Everything Is New Again

 

Things are motoring along this month.
I received the edits for the first contemporary romance with Tule, and I did the pulling apart and putting back together thing. That’s often a really interesting exercise, and this time it was instructive, too. Honestly, if I had nothing left to learn about writing, I’d give up. My new editor has given me some fantastic pointers, and I turned my manuscript red making changes that I’m really excited about.
And I’m writing the first of the new series. I’m loving this cast of new characters, but as always with my work, some will reveal themselves more the longer the series goes on. To me as well. I know them when the series starts, but sometimes a character will reveal himself halfway through a book and I have to start all over again, putting my new understanding of him into the book from the start. Male characters are particularly prone to that, since they tend to keep their vulnerabilities to themselves! But the only way I can discover those is to  write the book.
I have a new cover to show you, too. This is the cover for Boundless, which is out at the end of the year, and is the last of The Shaws. After this they are all married, and for the time being it’s time to say goodbye to the Emperors of London. However, I’d love to write the stories of a few people, Poppy for instance, and Ivan and especially Augustus Vernon, who lives in Rome. I have a lovely story for him all planned out.
And now the Emperors and the spinoff series is coming to an end, it’s time to let you in to a secret.
Remember Alexander, the hero of the first Emperors story, Rogue in Red Velvet? Yes, Alex. Well he started life as Freddie, the cousin of Richard Strang of the Richard and Rose series. At the time a lot of people had asked for his story, and I wanted to write it. However the Richard and Rose stories are in the first person, so I had to change that. I wrote Alex’s story in the third person, and gave it to my then editor at Samhain.
Well, she rejected it. The rejection came as a terrible shock, especially when the reasons the editor mention could all be fixed. But I did have an inkling that might happen. I gave Samhain a different story, which thankfully they liked, and rewrote Freddy’s story, but I did the tweaks I wanted to, not the ones my editor had mentioned, since they didn’t fit with his character.
After I’d written it, I found Lyrical Publishing, and recalled meeting its then owner, Renée Rocco at a convention. I liked her very much, so I sent the manuscript to her. However, I couldn’t call the hero Freddie, or at least, since Samhain had rejected it, I could, but that would have tied the book to Richard and Rose, a series I had brought to an end with Lisbon. So I changed the names and started a new series. Halfway through the story I “got” the backstory to the whole series, about the hidden children of the Old Protector. That made me really excited to start the series.
The Emperors concept had come to me some time before, but not the story about the Stuarts. Then came the Dankworths, with their loyalties to the old regime.
I had a really exciting concept, and fortunately, my new editors agreed. So kudos to Helen Hardt (yes, that Helen Hardt) and Martin Biro, who believed in the series and let me run with it. Since Helen hit the heights with a fabulous series of books, I now have a new editor, who has been brilliant with The Shaws and is going to help me with the new series, too.
It’s very exciting.
As I told you before, I was really considering giving everything up. But I think I’ll carry on a while longer!

The Start of Something new!

A new release this month!
The first in The Shaws is coming out. It features characters who were in The Emperors of London, namely the wild and scandalous Shaw family!
I learned a lot when I was writing this book. Most of my research into the legal system of the eighteenth century had concentrated on the law itself, especially the doings of the magistrate’s court, the one at Bow Street in particular. So many features of what we consider the law today came from there, including the idea that the people who administered the law should be above corruption. Even the beginning of the police force started there.
For this book, I wanted to know more about the way the law worked in practice. I already knew about some of the quirks – the magistrate, or judge had much more leeway in his interpretation of the law, for instance. And advocacy. This book features a lawyer who is also a barrister. Used to the system of today, I was surprised to discover that one man could be both. But all the money was in being a lawyer. Barristers were relatively new, and it wasn’t usual to have someone to speak for you in court. Andrew Graham, who features in this book, is one of the forward-thinkers. He is passionate about justice, and he wants to see trials becoming much fairer. There were such men at this time, and they helped to get the notorious Waltham Black Acts repealed, but that didn’t happen until later in the century.
As I read my way through the Old Bailey site online, I discovered that at this period, barrister are hardly ever mentioned in criminal cases. The accused would speak for himself, however qualified or not they were to do so. Trials were lightning fast compared to today. You could be tried, condemned and hanged in a week. Or transported, if you were strong and the judge felt you could be of use elsewhere.
I continue to read about the law, because I might have an idea for a new series coming in here.
All most people know about the period is that a person could be hanged or transported for stealing a loaf of bread. It’s almost a cliché, but it’s also true. It depended on the value the court put on the loaf. If they decided the loaf was worth under a set amount, the sentence was far more lenient. And it was the court that set the price, not the shopkeeper or the market price.
And the other thing – the court at Bow Street was in the open air! It was roofed over sometime in the 1750s, so I had “my” court with a roof. While it might have been authentic, I don’t know how many readers would have believed it!

Book News 

So here it is. Fearless, the first in The Shaws series!
When Lady Charlotte Engles receives an offer of marriage from an eligible suitor, she’s finally ready to let go of her long-held hope that her engagement to Lord Valentinian Shaw will result in marriage. For despite the betrothal their families made between them, Val shows no interest in leaving his reckless life behind in favor of one with Charlotte. But when her plea to end their arrangement ends in a heated embrace, suddenly Val seems reluctant to let her go . . .

The last thing Val wants is a wife, despite how desirous his lovely bride-to-be has become. But when he discovers sweet Charlotte is planning to marry a dastardly man, he feels duty bound to keep her safe, even if that means making good on his marriage pledge. Then Charlotte is taken hostage by her dangerous suitor and suddenly Val is ready to risk everything for the woman who has won his heart .

Buy the Book:

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wow, it's July already!

Newsletter, July 2017

News

Lots of news this month! First, a special offer, courtesy of my lovely publishers, Kensington.
To celebrate the release of Fearless, the first in a brand new trilogy from Kensington, coming in August, featuring the Shaw family, the whole of The Emperors of London series is on special offer for the whole of July! Every title is discounted, some to $1.99, others to 99 cents.

Some titles, including the latest, Wild Lavender, are 99 cents each!
You can find all the details and buy links here:
http://lynneconnolly.com/the-emperors-of-london/

And I promised to tell you about my recent signing at RT Booklovers’ in Atlanta, Georgia!
My books didn’t arrive, but I had lots of other things to give away. I met so many people who love my stories, and I was able to tell them about what’s coming up and what my plans are. This has been a rather traumatic time, what with publishers closing down and new publishers being found, but I did manage, and it was so good to meet the readers.
And I met up with Liz Pelletier, head of my new publisher, Entangled!

So here’s my second piece of news.
I have signed the Even Gods Fall In Love series to Entangled. I really want to continue this series, so I didn’t want to self-publish. I want to concentrate on getting the writing bit right! All the books will be released at the end of September, which isn’t too long to wait. For those of you (and there have been gratifyingly many) who wanted to see this series back, it is coming. I’m avidly awaiting the new cover art, and as soon as I have it, I’ll have the pages put back on the website.

My website has had a revamp. Now each series has its own page, with links where you can read extracts and buy the books. And don’t forget to check the Goodies page, for surprises and new stuff! I do have a bit more about each series, with snippets and backdoor information. For instance, do you know that most of the series have ‘easter eggs,’ little links and reminders to other series. Not “sequel bait,” or a hook to buy another book, and if you don’t get them, they won’t spoil your enjoyment of the book, but for people who have read all my books, there’s a little nudge.
Have you spotted any?

Since I don’t have a new release planned for July, although there might be one coming up (don’t worry, I’ll tell you if it happens!) I thought I’d ask you, dear reader. If there’s a book you’d like a reminder of, or an extract from, I’d love to hear from you.

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!

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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, December 2015

This is my favourite month of my favourite season of the year. Pre-Christmas, when people are excited and happy. I put on my happy songs and write like mad, as well as cooking, decorating the tree and other goodies.
Except we don't have a tree. Because the cat makes himself ill eating pine needles, we have an artificial tree. He still sits under it, brooding darkly, but he doesn't eat it. Just tries to climb it. This year we needed a new tree, and I opted for pre-lit. Except we can't get one that lights up all the way down. The company are ordering a replacement, though I don't hold out much hope that it'll be here before the new year. Got the lights, though. Berries. I might have to go to the park and beg a branch off them, and decorate that!
I don't do a Christmas cake either, because it sits there for a month, then it goes in the bin. I love Christmas cake, but nobody else in my house does. So I do Christmas cupcakes. I have a tree-like stand, and they go on that. There are never any of those left!
In November, I had two deadlines screaming past my ears, so I had to buckle down and work really hard. It was a challenge, but I made it, and I'm very pleased with the books I ended up with. I didn't write them both in November of course, but I did have to polish and revise them double-quick!
And new releases? Oh yes, there's a new Emperors book out in December! If I beg, will you buy it? I loved writing Dominic and Claudia's story! Lady Claudia Shaw is a daughter of the Marquess of Strenshall, but she's a bit on the impetuous side. When she inherits a house, she goes to see it, despite her large family ordering her not to. That's when she discovers she's inherited a brothel. The houses around Covent Garden were built for the gentry, but they moved further West, so they weren't popular for long. The demi-monde moved in.
Dominic is an ex-soldier and reluctant peer, but when you inherit an earldom, there isn't a lot you can do about it. You can't resign, so he dourly gets on with it. The Crown asks him for a special favour, which he undertakes for them. To watch a certain house in Covent Garden. Guess which one!
Dominic spends a lot of the book pulling Claudia out of scrapes, until he finds himself in a scrape of his own, wcich could have terrible consequences.
As I said, I loved writing this one. Do take a look!

Reckless In Pink

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Like the royals for whom they were named, the Emperors of London family have enemies and rivals of their own…

As a soldier for the Crown, Dominic is charged with locating the Young Pretender to the British throne so he can be tried as a traitor. But his mission is altered when he meets Claudia Shaw, an intriguing young woman who has inherited a house of ill repute. In an effort to protect Claudia from her own recklessness, Dominic finds himself allowing the Pretender to slip away…

Claudia is one of the Emperors of London, but her family despairs of her impetuous behavior. And try as he might, the disciplined Dominic cannot quite curb her excesses. In fact, she soon drags him into her adventures—and toward a passion neither can resist. But when a deadly secret comes to light that puts their lives, and their love, at risk, Claudia won’t allow Dominic to sacrifice himself. She is determined to have him—even if it means getting the Young Pretender out of the way herself

Danger Wears White is out!

Danger Wears White

You can read an excerpt and order this book now!
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.

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.”

New release, new series! Rogue in Red Velvet - Families fight with swords drawn!

Out today! The first in an exciting new series. Families feud and Pretenders have one last attempt at power. And men and women fall in love.
Buy the book at Kensington here, or at Amazon, or at iTunes.

If Connie loses her standing in society, she risks losing everything…except Alex.
When country widow Constance Rattigan finds herself in a notorious London brothel instead of at the altar, only one person can save her from the auction block. Alex Vernon walked away from Connie once before, when he discovered her engagement. Now that her fiancé has betrayed her, Lord Ripley doesn’t intend to leave her again. But Connie has other ideas… She won’t marry him until her name is cleared.
Alex decides to make Connie’s wishes come true, but it’s not that easy, even with the help of his powerful relatives known as the Emperors of London.

Extract: 

The Auction for Connie:

Tension knotted Alex's stomach and he only pretended to sip the wine one of the 'slave girls' had handed him.

He remained languidly draped over his chair, handkerchief held elegantly, every muscle, every nerve under rigid control.

The girl stared out at the audience but because her eyes were so dark, he couldn’t tell if sheer terror or drugs kept her rooted to the spot. She swallowed as the half-naked man playing the slave master sold her for three hundred guineas. Bidding was brisk and the girl went to Lord Tyrone, who would at least treat her with kindness. His for the night. She was not announced as a virgin.

Next, came the first declareded virgin, a fresh-faced girl who probably came straight off the coach. She was definitely drugged. Her eyelids drooped and she staggered.

Cratchitt caught and straightened her once more.

Alex held his fire and she sold to a man for five hundred.

The trouble with watching something like this was that he wanted to buy them all, or at least the drugged ones, and set them free. Someone had lured them into this. That would play perfectly into Dankworth’s hands. But he feared the man planned more.

Some ‘slave auctions’ were good-natured, lascivious fun, the girls willing, the virgins of the mock-maiden variety. This was certainly not one of those. It was disgusting, the girls drugged or scared.

Cratchitt hadn’t even tried to hide that some of the girls were drugged. They were here for dangerous play, the kind that could kill them.

Dankworth would not win.

The next girl on the block was definitely drugged, her steps sluggish, her eyes half-closed, and she was not advertised as a virgin. Had Cratchitt checked? Of course she had, the bitch.

She’d probably examined Connie, too. Infuriated, Alex shifted in his chair. He could only wait, get Connie out of here and then put events in train. The girl wore a shift, which drooped over her chest. She was skinny, with tiny breasts, her bones protruding, her skin stretched over them. If Cratchitt had any sense she’d have looked after the stock better than this. A servant girl, maybe, looking for honest work and finding this instead.

“What do I have for this handsome wench?” The slave master tucked his whip under the girl’s chin, forcing her head up. “Jest lookit her hair, gentlemen. Down to her backside. Your own personal harness to control her with!”

The room fell silent. Cratchitt nudged the girl and she yelped. Probably less of a nudge and more a pinch. “All scrubbed this morning. All the girls here are guaranteed clean inside and out!”

At last, Alex raised his hand. Costly lace fell back from his wrist.

The auctioneer saw him immediately. “A hundred, sir?”

Alex shook his head. “Fifty,” he suggested. “And I’m being generous.” He couldn’t bear it. This girl would die before too many days were out if she wasn’t attended to. He couldn’t let that happen.

Nobody else bid. The girls that had gone before had at least a chance and he would have a quiet word with their ‘owners,’ if he thought it necessary. He memorized the name of every man in the room. Alex let his lip curl in a sneer. Why not tell them what he thought of them?

Cratchitt brought the girl over.

Alex gestured a nearby chair. “Sit her there. I’ve not finished yet.”

The girl shot him a disinterested look then closed her eyes. Alex poked her. She was dangerously close to falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind people rarely woke from. She came to with a start and sat upright.

A buxom blonde followed, alert and chirpy, giving back what they sent her. A willing slave. She fetched a good price.

Then a woman, honey-colored hair trailing over her face in bedraggled tails. She wore a shift and a pair of blue brocade stays, cinched so tight that her ample bosom swelled with every breath.

Connie.

Normally Alex would find the quivering of such sweet flesh enticing. Not tonight. He felt every pinch of that tight lacing, every short breath she took as if it was his own. Look at me. I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.

The slave master grabbed a handful of hair and jerked up her head. Connie’s chin jutted out and her eyes, red-rimmed and watery, stared sightlessly into the room. All Alex’s muscles tightened as he resisted the urge to leap onto that damned block and grab her, cover her with his coat, hide her from the leering eyes of the crowd. Fury and sense warred and sense won. Barely and only for her sake. He had to get her out of here and if he tried violence, the room, rendered volatile by excitement and strong drink, would erupt.

The wine had its effect and the audience was yelling and hooting their approval. “That’s better!” someone cried. “I’ll give her something to wake her up!”

Alex would kill him.

Again, she wasn’t introduced as a virgin and Alex gritted his teeth, adding to the mental tally of what this Cratchitt bitch owed him. She’d had her hands all over Connie’s sweet skin. The slave master began his chat but calls from the audience almost drowned him out. They liked her.

Connie swayed as if she’d fall off the block. A tiny thread of drool slid out of the corner of her mouth but Mrs. Cratchitt took care of it with a rough swipe from a cloth. Connie flinched. If Alex had ever felt like hitting a woman, now was the time.

“Three hundred for Rattigan!” Dankworth cried.

Fury rose to choke Alex. How could he bandy her name like that?

The bastard was making sure everybody knew her name. Alex gritted his teeth and forced his temper down. He needed all his wits about him now.

Alex held his fire and let them bid. Occasionally Dankworth sent him a triumphant grin but Alex remained grimly silent, a supercilious smile firmly planted on his lips. He yawned again and shifted in his chair. Let them fight it out.

When the bidding had reached a pitch of intensity, but only in the hundreds he opened his mouth. “Five thousand.”

The room fell silent and the audience turned as a man and gaped at him.

He shrugged. “If we only have them for one night, we’d best get on with it, hadn’t we? With her, I’ll have my two.”

Murmurs followed his remark and a few “Hear hears,” too. Maybe they’d come straight from the debating chamber. But he’d made his point.

Nobody else wanted to pay more than five thousand guineas for the woman. After all, she was no virgin. They had Cratchitt’s word for that. When Lord Spinder opened his mouth and made a move with his hand, Alex met his gaze and let the smile drop. Gratifyingly, he received a shame-faced shrug and one man, standing at the back, nod in approval. An ally.

This wasn’t right and some of them knew it.

Thanks to Mother Cratchitt, no doubt coached by Jasper Dankworth, everyone in this room knew the name of the woman here tonight. Alex didn’t know if it was possible to recover from that. But she was barely recognizable from the woman he’d met at the Downhollands’. That could work in his favor.

Two bullies half-carried, half-dragged Connie off the block toward Alex. She staggered and stumbled, more asleep than awake.

He stood as they approached and swept her up, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Her hair straggled over the fine red velvet of his coat. The last time he’d seen it, she’d swept it up into a glossy knot, leaving a few curls to tease her shoulders saucily. He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now, God help him.

He nodded towards the other girl he’d bought. “Bring her,” he said curtly.

He strode from room, Mrs. Cratchitt abandoning her auction to chase him. The bully who’d shown him to his seat picked up the skinny girl as if she weighed nothing, which was probably not too far from the truth and followed him.

“This way, my lord,” the doxy crooned, gesturing to the stairs.

Alex spared her a scornful glance. “I think not.”

“Sir, you can’t take the girls out of this house. I bought them girls good and proper. You only get a night.”

Alex ignored her and headed down the stairs. Connie groaned and he took a moment to tuck her head more securely in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“Sir, I’m warnin’ you—” Cratchitt’s accent grew less refined by the second.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and swung around, putting all his aristocratic hauteur into play. “I’ll warn you. Ask about me and who my friends are. Then try to make trouble.”

He was taking a risk because someone with influence and money had helped Cratchitt set this place up. “One peep from you and I’ll visit my lawyers. Abducting a respectable female could get you into more trouble than you want. And the other one?” He nodded at the skinny maid in the other man’s arms. “She’ll die if she isn’t cared for, I can see the signs. Do you want her dying here, or shall I take her to a hospital?”

“You can’t leave!”

“Watch me.”

He strode to the door and stood before it. The bully stationed there took a position before him and crossed his arms over his chest. Alex stared him out, his chin up, his eyelids lowered, looking down his nose at the man as if he meant nothing. Aristocratic hauteur often worked where swords wouldn’t. “Open the door,” he said quietly.

“Do it,” said the bully behind him. “This girl must have come in by accident, or somefink. She shouldn’t be here.”

At last, a man of sense.

The man in front of the door glanced over Alex’s shoulder. He must have received permission because he stepped back and flung the door wide. “And don’t come back!” Cratchitt shrieked after him.

Alex left the house with the other man at his heels, ignoring the madam’s shrieks that he should leave the other one behind. They raced down the steps and straight to the house next door.

The man stationed in front of it let them in without hesitation and slammed it in the faces of the pursuers.

 
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