Because history is fun and love is worth working for

Tag: Bluestocking Belles Page 3 of 9

An unexpected death of a fine man raises eyebrows and questions!

It has come to this editor of this newspaper’s attention that the young Mr. Ingleby, a clergyman who promised to be such a patron of all that is good and Christian in Hertfordshire society, has died.

Mr. Ingleby, a young graduate of Oxbridge, who had lately taken orders, came to Hertford to temporarily stand in at the pulpit for Mr. Greene, who was called away to attend the bedside of a sick relative. From all accounts, Mr. Ingleby’s goodwill toward others and charming manners did him good stead with his neighbours, and he proved to be a popular dinner companion amongst the parishioners.

But alas, trouble has befallen the town of Hertford, for at the very day of a local baking competition, Mr. Ingleby had no sooner bit into a baked tart produced by Mrs. Greene, the wife of the former reverend, than did he suffer choking pains and collapsed, never to rise again. Even worse, the money raised by the competition to support the repairs for the church roof, has disappeared.

With a theft, a death, and eight bakers suspected of having done away with the charming Mr. Ingleby, who can say if this was simply a culinary accident or murder? Rumour has it that the young clergyman was kind and generous toward his neighbours, but consistently spoke ill of his hostesses, Mrs. Greene and her niece, Miss Poppy Morton. Could these two women have decided to give the gossiping Mr. Ingleby a taste of his own medicine?

Should any readers have information which may provide useful in this investigation, please write to the editor or speak with Constable Henry Dyngley.

Title of book: The Poisoned Clergyman
Book blurb: Poppy adores Constable Dyngley, but he is engaged. When his fiancée hires Poppy to clear her name, can Poppy put her jealousy aside?
Welcome to book two in the exciting new series The Perfect Poison Murders from bestselling author E.L. Johnson!

When Poppy’s uncle is called away, in his place arrives Mr. Ingleby, a pretentious clergyman with a passion for pies, a penchant for puddings, and a distaste for poor and sick parishioners. It’s not long before Poppy wishes he was gone, especially when she learns he has been gossiping to the neighborhood about the humble fare served by her and her aunt.
But when the tart-loving clergyman dies at a local baking competition, it is clear that Mr. Ingleby has been poisoned by one of the bakers present. But who?

Poppy and her favorite constable, Henry Dyngley, must work together to find the poisoner among the bakers. But her romantic hopes for their future are dashed when he introduces her to his fiancee, who begs for Poppy’s help to clear her name as a murder suspect.

Can Poppy and Dyngley find the true poisoner, or will the murderous baker pull off a sweet crime? Can Poppy overlook her jealousy to save Dyngley’s fiancée, at the risk of losing the man she adores? It is a bittersweet feeling to know you may do the right thing, only for someone else to reap the benefit.

Find out in a new historical mystery from bestselling author E.L. Johnson. This is the second in the Perfect Poison series, starring Poppy Morton and Constable Henry Dyngley. 

Author bio:
E. L. Johnson writes historical mysteries. A Boston native, she gave up clam chowder and lobster rolls for tea and scones when she moved across the pond to London, where she studied medieval magic at UCL and medieval remedies at Birkbeck College. Now based in Hertfordshire, she is a member of the Hertford Writers’ Circle and the founder of the London Seasonal Book Club.

On a mission…

Abigail Danvers watched the dancing with a frown. On a mission to find any sort of possible gossip for the Teatime Tattler, she had become frustrated that time to find anything newsworthy was passing her by. But that was only the start of the problem. Abigail had begun to wonder if her life wasn’t also becoming meaningless. An anonymous reporter for Mr. Clemens wasn’t going to provide her with a husband and children to fill her home.

“Stop scowling, sister, or you’ll scare away any gentleman who even remotely has the thought of asking you to dance,” Prudence whispered in her ear. “Who are you watching, anyway?”

Her attention on a couple only caused her displeasure to deepen. “Sophie Templeton with the Earl of Wilmott,” she said with clenched teeth. “She’s younger than I am and it looks as though those two will be engaged by Christmas if I read all the signs right.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Prudence asked.

“Just another titled gentleman who will be off the market. I thought by coming here to the country we might find husbands of our own or at the very least something noteworthy to send to Clemens.” Abigail shook her head to clear her melancholy mood.

“Maybe it’s time to start looking out for ourselves instead and not be so determined to provide Mr. Clemens with the latest gossip,” Prudence replied with a small smile. “I say we wish Miss Templeton and her earl the very best and start looking out for our own interests instead.”

“Perhaps you’re right, sister,” Abigail proclaimed.

She looked once again at the couple and nodded. They looked so happy gliding across the dance floor to a waltz and Abigail could only wish to find her own happiness someday, too. As two gentlemen began to head toward her and her sister, Abigail smiled. Clemens could find his own gossip to report in his morning rag. She had a new quest in mind and this could be the start of her own happily-ever-after!


This is a short original piece by Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing. It refers to Sherry’s latest characters in her novelette, A Mistletoe Kiss in the Belles’ Christmas boxset Belles & Beaux. Read on for an excerpt from Sherry’s story and happy holidays, dearest readers!

Excerpt:

She began playing again. One tune after another until she grew bored with the keyboard. What difference did it make how well she played if Spencer wasn’t in the room to hear her? As if she conjured the man up with her thoughts, the men returned to the parlor causing Sophie to lose her breath when Spencer came to stand by her chair.

“I am sorry to cut our evening short, but I must return home. In my eagerness to visit with your family, I completely forgot that I had agreed to dinner with my parents,” Spencer stated looking a bit embarrassed. “I’ll have some explaining to do.”

“Let me get your coat and hat. I’ll inform a lad to bring your horses out to the front.”

She left the room, delivered her message to one of the staff, and then went to a closet to retrieve Spencer, and Lord Charville’s things. Taking hold of Spencer’s jacket, she held the fabric up to her nose and inhaled while the heavenly smell of spice filled her senses. She heard footsteps coming closer to the foyer and didn’t want to be found out, so she quickly retrieved the other coat and their hats.

Spencer came into view, took Evan’s things and handed them to the man who returned to the parlor to say his farewells.

His hand brushed hers when he reached for his coat. “Will you walk me out, Sophie?”

Her heart would never be able to stand being this close to him, but she would take the chance she might survive their brief moment of privacy. She took her own redingote from the closet but before she could slip her hands in the sleeves, Spencer took the garment from her.

“Allow me…”

He went behind her to assist her with putting on the garment, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders caused her to tremble. He then went to open the door giving her the opportunity to bow out if she felt so inclined. Nothing could be farther from her thoughts.

The night was cold, and Sophie could see her breath in the air as she exhaled. The clip clop of horses was getting closer causing her to realize that he would be leaving her soon. Plus, Lord Charville would be exiting the house at any moment. She didn’t have much time!

“Spencer… I—”

He took her hand this time bringing it to his lips. “Ah… there it is…”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“The sound of my given name passing your lips as though you are happy to be alone with me,” he answered tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. He began walking toward the road. “I have waited years to hear such a sound, if I am being perfectly honest.”

“You have?” she gasped out.

“Yes, I have. It’s been torture waiting for you to grow up,” he said caressing her hand.

She halted their progress to the road not believing he was speaking the truth. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

“Yes.” A simple answer with so many possibilities.

“Why me?” Her eyes widened when she realized she had spoken the words aloud.

He took his hands to caress her cheeks. Leaning down, he stared into her eyes. “Because you were worth waiting for, my dear.”

She closed her eyes hoping for her first kiss. But she was to be disappointed when the front door opened, and they broke apart.


Belles & Beaux: A Bluestocking Belles Collection
Available Now!

Just in time for Christmas 2022 comes this boxed set of eight charming stories of love, family, and miracles. Each Belle has contributed a tale set in the festive season–one just long enough to fit in between tasks at this busy time of the year. The tales are unrelated, except by the festive season.

Some have been written for this collection, some are made-to-order stories never before published, some have been used as fan giveaways. All are delightful.

Belle Sherry Ewing’s A Mistletoe Kiss Blurb:

All she wants for Christmas is a mistletoe kiss…

Miss Sophie Templeton has been waiting a lifetime for the one man who owns her heart, but he seems to court a different woman every Season. As Christmas approaches, Sophie’s one wish is a kiss from him beneath the mistletoe.

Spencer, Earl of Wilmott has quietly watched Sophie through the years, holding her in his heart, and biding his time until he can offer for her. He appeases his parents by being seen with a variety of eligible women. But Sophie is grown up now, and he must put aside his worries that she’ll find him too old and make his offer.

One chance encounter, one dance in which he all but claims her; can Spencer convince Sophie to make this a Christmas romance that will last a lifetime?

So order your copy now for the opportunity to pour the drink of your choice, find a favourite chair, and step into one of our worlds: https://books2read.com/BellesBeaux

About the author:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. An award-winning and bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

 

Find Sherry at these social media links:

Website & Books: www.SherryEwing.com
Bluestocking Belles: http://bluestockingbelles.net/
Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/33xwYhE
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/sherry-ewing
Facebook: https://www.Facebook.com/SherryEwingAuthor
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomsherry_ewing
Instagram: https://instagram.com/sherry.ewing
Pinterest: http://www.Pinterest.com/SherryLEwing
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@sherryewingauthor
Tumblr: https://sherryewing.tumblr.com/
Twitter: https://www.Twitter.com/Sherry_Ewing
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/SherryEwingauthor

Sign Me Up!

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2vGrqQM
Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/799623313455472/
Facebook Official Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/356905935241836/

Our great hero weds a widow and promises only companionship?

Dear Reader, 

I have it on best authority from servants in the house of a relative of the bride-to-be that our illustrious Hound of the Cavalry, decorated as he is and a newly minted earl, weds a widow today!  This is such a loss to our many younger ladies who had hoped for a chance to enchant him!

We understand however that he has made promises to his new wife that they shall be forever just friends. Friends?

Does he not deserve more?

The comfort of a loving wife? The joy of children? The certainty that his  line will be continued?

We are astonished that the lady would agree. But then, we’ve also heard that she requested this celibacy herself? What could possibly be her reason? Did she love her first husband so much? Did she promise him abstention? If so, where is her duty and her loyalty to her new husband?

Where is her love for him?

THE LYON’S SHARE by Cerise DeLand

She’d spend every last penny to marry again for security, comfort—or even friendship.

He’d win her wager, possess her, keep her for himself—even if he’d never win her love.

Excerpt, All rights reserved. Copyright Cerise DeLand 2022.

(Their wedding day in London.)

Sydney’s good friend and now his new brother-in-law, Henry, Lord Norbridge, handed him a whisky. “Welcome to the fold. Marlowe women are a unique brood.”

Sidney emptied his glass. Nerves were not a condition in which he usually indulged. “I’m pleased to be among you.”

“Do not say that too loudly.” Henry considered the three men younger than he who stood to one side of the bishop by the piano. “Our other brothers-in-law will have a thing or two to add to buck you up for the challenge.”

“Come now, Henry. You don’t want to frighten me off. I’ve had enough trouble getting this done.”

Henry clinked glasses with him. “Good job, too. However, I understand from my best source that we are still denying how good this union can be.”

Sidney frowned even as his heart swelled with the sight of his bride who stood across the room talking with her four sisters. “Adriana appears happy and …” Blast it. “Resigned to the match.”

“I hope you have plans to hasten her along. She’s been at this mourning business much too long and I dare say, it grows tedious. She needs to buck up.”

“I do agree.” I’d have her forget about Paul and focus her every thought on me.

Across the room, his new wife threw back her head to laugh at some remark of one of her sisters. Sidney vowed one day he’d make her do that whilst talking to him. She was a glory when happy. 

“Give yourself joy in this too, Sidney. You deserve it. Don’t let her cow you into a friendship with no…”

“Benefits? Yes.” He absorbed the delicate beauty of his bride. How tall she was, how elegant, her long fingers and lithe limbs. Her lovely firm breasts. Her troth was his. Her vows. Her honor. But he had yearned for decades for more. Without hope too had he pined. Like a schoolboy. Watching Paul take her hand, help her to mount her horse or a carriage, embracing her in jest or passion. 

His gaze swept down her form, her plump breasts spanning a gown of citron green velvet. She shifted to speak with one of her nieces and one long leg pulled the fabric taut to accentuate her limb. He wanted to run his hands up her leg, her arms, each inch of her. And how long could he wait to have her like that?

Forever, man. You vowed.

He put down his glass on a footman’s tray. “I have plans to draw her to me. But I have promised myself and Dove-Lyon, if she never wishes it, I will not pressure her.”

“A damn lonely way to live your life, my friend. You are Middlethorpe now. You have responsibilities.”

“That I know.”

“And needs.”

His gaze locked on Henry’s. “Never worry about that.”

“But I do. It is not natural what you promise. And I know how you truly regard my sister-in-law.”

He went to dust. “You will never say.”

“No, never. I would not break your trust. But damn it, Sidney, I like you as you are. I don’t want to see you turn bitter because you sold yourself into a bad bargain.”

“I fought one war, Henry. I can fight this one, too.”

“Can you?” His friend shook his head, weary. “It’s one thing to fight a foe with sabers and pistols. This opponent is yourself. Your very nature. Your every des—”

He clamped his hand on Henry’s shoulder. He’d had many women for a night, for the comfort and relief. One lovely French countess he’d kept in Paris last year for a month. “I will be well. I have girded myself with my own forbearance.”

“Which is strong, I do hope.”

Love. “The very stuff of life.” He smiled at his friend. “Forgive me now. I must take her away.” And begin my next campaign. The hardest one of all will be to become her best friend—and remain celibate.

The Lyon’s Share, the story

Adriana, Lady Benton, has many regrets—and one hope. To wed a good man to gain a life to which she is entitled. One free of sorrow, penury and ridicule. Appealing to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Adriana hopes to attract one man who may appreciate her assets. But never need her love.

Colonel Sidney Wolf, once hailed as the ruthless ‘Hound of the Horse Guards’, vows to end Adriana’s hardships. He’s home from the wars and faces the daunting task of filling his father’s role as the Earl of Middlethorpe. Believing only Adriana will do as his helpmate, he strikes a deal with Dove-Lyon that brings him the one woman he admires. The one woman he tells himself he can live with—and never touch.

But the nearness of his funny, charming, beautiful bride drives him mad. Knowing she will never love other than her first husband, can he keep his hands—and his heart to himself?

And if he doesn’t, can she ever forgive him?

Cerise DeLand is the USA Today Bestselling author of romantic fiction starring sassy ladies and the charming men who adore them!

In KU on Amazon:  https://amzn.to/3bc6ri3

 

 

Tell no one! A lady calling upon a gentleman in her nightrail?

I write to you today to tell you of a most outlandish tale I heard. That of the Whiskey King’s daughter. (I dare not say her name.) And that she visited the Duke of M—’s son in her nightrail!

Now I know that seems impossible, but one of her neighbors swears it was she who scampered out of her house toward the duke’s.

Who else could it be? That man has no other girl so bold.

Or I do believe it to be so. What say you of his second child?

***

THE RAVEN’S LAST BET in THE WEDDING WAGER

BUY LINK: 

https://books2read.com/u/3JZQLJ

 

Desperate Sara Fleming decides the only way to escape her father’s plan is to make her newest betrothed a bet he can’t refuse.

Never good at gambling, Harry Seymour bets he can find a better way to win her heart! 

But he better hurry!

 Harry Seymour is home from years of fighting abroad to clean up the mess his roguish brother left upon his untimely death. Worse, his father, the Duke of Meredith, demands Harry honor a deal he made with his best friend to marry the man’s eldest daughter…for money.

Harry, who’s loved Sara Fleming since she was four, has no problem marrying her. He never did, even when she was denied him because she was the Whiskey King’s daughter. But not for money. 

Sara cannot accept the bargain her father made with the duke. She’s already left two men at the altar because she didn’t love either one. And if she can’t wed Harry for love, she’ll marry no one. But she wagers she’ll walk away happy if Harry will do her the favor of ruining her. It’s a bet Harry can’t refuse.

Can he?

Excerpt, All rights reserved. Copyright Cerise DeLand 2022.

        “Listen to me, Sara. I have a plan. It won’t be one either of our fathers likes but it might work.”

She pulled away. Peering into his magnificent eyes clouded her judgement. His green-brown orbs reflected a sadness in the faint lights that matched her own. “Tell me.”

“We announce that we intend to marry others.”

“I’ve already left two men alone before the vicar. Now there’s this gossip in the Gazette—?”

“Forget those other two men. And hang them at the Gazette.”

She put a hand to her hip. “We’ll send them new stories. Marvelous. I dislike your thinking, Harry. Totally. Marry another? Ba! Precisely who did you have in mind?” 

He gave her a look that said he had the right answer. “A man who makes you tingle.”

“Of whom there is no one.” Which is a lie.

“For each woman, there is a man. A perfect match.”

“I’ve not found him in four years. Why now?”

“You will lure him.”

 By some folly, to be sure. “How?”

A wicked gleam lit those iridescent eyes. “With kisses.”

“You expect me to kiss men?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “How else will you discover the right fellow?”

“How else will I go down as a scarlet woman? I’ve climbed enough fences barring me because I am of the dreaded merchant class. Papa’s money might continue to buy me entry, but if I degrade myself further, no one will touch me!”

He tipped up his chin. “You will be discreet. I will help.”

“You’ll bar doors?”

“And divert traffic.”

She scowled at him. “You’ve been away much too long, sir. You think me so brave. I am different from that child who tagged along behind you and tucked frogs in your pants.”

He scoffed. “Remind me. Who came to me night before last in her nightrail?”

”Dressing gown.”

He waved that away. “Exactly my point.”

Exasperated, she huffed. “The fault, dear Harry, is not in our stars, but in myself.”

“I agree.”

Oh, he infuriated her! “I do not know how to kiss.”

“And so you will learn.”

Only one way. She could barely say it. “By doing.”

“Indeed.” He winked. “With me.”

That way lay disaster and hopeless ruin. She’d should return to this party, because this was hopeless. She’d given up wanting him so long ago. Or thought she had. She threw up her hands. “Absurd.”

“Is it?” He took a step toward her, so near she inhaled his scent, imbibed his familiar allure that she could not allow to thrill her. “You said my kiss left you with no…what is the word?”

“You know perfectly well the word.”

“Tickle?”

If only. “Tingle.”

“Well then, my darling.” With one hand he caught her wrist while he swept his other hand around her waist. “Let’s see if this fits the bill.”

“No, stop!” Wonderful. Now she sounded like the village crier. 

“There, there. Don’t be shy. An experiment, eh?” He lifted her hand toward his mouth. “Or shall we call it…” he murmured, as he put her index finger, fully gloved, against the neat cleft in his chin, “…a demonstration? Visible to the naked eye.”

He smiled. Or was that the show of teeth of a predator? A creature who…gloated? 

He caught the point of her glove between his long white incisors. The act of a male bent on taking a bite of her, he tugged. The fabric slid along her finger, silk on silk, a glissade of shivering delight. Her glove glided from her elbow in a silent skim of her nerves. She shivered.

He halted. Glanced up at her, those long dark lashes of his rising to reveal the facets of a Harry she’d never known. A ravenous devil appeared there, one who pulled at another fingertip, starving for more of her until her hand was bare. Nipping her third finger and the next, he sent tremors up her spine. Her mouth fell open as he took her smallest finger, fabric and all, and bathed the whole of it in his hot moist mouth. His tongue served as succor—and as torture. 

She panted as if she’d run a mile. Her gaze glued to his voracious teeth, she dare not look away or lose a second. What he gave, she took. If it was instruction, it was also a revelation. Though she knew not how to interpret his lips to her fingers as lips to lips, she reveled in whatever he’d choose next. 

With a yank of his teeth, he pulled and her glove slid slowly down her arm and fell to the floor. She was bare to the night air, chilled and burning, as he caught her fingers and pressed them to his open mouth. He cupped her elbow, and her wrist was once more his. Bare skin gave him no pause, but encouragement to lift her hand once more. 

He groaned and crushed her torso fully against him. His possession, from her breasts to her hips, left her pulsing. 

He put her palm to his lips and licked the hollow of her hand. She moaned at his luscious homage and her knees gave way. As he caught her up, he bit the heal of her hand. She yelped. He gave a grunt, nigh unto laughter or triumph, she knew not which, then wrapped her arm around his waist. As he sweetly backed her to the wall, his hair fell loose over his brow and he focused on her lips. 

Then he took them.

Cerise DeLand is the USA TODAY Bestselling author of more than 60 historical romances…and a few other bits, too! 

Find her in all these places:

DRAGONBLADE: https://www.dragonbladepublishing.com/cerise-deland/

BOOKBUB here: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cerise-deland

Subscribe to my newsletter: www.cerisedeland.com

Join The Tea Room: https://www.facebook.com/groups/265460994261469/

Follow me on AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/Cerise-DeLand/e/B0089DS2N2/

 

 

 

 

Triumph—or humiliation—for Lady Pandora?

It has come to this author’s attention that the mysterious Miss E—, about whom the most scandalous rumours have been circulating since the beginning of the Season, will be among the guests at Godstone Abbey. What can Lady Westfield—who is usually most discerning when selecting guests for her Christmas houseparty—be about?

Far be it for this author to cast aspersions on a young lady’s eligibility, but Miss E—, despite displaying  a soupçon of breeding on occasion, is not averse to using a turn of phrase which would make even a Cyprian blush, with her extensive catalogue of anatomical terms. Miss E—’s guardian, Sir A—E—, himself notorious for being what can only be described as a committed bachelor, has been decidedly unforthcoming over the circumstances by which the previously-unheard-of young woman became his ward six months ago. Young ladies don’t just spring fully formed from the ground, neither do they fall from the heavens. And, as every accomplished tattler knows, Dear Reader—the less one is willing to disclose about one’s origins, the more there is to be divulged.

What has piqued this author’s interest in particular, is the anticipation of Lady Pandora Osborne’s presence at Godstone. As the year draws to a close, Lady Pandora’s quest to prove herself the premier matchmaker the Ton has ever seen, enters its final act. She has one more match to make, to secure her crown, Godstone Abbey is to provide the backdrop for her finale.

And what a finale it promises to be! For, the intended bridegroom must be none other than the Duke of S—. And, while this author concedes that His Grace is the most eligible bachelor in England, he’s renowned for a degree of discernment that has hitherto rendered him notoriously difficult to catch. Many desperate mamas have tried—and failed—to secure him for their daughters.

Surely Lady Pandora cannot have elevated her ambitions so high as to consider a pairing between Miss E— and His Grace? While this author applauds her ladyship’s ambition, this final hurdle may prove unsurmountable, even for a thoroughbred of Lady Pandora’s tenacity.

If Miss E— is the intended bride, then Lady Pandora’s fate now lies on a knife’s edge. Either glittering triumph, or calamitous downfall awaits her.

A Christmas Wager

After surviving destitution, the orphaned Eleanor Hawkins re-enters society with a new identity, courtesy of her guardian, Sir Arthur Evans. With a penchant for pickpocketing, learned on London’s streets, Eleanor’s out for revenge on a society that abandoned her—especially Montague Lockhart, the man who broke her heart and brought about her downfall.

Lady Pandora Osborne is determined show her matchmaking prowess by securing a match between committed bachelor Montague Lockhart, Duke of Sedgewick, and Sir Arthur Evans’s new ward—an utterly unladylike young woman, whose origins are shrouded in mystery. Where better to achieve her aim than a Christmas houseparty, where mulled wine, mistletoe, and the season of goodwill is enough to tempt even the most miserly lord into love?

A Christmas Wager is part of The Wedding Wager anthology:

The Wedding Wager

Rival matchmakers…unlikely suitors…a Herculean wager!

Lady Pandora Osborne claims she’s the finest matchmaker the Ton has ever seen. When her cousin challenges her to make good on her claim, or lose a precious family heirloom, the terms of the wager are set! Lady Pandora must produce one match each month between the notoriously unmarriageable—spinsters, bluestockings, rakes and fortune-hunters.

This unique collection of tales of unlikely matches and steamy shenanigans in Regency England is released on September 27th, but can be pre-ordered at a discount here:

https://books2read.com/u/mdDpyX

Extract from A Christmas Wager

Still gazing at the chandelier, she walked forward, then collided with a solid wall of muscle.

“Pardon me,” a deep voice said, in a tone which made the apology sound like an insult.

Eleanor froze.

The arrogance in his tone was matched by the contempt in his eyes—clear blue eyes in a savagely handsome face, surrounded by a mane of thick black hair.

No…

He must be a figment of her imagination, made manifest by years of despair.

She closed her eyes, but though it brought about blessed darkness, the familiar scent invaded her nostrils—the scent which she’d once found so comforting, but now associated with betrayal.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there—tall, broad-shouldered, domineering.

And, most certainly—him.

“Oh!” Lady Westfield cried, breaking the spell. “Miss Evans, may I introduce Montague Lockhart—Duke of Sedgewick.” She turned to him. “Your Grace—this is Miss Evans.”

His attention, which had been focused on Lady Westfield, now turned to Eleanor, and she caught her breath, as her heart stuttered in her chest.

But he showed no sign of recognition. Instead, he clicked his heels together and gave the slightest of inclinations with his head.

“A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Then he turned his back, and walked away.

Bio & Socials

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Emily Royal is a mathematics geek who grew up in Sussex, England and has always had a passion for romance and bad boy heroes in need of redemption. She now lives in rural Scotland with her husband, two daughters and a menagerie of pets including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor.

Website: http://www.emroyal.com/

Newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/e5806720bfe0/emilyroyalauthor

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/eroyalauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/eroyalauthor

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/emily-royal

Page 3 of 9

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén