Tag: New Release Page 3 of 7

A Scandalous Incident in Drury Lane!

On November 30, 2022

In gossip, Guest author, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

A certain lonely lord was seen leaving Drury Lane early – entirely missing the final act of Miss Ryan’s divine Duchess of Malfi. He’s seen her play before, no doubt. It’s said he’s present in his brother’s box for every show so what dreadful occurrence might interrupt such dedication? The gentleman in question is a known connoisseur of theatre – and actresses. He left early, stepped into a hack with a footman-type, and wasn’t seen again that evening. One can only pity the actress concerned – because rumour has it that something scandalous occurred last night at Carlton House…

Whatever has happened, the incident appears serious. The Prime Minister could not be reached this morning. It’s said he’s unwell, though lights burned late in Westminster last night. The matter is top secret, but it’s certain at least one known rake was seen leaving the Regent’s private rooms at an unearthly hour – and the Prime Minister’s private secretary was spotted using the tradesman’s entrance twice. One doesn’t like to spread gossip regarding the higher echelons of government, but one can hardly help it in this case. Only one other thing seems certain – this secret incident doesn’t seem to involve any ladies, which is both a comfort to society, and a disappointment to this writer. If all that’s at risk is the reputation of a certain London actress, our debutantes may sleep soundly in Mayfair.

About the Book: The Case of the Black Diamond (Part I)

AVAILABLE ON LIMITED RELEASE: https://amzn.to/3AU941L

The Case of the Black Diamond Part I
Nicknamed ‘the lonely lord’, Alexander Lindsey has spent a decade spying for the King and believes himself immune to surprises – until he meets Miss Ryan. Claire Ryan doesn’t swoon, and doesn’t blush – but when the Regent’s jewel is stolen, Lord Lindsey turns up at The Soho Club, asking questions. Soon, Claire and Alexander are investigating each other.

This is the first of a five part series. Part II is already available.

Release Date: 22 November 2022

Excerpt from The Case of the Black Diamond, by Clyve Rose:

Outside The Soho Club, dark clouds gathered in the afternoon sky. The air thickened, closely heavy in the prelude to a drenching. Claire shivered at the change in temperature, the tensing of mood. She sipped her coffee, watching Xander Lindsey, watching her. His gaze seemed focused rather closely on the rim of her cup, specifically where the fine china met her lips.

She sipped her brew again. “If you’re intent on seduction, you should know I am not my sister.”

His gaze lifted to her face, steady, focused, powerfully intent. “I have never seduced your sister. I am no rake, Claire.” His voice remained sure, strong, and deeply tempting.

“So it’s a ruse?” She guessed.

He inclined his head, his “mmmm,” resonating low in his throat, like a throb. “We can’t all mask our clandestine activities with scent.” His tone turned husky, intensity sharpening like a honed blade.

“I am not in the habit of short term liaisons,” Claire spoke carefully. “I am not in the habit of being seduced, either.”

“There’s a remedy for that,” he said quietly, suggestively. Did his voice deepen further? How deep does he—stop it.

As though he’d heard her, Xander set down his cup. He walked slowly towards her, the way one might approach a rare and dangerous object.

“Tell me, Claire Ryan, are you armed?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I should like to kiss you. If I halt here, you may blade my heart open instead,” he stopped halfway across the chequered floor, arms by his sides like a supplicant. A supplicant with warm brown eyes, and a devastating dimple.

Claire affected a study of the distance between them, lifted her head, locking her gaze to his.

“Three steps back gives you a sporting chance, Xander Lindsey.”

“Indeed?” The resonance from his baritone rippled through her. Nevertheless, he held his ground and Claire lifted a brow, gaze travelling brazenly over his planed face. He stared right back, smiling, offering that dimple where she lingered before studying the cleft in his chin, his corded neck muscles, those powerful shoulders of defined shape. Her gaze dropped lower, taking in his broad torso, narrow waist, and the shapely front of his trousers. She smiled then, wide and joyous, walking slowly towards him, slower than ever, as though she may never reach him, never touch him. Time stretched out, thinning, heating, bringing her closer to the heft of breath beneath flesh, her pulse beating faster with each step until her skin throbbed with the thought of his lips beneath hers, his surrender within her body.

“Something to savour,” she murmured, watching his answering smile. His tongue darted out, licking his lips and she let out a small laugh, not blinking at all. Not missing a moment of Xander Lindsey standing before her, arms at his sides, gaze locked on hers with an impulse she felt in every nerve and muscle. Claire touched his cheek, stroking him gently before leaning forward, lips positioned inches from his. Reaching up, she slipped her other hand beneath his jacket, sliding her palm over his shirt, feeling his breath shorten, his weight shift…until she located his hidden jacket seam. Keeping her gaze on his, she extracted his pistol as smoothly as possible, stroking the barrel along firm muscle as she withdrew. She kept his barrel there, smoothing it lightly back and forth against his shirt, teasing him with danger, with steel, with her unbroken gaze.

“Is it cocked, my lord?”

Author Bio: Clyve Rose is an award-winning author of historical fiction in Australia and the US. She has been writing historical romance for the best part of two decades, and has three bestsellers to her credit. She believes that love is the highest and strongest force known in the world, and that it only manifests when we are our best and truest selves. She’ll continue writing about love in all its various, glorious forms, and that one day her epitaph will read Just one more read-through.

A Meeting in a Folly…is a folly?

By Cerise DeLand

On November 9, 2022

In gossip, Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Dearest Reader,

It is not unusual to hear whisperings from the countryside, but there often is no way to verify the veracity of such rumors. Woodfield Park has long been the source of much speculation with the Earl of Woodfield’s years of isolation and his failing heart, but with the unexpected death of his eldest son, the gossip mongers have been ripe with conjecture. It does leave one wondering why Lord Walford was out in the woods hunting off season and how such a careless accident could possibly have occurred. But, as I’ve pointed out, there has been no way to confirm goings-on so far from town. Until now.

As luck would have it, a well-known fully-respectable artist acquaintance of mine has found himself in the surprising position of witness to something that perhaps might at least explain more recent events. While I cannot disclose his name—as he was somewhere he oughtn’t have been, and despite the fact that his reasons are entirely harmless, he did not seek permission first, so his transgression might be considered trespassing—I can personally vouch for his integrity.

The artist was casually sketching the folly at Woodfield Park when the sound of hooves drew his attention. At the time he did not recognize the lovely woman in green, but with subsequent happenings, one must surmise that it was the Woodfield neighbor, Miss Baring, only daughter of Baron Stratton. He, of course, thought nothing of it and continued with his sketching until his attention was once again drawn to the folly as another horse and rider approached. He had heard rumors that the remaining son, Mr. Nicholas Sinclair, now the new Viscount Walford and only heir to the Woodfield estate, had returned from the battlefield, and felt certain he was the man standing at the entrance of the folly.

Now, the artist was unwilling to posit what he thought their meeting was about, but he did note they were alone together for quite a length of time and, as they left, they appeared inordinately affectionate even from his distance from the other side of the lake. Considering the hasty marriage ceremony the next day, it is difficult not to jump to conclusions. However juicy a tidbit that might be, it is not what leaves this writer wondering what is afoot at Woodfield Park. For although the Woodfield servants are an unusually tight-lipped ensemble, there is one who is more than happy to tell others what she knows. Apparently, the tension is so thick in the manor you could cut it with a butter knife. And Lord Walford, a man so anxious to claim his wife he appears to have anticipated the marriage bed, is keeping his days busy on the estate and spends each night in the study. Alone. If indeed this was a marriage born of passion, what could possibly be keeping the newlyweds apart?

Was the dalliance at the folly, indeed true folly?

*****

Years separated them. The past keeps them apart. Can a lifetime of loving bring them together again?

Catherine Baring has chased her brother Laurence, and the neighboring Sinclair boys, through childhood into adulthood. She adores all three, but it is the younger Sinclair, Nicholas, who owns her heart. When Nicholas leaves to join the fight against Napoleon, she vows she will wait for him. However, four years is a long time and circumstances change. Faced with the threat of a scandal that will lead to penury and, worse, possible criminal charges, Catherine agrees to do the only thing that might deflect attention from their families—marry the elder Sinclair, Daniel.

Daniel is killed before the two are wed, and Nicholas is summoned from the battlefield to assume the role as heir to Woodfield Park. Disillusioned by the atrocities committed on the continent, his brother’s death is another blow. He clings to thoughts of Catherine, certain that in her arms he will find the solace he craves.

Instead, Nicholas finds betrayal and deceit. Catherine claims to love Nicholas, but she refuses to repent for the betrothal to his brother. Nicholas buries his conflicting feelings, and himself, in the neglected affairs of the estate. But a lifetime of loving is hard to set aside, and when he discovers a series of letters that reveal the truth behind the traitorous engagement, he’s not sure he can.

As they struggle with loss and longing, one thing becomes clear to both Nicholas and Catherine. Only in confronting the past can they hope to build new dreams for the future.

Available on Amazon for $0.99, or read for free in KU: https://amzn.to/3o1qZNd

And, for the curious, at the folly…

Excerpt:

She dismounted, leaving Star to graze. There was no need to tie the horse, as it would not leave. This was familiar territory to the mare, and she always waited patiently.

There was no sign of Nicholas. Well, that in and of itself was telling, was it not? If he did not come today, then he had truly severed her from his life. She could not blame him one whit. No, she could not fault him at all. Yet she would be forever tormented by his rejection, rightful or not.

She drifted up the steps of the folly, caressing the flower petals as she went. They were vibrant velvet, four years of growth obscuring the pillars with their beauty. She opened the oversized wooden door and entered the vast chamber. Nicholas had not wanted to break up the majestic interior.

Its lushness still made her happy. Nicholas had adhered to the barren beauty of classical structures but had furnished it like a Turkish palace—plush carpets, comfortable settees, and extra wide chaise lounges abounded. Sheets of sheer curtains billowed in the breeze that flowed freely through the upper arches. The tall main windows remained fast against the weather but he’d cleverly included upper arcs of open space, unimpeded by glass. He wanted the building to remain fresh at all times. Fresh as their new found love. She smiled at the memory of his declaration.

“Catherine.”

Not a declaration but a prayer. His voice was reverent. Did she imagine it? She turned. He had come, his silhouette tall against the morning sun, his face hidden in the shadow.

She bit her lip to stop the trembling.

He entered, his dark shape transforming into defined features much as her furniture had done in the early light. His eyes were indigo with emotion. Was he angry? Forgiving? Full of love? No, he was tense. So, not here to grant her absolution.

“Nicholas,” she started, not quite sure what she could say to make him understand. No words came.

In a few quick strides, he was with her, taking her into his arms, and seizing her mouth with his. She surrendered easily, relishing his attack. Oh, how she had dreamed of this. The reunion of her fantasies. He was not gentle and she was glad of it. He was angry. He was needy. So was she. She met his every volley, craving this as much as he did.

He shuffled with her backward until her legs hit furniture, and they buckled upon a chaise. His weight was a comfort, the hardness pressing against her stomach a joyous relief. She wanted to shout in triumph. He wanted her. He loved her. He must, must have forgiven her! Her kisses became feverish as she pushed at his open shirt, her hands caressing his warm chest. She whimpered. For so long, she’d imagined touching him again.

“Catherine,” he murmured, grabbing her hand and pressing it to his heart. “My Catherine, my love.” He raised her hand and kissed it with such aching veneration, tears blurred her vision.

“How I have yearned to be with you again. How memories of you have sustained me through endless nights.” His eyes darkened further. “Picturing you here at the folly kept me going. Knowing that you had yet to know the pleasure of our joining ensured I did not capitulate in battle. I knew I must come home to you. That you waited for me. To fulfill my promise of loving you.” He rested against her neck, gently nuzzling.

Oh yes, she’d waited. She’d longed. She had spent each night lighting a candle and praying for him. That he come home safely. That he come home to her. That, after his worldly experience, she would still be enough.

How many nights had she dreamt of this? She ran her hand through his hair, relishing the familiar feel of the thick strands, of his breath on her neck, of the spicy scent of him. The last thing she wanted was to shatter the moment, but she needed to know for sure, needed to hear the words. “You forgive me?” she asked quietly, going still, hope and fear mingling together.

He raised his head and stared at her. His brow furrowed and her heart skipped a beat. “Forgive you, my love? There is nothing to forgive. I don’t fully understand what happened, but I know if there is blame it rests entirely upon his shoulders.” He kissed her forehead and then pulled back again, locking gazes. “His actions are not yours. I do not forgive you because there is nothing to forgive.”

“I didn’t think you would understand. I love you so. I never stopped even when…” Her voice caught in her throat. No words could express her relief, her joy. So, instead, she pulled his head down and lost herself in a kiss that left her panting with need.

She touched his face, tracing his sharp cheekbone down to the slight cleft in his chin, not knowing what to ask.

“Nicholas? I want…” She wanted more of him. She wanted all of him.

“Shhh, my love, I know. I need more too. We’ve waited so long.”

***

LOVE DENIED is the first book in the HONORABLE INTENTIONS series by Rose Phillips. You can find her at various places in the cyber universe including:

https://rosephillipsrambles.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/RosePhillipsAuthor

https://www.amazon.com/Rose-Phillips

Rose Phillips

Must we speak ill of a gentleman returned from the wars? Never!

By Cerise DeLand

On November 2, 2022

In Guest author, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

Dear readers,

No one likes to speak ill of a gentleman returned from the wars.

We must pay our respects to that country baronet who has returned as gallantly as any ancient knight to take on his father’s title.

And surely all will… if Sir M. is ever seen at any social function, here or in the country, at all.

Apparently the gentleman is of good nature apart from the occasional raising of his voice. He has not inherited the icy sharp tongue of his mother, that Miss H. our readers may still remember for her public and very cutting rejection of her most highly-placed suitor.

Indeed, if the rustic reports are true, Sir M. is appropriately and publicly entertaining a young lady at his estate right now. And whether she is teaching him to ride again after the loss of his leg, or whether she is, as reported, a distant relative making him a gift of a biddable horse, surely the gentleman will be of better temper once he is astride again.

In this warm summer weather, it is only reasonable to venture abroad for fresher air, and if anyone happens upon a party with Sir M., they may confirm for themselves that his tendency to take off his coat in company is his only real fault.

There is nothing to the speculation that Sir M. has given shelter to a French spy, or that he has grown dissolute in his rural isolation. The gentleman remains gallant to anyone ladylike, and is far too clever to risk his reputation on anyone not like a lady.

* * *

Not Like a Lady

Letty’s lost everything but one friend, and her horse.

She desperately needs to convince the fierce baronet to buy any horse but hers.

Now she’s causing her own problems, because she can’t stop touching the man she wanted to hate.

The only way Sir Michael Grantley knows how to be the baronet of Roseford is to do what his father did. But he’s not his father; he’s a salty ex-sailor who lost half a leg in the war with a far worse temper. Struggling to be the new baronet, he’s desperate to get outdoors again – but for that he needs a biddable horse he can ride. He’s not prepared for the horse to come with a woman who wants her own life… and who decides that the key to her future is helping him ride again.

Letty has never been anything even close to a lady. Sir Michael imagines that the lady of Roseford Manor will be like his mother: calm and elegant. Neither of them can resist the one person they ought to refuse.

A sensual, engrossing, enchanting romance between two people who can’t keep their hands off one another.

Amazon: https://geni.us/notlikealady

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1610132457

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/not-like-a-lady-1

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Judith_Lynne_Not_Like_a_Lady?id=2BhYEAAAQBAJ

All buy links: https://find.judithlynne.com/950hat9ifa

EXCERPT:

“It’s hopeless.”

Michael swung himself down from the ropes using the handrails, and had only taken one crutch from Letty’s waiting hands to swing only a step or two away and then collapse on the cool grass.

Letty dropped his coat on his stomach quite unceremoniously, then plopped herself down on the grass next to him.

“Hopeless might be too strong a word,” she said but her dubious tone said that on the other hand, it might not.

Maggie had spent at least two hours walking in circles.

Michael’s thighs were aching and his frustrations had peaked at least twenty minutes ago. “Hopeless.”

Letty was watching Maggie crop placidly at the grass. Of all of them, she had to admit, Maggie looked the least exhausted. She had an infinite supply of patience, that horse. If the human wanted to walk around in circles forever, then by all that was holy, she would walk around in circles forever.

“I think we have to take off the stirrup.”

“Oh, do you?”

Letty looked down at Michael’s sweating, angry face. “I have not seen you sarcastic before, sir.”

“Does it not increase my lordly appeal?”

“I don’t know what that might be, but I daresay even without knowing what a lordly appeal should look like, I think that it does not.”

Michael sighed and closed his eyes.

She let him lie there for a moment, then one of her hands covered his and she said softly, “Don’t be discouraged, Michael, truly. It is only the first day.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at her where she sat by his side. Even the sky was gray to match his mood, but she still had her sunny hair and sunny smile, and they eased something in his chest.

He said, “If you are using my given name to appease my bad mood, it is working.”

* * *

Judith Lynne writes rule-breaking romances with love around every corner. Her characters tend to have deep convictions, electric pleasures, and, sometimes, weaponry.

She loves to write stories where characters are shaken by life, shaken down to their core, put out their hand… and love is there.

A history nerd with too many degrees, Judith Lynne lives in that other paradise, Ohio, with a truly adorable spouse, an apartment-sized domestic jungle, and a misgendered turtle. Also an award-winning science fiction author and screenwriter, she writes passionate Regency romances with a rich sense of place and time.

Come chat!

https://twitter.com/judithlynnepub

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Prepare yourselves, this Season, for the Battle of the Sexes!

By Cerise DeLand

On October 26, 2022

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

It has come to this author’s attention that a plot of seduction is afoot. While gentlemen of the ton are known for their penchant for seducing the fairer sex, one particular set is rumoured to have taken seduction to new heights.

The rakish and, frankly, piratically handsome Duke of P—, has been overheard taking bets in the billiards room of a certain gentlemen’s club on St James’s. While this particular club is known for its bet book containing all manner of nonsensical wagers, the latest bets to enter the ledger are rumoured to have taken a more salacious turn—to seduce a number of women, to order.

Who might the unsuspecting victims be? This author suspects them to be the inmates of S— House, an establishment owned and occupied solely by women. The dashing Colonel F—, recently returned from the militia, and one of His Grace’s closest friends, has been seen entering S— house, allegedly for the purpose of taking pianoforte lessons. If a man indulging in music lessons isn’t enough to arouse suspicion, let me tell you, dear reader, that S—House is the ancestral home of none other than the Duke of P—, which his grandfather lost as a result of gaming debts, and which His Grace has often declared that he’s determined to retrieve by any means necessary.

Perhaps those means include seduction. A certain Colonel F— has been seen in Hyde Park, with Mrs. B–, the resident pianoforte tutor of S—House. And, only yesterday, this author spotted Lord A—, another member of his Grace’s set, walking out with Miss R–, the renowned purveyor of lapdogs to the ladies, and resident of S— House.

But, dear reader, a man who underestimates his quarry is a fool. The women of S— House have not secured their independence through luck alone. His Grace may yet learn that while the world in which we live is undoubtedly a man’s world—an intelligent and capable woman will always triumph over a complacent man.

But, whatever fate awaits His Grace and his friends, this particular battle of the sexes promises to both amuse, and intrigue, this author for many months to come.

Seducing Sophia

The Scholars of Seduction, a band of rakes led by the Duke of Peterton, have pledged to seduce the women living at Summerton Hall, the Duke’s ancestral home—which his ancestors gambled away—in order to win it back. But a rake should never underestimate his quarry. With hearts and homes at stake, who will triumph in the Battle of the Sexes?

Colonel Adrian FitzRoy is tasked with seducing Summerton Hall’s resident music teacher, the widowed Mrs. Black. Expecting an elderly matriarch, he finds, instead, a delectable woman with an adorable young son. Soon, he questions his motives in seducing Sophia for a bet—a woman he’s in danger of falling in love with.

Sophia Black found sanctuary for herself and her young son at Summerton Hall, where she teaches the pianoforte. When she discovers that her newest pupil is an army officer, she initially turns him away, but his natural talent for music, and kindness toward her son, win her over.

Determined to protect her heart, Sophia struggles to conquer her attraction to the man who ignites previously-unknown passions with his skilful hands and scorching kisses. But when she learns of Adrian’s past, she realizes that the secret she’s harboring could destroy their friendship, and shatter her heart forever.

Extract from “Seducing Sophia”

A deep cough made her jump, and she turned around.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Not just leaning. He dominated it with his body. Broad shoulders filled out a smart, dark blue jacket, tailored to perfection. One hand was inside his pocket, the other hanging casually by his side. Long, lean fingers flexed, curled, and uncurled. Her gaze wandered over his body—the jacket, the highly polished black boots—then it settled on a pair of cream-colored breeches that fit his muscular thighs like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

His body was so large…

So muscular…

So male.

He shifted his weight onto one leg and crossed his ankles, almost as if his position were intended to draw her gaze toward his very maleness. Her cheeks warmed with shame, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

A deep voice spoke. “I think you’ll find my face is up here.”

Sophia looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Clear blue eyes regarded her with appreciation. They radiated a sharp intelligence and something else—desire, and wickedness. Something she had not seen since…

She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. She curled her hands into fists only to find her palms slick.

His eyes darkened and a slight smile played on his lips while he held her gaze, as if he challenged her to look away.

But she couldn’t.

His looks conveyed a savage virility. A thick head of hair as dark as a raven’s wing surrounded a strong, angular face with dark brows, a strong, straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth.

He was, without doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Author Biography

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.

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Triumph—or humiliation—for Lady Pandora?

By Cerise DeLand

On September 14, 2022

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

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 27^th, 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.

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