Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Fiction and Reality - Reluctance by Jen Black

The orangery at Gibside
Mary Eleanor Bowes was the daughter and heiress of George Bowes, a wealthy businessman who died when Mary was 11 years old. He left her a vast fortune estimated at between £600,000 and £1,040,000, which he had built up through control of a cartel of coal-mine owners. Mary became the wealthiest heiress in Britain, perhaps in all of Europe. She encouraged the attentions of many young men of noble birth and married the 9th Earl of Strathmore on her 18th birthday, 24 February 1767. According to her father’s will, the Earl changed his name from John Lyon to John Bowes. The couple lived extravagantly and the Earl spent much of his time restoring his family seat Glamis Castle.

On 7 March 1776, Lord Strathmore died from tuberculosis at sea on his way to Portugal.
At that time, the countess was pregnant by a lover, George Gray a Scottish "nabob" who had made and squandered both his and his first wife’s fortune.

Despite the pregnancy, the dowager countess was loath to marry Grey, since her loss of rank would be considerable and Grey's fortune had been lost. She maintained remarkably candid diaries for much of her life, and wrote of her many abortions brought about by drinking "a black inky kind of medicine.” She continued the affair with Grey and underwent further abortions and was on the point of marrying him when charming and wily Anglo-Irish adventurer, Andrew Robinson Stoney, manipulated his way into her household and her bed.

Calling himself "Captain" Stoney he insisted on fighting a duel in the dowager countess's honour with the editor of The Morning Post, a newspaper which had published scurrilous articles about her private life. In fact, Stoney had himself written the articles both criticising and defending the countess. He now faked a duel with the editor, the Revd. Henry Bate, in order to appeal to Mary's romantic nature. Pretending to be mortally wounded, Stoney begged the dowager countess to grant his dying wish: to marry her. Taken in by the ruse, she agreed.

The tale goes on, and it is easy to find out more about the tribulations of the countess and the prolonged court case that ensued. I have known most of these facts for many years, for the Bowes home and estates were at Gibside, not ten miles from where I live. Intrigued by the story and carried away by the sad romanticism of the now roofless Gibside Hall, I decided to write my own version, using only the bare bones of the story. Mary Eleanor became Frances Bowes, and the dreadful Stoney morphed into Mr Holbrook, so handsome in his regimentals. Frances’s mother, match-making hat firmly in place, claims that he’s admirable husband material but fails to convince Frances, who is far more concerned about Jack Slade’s dramatic re-appearance in the neighbourhood.


Gibside morphed in a fictional Gybford, but the lands and houses are true to the area if not to absolute fact, and I’ve incorporated a fictional tangle of emotions and a heart-rending denouement. I called the book Reluctance, and MuseItUp published it for me and made it available in several formats including Kindle.

Loaded by Jen Black, http://jenblackauthor.blogspot.com

Tuesday, 30 July 2013

Testing Tom by Lucy Felthouse

Blurb:

When Katrina’s ex, Tom, turns up on her doorstep, he’s literally the last person she was expecting to see. After dumping her and running off with a vanilla chick, Tom broke the Domme’s heart and left her seriously hurting. So when he returns, begging for another chance, Katrina is understandably very confused and protective of her bruised feelings. She finds it very difficult to believe that he’s turned his back on a vanilla lifestyle for good and wants to be with her, a professional dominatrix. Rather than letting her head or her heart figure out what to do, whether to forgive him, she decides to put Tom through a series of challenges that will prove his devotion to her—or not. Testing Tom is not something she’d ever expected she’d have to do, but to her, it’s the only way she can be sure whether he’s back for good.



Excerpt:

Katrina was halfway through an episode of her favorite drama series when her doorbell rang. She jumped, gasping as her heart lurched painfully, then pressed ‘pause’ on the remote control. Wincing slightly as she unfolded her legs from beneath her bottom—she’d been watching the program back-to-back for a couple of hours and she was stiff—she moved to the window and peered out through a gap in the curtains, careful not to let the mystery visitor see her, should she need to ignore them. Cold callers were common in her area, and drove her crazy. If she wanted to buy something, she’d contact them, not the other way around.

As it happened, it wasn’t a salesperson. She ducked back from the window, clenched her hands into fists.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

He was literally the last person she’d expected to see standing at her door. Prince William or George Clooney would have been less of a shock.

For there, outside her house, stood the man that had broken her heart several months ago. Thomas Black. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since, and now, totally out of the blue, he’d turned up.

Katrina contemplated ignoring him, going back to her show and pretending she wasn’t in. But apparently that wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re there, Katrina,” he yelled through the letterbox, “your car is on the drive, and I can see the glow of the telly through the curtains.”

Katrina decided it was time to get thicker curtains. Not wanting to cause a scene, which her nosey neighbors would no doubt adore, she moved to the front door, unlocked it and flung it open.

“Get in,” she said, quickly closing the door behind him, then turning to face her unwanted visitor. “What the hell do you want?”

He held his hands up in supplication, then spoke. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you expected to see—wanted to see—but I have to talk to you. Please?”

He adopted the puppy-dog look he’d long-since perfected. Katrina sighed.

“You’ve got five minutes. Sit down.”

They moved over to the sitting area, and Katrina deliberately sat in the chair, so Tom couldn’t sit next to her. Settling onto the end of the sofa nearest to her, he clasped his hands together, presumably to summon his courage, and began.

“Kat, I’m here to say I’m sorry, all right? I was wrong, so wrong, to finish with you the way I did and go off with Alicia.”

“She dumped you, has she?” Katrina clenched her teeth, and felt the rage beginning to build inside her. If Tom thought he could come running back to her because his bimbo had ditched him, then he had another think coming.

“No,” he said firmly, and, she suspected, honestly. “I finished with her, actually. When I realized that I wasn’t happy with her. She never made me feel the way you do, Kat. Not once. And I know, I know it’s my fault. I wanted something… different from what we had, or at least I thought I did. I couldn’t help thinking at the time that what we did was wrong, was weird. Abnormal, even. So when Alicia started flirting with me at work, I started thinking perhaps I should try for something normal. Like everybody else out there.”

He fixed her with his soulful gaze, and continued. “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Yes, Alicia offered me normality, a vanilla relationship, but I soon discovered it couldn’t satisfy me. Sure, she could make me come in all the usual ways—”

“Ugh, I don’t want to hear this, Tom. I don’t want to hear about your sex life with someone else!”

“Sorry, Kat. Please, just let me finish?”

When she gave a curt nod, he carried on speaking.

“Alicia could make me come in all the usual ways—I am just a man, after all—but it wasn’t the same. Wasn’t as good. It wasn’t long before I started to miss you, miss what we had together, both in and out of the bedroom. I ignored it for as long as I could, forced myself to make the effort with Alicia, but it just got to the stage where I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t ignore what I was, what I enjoyed, what I needed. And that’s you, Kat. I need you, and everything that goes with you.”

As a Domme, Katrina had become an expert in hiding her feelings, whether she was aroused, angry, happy, sad… it was all stuffed behind a stern facial expression. Now, though, she almost faltered. When Tom had left her, she’d remained cool and silent until the door had slammed. Then she’d broken down. She’d been deeply in love with him, and his decision had left her devastated. Months down the line, her love for him hadn’t faded, not one bit, and the fact that he was here, right now, apparently trying to get her back, was something she’d never expected. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or throw something at him.

She didn’t do any of those things. She kept her face straight, her thoughts whizzing through her head at a hundred miles per hour. Eventually, after letting him squirm in his seat for a minute or so, she replied. “So what exactly are you saying, Tom? What do you want?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to make him suffer, the way he had done to her after ditching her for something, someone, that could never satisfy him.

*****
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women's Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9 

Saturday, 6 July 2013

Guest blog: Elaine Violette - 'A Convenient Pretense'

Emily Hughes has little patience for the frivolity of the season. Marriage brought out only the worst in her parents and if she has her way, she’ll avoid matrimony altogether. Only the demands of her father are enough to force her to join her aunt in London for the festivities.
Marcus Deming, Earl of Pembridge, refuses to love after watching his father succumb to a broken heart. Marcus will marry, but only for the convenience of producing an heir. Love need have no place in a marriage.


Emily and Marcus agree to spend the season in each other’s company, fending off the worst of the suitors and their aunts’ schemes. It isn’t until Emily is called home to aid her ailing father that she and Marcus realize their pretense has escalated into something far more intense. So alike, right down to a shared stubborn streak, it’s going to take a common enemy and the ability to admit when they’re wrong for Marcus and Emily to secure the future they suddenly can’t imagine living without.

Excerpt:

When I am reading an historical romance, I enjoy the spunky, sometimes snarky dialogue between the hero and heroine that eventually leads to a closer encounter. In my previous novel, Regal Reward, a notorious highwayman, kidnaps the rebellious daughter of an aristocrat and gets much more than he bargained for. In A Convenient Pretense, my newest release, a handsome earl refuses to believe that a young, beautiful woman prefers to become an old maid, rather than marry him. Here’s a brief excerpt between Marcus and Emily in A Convenient Pretense:

“Yes, you were going to say something else?”
“Reading,” Emily replied, perhaps too abruptly. “My father and I both love to read.”
Marcus slanted his eyes toward her. He wondered if she used books to avoid looking at her own future, particularly a marriageable one.
“I find no shame in admitting that I am a bit of a bluestocking. We often read Shakespeare’s plays together and argue our varied interpretations. Just before I left we were rereading Hamlet and arguing over the prince’s irrational behaviors. We become quite adamant in our opinions, while at the same time enjoying our debates.”
“And you thought that would shock me?”
“I am well aware that men are not always pleased with women who enjoy intellectual discussions or pursuits.”
Marcus laughed. “And since you have no desire to wed, I assume that my opinion would be the least of your concerns.”
“You are correct, of course. The single life offers the advantage of pursuing interests that a husband might scorn.”
“Scorn? What an interesting word. I find it difficult to imagine you doing anything that might be so disapproving unless, of course, you desired to step into a man’s shoes.” One side of Marcus’ lips lifted in a sardonic grin.
“And take on what would be considered a man’s occupation?” Emily glared, pursing her lips.
“How on earth did we get on this subject? I realize you are an intelligent and independent woman. Any gentleman you might choose in the future would find you quite adequate.”
“Adequate?” She winced. “I shan’t be satisfied with adequate. If I planned to marry, and I don’t, I would expect equal consideration in all matters and appreciation for my talents.”
At that, a slow, crooked grin spread over Marcus’ face. His eyes lowered to her lips and down to her low-cut gown. “I am certain your talents would be highly appreciated.”


Website: http://www.elaineviolette.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elaineviolette.author

Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/author/elaineviolette

Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Release Day! 'A Summer Bewitchment' now out!



My medieval historical romance 'A Summer Bewitchment' is now available from Bookstrand.  


This novel is a sequel to 'The Snow Bride' and features Elfrida and Magnus again as my heroine and hero.

Offered at a 10% discount until June 25th!

http://www.bookstrand.com/a-summer-bewitchment

Here is an excerpt from the opening chapter:


England, summer, 1132

“I am the troll king of this land and you owe me a forfeit.”

Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed figure who barred her way. He was alone, but then so was she.

Do I turn and run along the track? Should I flee into the woods or back to the river? He is close, less than the distance of the cast of a spear. Can I make it hard for him to catch me? Yes.

But catch her he would.

Play for time.

“Indeed?” she asked, using one of her husband’s favorite expressions, then sharpened her tone. “Why must I pay anything?”

“You have trespassed in these woods. In my woods.”

The nagging ache in her shoulders and hands vanished in a tingling rush of anticipation. Elfrida dropped her basket of washed, dried clothes onto the dusty pathway, the better to fight. “King Henry is lord of England.”

“I am king here.”

A point to him. “I kept to the path, and then the river.”

“That may be so, but I claim a kiss.”

He had not moved yet, nor shown his face. The summer evening made his shadow huge, bloody. Her heart beating harder as she anticipated their final, delicious encounter, Elfrida asked, “Are you so bold? My husband is a mighty warrior, the greatest in all Christendom.”

“That is a large claim.” He sounded amused. “All Christendom? He must be a splendid fellow. The harpers should sing of him.”

Elfrida raised her chin, determined to have her say. “I am proud of my lord. He is a crusader. He has seen Jerusalem and he has learning. He can whistle any tune. He defends all those weaker than himself.” Should I say what I next want to say? Tease him as he has teased me? Why not? Are we are not playing? “Go back to your woods, troll king.”

She heard the crack of a pine cone as he shifted. In a haze of motion the troll king was out of the tree shade and into the bright sunset, dominating the path in front of her. Taller than a spear, broad as a door, he had a face as stark as granite, of weathered, broken stone. Heavily scarred—many would say grooved—he had the terrible beauty of a victor, a winner wounded but unbowed.

A ribbon of heat, like hot breath, flickered across her breasts. He was so magnificent , so handsome. She both loved and hated defying him, even in jest. Striving for calm, she said, “You will come no closer.”

“Or what, little laundress?”

That tease irked her. “The clothes and bedding do not wash themselves. Not even for you, troll king.”

He smiled, a daunting unfurling of that scarred, sword-cut face. The churning heat in her belly swept up into her cheeks and down to her loins.

“I am a witch, besides,” she added, though not as coolly as she would have liked. She saw the gleam in his large brown eyes pool into molten bronze.

“You would put a spell on me, elfling?” he challenged.

“Perhaps I already have.” Her tone and mouth were as dry as the summer. How much farther can we stretch this sweet foolishness?

He raised thick black eyebrows, while a breeze flicked and flirted with his shoulder-length curls. “Is that Christian?”

She wanted to cross her arms before herself, to shield her body from his bold stare. At the same time she longed to strip herself naked for him, unlace his tunic and caress him. Unsure how he might react, she armed herself with words instead. “I am a good witch, Magnus.”

“Indeed.” Again he looked her up and down, glanced at her buckets, basket, and clothes. “Should you not have an escort, wife?”

Do I tell him I sent Piers off to help? Are we still playing now or is he truly angry?

Looming over her, he was close enough for her to touch him. To caress his strong body will be like stroking sun-warmed stone. Distracted, she shook her head. “There is the sheep shearing…”

“Done.” He tossed a stack of rolled, lanolin-scented fleeces at her feet. “I did my share and more and, as I have said already, I claim a reward.”

He winked at her and she found herself smiling in return. “Forfeit and reward, too, sire? Is that not greedy?”

“Are we in Lent, that I should fast?” He raised his hand, cupping her face with supple fingers. “But you are too dainty to linger alone, witch or no.”

He traced the curve of her lips with his thumb and, as she trembled, he gathered her firmly into his arms. “Any man will try to spirit you away.”

“Hush!” She made a sign against the evil eye and wood elves, but he shook his head at her caution.

“I have faith in your magic craft, Elfrida. But a passing knave or outlaw? He is quite another matter. He would see you as a tempting piece, my wife, my lovely.”

“I am not helpless,” she protested, but her heart soared at his loving words. His mouth, as crooked and scarred as the rest of his face, stole a kiss from hers.

He smelled of lanolin, salt, and summer green-stuff, and tasted of apples and himself. Elfrida closed her eyes under his tender onslaught, her thighs trembling.

“Troll King?” she murmured, when they broke apart slightly. “Is that how you wish me to address you in the future, husband?”

“‘Sire’ will do, or ‘greatest knight in Christendom.’ Those will do very well.” He kissed her again.

“You rob me, sire,” she murmured, a breathless space later.

“Of kisses?” He sounded delighted at the idea, the beast, and grinned when she pinched him.

“Even one-handed I can do that better than you.”

He demonstrated, squeezing and lightly slapping her bottom, chuckling as she thrust her hips back against his fondling fingers. A shred of modesty remained as her wits dissolved into a sweet blaze of need. “Magnus, what if someone comes?”

Lindsay Townsend

Monday, 10 June 2013

My Regency Comedy A MUTUAL INTEREST IN NUMBERS is Here!



A Mutual Interest in Numbers, Book 2 in my Love and the Library series is now available!

Love and the Library--A celebration of the beginnings of love wherein four Regency gentlemen meet their matches over a copy of Pride and Prejudice at the library.

A Mutual Interest in Numbers
BLURB:
Love and the Library Book 2: Ellen and Laurence

Lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice. Does it?

Regency gentleman Mr. Laurence Coffey doesn’t care for libraries and novels. His interests run to steam engines and mathematics. But his friend found the lady of his dreams at the library over a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Laurence yearns for a lady of his own, one of wit and cleverness as well as beauty. And while he doesn’t expect his friend’s luck, visiting the library can’t hurt.

Miss Ellen Palmer enjoys mathematics, but, unfortunately, many men frown on bluestockings. She loves the library and its mathematics books as well as its novels, especially her favorite, Pride and Prejudice. How she would like to find her own Mr. Darcy. Perhaps someday, somewhere, she can discover a man who wants an intelligent woman.

At the library, they both reach for a copy of Pride and Prejudice at the same time. Can their mutual interest in numbers--and this particular novel--make their dreams come true?

A sweet, traditional Regency romance. With a duck. Quack.

EXCERPT:
Laurence pushed aside a copy of Byron’s The Corsair and then curled his lip at a volume of sermons. Gads, sermons on Sunday were enough for anyone.

He set the sermons aside to reveal the book beneath. Pride and Prejudice. The novel that had brought his friend his lady.

Could this book somehow help a man find his love? He extended his hand toward the tome...

A gloved feminine hand, also reaching for the novel, bumped into his. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” The voice was soft and musical.

He jerked upright. “No, I beg your pardon.” The same extraordinary blue eyes that had almost knocked him flat a moment ago threatened to do so again. And he wouldn’t even care.

As if he were under the effect of Mr. Mesmer’s animal magnetism, he waved in the general direction of the book. “Please, be my guest.” Take the book. Take me.

A Mutual Interest in Numbers at Amazon, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble

And if you want to start with A Similar Taste in Books, Part 1 of Love and the Library, the blurb, excerpt and buy links are here.

Thank you all,
Linda
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com
http://lindabanche.blogspot.com