Samhain Publishing

Richard and Rose have taken me on a fine adventure. In “Hareton Hall,” they return to the county of Rose’s birth, Devonshire. Only here, her brother has demolished her old family home and built a new, grander house, more suitable for his status as Earl of Hareton.

Rebuilding and improving was a veritable epidemic in Georgian England. Throughout the eighteenth century great houses arouse, or were remodelled from older versions. I took real life examples as the base for all the houses in my historical romances, and Hareton Hall was based on Saltram House.

Saltram is a gem of a house, designed and built by the Adam brothers, and they didn’t just do the architecture, they designed everything, from the ceilings to the escutcheons on the door plates. I cheated a little, because Saltram dates from around ten years later, but I made up for it by not naming the Adam brothers. I did, however, have the house in mind when I wrote the story. Saltram is a gentleman’s house. A rich gentleman’s house, to be sure. I’ve always thought it would make a perfect model for Pemberley. Not as great as the huge edifices of Chatsworth, Castle Howard or Blenheim, but an exquisite house that people still admire today.

Robert Adam was a complete obsessive, but his creations, including the astonishing Stourhead, stand as perfect examples of the country house.
But for Hareton Abbey, the ruinous house in “Yorkshire,” the first book in the Richard and Rose series, I used the opposite of Saltram—Calke Abbey in Derbyshire. Calke is an example of the country house in decline. Built in the early eighteenth century, and considered a wonderful house in its prime, it declined with the fortunes of the family who owned it, and when their fortunes declined, so did the house.

When the National Trust took over the house, on the death of the last member of the family, they found a rotting shell. Valuable artifacts, some still in their packing cases, glass cases of minerals and samples taken from the park, and furniture covered in Holland covers jostled for attention. Before Calke, the National Trust had always restored the houses it had to what they had been in their prime, but with Calke they took the decision to preserve it as it was.
Between Saltram and Calke lie a wealth of experience and fortunes. The great country house, beautiful though they are, proved white elephants for many families, too expensive to maintain, but tied to them with entails and complex inheritance laws. When death duties came in, they began to sell the fixtures and fittings, or just abandon the houses to their fate.

So I allowed Richard and Rose to experience the extremes, too. When Richard’s father dies, Richard will become the Earl of Southwood and inherit Eyton, a house very much like Chatsworth in Derbyshire. But from Hareton Abbey to Hareton Hall they are together, and their adventures will continue.

If you want to read about Hareton Hall, and the stirring adventures Richard and Rose find there, here’s the URL to the paperback copy. You can also get the book in ebook format.

I was chatting to another author the other day, and she came up with the comment, “It’s a shame we have to stick to the same genre. I’d love to write in another.”
I gaped. “What makes you think that?” I said, thinking of my own work. I write in historical romance, paranormal romance and now contemporary romance. I thought I was doing okay. Maybe not, maybe I should just have stuck to the same genre.

My friend writes for the UK market, and my market is primarily in the USA. So could that be it? Not really. Most authors make their name in one genre and then stick to it. But there is evidence of writers moving to different ones sometimes, so maybe it’s more acceptable.

I do think that writing only in one genre is great for the writer who can achieve it, but most writers, especially writers of romance, work from the inside out. They work with characters and dilemmas, rather than situations that come at them from the outside. Not all dilemmas fit in all situations.

I have an interest in the way people react to the unknown, the way they cope with something totally unexpected. That’s one reason I write paranormal romance. “Hey, I’m a vampire,” “What?” Then the reaction can be, “Cool! Can you make me one, too?” or “Kill the vampire!” or something else. Great to write about, it really brings out character depth.

The contemporary romance brings more opportunities. How to write about people we know coping with things we understand, but maybe have failed to cope with, or maybe will never get the opportunity to cope with. It gives the reader (and the writer!) an adventure that should be believable and understandable, in places they might never visit. That’s why I have belatedly discovered the joys of travel. I try to write about places I’ve visited, or know well. So far I haven’t set anything in my native Manchester or Leicester (England), or in the Italian cities I’ve been to, and I’ve only set one book in one of my favorite places, Paris. I’ve had the joy of visiting the States, and I like to make one of the characters in my books non-American, so it gives the US reader a chance to see the place from a non-resident’s viewpoint. Or sometimes I want to show that people, whoever they are, wherever they come from, face the same problems, although they cope with them in different ways.

And the historical romance. It’s my first love. Living in Britain, we see and ingest history every day, sometimes without realizing it. That’s why many American authored historical romances don’t travel well. The attitudes and behavior that many of the characters display are essentially American, and when it’s set in the English Regency, it doesn’t work for the non-American reader. There are wonderful exceptions, of course. Laura Kinsale, an all-American writer, has an understanding of the way the British aristocracy behave and think, that means she writes a fantastic, heartfelt, story that sweeps you away and seems completely real. It can be argued that with a readership as large as the American, there isn’t much point writing for other readerships, but this is changing, fast. With digital technology catching on so fast, people from all over the world are reading the books.

The historical romance allows the writer to take the reader into another world, one we can understand, but that is so different that it fascinates. Women had different expectations then, and behavior was so different that they had to conform to pressures unthinkable by modern standards. Always belonging to someone else, having to employ a man for legal affairs. Marriage then was a business deal, not a personal contract, so we perversely write about love, the kind that leads to permanent connections. Love that is found unexpectedly, love that won’t die, love that comes in unsuitable places.

I’ll continue writing in different genres, and so far, my readers don’t seem overly confused that I do so. I’m told I have different “voices” for the genres I write in, but that’s only right, because I try to work from the thoughts and feelings of my characters, not my own. Sometimes so much so that they take over the story, make different demands. When I started writing “A Betting Chance,” Corin had a completely different heroine. One I’d planned for him throughout the Triple Countess series. But when I put them together—nothing happened. No spark. They didn’t catch fire. I could have carried on, forced the issue and maybe they’d have enjoyed it, but it wouldn’t have been the book I wanted. So I tore that one up and started again, with a completely new heroine. Sapphira turned out to be just what Corin needed. Someone to challenge him, not to do everything he said, or even to take any notice if she thought he was wrong. Someone strong-willed and certain of what she wanted and how she was going to get it. Which, of course, was totally not what Corin wanted!

Richard and Rose—some critics have complained that they fell in love instantly and completely. I didn’t plan that, either. But when I did the “coach-house scene” in “Yorkshire,” it just happened, and it was so magical I decided to go with it and see where it took me. Richard and Rose were so wrong for each other. But so right! They have qualities that bring out the other’s strong points, and they are a team.

Originally, I wanted the Richard and Rose series to be a series of country-house mysteries set in a time when the police force, as we knew it, didn’t exist. I wanted my hero to be lower aristocracy, just enough to get him into society, and to be quiet and self-effacing, noticing everything and then solving the mystery in the last chapter or so. Oh dear. Richard strutted on to the scene, gaudy, high-born and arrogant, dressed as extravagantly as possible, which was a lot. The stories transformed. I’d already planned some of them out, and you can see remnants of the original idea in stories like “Eyton,” but their enemies proved to be more than enough to get them into action. To be honest, I still don’t know what’s going to happen when I write those books. I start with a plan, and somehow, that plan goes awry. Richard and Rose take over. In the recent title that my editor is looking at, “Maiden Lane,” I knew where I was going—I thought. But what happened in the end shocked me. I never meant it to end that way.

So yes, I’ll keep on with the different genres. I don’t think I can do it any other way.

Lynne Connolly

http://lynneconnolly.com

I’m thrilled that the Richard and Rose book, “Harley Street” is out in print. This series has been good to me, and I’m particularly thrilled with the covers for this new series. The next book is “Eyton,” which is currently out in eformat, and “Hareton Hall” is out next month. I’ve just finished the first draft on the seventh book, again set in London, so the series marches on!

Here’s an excerpt from “Harley Street.” I hope you enjoy it.

About the book: Lord and Lady Strang return from their adventure-filled honeymoon, more than ready to settle into married life. After a few weeks living in his parents’ Piccadilly mansion, , Richard and Rose are restless for their own home, a space where they can work out the pattern of their new life together.

House-hunting will have to wait. A maid in the household of Rose’s aunt has been murdered, an act that forces Richard to reveal a dark secret from his past. Despite the desperate passion they share between the sheets, marriage requires disclosure—something in which Richard has never excelled.

In light of his revelation, Rose must find the strength to delve deep into the bedrock of their relationship while simultaneously facing the height of London society. As they work to unravel the clues that lead to a murderer, an old enemy launches an attack on their already fragile hearts—the Drurys, who have never forgotten their vow to destroy the Strangs…

And now for the excerpt:
When we got home, Richard immediately sent for Nichols. She helped me , undress me much more quickly than I’d been dressed earlier. She didn’t seem concerned and spoke little, for which I was grateful because I still felt dizzy, though the fresh air had helped to revive me on the way home. She washed and brushed the powder out of my hair and helped me into a nightrail. I went to bed. Our evening was full of engagements and I hoped to be well enough by then to attend.

I slept for two hours and when I awoke I saw Richard sitting in a chair by the fire. We exchanged a smile and he came to sit on the side of the bed. He took my hand in his and we stared at each other in silence for a while.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in a nightrail for nearly two months,” he said. “And it isn’t for the usual reason.”

I took my lower lip between my teeth. “I thought—with all the anxiety and excitement, perhaps—”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Since we married you have worn your nightrail for the same week every month. You haven’t missed once. We’ve travelled through Europe, been shot at, lost a wheel off the coach and nothing caused you to change your habit.” He took a breath. “I think we can safely assume you’re in the family way, my precious love.” He bent to kiss me, so gently he made me feel precious.

I sat up and put my arms around him, felt the warmth of him through his shirtsleeves and rested my head on his shoulder. “When did you suspect?”

“When I counted up, the day before yesterday.” He put his hand on my back and slid it up into my hair, holding me safe.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I could have been wrong.” He drew back. My eyes were wet and he drew his thumb under one, wiping away the tear, then slipped his arm back around my waist. “But after today, I think we can be sure, don’t you?”

I nodded, still too full to speak. When I’d regained control of my wayward emotions, I asked him if he was pleased. “Mostly. I know we have to but I’m concerned for you. You must take care now and not do too much.”

“I’ll manage. I’m sure it was the heat today and the fact that I didn’t have much to eat before we came. I’m not ill, my love, just enceinte.”

He kissed me again. “It changes our plans a little, doesn’t it?”

“Why? You don’t want to spirit me away to the country, do you?” Concern filled me that he might be one of those men who won’t let their wives turn a hair for nine months. That would drive me crazy.

“Far from it. The best care is available here in London. Should you object to a man-midwife, as well as the usual attendants? They have an excellent reputation but we should bespeak one soon if we decide on it.”

The thought of a man seeing me in the state I’d seen Martha in a couple of times made me pause but Richard was right; this new kind of birth attendant would bring the best care. They were trying to take the birthing chamber out of the Middle Ages, to apply some much needed science and most people who could afford it were coming to prefer the man-midwife.

I made up my mind. “If I like him. But don’t you mind? Wouldn’t you object to a man seeing me like that?”

“No more than I mind Carier attending you when you’re ill.” He lifted his hand from my waist and brushed my cheek with his finger. “I love you so much. I couldn’t bear it if you were in any danger through this. Through me.”

I smiled, feeling much happier than he did at this, now I was getting used to the idea. “I’ve seen more births than you have, I’ll wager. It seems to be hard work but I’ve never been afraid of that. I love you, too and it makes me so happy I can do this for you.” I kissed him. “I’ll take care, I promise.”

He smiled tenderly. “We’ll stay in the house in Hampstead. Or our own, here in town. And one more thing—”

“Anything.”

“I don’t think we should tell anyone yet.”

I was shocked. “Certainly not.” We could easily be mistaken, after all but I knew inside that he was right. I would spend the next eight months in company.

“I don’t want my mother to know yet.” His arms settled around me, mine around him. “If she finds out before we’ve found somewhere else to live in London she’s bound to insist we stay here. She has lots of good arguments on her side but I want to see you established and happy somewhere else, not under her jurisdiction.”

I saw his point immediately. It would suit Lady Southwood if the child was born in Southwood House. Once we had charge of the new heir, we wouldn’t be allowed to escape so easily. However if we moved earlier, or at least put matters in train before we told her, she couldn’t object quite so easily.

“Shall I pray for a boy?” Something else occurred to me. “Or two?”

He stared, dumbstruck. The possibility of twins couldn’t have occurred to him yet. Richard and Gervase were not the first twins in the family, so the chances were strong. I didn’t tell him my mother had been a twin. Her sibling had died at birth. He gazed at my face, fear in his eyes. “Dear God, I hope not. Not the first time, not twins.”

I remembered his mother’s constant reminders that Richard and Gervase were the main cause of her constant ill health and I felt sick. Not because I believed her but because of what it might do to Richard’s confidence, to find out I was to go through the same ordeal.

I kept my arms around him, looking at him determinedly. “I’m bigger than your mother, taller and probably stronger. And worry is bad for me, so I won’t.” I stopped, remembering some of my own history. This wasn’t the time to remind him my own mother had died giving birth to my brother Ian—currently notable by his absence. He’d retreated to his studies in Oxford, something he frequently did to avoid situations he disliked. “Richard, if I promise to take the greatest care, will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t be a stranger to this bed. I know we’ve talked about it before but I need you now and neither of us can manage for nine days much less nine months without—” Blushing, I broke off.

His expression lightened and he smiled down at me. “I don’t intend to give anything up unless I’m ordered to do so by the midwives. I don’t think that’s likely.” He laughed a little when he saw my alarm. “When a man has married expressly to beget an heir, then he may quit his wife’s bed in relief but we didn’t marry for that. I’ve no intention of going anywhere else.”

I remembered our conversation of the other day and I held him a little closer. “Not even when I’m as big as a house?”

“Not even then.” He kissed me more deeply.

I responded to his kiss, felt a glow inside. There was some time before we had to dress for dinner. “Prove it.” I began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat. “We should celebrate.”

He laughed. “So we should.” I pulled the nightrail over my head and threw back the covers for him to join me. Richard undressed quickly, looking at me all the while. When he came to bed, he ran his hand gently over my stomach but said nothing more. He didn’t need to. I put my hand over his and he slipped his other arm around my shoulders and drew me close. His kiss held such passion it took my breath away, delving into my mouth to explore and caress.

I needn’t have worried. Richard’s ardour wasn’t tinged by any concern. His loving was as all-consuming as ever. He forgot everything else when we made love and so did I, joining him in our own private world where nothing else existed. He caressed me into joy, kissed my mouth, my throat and my breasts, loved me with his voice and his body.

Harley Street
Mystery, murder, and an old menace. It’s enough to damage the strongest love.
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/harley-street
ISBN: 978-1-60504-642-6

The coach lurched to a halt and they were flung forward. Peter flung out a hand to stop Arabella hurting herself, and was rewarded by a handful of fabric and a brief contact with one soft breast. He took her arm and hauled her back on to the seat as the carriage pulled to a halt.
Breathlessly she stared at him and they both heard a gruff voice. “Stand and deliver!”
“Good Lord!” The gleam of battle sparked in him. Cautiously he settled the pistol in his pocket so it came easily to hand.
The door of the carriage was wrenched open. A heavily muffled figure stood outside. “Out,” the man commanded.
Peter descended and held his hand out to help Arabella. To his surprise, she wasn’t looking in the least shocked. If he didn’t know her better, he would have thought she was angry.
Lounging against the open door of the carriage, Peter stared at the highwayman. Their assailant was so muffled up it was difficult to make out much about him, but Peter noted the man was no taller than he was, and wasn’t grossly overweight. He’d pulled a cocked hat low down on his forehead and a muffler up over the lower half of his face.
Peter thrust his hands in his pockets, touching the rounded end of the pistol. In the other pocket, he had a knife, usually carried for more mundane purposes but it might come in useful too, given the chance. He kept Arabella in view, prepared to push her to the ground. Some highwaymen wanted more than jewelry and cash; he wasn’t about to allow that.
Arabella lifted her chin and glared at the man. There was no doubt about it now—fire flashed from her dark eyes. She was angry. Peter hoped she wouldn’t do anything foolish. He wished he could see the coachman but that was impossible without turning.
Their aggressor swore, fluently and, much to Peter’s surprise dropped the hand holding the pistol to his side. “Jewelry. Money.”
Then Arabella did something that took Peter completely aback. She put her hands on her hips and thrust her face forward in the age-old position of the fishwife. It said a lot for Peter’s newfound attraction that he found her pose delightful. “And who do you think you are threatening? Get in the carriage this instant!”

Arabella Mason is too busy investigating her brother-in-law’s “accidental” death to entertain thoughts of love. She’ll go to any lengths to ease her sister’s grief, even accept the help of the distressingly attractive Viscount Bredon, Peter Worsley. Instead of answers, the trail of clues only leads to more questions. Who was her brother-in-law, really…and why does Peter, who poses as her brother in public, make mincemeat of her resistance in private?

A successful politician and confirmed bachelor, Peter has bedded the loveliest women in society. He never imagined he’d wind up in a Leicester backwater, helping a pretty widow investigate his brother’s untimely death. As his suspicions of foul play grow stronger, the danger rises—and so does his desire for Arabella. One kiss, and she snatches away all his resolve, leaving him wondering which he wants more…

To find his brother’s killer? Or keep Arabella safe—and make her his?

Tantalizing Secrets
A murder… A lord’s desire…and her quiet, respectable life is gone forever.
ISBN: 978-1-60504-394-4
From Samhain Publishing
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/tantalizing-secrets
—

I’m thrilled to announce that Devonshire, the second Richard and Rose book, is now out in print. I’ve popped an extract below to tempt you!
Best of the season to everyone and thank you for helping to make Richard and Rose such a success!

Now that she’s engaged to Richard, one of the most admired—and passionate—men in society, shy, awkward Rose Golightly can finally hold her head high. She never anticipated that her elevated position would make her the target of a dangerous gang of smugglers.
Behind Richard’s aloof, sophisticated facade lies a man of shrewd intelligence, fierce loyalty, and deep devotion to those he loves. He’s willing to fight fair when necessary, dirty when cornered. Rose is one of only two people he trusts. All she’s ever asked of him is that there be no secrets between them, but there are a few lingering dark corners he’s reluctant to reveal.
Now, Rose’s childhood friend has made a stand against the smugglers that rule the coast, unwittingly putting Rose in danger. With her life at stake, there’s only one way Richard can save her—even if it means his bride has to trade her wedding gown for widow’s weeds.

Mrs. Hoarty chose to walk with us to the end of the garden, to take some fresh air and incidentally to investigate the spectacle outside. I gave her my arm to lean on, and Georgiana supported her on the other side.
We stood by the gate, and looked in the same direction as Tom. His freshly shod horse stamped and jingled his harness beside him, but nobody took any notice.
Two figures walked up the street towards us at an easy pace. I knew them immediately. I waited, my throat tightening as I watched.
I felt stupid, behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl. I stood back a little to regain my composure, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. In any case, I wanted to see what impact the brothers would make on my friends. Separate, they were remarkable enough, but together they could stop the conversation in a room without effort.
As usual, the Kerres were dressed in the height of fashion. One wore impeccably cut, sober garments of the finest cloth, simple but full of quality, his natural fair hair held back in a plain queue. He walked with a confident stride, chatting casually to his brother. His twin brother.
The other man was the picture of fashion. He wore deep, rich, blue cut velvet today, a heavily embroidered waistcoat underneath, with an elaborately curled and tied wig. He carried a clouded Malacca cane at a precise angle. He looked like a visitor from a distant country. Taking his ease, he ignored the curious stares of the villagers, effortlessly picking his way through the ruts on the road. One woman stood at the door of her cottage and stared at them without any effort at subterfuge. She put her hand to her mouth as though suppressing a laugh, but then the brothers glanced in her direction. She turned her back and went indoors, the recipient of twin icy stares, the kind that depressed all pretension in their own milieu of fashionable London.
“A popinjay,” breathed Tom in delight. “We don’t get many of those here.”
Georgiana, standing just in front of me, stared in unconcealed admiration at the vision. “They’re beautiful.”
Lizzie smiled.
I wondered which one my old friend would choose for me. “Which one is it then, Tom?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t take up with a dandy. I can’t see you at ease with the fashion plate, so it has to be the other. I must say he looks quite a pleasant man, for a great lord—and a rake.”
I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the brothers to Tom. “He’s not a great lord. His title’s only a courtesy one.”
But Tom didn’t seem to be listening any more. He stared at me, his eyes wide. I frowned crossly. “What is it, Tom? Do I have a smut on my nose?”
“No, something about you—oh, I don’t know!” He turned away in exasperation as at last, the brothers drew near.
It must have become obvious to Georgiana and Tom now that the Kerre brothers weren’t just twins—they were identical twins. The only difference between them was Gervase’s darker, rougher complexion, gained during his years in India. Their similarity was one of the reasons why they turned so many heads when together, something neither of them liked but had learned to live with in their separate ways.
Appreciatively I watched them make their bows, and allowed Lizzie to perform the introductions. Georgiana blushed and curtseyed prettily when Richard took her hand and kissed the back of it. She was eighteen, only just out, but she would do well, and she was the picture of rustic innocence today. Lizzie had also seen Tom’s confusion, and mischievously, she introduced the twins together, so Tom wouldn’t know which one was which. He bowed his head, and they bowed in return, but didn’t add any extra flourishes.
Finally I came forward and gave my hand to Gervase. He bowed over it. “You’re looking well, Rose.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, and passed on to Richard.
A smile flirted at the corners of Richard’s mouth. His clear gaze met mine for the first time, and reminded me yet again how helpless I felt in his company. He took my hand and kissed it lightly, then offered me the support of his arm. “You, my dear delight, have just made me walk the length of that street. You could have met me halfway.” He used a complaining tone, but with a softness underneath that told me he was teasing.
I smiled. “I wanted to see the spectacle.”
“Witch.” He smiled so warmly I had to look away, towards Tom. “It’s the popinjay. You lose.” Tom flushed and I was sorry at once for the tease.
“You thought my brother had cut me out, sir? He might be as rich as Croesus, but I do have some attractions of my own.” I met Richard’s eyes and I lost myself in them all over again, like the first time I had gazed into those blue depths.
I introduced the brothers to Mrs. Hoarty, who declared herself overcome by the honour. This would give her plenty of ammunition when she next met her particular friends. She took in every detail of Richard’s appearance. Although aware of her scrutiny, he didn’t give her any kind of set-down as he could so easily have done.
“Mrs. Hoarty has an invitation to our wedding. She was so kind to us as children. I used to use her house as sanctuary when the Manor got too crowded for me.”
“Then I shall ensure she has the best of attention, as my meagre thanks for keeping you safe before I could do so,” he said at once. I knew he meant it, and that he would remember. Mrs. Hoarty had been delighted to receive an invitation, but since the wedding was at Exeter Cathedral, it might have proved too much for her if she didn’t have the best of care. Her health was too frail. The pampering Richard would make certain his people bestowed on her would guarantee her presence. I was sure she would enjoy herself much, which was more than I could say for myself.

DEVONSHIRE
It’s time for Richard to let Rose into every part of his life. Otherwise, he could lose her
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/devonshire
ISBN: 978-1-60504-349-4

Lynne Connolly

I’m working on a new historical romance featuring Richard and Rose. Delving into history always provides me with new tidbits I’d never known before. From passing fashions like red-heeled shoes and cut steel jewellery (revived in the Victorian era) to the thoughts of reformers like Jethro Tull and Benjamin Franklin. Always something.
For a long time I’ve wanted to write my Princess Caraboo book. She was a cobbler’s daughter who took in a Gloucestershire village and landowner by pretending to be a foreign princess. She spoke a language she’d made up herself and dressed in an exotic fashion. Looking at it today it’s hard to believe, but haven’t we had similar hoaxes and tomfoolery? How about Borat, played by a Cambridge graduate, or his previous incarnation, Ali G? Ali G ended up in a Madonna video, and while most people were in on the joke, a few believed the whole thing, especially when Sasha Baron-Cohen first started out.
Sadly, Princess Caraboo was found out, but she went on to have a varied, if not always successful career.
Ephemera always turn out fascinating, especially for the novelist, who tends to think, “what if…?” and then can take the story in a completely new direction. The story of the murderess, Mary Blandy has proved inspirational to me, although it turned out completely different to the real thing. And reading about the development of lenses in the 1740’s led me to write “Alluring Secrets” with its short-sighted heroine. A case in the Newgate Calendar about two counterfeiters led me to part of the plot of “Tantalizing Secrets.”
My husband always claims that I’d rather read the newspapers of two hundred years ago than the ones today. He’s quite right. Who wouldn’t?

I’m thrilled to see the second Richard and Rose book, DEVONSHIRE, in print. So here’s an extract, and details on buying the book.

Now that she’s engaged to Richard, one of the most admired—and passionate—men in society, shy, awkward Rose Golightly can finally hold her head high. She never anticipated that her elevated position would make her the target of a dangerous gang of smugglers.
Behind Richard’s aloof, sophisticated facade lies a man of shrewd intelligence, fierce loyalty, and deep devotion to those he loves. He’s willing to fight fair when necessary, dirty when cornered. Rose is one of only two people he trusts. All she’s ever asked of him is that there be no secrets between them, but there are a few lingering dark corners he’s reluctant to reveal.
Now, Rose’s childhood friend has made a stand against the smugglers that rule the coast, unwittingly putting Rose in danger. With her life at stake, there’s only one way Richard can save her—even if it means his bride has to trade her wedding gown for widow’s weeds.

Mrs. Hoarty chose to walk with us to the end of the garden, to take some fresh air and incidentally to investigate the spectacle outside. I gave her my arm to lean on, and Georgiana supported her on the other side.
We stood by the gate, and looked in the same direction as Tom. His freshly shod horse stamped and jingled his harness beside him, but nobody took any notice.
Two figures walked up the street towards us at an easy pace. I knew them immediately. I waited, my throat tightening as I watched.
I felt stupid, behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl. I stood back a little to regain my composure, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. In any case, I wanted to see what impact the brothers would make on my friends. Separate, they were remarkable enough, but together they could stop the conversation in a room without effort.
As usual, the Kerres were dressed in the height of fashion. One wore impeccably cut, sober garments of the finest cloth, simple but full of quality, his natural fair hair held back in a plain queue. He walked with a confident stride, chatting casually to his brother. His twin brother.
The other man was the picture of fashion. He wore deep, rich, blue cut velvet today, a heavily embroidered waistcoat underneath, with an elaborately curled and tied wig. He carried a clouded Malacca cane at a precise angle. He looked like a visitor from a distant country. Taking his ease, he ignored the curious stares of the villagers, effortlessly picking his way through the ruts on the road. One woman stood at the door of her cottage and stared at them without any effort at subterfuge. She put her hand to her mouth as though suppressing a laugh, but then the brothers glanced in her direction. She turned her back and went indoors, the recipient of twin icy stares, the kind that depressed all pretension in their own milieu of fashionable London.
“A popinjay,” breathed Tom in delight. “We don’t get many of those here.”
Georgiana, standing just in front of me, stared in unconcealed admiration at the vision. “They’re beautiful.”
Lizzie smiled.
I wondered which one my old friend would choose for me. “Which one is it then, Tom?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t take up with a dandy. I can’t see you at ease with the fashion plate, so it has to be the other. I must say he looks quite a pleasant man, for a great lord—and a rake.”
I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the brothers to Tom. “He’s not a great lord. His title’s only a courtesy one.”
But Tom didn’t seem to be listening any more. He stared at me, his eyes wide. I frowned crossly. “What is it, Tom? Do I have a smut on my nose?”
“No, something about you—oh, I don’t know!” He turned away in exasperation as at last, the brothers drew near.
It must have become obvious to Georgiana and Tom now that the Kerre brothers weren’t just twins—they were identical twins. The only difference between them was Gervase’s darker, rougher complexion, gained during his years in India. Their similarity was one of the reasons why they turned so many heads when together, something neither of them liked but had learned to live with in their separate ways.
Appreciatively I watched them make their bows, and allowed Lizzie to perform the introductions. Georgiana blushed and curtseyed prettily when Richard took her hand and kissed the back of it. She was eighteen, only just out, but she would do well, and she was the picture of rustic innocence today. Lizzie had also seen Tom’s confusion, and mischievously, she introduced the twins together, so Tom wouldn’t know which one was which. He bowed his head, and they bowed in return, but didn’t add any extra flourishes.
Finally I came forward and gave my hand to Gervase. He bowed over it. “You’re looking well, Rose.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, and passed on to Richard.
A smile flirted at the corners of Richard’s mouth. His clear gaze met mine for the first time, and reminded me yet again how helpless I felt in his company. He took my hand and kissed it lightly, then offered me the support of his arm. “You, my dear delight, have just made me walk the length of that street. You could have met me halfway.” He used a complaining tone, but with a softness underneath that told me he was teasing.
I smiled. “I wanted to see the spectacle.”
“Witch.” He smiled so warmly I had to look away, towards Tom. “It’s the popinjay. You lose.” Tom flushed and I was sorry at once for the tease.
“You thought my brother had cut me out, sir? He might be as rich as Croesus, but I do have some attractions of my own.” I met Richard’s eyes and I lost myself in them all over again, like the first time I had gazed into those blue depths.
I introduced the brothers to Mrs. Hoarty, who declared herself overcome by the honour. This would give her plenty of ammunition when she next met her particular friends. She took in every detail of Richard’s appearance. Although aware of her scrutiny, he didn’t give her any kind of set-down as he could so easily have done.
“Mrs. Hoarty has an invitation to our wedding. She was so kind to us as children. I used to use her house as sanctuary when the Manor got too crowded for me.”
“Then I shall ensure she has the best of attention, as my meagre thanks for keeping you safe before I could do so,” he said at once. I knew he meant it, and that he would remember. Mrs. Hoarty had been delighted to receive an invitation, but since the wedding was at Exeter Cathedral, it might have proved too much for her if she didn’t have the best of care. Her health was too frail. The pampering Richard would make certain his people bestowed on her would guarantee her presence. I was sure she would enjoy herself much, which was more than I could say for myself.

DEVONSHIRE
It’s time for Richard to let Rose into every part of his life. Otherwise, he could lose her
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/devonshire
ISBN: 978-1-60504-349-4

The print version will be out on December 1st, and I’m thrilled to bits. Thanks for joining me in the adventure!

I’m thrilled that my Alluring Secrets is now available in print! It’s a hot romance, set in the eighteenth century, and it was such fun to write!

So here’s an excerpt.

Severus didn’t speak again until they were safely behind a closed door in a small room overlooking the back of the house. The windows lay open, allowing a light summer breeze to circulate, but Penelope still felt hot. She knew what was coming, and she’d have no choice but to listen.

He stayed by the windows, and Penelope stood in the middle of the room, waiting. She didn’t know what to say. She almost recoiled when he came closer, but he stopped about a foot away. “I want you to see me properly,” he said softly.

Penelope nodded, relieved and disappointed at the same time. “That’s—considerate of you.”

“Your father told me he’d informed you of the contract—believe me, Penelope, that’s not what I wanted. I didn’t realize he’d be so quick off the mark.”

She swallowed. “How did you want it to be?”

“I wanted you to think about spending your life with me—not with the Earl of Swithland. I wanted to ask you myself.”

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You are the Earl of Swithland.”

He shook his head, not losing the eye contact he’d established between them. “I’m Severus Granville. You’re the only woman in this benighted house party who recognized that. The others want to marry the earl, but not you. Or am I wrong?”

She swallowed. Yes, it was Severus she wanted, not the earl. “No-o. I see what you mean, but I’ve known you a long time. I can see past the earl part because I knew you when I was a child.”

“So has Caroline Trente. Her mother’s had hopes of hooking me for some time. We’ve been thrown together since we were children.” He wouldn’t let her look away, holding her eyes with his transfixing gaze. “But every time she looks at me, it’s as though she’s looking through me. To the family jewels, the house, and all the other things. She doesn’t see me, she never has.”

“So you want me as compensation?” Her tone was dry. What he said was just fuelling her anger. It made her feel like second best.

“No. What I see in you is a regard for me—Severus—not for the station I was born to. You’re not compensation, Penelope. Far from it.”

He moved forward, and Penelope folded her arms in front of her. He stopped.

“And you’re telling me that out of all the beauties you’ve invited here for your pleasure, you’ve chosen me? Clumsy, dowdy, stupid Penelope Makepiece? My lord, you can have the pick of the crop. You don’t want me.” She turned away, so he couldn’t see her bitterness. “Who in their right mind would choose me over beautiful Caroline Trente or sultry Annabelle Rivers?”

“Many people. Including me.”

Having regained control over her wayward emotions, Penelope turned back to face him. He hadn’t moved, but still watched her. Her heart ached; she knew she wanted him, but she wouldn’t let herself be used or disregarded. “Do you want a complacent wife, one who will let you go about your affairs unhindered? If so, you won’t want me, my lord. I couldn’t live like that. I’d rather buy myself a small house somewhere and become a local eccentric. Better that than—” Face twisting, despite her best efforts to keep it clear, she turned away again.

His arms came around her waist from behind. She felt his breath on her neck, his warmth against the thin silk of her gown and she shivered with want. If only—

“No, no, Penelope, I don’t want that. I want a partner, a companion and a friend. And a clever businesswoman, a lovely woman. For you are all those things too, Penelope, not the person you seem to think you are.”

She pulled away, but he wouldn’t let her, drawing her close, the heat from his chest burning into her back. It was torture. It was exquisite. “I’m not lovely,” she managed, sounding, even to her own ears like a child.

“Oh you are. Your beauty isn’t the dazzling kind, but it will last longer. And if you hold your head up and stare the world in the face, they’ll all see it. I want to be the man by your side when you do that.”

Penelope listened, astonished. Never in her life had anyone said anything like that to her. He must want her to think these things.

“Turn around, Penelope. Look at me.”

The intimacy tempted her and filled her with the desire to turn around to face him, but nerves rose to fret at her. She was afraid it wasn’t real, that it was all a trick, but he sounded sincere, and he had never given her any reason to suspect him of duplicity. Once before, at school, someone had tricked her like that, a brother of one of her school friends and the results had devastated her. He’d sworn his undying love, and then trumpeted his triumph to everyone who would listen when she’d believed him.

Then she had fallen for Severus and ever since she’d denied her feelings for him, trying to see him only as a friend. She had failed.

Penelope turned her mind away from the remembrance, as she had so many times before. It hurt too much and she couldn’t change it. Time to deal with the here and now. “What will happen if I accept you?”

He laid his cheek on her hair. It was the sweetest caress she could ever remember. “I’ll go to London, get a special license and have the contract drawn up. I’d like you and your parents to come too, just to do some shopping, if you wish, and to sign the contract. Only a few days. Then we’ll be married on the day of that damned ball, and give it a purpose.”

“Miss Trente thinks she’s arranging her own betrothal ball.”

“Then we won’t tell her until her plans are well under way or she’ll make an attempt at sabotage.” That was cruel, Penelope thought, and opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her words.

He lifted his head. “Please turn around, Penelope. Let me show you what made my mind up for me.”

Trembling, she did as he bid her, and turned within the circle of his arms. He looked down at her for a moment before he bent his head and put his mouth to hers.

When he’d kissed her before he’d been tipsy, if not drunk, but now, in the light of day, with no trace of alcohol, it was even better.

His lips warmed hers, inviting her response. She reached her arms up and tentatively placed them on his shoulders for support. He pulled her closer. He broke the kiss, but temporarily, to open his eyes and look at her, then he kissed her again.

He opened his lips against hers, urging them apart, then took advantage and slipped his tongue between them, tasting her in a series of flickering licks which ravished her senses. She could argue with him, but she couldn’t resist this. She responded, opening her mouth wider to take him in.

With a small groan deep in his throat, he pressed against her, crushing her to his body from head to foot. Everything concentrated where they joined, and she felt the caress of his hands on her whalebone-encased body. She put her arms around him, under his coat. To her mind, the discussion was far from over, though she would be mad to refuse this. She couldn’t have pushed him away if her life depended on it.

He possessed her totally, took her will and thought with his kisses. She gasped when he released her mouth to drop small kisses on her upturned face. “You taste like no one else. I want to make love to you, every bone in my body is urging me to. I can’t remember when I last felt this way.”

“Just before you gave your last mistress her congé?” she asked, smiling, although the thought of anyone else having this pierced her to the heart.

Smiling back, he shook his head. “No one. I want to possess you, Penelope. It’s a primitive urge, something beyond rationality.”

Penelope thought of the other girls trying to attract his attention. “Why me?”

“God knows.” He regarded her for a moment, his gaze frankly possessive. “I’m being honest, Penny.”

She giggled. “No one’s called me that since school.”

“It suits you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I don’t know why you. I can intellectualize, say it’s your intelligence, your friendliness, your inviting figure.” He drew his hands from her waist up to her armpits, caressed her shoulders with his thumbs, then curved them around her back. “All these things attracted me to you, but that’s not it. I first noticed you, really noticed you, when I saw how you behaved, compared to the other women here. I began to seek you out and I discovered that I enjoyed your company. And the feeling has grown. I need to hold you, to care for you. It would make me very happy to see you happy. That’s more than I hoped for in a wife, and I’m still coming to terms with it. Can you care for me, even if just a little?”

His wistful tone crept through the warmth darkening his voice. Penelope couldn’t resist. She studied his face, wondering how he couldn’t see how she felt about him. It must be in her eyes; she was no more capable of hiding it now than she was of flying. “Yes, Sev. I can care for you. I do care for you.”

She could say no more because he bent to kiss her again, fiercely. She felt his longing for her, his need, and she responded, trying to show him her acceptance and her love for him. Because she could deny her feelings no longer. Ten years ago, she’d had an unthinking passion for him. Now, as a grown woman, she knew the difference and she loved him. She saw the real man and loved him for it, not some ideal paper figure she’d created for herself.

The kisses deepened, the caresses became more intimate. When he laid his hand on the swell of her breast then slipped it under her fichu to touch bare skin, she pressed closer. His fingers moved closer to the top of her bodice, stroked the line and eased underneath. Penelope welcomed the caress. With anyone else, she would have felt cheapened, but with Sev, she was flattered that he would want to touch her. He could have done anything, and she’d welcome it. She arched, wanting more. His kiss consumed her and she gave it back to him. His other hand fisted in her skirts and she felt the cooler air when he dragged them up. But his hand on her outer thigh felt like fire against her skin. And suddenly, Penelope wanted to burn. His hand curved around her buttock, pulled her against him with a force that crushed her side-hoops between their bodies and forced her to feel the heat of his erection, pushing against the fabric of his breeches. Penelope pushed back, unable to resist his forceful loving.

With shocking suddenness, he pulled away, removed his hands and placed them lightly, harmlessly, on her waist. Panting, wide-eyed, he stared at her. “My God.”

You can buy Alluring Secrets in print here:

http://new.mybookstoreandmore.com/shop/product.da/p-alluring-secrets

And here’s what the book is about:
Now that his best friend is blissfully married, Severus Granville, Earl of Swithland, finds himself dealing with a wholly unfamiliar urge—to settle down and produce an heir. But among the bevy of beauties vying for his attention, none hold his interest except for one: Penelope. Clumsy, intelligent, appealing Penelope is the one woman with whom he could escape…but she’s expected to marry another.

Afraid she’ll be labeled an unmarriageable bluestocking, Penelope’s family forces her to go without her badly needed spectacles in public, and to hide her intelligence. Though she has loved Severus for years, the best she can hope for is a loveless union with a perfectly suitable—and perfectly boring—cousin. Except Severus seems to have changed his mind.

Hours spent in his rooftop observatory leads to a passion neither of them expected. Yet just as their eyes are opened to the possibility of lasting love, Penelope is snatched away, a pawn in a plot to destroy her family and make her a slave to a man she hardly knows.

If he wants to keep his heart’s treasure, Severus will have to fight for her with everything within him—mind, body and soul.

The third Richard and Rose book came out this week. I love writing about them, and when I do, they seem more real than the people around me. This one was a delight because it’s set in one of my favorite cities, Venice, and it’s the honeymoon book, so I could finally explore Richard and Rose’s sensuality.

Venice is perfect for their honeymoon. Unless an assassin plays his cards right…
Richard and Rose, Book 3
At long last, it is Lord and Lady Strang’s wedding day. Yet no sooner do Richard and Rose leave their wedding breakfast than two shots ring out, forcing a hasty change in honeymoon plans. Instead of traveling together by yacht, Richard goes on ahead, making sure the road to Venice is safe for his beloved.
Rose is by no means alone, however. Along her journey by packet, coach, even mule, she befriends young couple, the Ravens, who have a strange confession to make. They are traveling incognito—and are really the newlywed Lord and Lady Strang!
Once reunited in Venice, Richard and Rose heat up the sheets, making Richard consider the delightful possibility of keeping his wife in bed for the rest of their stay. Except Venice is as full of knaves as London, and one of them is still trying to find them with a bullet.
The Ravens could hold the key to the assassination attempts. Or perhaps they are playing a deadly game of their own…
“A kind heart.” He took me into his arms. “And a true one.”
We were in the bedroom by then, so he began to undress me, letting my gown slide to the floor. “The last time we shall see Mrs. Locke. You can appear as your own beautiful self from now on,”
I laughed at him. “Richard, please! You know I’m not beautiful.”
He’d bent his head to kiss my neck in the place he knew had most effect, but he stopped at that and looked at me, his arms loosely about my waist. “You are and you will be to the rest of the world. Everyone will say you are and so it will be accepted. Besides,” he added, his eyes gleaming brilliantly, “my taste is known to be impeccable, so you must be beautiful, mustn’t you?”
We laughed, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he undid the tapes to my pockets and they fell to the floor with a decided clunk. He swooped down on them and investigated, finding the loaded pistols. He gave a low whistle. “Did you think we’d have to shoot our way out?” He weighed one of them in his hand.
“I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
He pulled back the hammer, enabling the trigger to drop and sighted down the barrel. “Would you have been able to use them?”
I nodded and took the other one from him. “I’m a country girl, my lord. I was taught to shoot in my childhood. James is inordinately fond of field sports, so we were always involved in those kind of activities.”
“So you can shoot. I’m not sure I would have liked to have known you were armed tonight.”
I frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you weren’t armed!”
“That’s different.”
“How so?” I wasn’t best pleased by his assumption the guns wouldn’t have been much use in my hands. I was considered a very fair shot at home. “Come here.”
I seized his hand and pulled him out to the corridor, going down to the front entrance and turning to face the blank wall at the end. This was the longest range we had in this small apartment so I supposed it would have to do. “Is that an outer wall?”
“I think so.” Amusement crept into his voice.
I lifted my piece and sighted along it. “You see that picture? Watch the ship in the middle.” The picture in question was a seascape, a ship in full sail on the ocean, not a very large one. All the better for my purposes.
I fired without hesitation and the corridor exploded in fire and smoke. As I lifted my weapon, he had lifted its partner and fired at the same place. Two simultaneous explosions, creating an immense sound in such an enclosed space, made my ears ring.
The sound brought me to my senses. I clapped my hand to my mouth and dropped the pistol, appalled by what I had just done. All at once, the doors opened and people erupted into the corridor. Carier and Nichols, both wielding pistols of their own, Gervase, confused by the noise, but with his hand in his dressing gown pocket, no doubt in search of his own weapon. Richard was now helpless with laughter, so he was no support. There I stood, in stays and petticoat, my hands to my mouth in horror.
Eventually Richard straightened up. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He laughed again and stopped long enough to say, “Her ladyship was merely showing me how well she can shoot.” Then he was off again.
After an incredulous stare, Nichols went away, about her duties. Carier said, “The building will have been roused, my lord,” in censorious tones and went away to deal with it.
Gervase looked at both of us in astonished amusement. “Well, we might as well see how you’ve done.” He went up to the end of the hall.
As the smoke cleared, Richard’s laughter began to subside and we could see again. “You’ve both gone straight through the picture,” Gervase called down to us “Right through the centre, there’s no ship left any more. You’ll have to redecorate this wall.”
“We’ll just hang another picture over it for now,” Richard said.
We went up to view the damage.
I was still appalled by what I had done. We looked at the black, shattered holes we had made in silence for a few moments. “All right, so you can shoot,” Richard said eventually to me. “But I reserve the right to challenge you to a target shoot when we get home,”
“Accepted,” I said straightaway. We shook hands on it.
Richard studied the ruined picture again. “I’m rather pleased you can shoot. It makes me easier in my mind about your staying here. Meantime, my lady.” He turned to me, making me acutely aware of my appearance. “I can’t think your esteemed sister-in-law would think it at all proper for you to appear in public like this. I would urge you to spare my poor brother’s blushes at once and come to bed.”
I coloured up and lifted my hand to my breast in confusion, which only served to draw attention to my lack of covering. Richard watched me, amused, but Gervase took pity on me. He took my other hand and kissed it lightly. “It’s just as well I don’t notice such things then.” He looked only at my face, something few other men would have done in the circumstances, then nodded to Richard and went back to his own room, leaving us alone in the corridor in front of the shattered remains of the picture.
In a splendidly courtly gesture, Richard offered me his arm. “Shall we?” He led me back into our room, just as if we were entering a ballroom. Once there however, not on the best of terms with him for laughing so much, I insisted on cleaning and reloading both the pistols.
I brought the case into the bedroom from the dressing room and sat by the cold fireplace. I used the table we had used to breakfast from so much in the last week or two. He lay on the bed in his shirtsleeves, his chin propped up on his hand, watching me.
I glanced up at him. “We might need these in the morning.”
He sat up and opened the drawer in the nightstand. “Or these.” He brought out another pair of pistols, larger than mine but equally ready for use.
I realised the ridiculousness of the situation, as he had meant me to. I laughed and forgave him, but I carried on with my task, determined to be ready for our would-be assassin. Richard replaced his guns in the drawer and I finished my task while he watched me. “I have rarely seen anything more erotic.”
“What?” I looked up from my task, startled.
“You. Half-naked, cleaning that gun. You’re so absorbed in what you’re doing you’re not aware of how you look.”
I put down the last flintlock. “And how do I look?”
“Delicious.” He climbed off the bed and came over to demonstrate

Venice – Richard and Rose, book four
Venice is perfect for their honeymoon. Unless an assassin plays his cards right…
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/venice
ISBN: 978-1-60504-517-7

Tantalizing Secrets means a lot to me in a number of ways. It was originally intended to be the last book in the series, making it a trilogy, but so many interesting characters turned up in the course of it, that I’m thinking about maybe writing more.
For each book in the series, I had a specific house in mind, but for the third book, I had two houses, both in the city of my birth, Leicester, England. The first is the historic manor of Belgrave Hall, once in the countryside outside the city walls, now part of the city itself. The other is the house where I grew up, 10, Sanvey Gate, an old house made of a hotchpotch of at least three premises from three periods in history cobbled together to make one. Although we had a different business there, I made the house a button factory, which used the same kind of machinery my father’s business had. Some of the experiences tally with mine – the little office at the rear where Arabella and Peter have an interesting time together would have been our kitchen.
And the hero’s brother falling from the top of the tower of St. Margaret’s Church? (it’s the inciting incident, happens before the book starts). I went up that tower once, just once. The parapet was low, there was nothing between me and tumbling and I saw how easy it would be.

So, without further ado, to a little teaser from the book, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Arabella Mason is too busy investigating her brother-in-law’s “accidental” death to entertain thoughts of love. She’ll go to any lengths to ease her sister’s grief, even accept the help of the distressingly attractive Viscount Bredon, Peter Worsley. Instead of answers, the trail of clues only leads to more questions. Who was her brother-in-law, really…and why does Peter, who poses as her brother in public, make mincemeat of her resistance in private?

A successful politician and confirmed bachelor, Peter has bedded the loveliest women in society. He never imagined he’d wind up in a Leicester backwater, helping a pretty widow investigate his brother’s untimely death. As his suspicions of foul play grow stronger, the danger rises—and so does his desire for Arabella. One kiss, and she snatches away all his resolve, leaving him wondering which he wants more…

To find his brother’s killer? Or keep Arabella safe—and make her his?

He threw back his head and crowed with laughter. “Oh, my dear, how well you know me already. I shall have to take care with you.”
“Not after all those sophisticated ladies of the ton.”
“You have something very rare in society. Straightforward honesty.”
He meant it. She saw no subterfuge in his gaze. Arabella felt he’d just given her a far more profound compliment than the verbal one. Tentatively she smiled, then got to her feet.
Her sewing slipped forgotten to the floor, and Peter rescued it for her. When he handed it back his fingers touched hers. She let the embroidery fall again and then bent to retrieve it with suddenly clumsy fingers. He took her elbows and raised her up before she could retrieve it. She looked up and met his eyes, knowing what was to happen and unwilling to prevent it.
He kissed her. A gentle, undemanding kiss. She didn’t do anything to stop it, and then felt him slip his arms around her waist. He lifted his head, tilted it a little and returned to the fray.
This time he meant it. He opened his lips, taking hers with them and slid his tongue into her mouth. Arabella was stunned. She’d never felt anything remotely like this before. The world began to drift away. No wonder they were willing, these other women.
He tasted her and she let him. When he withdrew, she almost fell into the trap, and followed him, but remembered just in time and pulled back. She stared up at him, breathless.

Tantalizing Secrets
A murder… A lord’s desire…and her quiet, respectable life is gone forever.
ISBN: 978-1-60504-394-4
From Samhain Publishing
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/tantalizing-secrets
—
Lynne Connolly, author of Dark and Provocative Romance
A murder… A lord’s desire…and her quiet, respectable life is gone forever.
Tantalizing Secrets from Samhain Publishing

http://www.lynneconnolly.com/TantalizingSecrets.html