her face, it would all be over. Whitney’s looks make her unphotogenic. If she wants her promotion, she’s going to have to make some drastic changes. How will her stranger feel about that? He means more to her than he should.


Excerpt from Passion In The Dark

Later that night, Whitney slid her keycard into the slot of a hotel room door in downtown L.A., the kind of hotel that hosted conventions and business meetings. Anonymous and huge. The green light flashed and she pushed the door open.

Someone dragged her into the room and slammed her against a wall. The door clicked shut, blocking out the only light available. The room was in pitch darkness, the windows covered, the lights out. She hit the wall with a soft thud, her face against the paper.

Her attacker grabbed her around the waist, his free hand dragging her head back by her hair, and then his mouth crashed down on hers, taking her with a hot desperation that flung her into the whirlwind. Now she couldn’t think. Now she could only feel. His hips pressed against hers at an awkward angle but he twisted them against her and she felt the insistent bulge of his erection.

The moment his lips came into contact with hers, she knew him. Knew that pressure, the way his mouth felt against hers, the way he flicked her lips with his tongue in an unspoken request—demand—that she open for him.

When she didn’t obey immediately, he nipped her bottom lip and when she opened her mouth to protest, he surged in, soothing the bite with his tongue in a gentle caress before resuming his fierce attack on her. She tasted him, peppermint and a touch of something else, something fruity. He’d had a glass of wine recently. He never met her drunk, but he sometimes tasted of wine and sometimes brandy. She loved it. It added a tinge of danger, the threat that he might get carried away and ignore her needs. But he never did.

“Never” being three times. They said that three times and one was hooked. Three cigarettes, three shots of heroin, three “Stranger Danger” encounters. The man with no name gave her what she needed, what she craved. He fed her addiction and she fed his.

He took her mouth with an intensity she could respond to only with the kind of helpless acceptance she never demonstrated in her real life. The life outside this door. Whimpering, she followed him when he withdrew, begging for more. With a grunt, he turned her around so her back pressed against the hotel wallpaper. Her backbone rolled against the hard surface but she welcomed the discomfort. He wasn’t going to stop. He seemed as desperate as she was. That had connected them from the first time, and he was no less desperate now. He wanted her.

Here, in the dark. No excuses, no explanations needed here.

 
See you next month!

Lynne