Category: Teatime Tattler Page 126 of 154

A Promise Kept; A Friend Mourned

On July 8, 2017

August 1816
on board the Calliope

I made a promise this week to a man I had every reason to fear, but who I now know was a friend.

This report, before God and for posterity, tells the story of two lovers whom the fates conspired against, but who are now forever united in the life hereafter.

Yasmeen was stolen from her home in Somalia when she was aged but less than twelve years old and became, first an odalisque and then a concubine to Selim Omar, a cousin to Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. She had lived in his harem for at least ten years, for she was my age when I first met her in Sicily.

She tried to warn us about Selim Omar and his wife Rabia, but we did not know how thoroughly the trap had been set. Our story is recorded elsewhere in this journal.

Given charge of Yasmeen’s care was a black eunuch by the name of Malik.

It is not known how or when their romance began, but when when my cousin and I were abducted, it was clear they were very much in love. But they did not speak of it. In fact, I had believed that Malik could not speak at all.

They hid their feelings so well, it was only my cousin Laura’s keen observation of people that revealed the truth to me.

If anyone else knew of the love between the concubine and the eunuch, it would mean death for them both.

And death did come, but it came in a way none of us expected.

Every woman in the harem knows her fate rests on the indulgence of her master. She may be ordered to provide entertainment, she may be ordered to service her master, or his guests.

The man may be generous or he may be cruel. But the worst fate of all is to be given away to such a man.

That was Yasmeen’s fate.

But this remarkable woman decided to take charge of her destiny in the most dramatic and deadly way possible. In doing so, she gave Laura and I our chance at freedom.

The account of mine and Laura’s escape from Al-Min is recorded in the blue journal if curious minds wish to know it. I will not go into it here, suffice to say that our escape from the palace itself could not have happened without Malik.

I am ashamed to admit of having been afraid of this man and to think of him as my oppressor when he too was as much a slave as any of us.

I will never forget his words – the first he had ever spoken:

“Do not let her name be forgotten.”

This will be her record, Yasmeen and Malik’s.

And for as long as Laura and I live, their names will never be forgotten.

Signed this day by
Sophia Hardacre

Excerpt

Her heart fell when she saw the flash of red of the eunuch’s uniform cross her line of sight. Kit saw it, too. He handed her his knife.

“Use it if you have to,” he whispered, “and if I tell you to run, do it and don’t look back.”

She accepted the weapon and watched him pull a second blade from his boot. They cautiously opened the door a little wider. Kit eased her towards a large rosemary bush, tall enough to hide them both. The way before them was clear now.

Kit sprinted and she followed. They nearly made it to the external gate when a large man stepped in front of them. Kit pulled up short, the knife in his hand a puny defense against the two scimitars now wielded by the giant advancing toward him.

“Malik!” The man stopped, startled. Sophia swept back her head covering so he could see her. The wicked blades in each hand lowered. Sophia moved forward to stand by Kit’s side. Anguish was writ large on Malik’s face, the expression of torment she’d witnessed in the harem having only increased. She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward and resting a hand on his arm.

“I’m so sorry about Yasmeen. I know how much you loved her and I know how much she loved you. My cousin and I owe her a great debt. I only wish I knew how to repay her kindness. But we cannot stay.”

The eunuch’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He sheathed his blades. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see tension leaving Kit’s shoulders. Malik turned to Kit and said the first words she had ever heard him utter.

“Are you the man who records the stories of the tormented?”

Kit stood to attention. Malik held out his hand and, after a moment, the men clasped forearms. Sophia was conscious of the size difference between them. Malik could squeeze the life out of Kit if he so chose.

“I am.”

“Do not let her name be forgotten.”

“You have my vow. You will both be remembered.”

Malik turned his back to them then without a further word and walked towards the palace building. Kit wasted no time in pulling Sophia through the external gate. And as they went through, she heard Malik’s loud cry of anguish. Tears streamed down her own face.

Blurb

Bluestocking Sophia Green’s future is uncertain. Orphaned as a child and raised by the wealthy Cappleman family, she has become the companion to her attractive younger cousin, Laura, while harboring to her breast an unrequited love for Laura’s diffident brother.

Sea captain Kit Hardacre’s past is a mystery – even to him. Kidnapped by Barbary Coast pirates at the age of 10, he does not remember his parents or even his real name. All he recalls are things he would rather forget.

When Laura’s reputation is threatened by a scandal, Sophia suggests weathering the storm in Sicily with their elderly uncle, a prominent archaeologist.

Their passage to Palermo is aboard Hardacre’s ship, but the Calliope, like its captain, is not all it seems. Both have only one mission – to rid the world of the evil pirate slaver Kaddouri or die in the attempt.

Initially disdainful of the captain’s devil-may-care attitude, Sophia can’t deny a growing attraction. And Kit begins to see in her a woman who could help him forget the horrors of his past.

Sophia allows herself to be drawn into the shallows of Kit’s world, but when the naive misjudgment of her cousins sees Laura abducted, Sophia is dragged into dangerous depths that could cost her life or her sanity in a living hell.

Pre-orders

Captive of the Corsairs is available to pre-order for 99c on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0721NSPJ6

Conversation heard at the community well

By Guest author

On July 5, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Fort Dent, Indian Territories, United States, 1872

You asked if there’s anything interesting going on in our little mining town of Mineral. Well, I’ll tell you…the army had to move folks into the nearby fort for protection. It seems a rogue band of Indians left the reservation and began raiding and burning homesteads. Dreadful heathens. The commander of Fort Dent doesn’t believe the renegades will attack our town, but says it’s better to be safe than sorry.

If being evacuated isn’t bad enough, the military offered shelter to those strange creatures at Seaton House, a home for orphaned children. I’m wondering if we just might need protection from them instead. There are rumors that the children are peculiar, possibly even witches. They can do things no ordinary person is able to. Mind you, I don’t normally gossip…Edeline Wentworth is a respectable woman. But I don’t feel I can keep something so shocking to myself.

It’s about the caretaker of those orphans, Miss Meredith Talbot. She left a luxurious estate in Pennsylvania to come out here and help her aunt run the orphanage. Rumor has it her father sent her away. Something about her using magic and causing her step-brother’s death. It makes a body shudder to think what she might be capable of.

At least the army has the good sense to assign someone to oversee her and the orphans during their stay at the fort. Lieutenant Preston Booth is a fine, upstanding officer. A stickler for the rules, many say. I pray he has the fortitude to keep those creatures in line and to resist any spells they may cast upon him. He’ll need it.

I’ve seen the two of them together at community events, the handsome, strapping officer and the flaxen haired vixen with her strange, violet colored eyes. Magical, my Stanley calls them. Dangerous, I say. She could tempt a saint to sin. While Lieutenant Booth has previously resisted all attempts at match-making, he may not be able to resist her charms. Hopefully the army will soon catch the rampaging renegades, and the Seaton House evacuees can go back to their den and stay there. I’ve exhausted nearly all my supply of salt, spreading it around my quarters to ward off their evil.

About the Book

Meredith Talbot has a secret. In fact, she has nine secrets – her own and those of the eight orphans at Seaton House, a home for children. Each of them has a special talent that if exposed would get them labeled as witches. It is her responsibility to protect the children and their secrets and keep them safe from persecution. Marauding Indians force them into a nearby fort where their safety is threatened by fanatical townspeople and a captivating army officer who try to unmask the children’s extraordinary abilities.

Lieutenant Preston Booth has one goal – to serve and protect his country. The military is the only life he has ever known. It’s the only life he wants. When a child is abducted and Preston goes after the culprit, Meredith has a vision of what will happen to him.

Does she risk everything by exposing her gift? Or keep her secret and risk losing him forever?

Amazon

Excerpt:

“Do you also have an aversion to being touched?”

Meredith looked up and met his taunting gaze. It was a challenge she couldn’t ignore. She hefted her chin. “Not if I have given permission to be touched.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. Surely that wasn’t a smile. From what she’d seen, the most his lips could manage were frowns.

He held out his hand. “May I help you into the wagon, Miss Talbot? In the name of expediency?”

Straw rustled behind her. One child hummed. Another thrummed on the wagon boards. The children were getting restless. She could contain herself long enough to be lifted onto the wagon.

“Very well. I give my permission.”

His hands curled around her waist. Heat seeped through her blouse and branded her skin. Her stomach started doing odd little summersaults like the ones she’d seen Chinese acrobats perform at a local fair. So much for containing herself.

His grip tightened, and he lifted her up and onto the wagon bed as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. His hands lingered a moment before he released her. Gray-brown eyes fused with hers. A strange connection churned between them like the rush crowding the air before a storm.

About the Author

Donna Dalton lives in central Virginia with her husband, two sons, and a grandson. An avid reader of historical romances, Donna uses the rich history of the “Old Dominion” State for many of her story settings. You can visit her at www.donndalton.net or on Facebook at DonnaDaltonbooks.

A chance resemblance leads Society astray

By Jude Knight

On July 2, 2017

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

EDITOR’S NOTE: DON’T PUBLISH WITHOUT REPLACING REAL NAMES WITH INITIALS. (Sam, it turned out not to be the scandal we thought, but you might be able to make something from my notes.)

Is the Baron marrying the Marquis’s mistress?

Date: 20 July 1810

Just last month, this paper reported on the scandalous behaviour of two of the ton’s most outrageous rakes. Lord Overton comes to Town for a mere three weeks per year, but his shocking exploits with the Merry Marquis during that time have given him a well deserved reputation almost equal to that of the master-rake himself.

We did not expect to see Lord O again in 1810, and can still barely believe the report we have received about the reason for his untimely return to the pleasures of the capital.

Is Lord O courting the Rose of Frampton, that glorious barque of frailty in the keeping of his dearest friend?

We cannot confirm the report, dear readers, as the Marquis has never flaunted his belle amie around town, preferring to keep her to himself. Only his closest friends have been allowed to meet the Rose, and they are almost as close lipped as the man himself, saying only that she is stunningly beautiful and devoted to the Marquis.

And yet, the lady seen at Gunthers with Lord O and a young child meets the description of the Rose in almost every particular.

Is Lord O courting the Rose of Frampton? And will this lead to a falling out between the friends?

Date: 27 July 1810

Sources in the household of the Duke of Haverford claim that Lord O and his mysterious lady were wed today in the chapel at Haverford House. The Duchess of Haverford and the Marquis of Aldridge witnessed the vows.

Dear readers, we have been assured by that the blushing bride is the same woman featured in a painting that hangs above the infamous bed of the Merry Marquis in the heir’s wing of Haverford House, scene of many a flagrant breach of decency and morals.

Date: 30 July 1810

Lord and Lady Overton were at dinner on Saturday night at the home of the Earl of Chirbury, cousin to the Merry Marquis, and on Sunday attended morning services at St George’s, where they were presented to His Grace the Duke of Haverford.

Dear readers, we had begun to conclude that Lady O’s resemblance to Lord Aldridge’s mistress was a mere coincidence when our speculations were confirmed beyond doubt. Lord A was seen out walking with the Rose of Frampton while Lord and Lady O were elsewhere in London, attending a musicale.

Yes, dear readers. The new Lady O is not the Rose of Frampton, and this newspaper apologises for any distress we may have caused by reporting the unfounded suspicions of gossipmongers and disgruntled servants.

Date: 1 August 1810

Dear readers, having been in Hyde Park at the time of the sad occasion that is the only story on everyone’s lips, we can confirm the astounding resemblance between the Rose of Frampton and Society’s newest ornament, the beautiful and gracious Lady Overton.

Yes, dear readers, the Marquis’s paramour was very like his best friend’s new wife, for we saw them both together when Lord A and the Rose rode past the Overton’s carriage.

Moments later, tragedy struck. Shall we ever know what spooked the Rose’s horse? And does it matter? It bolted, and the poor woman was thrown, dying later at Haverford House.

Date: October 1810

The Teatime Tattler is ~~pleased~~ distressed to confirm that Lord Aldridge, the Merry Marquis, is once again on the prowl. He still wears a black armband in mourning for his lost mistress (and in contravention of all social norms), but is once again savouring the delectable delights of the demimonde, as represented at the the Duke of Richport’s famous yearly masquerade.

Was she? Or wasn’t she? Who was the imposter? To find out more, read A Baron for Becky. (First chapter and buy links on Jude Knight’s website, at the link.)

Becky is the envy of the courtesans of the demi-monde – the indulged Rose of Frampton, mistress of the wealthy and charismatic Marquis of Aldridge. But she dreams of a normal life; one in which her daughter can have a future that does not depend on beauty, sex, and the whims of a man.

Finding herself with child, she hesitates to tell Aldridge. Will he cast her off, send her away, or keep her and condemn another child to this uncertain shadow world?

The devil-may-care face Hugh Overton shows to the world hides a desperate sorrow; a sorrow he tries to drown with drink and riotous living. His years at war haunt him, but even more, he doesn’t want to think about the illness that robbed him of the ability to father a son. When he dies, his barony will die with him. His title will fall into abeyance, and his estate will be scooped up by the Crown.

When Aldridge surprises them both with a daring proposition, they do not expect love to be part of the bargain.

Report from our theatrical correspondent

By Guest author

On June 28, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

London is agog at the outrageous debut of Miss Lia Kincaid at the Pan Theatre last night. The young lady in question—and we use the term lady with a degree of skepticism—is the daughter of Marianne Lester, one of England’s premier dramatic actresses.

Mrs. Lester is, as our astute readers know, the wife of the well-regarded theatrical manager, Stephen Lester. But the good Mrs. Lester was not always so respectably situated, and was once a popular member of the demi-monde. Her famous lovers included, among others, the Duke of York. The aforementioned Miss Lia is, in fact, the result of a scandalous—if brief—liaison between His Highness and the beauteous Marianne.

Subsequently, the unfortunate child was whisked away to the wilds of Yorkshire by her grandmother, herself once a noted courtesan. They faded into obscurity until this week, when Miss Lia (who we can attest is as comely as her mamma once was) left her rural seclusion and launched her career with a performance not soon to be forgotten.

Your humble correspondent can only assume that the third generation of Notorious Kincaids is about to take London by storm…

The real spectacle began when the first battle scene commenced to loud whistles and cheers. Players garbed as soldiers in short tunics and breeches launched into a mock battle, enthusiastically whacking at each other with painted wooden swords.

“This is much more fun than Drury Lane,” Gillian said, almost doubling over with laughter. “Even if it’s completely absurd.”

“With emphasis on the absurd,” Charles said.

Jack, however, felt as if a very large sword had just whacked him on the back of the head, because unless his eyesight had rapidly begun to fail him, one soldier looked very familiar.

“Goodness,” Gillian said. “I think that soldier standing by the proscenium is a female.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping they were deceiving him. That hope was dashed when he cracked his eyelids open again.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, barely able to choke out the words.

Both Gillian and Charles looked at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Charles looked back at the stage. “Good God, is that Miss Kincaid?”

“It most certainly is,” Jack ground out.

Gillian leaned forward to get a better look. “That’s Lia? Well, I must say she looks very dashing in that outfit. Don’t you think so, Charles?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he replied in a faint voice.

Jack stared until he thought his eyes would pop out of his head. Lia’s costume was scandalously revealing. The form-fitting tunic revealed the lovely swell of her bosom, before nipping in to showcase her trim waist. It barely reached midthigh, which meant her shapely legs, clad in breeches that unfortunately fit her snuggly, were on full display.

The only saving grace was that she was not front and center on the stage. Because it was a crowded scene with frenetic activity, her identity as a woman might go unnoticed. Jack clutched at that faint hope as if it were a rope tossed to a drowning man.

“You didn’t tell me she was playing a breeches role,” Charles said, his consternation clear. It wasn’t uncommon for certain actresses to don breeches and play a male part, but those roles were notorious for attracting all sorts of salacious attention from male audience members.

“Because I didn’t know,” Jack said. “That blasted girl doesn’t tell me anything anymore.”

Gillian shot him an irritated look. “I shouldn’t wonder, if you speak to her in that tone of voice.”

Charles shook his head. “Under the circumstances, Jack’s dismay is quite understandable, my love. This sort of thing won’t help Miss Kincaid’s reputation at all.”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why. I wear breeches myself on occasion.”

Her husband stared at her in disbelief. “Only in the country when riding, and very discreetly. You certainly don’t go parading around in front of half of London.”

Lia had retreated and was now partially concealed by the proscenium. Jack couldn’t understand why she was in the scene at all because she didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.

“This theater is not half of London,” Gillian pointed out. “Besides, she’s entirely covered, so I don’t see what you and Jack are fussing about.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Charles said in a long-suffering tone.

He alluded to his wife’s unconventional upbringing in Sicily and her sometimes equally unconventional behavior. But unlike Lia, Gillian’s powerful relatives could and did protect her from both malicious gossip and ill-intentioned men.

Lia’s family didn’t even care to try.

“I’m not sure anyone’s yet noticed that this particular soldier is a woman,” Charles said, craning forward to peruse the audience. “With a little luck—ah, she’s disappeared backstage.”

“Thank God,” Jack muttered. He and his friend exchanged a relieved glance. “I think we dodged a pistol ball on that one.”

“Look! There she is again,” Gillian said. “Now what is she doing?”

Appalled, Jack saw that Lia had quickly reappeared, accompanied by one of the other soldiers. They carried a large piece of fabric to the front of the stage and unrolled it.

“That’s called a scroll,” Charles said. “It details the narrative that can’t be explained by the recitations or songs.” He sounded like someone was strangling him.

Jack understood exactly how he felt. Everyone in the pit was now discovering that one of the soldiers was indeed a woman, and a very comely one at that. They were reacting as he’d expected, with a rising tide of loud, ribald comments, a few of which he could make out over the din.

“That’s odd,” Gillian said. “Why don’t they just act it out or present it in a speech, like a Greek chorus?”

“This is how theaters like the Pan get around the legal restrictions on spoken drama,” Charles said.

“You two are missing the point,” Jack growled. “Lia is now front and center in a breeches role, and every damn rake in this blasted theater has taken note of it.”

Three Weeks With a Princess

Lia Kincaid, illegitimate daughter of the Duke of York, comes from a long line of notorious women. Raised by her grandmother, formerly mistress to the late Marquess of Lendale, she has little hope of a respectable marriage. But the new marquess, her childhood friend, Jack Easton, would make a very desirable protector…if he weren’t too honorable to take her to bed.

It’s bad enough being saddled with a title he never desired. Now Jack must resist the beautiful woman he desires far too much. Duty calls, and he is duty-bound to choose a wealthy bride. But then Lia makes another outrageous suggestion: asking Jack to devise some tests to find her the perfect paramour. Tests that involve flirting, kissing, and other pleasurable pursuits. Tests that, in a matter of weeks, could transform friendship into the ton’s greatest scandal, igniting a passion even duty can’t deny…

Meet Vanessa Kelly

Vanessa Kelly is a bestselling, award-winning author who was named by Booklist, the review journal of the American Library Association, as one of the “New Stars of Historical Romance.” Her Regency-set historical romances have been nominated for awards in a number of contests, and her second book, Sex and The Single Earl, won the prestigious Maggie Medallion. My Fair Princess, book 1 in Vanessa’s current Improper Princesses Series, was named a Goodreads Romance of the Month and is a USA Today Bestseller.

Website ♦ Facebook

Links to Three Weeks With a Princess

Amazon ♦ B & N ♦ iTunes ♦ Kobo ♦ The Book Depository

English Sea Captain Creates An International Incident!

By Aunt Augusta

On June 24, 2017

In Teatime Tattler

Lord William Bentinck, pictured here as Captain in a portrait painted by George Romney. William Bentinck was ambassador to the Kingdom of Two Naples 1812-1816

Despatches from Palermo (Part 1)
by Lord William Bentinck, English Ambassador to the Kingdom of Two Naples

My dear Lord Chamberlain,
I enclose this letter to you privately, so it will not appear in official correspondence.

It is a season for political misjudgements as I know you will be quick to remind me, but if this matter escalates, I would rather you hear about early and directly from me.

As you know, Sicily recently welcomed the arrival of a new envoy, Sheik Selim Omar, a cousin to the Ottoman emperor. He is keen to know, as we all are, when this bloody war with France will be over.

Last week I agreed to sponsor a party at the request of his Majesty the King of Naples and the University of Palermo and invite the Ottoman envoy as our guest.

It seemed an ideal opportunity to warm relationships between our three nations.

The party was the idea of one of our citizens, a Professor Jonas Fenton from Cambridge who, along with Professor Giovanni Mazzara from the university here in Palermo wanted to stage a tableaux vivants to show off some Greek and Roman history.

I didn’t see the harm in it, so I agreed.

The two young ladies involved in the tableaux were Jonas Fenton’s English nieces – quite unusual beauties too.

Miss Sophia Green is a raven haired beauty, part-Spanish I was told, and apparently a first rate antiquities student. The other girl, Laura Cappleman is a perfect flower of England, fair hair and fair complexion.

As you may remember from other correspondence, I have cultivated the acquaintance of a young Englishman, Captain Christopher Hardacre who owns a schooner called the Calliope based out of Palermo.

He’s always been a bit of a hot head, but never fails to come back with some interesting intelligence about the Barbary Coast pirates which I have passed on to the Admiralty.

Today, I had to suffer two hours of bluster and threats from the Emir because Hardacre had insulted the envoy in his own language right in front of the tableaux.

You can be assured I called Hardacre to account for his actions and man had the audacity to refuse to apologise either to me or to Sheik Selim Omar. He claims the man had grievously insulted the young ladies but refuses to tell me exactly what was said.

For what information might be of use, Hardacre tells me that there is to be a gathering of Barbary pirates in Tunisia before the end of summer. His source tells him they are to met with a wealthy patron.

You’ll not be surprised to learn that Hardacre thinks Selim Omar is the man they are waiting for but he offers no proof.

I’ll write when I have more news,

William

Excerpt

“I had an official complaint this morning from the Ottoman envoy over your behavior at the reception.”

Kit allowed his contempt to show. “And he was so overcome by my rudeness it took him three days to lodge his complaint? The man’s an arse.”

“He might be an arse, but he’s close to his cousin, who, need I remind you, is the Sultan of the entire bloody Ottoman Empire! If Turkey switches sides to France, once more, then we’re really screwed.”

While Bentinck raged, he raised his eyes to stare at the portrait of the Prince Regent hung on the wall behind the desk. Kit had weathered greater storms than this one. And like the ones he’d sailed in the Atlantic, this, too, would blow itself out. It did with a long, put-upon sigh.

“Pour us some of that sherry you brought me back from Spain, and tell me the news from the African coast.”

Kit bit back another smart retort, swallowed his indignation and poured the amber liquid into two dainty twist-stemmed glasses.

“It’s been quiet.”

“That would suit us all.” Bentinck raised his glass and saluted Kit. “We’re bloody tired of this war with Napoleon. At least our navy can concentrate fighting the Frenchies instead of fighting a war on two fronts with those Barbary pirates nipping at our heels.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not going to stay quiet for long. My contact tells me Kaddouri has a powerful and influential ally who has helped finance a stronghold on the Tunisian coast.”

“Ah yes, Kaddouri. You never did explain your particular obsession with that man.” Bentinck waited for a justification Kit knew he would never give. His reasons were his own – as was the vengeance he planned. After a moment of silence, Bentinck tried a different question.

“Where on the Tunisian coast?”

Kit shook his head and lied. “That I’ve yet to determine. The Calliope will be in the area again in a few weeks. If we see anything, we’ll let you know.”

Bentinck’s look was unwavering; he seemed to know he was not being told the truth. But with no other explanation forthcoming, the ambassador picked up his pen and waved at the mounds of correspondence on his table. “Well then, if that’s all you have to report, then go. I have work to do. Stay out of trouble and don’t harass His Majesty’s foreign guests.”

That was just a dig too far.

“I don’t trust Selim Omar and I suggest you don’t either.”

Bentinck set the quill back into its holder. “Why? Because you thought he and his party were rude to Jonas Fenton’s nieces? I never saw you as a gallant.”

“The Ottomans ravage the coastlines of Europe, plunder villages, put men in chains, and work them to death. The depraved savagery you hear of is nothing until you’ve witnessed it yourself. Consider yourself lucky you and your good lady wife are childless, for what they do to daughters—”

Bentinck rose to his feet.

“—You’ve made your feelings amply clear on the matter, but unless you have something His Majesty’s government can act upon, keep your opinions to yourself. Stay out of the man’s way if he bothers you so much.”

Blurb

When Laura’s reputation is threatened by a scandal, Sophia suggests weathering the storm in Sicily with their elderly uncle, a prominent archaeologist.

Initially disdainful of the captain’s devil-may-care attitude, Sophia can’t deny a growing attraction. And Kit begins to see in her a woman who could help him forget the horrors of his past.

Pre-orders

Captive of the Corsairs is available to pre-order for 99c on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0721NSPJ6