Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 20

Cerise visited #Regency #Osterley Park, brought home a patroness of Almack's!

Caretaker's cottage beyond main gate!Going to England? One of the best homes to see if you are a Regency fan is Osterley Park. Nestled in a rolling estate not far from central London, the house is a gorgeous example of Regency architecture and Georgian furniture.

Taking the Tube, you can easily get to the stop in a few minutes. Yes, it is a bit of a walk from the station, perhaps a mile or two, but the terrain is flat. (And the trek works off your eggs and banger for breakfast!) If you'd prefer a taxi, those are readily available on the street.
But as for Mr. Deland and me, we did the walk and were glad we did. This always give us a greater sense of the town, the people, the restaurants and yes, I even spied a black gas meter in the sidewalk, circa. 1880!

Nestled off the main road, the house and the grounds sit away from the bustle of traffic. The gate is lovely, the caretakers cottage, too. And then suddenly you are greeted by the four-legged inhabitants! These shown here are only a few of this working estate. Charolais cattle are the drawing card but the day we were here, they must have been on vacation. The winding walk around the pond toward the house...just there amid the trees.That four-pillared entrance portico you see was designed (and added on to the house) by famed architect Robert Adams. Interesting because it does not cover the entire walkway to the front doors, it adds a Palladian charm and symmetry that makes the house grander than its more humble Tudor origins. 
Built by a Tudor financier, the house and grounds over the centuries became dilapidated. They were purchased in mid-18th century by Francis Child, a trader and banker. His intention was to keep the original footprint of the Elizabethan house and improve it with Adams' more contemporary sensibilities. Not only did Adam plan to improve the appearance of the outside of the house, but he redecorated the inside by deciding on each piece of furniture and ornamentation. 
Those who owned the house were a family grown rich from their involvement in the East India Company and afterward in banking. The appointments in the house reflect that interest with a lot of Chinese porcelain of the Ming and Ch'ing dynasties, ivory carvings from India as well the yellow and jades colors well associated with those periods. The Long Gallery, where ladies could take their constitutionals on rainy or snowy days, showcases these family treasures.

Intriguing to see so well preserved is the bed in the State Bed Chamber which is more than 14 feet tall and almost 8 feet wide. Huge and canopied, the massive bed was meant for a visit by King George III who never visited. But the crown atop the carved canopy denotes the hope the monarch might arrive. The lavish appointments of linens and coverlet are lovely works of the period. The bill for this room, the bed and furnishings was so enormous, Robert Child ripped up the paper and never told anyone the final tally!
Up an elaborate green marbled staircase are more bedrooms and a library. Each is preserved in varying degrees with period furniture, draperies and fittings. The library is rather bare, because the contents (original works) were sold for profit and/or given to museums long ago. The music room on the main floor features a piano given to one of the ladies of the house. In the servants hall downstairs I suggest you take your time to look at each and every pot, pan, loooong wooden table, sinks for washing vegetables and a century-old oven. Next to that is the estate manager's office, large and dark and imperious. In all, the house inspires visions of who had walked here, what finery they wore, what dreams they dreamt.
Sarah Sophia Child Villiers
Countess of Jersey
(4 March 1785 – 26 January 1867
One intriguing story is about the daughter of Robert Child. Sarah Anne wished to marry the 10th Earl of Westmorland, a known gambler and rake. When the man asked her father for her hand, Robert refused on grounds he was not worthy of her. Plus, he feared the man married her for her fortune.

When the earl asked her father, What would you do if you loved a lady and her father refused you?
Robert replied, Why, run away with her, to be sure!

And so the young man persuaded the lady to elope with him to Gretna Green in Scotland. Robert was in hot pursuit but to no avail. The marriage was completed. The Westmorland's however lived happily together despite the fact that Robert rewrote his will, disinheriting his daughter and awarding all his fortune to her second child. That child was a girl who became a scion of society and famous patroness of Almacks, the famous 5th Countess of Jersey. 
As with houses operated by the National Trust, this one must be preserved by careful cooperation with visitors. Pictures inside were a no-no. And so I urge you to go see the house for yourself. And please do take a preview of the house and fabulous furnishings
at the website! http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/osterley-park-and-house.

Cerise went to #London, visited #Regency #Osterley Park, brought home a patroness of Almack's!

Caretaker's cottage beyond main gate!Going to England? One of the best homes to see if you are a Regency fan is Osterley Park. Nestled in a rolling estate not far from central London, the house is a gorgeous example of Regency architecture and Georgian furniture.

Taking the Tube, you can easily get to the stop in a few minutes. Yes, it is a bit of a walk from the station, perhaps a mile or two, but the terrain is flat. (And the trek works off your eggs and banger for breakfast!) If you'd prefer a taxi, those are readily available on the street.
But as for Mr. Deland and me, we did the walk and were glad we did. This always give us a greater sense of the town, the people, the restaurants and yes, I even spied a black gas meter in the sidewalk, circa. 1880!

Nestled off the main road, the house and the grounds sit away from the bustle of traffic. The gate is lovely, the caretakers cottage, too. And then suddenly you are greeted by the four-legged inhabitants! These shown here are only a few of this working estate. Charolais cattle are the drawing card but the day we were here, they must have been on vacation. The winding walk around the pond toward the house...just there amid the trees.That four-pillared entrance portico you see was designed (and added on to the house) by famed architect Robert Adams. Interesting because it does not cover the entire walkway to the front doors, it adds a Palladian charm and symmetry that makes the house grander than its more humble Tudor origins. 
Built by a Tudor financier, the house and grounds over the centuries became dilapidated. They were purchased in mid-18th century by Francis Child, a trader and banker. His intention was to keep the original footprint of the Elizabethan house and improve it with Adams' more contemporary sensibilities. Not only did Adam plan to improve the appearance of the outside of the house, but he redecorated the inside by deciding on each piece of furniture and ornamentation. 
Those who owned the house were a family grown rich from their involvement in the East India Company and afterward in banking. The appointments in the house reflect that interest with a lot of Chinese porcelain of the Ming and Ch'ing dynasties, ivory carvings from India as well the yellow and jades colors well associated with those periods. The Long Gallery, where ladies could take their constitutionals on rainy or snowy days, showcases these family treasures.

Intriguing to see so well preserved is the bed in the State Bed Chamber which is more than 14 feet tall and almost 8 feet wide. Huge and canopied, the massive bed was meant for a visit by King George III who never visited. But the crown atop the carved canopy denotes the hope the monarch might arrive. The lavish appointments of linens and coverlet are lovely works of the period. The bill for this room, the bed and furnishings was so enormous, Robert Child ripped up the paper and never told anyone the final tally!
Up an elaborate green marbled staircase are more bedrooms and a library. Each is preserved in varying degrees with period furniture, draperies and fittings. The library is rather bare, because the contents (original works) were sold for profit and/or given to museums long ago. The music room on the main floor features a piano given to one of the ladies of the house. In the servants hall downstairs I suggest you take your time to look at each and every pot, pan, loooong wooden table, sinks for washing vegetables and a century-old oven. Next to that is the estate manager's office, large and dark and imperious. In all, the house inspires visions of who had walked here, what finery they wore, what dreams they dreamt.
Sarah Sophia Child Villiers
Countess of Jersey
(4 March 1785 – 26 January 1867
One intriguing story is about the daughter of Robert Child. Sarah Anne wished to marry the 10th Earl of Westmorland, a known gambler and rake. When the man asked her father for her hand, Robert refused on grounds he was not worthy of her. Plus, he feared the man married her for her fortune.

When the earl asked her father, What would you do if you loved a lady and her father refused you?
Robert replied, Why, run away with her, to be sure!

And so the young man persuaded the lady to elope with him to Gretna Green in Scotland. Robert was in hot pursuit but to no avail. The marriage was completed. The Westmorland's however lived happily together despite the fact that Robert rewrote his will, disinheriting his daughter and awarding all his fortune to her second child. That child was a girl who became a scion of society and famous patroness of Almacks, the famous 5th Countess of Jersey. 
As with houses operated by the National Trust, this one must be preserved by careful cooperation with visitors. Pictures inside were a no-no. And so I urge you to go see the house for yourself. And please do take a preview of the house and fabulous furnishings
at the website! http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/osterley-park-and-house.

Branding your work? Cerise DeLand offers a partial list of graphic designers!

Branding your work is no easy task. It requires a lot of thought on your part before you ever talk to an artist. In fact, it requires you think about it in depth before you decide on one artist over another.

And in this marketplace, with new authors trying their wings daily, the market is filled with marvelous designers.
In fact, the list I am about to produce for you here shows the variety of their thoughts and tools, the marvelous talent and the dramatic differences among those designers.

First of all, let me tell you, I am an author. A communicator. I am not an artist. But I have worked with professional designers of everything from giant highway billboards to tiny, intriguing business cards for more than 36 years.

Secondly, why do I have this list?

Ah, my guilty secret is that I LOVE looking at the offerings of so many delightful artists and often after I sit down each morning to work (and yes, write!) I take myself on a magic carpet ride on the internet to gaze at the beauties they have offered up for our enjoyment. (I could go to amazon and surf, but trust me, that way, I am reading plot lines, not imbibing the skills of the artistry.)

Furthermore, if you look at these artists' works like I do, you become inspired by their imagination. I play a game with myself called,  What Title Goes With This Cover?

Try it. You'll be smiling.  And like me, you may find yourself refreshed and ready to hit the keyboard. If you have problems tearing yourself away, then do hit the stop watch. You could spend the day doing this! (Yes. I have.)

Know too that not every artist is right for you and your work or even all of your work. Many are better at one particular kind of rendering, much like Rodin was better at sculptures of nudes and men in action or torment. But he probably would not have achieved fame for, say, painting like Delacroix. Nor could Chopin compose works that had the fell or drama of Beethoven. If you write Regency romance, an artist who does superb sci-fi romance covers might not be your best choice. But if you wrote about Mr. Darcy on Mars? Well, then! Give that artist a good go!

Each artist has different requirements of clients, different ways of working. Each tells you that, usually up front. If you have questions, ask. Note how each works and see if that set of principles works for you, your temperament and your ideas of professional relationships.

I have collected these sites for a long time because it suits my own artistic temperament. Looking at art (painting, sculpture, installations) opens up my own mind, makes me ask questions of myself that are vital to my existence and my growth as a writer. I hope you enjoy this list and use it to your prosperity and in the best of health. And if you know of an artist who is not on this list, please send it to me! I will make another list for all to use and enjoy!

A few things you must know about this list:It is in no order.
It has no qualifiers, including pricing.
It represents, I am certain, only a smattering of those who offer up delicious work.
I do not say this list is complete, or the definitive list of those who can and should aid you.
I do not advocate for one more than the other.
I do not receive any compensation from any of them for this listing.
But I have employed some of them.
I would employ a lot more if I wrote faster and had more books!
In fact, I have in my computer, far more book covers by artists whom I have employed than works I have yet written! (Yes, I am that enamored of great art that I salivate to possess it. Kind of like a woman who must have a certain man she adores! But I digress.)

And so here is my list:

https://thebookcoverdesigner.com

Amazon   ARe NOOK   KOBO 
http://designsbybmb.com/site/

http://www.coragraphics.it/

http://telltalebookcovers.weebly.com/

http://www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

http://estrellacoverart.com/

www.pandngraphics.com/

http://ebookindiecovers.com/

http://www.mybookcoverdesign.com/

http://www.coveredup.net/

http://melodyypond.weebly.com/

http://litteradesigns.storenvy.com

http://vwzdesigns.com/

http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk/

http://www.kam.design/#!book-covers/c...

http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

http://www.coveredup.net/

http://coversbyharris.weebly.com/

http://www.roseannawhitedesigns.com/

The Lion by Cerise DeLand, Omega Team seriesAmazon US | UK | Canada |Germany | Australia | Japanhttp://jessbuffettgraphicdesigns.weeb...

http://www.theillustratedauthor.net/

http://www.syneca-originalsyn.com

http://www.glassslipperwebdesign.com/

https://victoriamillerartist.com/

http://sherimcgathy.com/

http://sweettoheat.blogspot.com/

http://winterheart.com/

https://fantasiafrogdesigns.wordpress...

http://www.tibbsdesign.com/

http://fionajaydemedia.com/

http://genemollica.com/

http://cheekycovers.com/

http://yocladesigns.com/

http://najlaqamberdesigns.com/

http://damonza.com/packages/

http://www.okaycreations.com/

http://www.kfadvertisingservices.com/

http://seductivemusingsdesigns.blogsp...

http://pickymeartist.com/

http://coveryourdreams.wordpress.com/

http://thekilliongroupinc.com/

http://spittyfish.wordpress.com/

http://fantasiafrogdesigns.wordpress....

http://safariheatbooktoursandauthorse...

http://www.romance-covers.com/

http://koreymaejohnson.com/

http://www.readycovers.com/

http://aeternumdesigns.com/

http://seductivemusingsdesigns.blogsp...

http://dusktildawndesigns.com/

http://www.premadeebookcovershop.com/

http://www.leahsuttle.com/

http://www.sydgill.com/

http://www.tamianwood.com/

http://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/

http://judgeyourbookbyitscover.blogsp...

http://www.creativeparamita.com/

http://www.georginagibson.com/

http://www.michelleleedesigns.net/

http://atomicwerewolfstudio.com/

http://www.coveredup.net/

http://www.raemonetinc.com/

And for my commercial, here I've added a few of my own covers (designed by two different artists) that I adore and you can readily see the difference in tone, treatment and, I do hope, genre!
Happy viewing!
Cerise DeLand

Cerise went to #London, found #Regency #wine merchants, #hat and #barber #shops centuries' old!

Nothing in the world is so good for the historical researcher as a three mile walk around London! Of course, you need fuel in the form of fish and chips, beer, and an afternoon tea but on the way you give your camera a good workout!

Here are a few pix from my and Mr. DeLand's workout! Most of these are in the St. James's region near the Palace, off Green Park and fabulous Spencer House!

That mansion built beginning in 1756 by the young bridegroom, the first Earl Spencer for his bride, is open only on Sundays. Do make a point to go if you've a passion for Neo-Classical interior design and furnishings. The mansion, right off Green Park, is easy to access from the Tube and a sprightly walk along the park. The house is beautifully appointed with (mostly) original period pieces. Owned now by a non-profit corporation which rents it out occasionally, the home is a gracious example of fine mid-eighteenth century workmanship by famous architects of the day including Henry Holland. Seeing the Palm Room alone was the joy of my day. And if you are mad about period architecture, the house brochure, available only at the house, is a must!

Side view from St. James's Street, Green Park around right hand corner.
The library overlooks the park where passersby often walked right up to the earl and 
his countess to ask for food and money!
I used the ballroom as a model for one in 
RENDEZVOUS WITH A DUKE!
Hope you read it!Do visit the website for more specific details about the house, which of course, I could not photograph lest the fabrics fade from modern-day flash lighting. http://www.spencerhouse.co.uk

Outside though, the scenery was as stunning.
Homes next door going up St. James's Street.
And across the street, the entry to a close, quaint and intriguing where a small hotel fronts the street.




Along St. James's, a home from which once Frederic Chopin departed
to give his last public performance. Truefitt and Hill here since 1805!
Their front window!
Berry Bros and Rudd, Ltd. Wine Merchants at No. 3 St. James's opened in 1698 
by a woman and still owned and operated by the same family. 
Has a Royal Warrant to Her Majesty the Queen.
We wanted to go in for a champagne tasting but the event that day was fully subscribed! Alas!
www.bbr.com  And next door to the wine merchants at No. 6?
Lock and Company, Hatters, since 1678 they've been here.
The shop also appears in HER BEGUILING BUTLER! I do hope you've read it!
www.lockhatters.co.uk

Cerise DeLand's #bestselling #Regency LADY VARNEY'S RISQUE BUSINESS #1 in #series #Free #romance

AMAZON    KOBO    iTunes   ARe   NOOKI am tickled to tell you that LADY VARNEY's RISQUE BUSINESS, #1 in my bestselling Regency Romp series, is now free!  That's right, zero dollars, zero cents! FREE!

When a proper lady of the ton takes on a new client in her risqué matchmaking business, she discovers that he has one decadent demand. Spend the night with him!
Lady Kitty Varney runs a discreet business to support herself and pay off her late husband's gambling debts. When Viscount Justin Belmont appears in her parlor, Kitty's latest client is the very man she was forbidden to marry years ago. Kitty questions if she can find Justin a woman worthy of him...and if she can bear to help him wed any other woman.
Then Justin lists his criteria for a wife and Kitty is shocked to learn she is among the few candidates suitable. He demands each candidate spend one night with him.
Can Kitty deny herself the chance to enjoy the charms of the man she's never forgotten? Lady Varney's risqué business might be her saving grace–but it may well become her undoing.
Your nibble of my cherry?Here it is! Excerpt, Copyright 2014, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved. Kitty stiffened her backbone, but felt no stronger than a floundering mackerel. How she took the circular staircase down to her drawing room was a mystery, given her knees of jelly. “Buck up, Puss,” she chastised herself. She pulled open the double doors herself rather than call her butler and crowd the occasion with unnecessary others. She needed to look upon Justin Belmont at this particular moment alone. #2 in Regency Romp series!And oh, my. Yes. To realize that the newly dubbed Viscount Belmont, American-born, Englishman by blood, nobleman now by adoption and the entail, was even more devastatingly handsome than a decade ago when the world seemed fresh and full of positive possibilities.“My Lord Belmont.” Kitty sailed toward him where he stood before her fireplace, her expression, she hoped, one of civility. My lord, how can you shake my sanity so easily with that harsh look? That painful curiosity in your hazel eyes?Here before her stood the man who had saved her from lascivious Frenchmen more than a decade ago. Huge and imposing as Satan then, he was now more muscular, his face more angular, his hair more raven against skin more pale. In clothes that were better tailored and more form-fitting than the loose linen shirts that once had flowed to his fingertips, he was now the epitome of a titled English gentleman. He gave no hint of the American privateer who had captured her body with his boldness, her mind with his intellect and her heart with his artless charm.She walked forward, her gaze up at his imperial height, her hand out for him to take.He touched her fingertips, his own cold as the grave. “Lady Varney. Kind of you to receive me.”You don’t sound as though you think me kind. You sound…dismayed, appalled, even—dear god—disgusted that you are here. #3 in Regency Romp series!“Please, my lord, do sit with me.” She nodded to one settee, and as he complied, she took the one facing him. His eyes, such a myriad of earthen colors, faceted in the lamplight of late afternoon. They flowed over her hair, her lips, her breasts, her fingers. Everywhere his gaze touched, her body pulsed, remembering how once he had looked at her with desire. Not this…this indifference. That sparked her to lie with her next words, “I am delighted you have come to see me.”He did not even breathe as he said, “Are you now?”“Of course,” she countered his challenge, but stayed true to her manners by adding, “I have heard of your recent good fortune.”He cocked a long black brow. “When the news is published in the scandal sheets as well as the social notes, nothing in London is a secret.”She licked her lower lip. “Very little.”“But this service of yours,” he said with measured tone as he circled a hand in the air to denote her business, “this is a tidbit only the men of the ton share with each other.”She hastened to agree. “Those who need help have found my—”“Assistance? That is what you call your match-making, am I correct?” One corner of his mouth tipped up and she could not say if the move denoted humor or ruefulness. “Whatever your services, I need them.”His directness had her fighting for a response. #4 in Regency Romp series!“I hear you pride yourself on your knowledge of human nature,” he prodded her.She lifted her chin. “Or to be exact, the nature of men.”He barked in laughter. “If you knew that, dearest woman, you and I would not be sitting here.”Should she show him the door? She bristled and sought to hold her ground, reprimand him, if she could. “You asked for this appointment, my lord.”“It seemed the only way to see you,” he shot back.“Perhaps I am mistaken, but I was under the impression that you requested a Sunday afternoon appointment because—”“Because since my newfound status as a peer of the realm was announced in September, you have not invited me to any of your dinner parties.”“Forgive me, but you really wished an invitation to dinner?” Incredulous at that conclusion, she felt a thrill sweep up her spine that he might indeed not seek a wife. “I—I am only recently out of my year of mourning for my husband, Justin, and those who may dine at my table with me do not include bachelors.”“Especially bachelors whom you once knew? Ah, the rules of this blasted society!” He leaned forward, his gaze at once tender and yearning. “Kitty—”“Please, sir, I am still Lady Varney to you.”“You never were that to me. Besides, you just called me Justin.” His eyes twinkled.“I did not!”“Of course, you did.” He sat back, crossed one long leg over the other and seemed too well satisfied with himself to soothe her ruffled senses.“We are here to discuss business,” she insisted with a hauteur that had him narrowing his gaze on her.It was not a kindly glance, either, but the fierce glare he’d worn so long ago as he climbed over the sides of the French Cyr to rescue her from those bastards. He blinked. Drew back and appraised her. Good. At least we are now on firm footing. Two equals about to do business. Not two older people who had cared passionately for each other in their youth. She tipped her head when he remained silent. “Please tell me what you wish.”He set his jaw, never having cared for anyone to give him orders. “As you know, I am to inherit the Earl of Belmont’s titles and estates. He is ailing. Sadly, I might add. I have come to care for my uncle deeply in the past six years. When I first set foot in England eleven years ago, I must say I had no idea he and I would ever get on. But we did. Do. Save for one issue.”Kitty nodded, knowing precisely the matter that divided them. Touchy subject though it was, she went on boldly, because that was her wont, because it was her business to be forthright and because she knew this man very well. Or once had. “He wants you to marry.”Justin seemed to retreat even further into himself. His jaw firmed. His lips thinned. His large eyes turned to glittering stones. “He wishes me to marry an heiress with title, high social standing and a suitable dowry. To put a fine point on it, he wants the perfect woman.”“The earl thinks appropriately. His titles are six hundred years old and his estates are numerous and bring in a sizeable sum each year.”Justin snorted. “My uncle was right about you.”Kitty felt what would come next would not be a compliment. “How so?”“He declares there is not much you do not know about the peers of the realm, their income or their need for propriety.”“To learn the genealogies of the famous one hundred families was a favorite pastime for a lonely little girl.”His features softened to a genuine compassion that made her heart ache. “You were alone as a child?”She swallowed, not wishing to remember her youth. “I do have one sister, younger by ten years. But our parents were preoccupied with society. Hence, the house was often cold and dark. But the library was a wonderful room, warm and full of enchanting tales. Not all of them were fiction.”His mouth spread wide in a grin and her memory of how those lips felt on her own was one she told herself could not be so fresh after more than a decade. Yet, it was.She tipped her head, unable to suppress a smile. “Please tell me about the kind of woman you wish me to seek for you.”“Ah. Yes.” He scowled, his glittering eyes hard as glass. “First, she must be lovely.”“Of course.” No less for such a striking man. Besides, a plain woman would be intimidated by a husband who was so damned handsome.“Blonde.”“Blonde?” Hair color was often listed by a man, but not usually this early in the discussion.“Golden-haired.”She shifted. That specific? “I see.”“She must be a peer in her own right.”Kitty knit her brows, recalling how her own  barony of writ  had been the lure to Henry. “Why is this important?”“Her own blue-blood complements my lack. Since I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, a lady in deed secures my own legitimacy.”Kitty’s mind was racing. How many single golden-haired ladies who were titled in their own right could she count? Four? Five? “It also enhances the reputation of any of my offspring.”“True. I had not thought of that.”Looking innocent as a cherub, he lifted a palm. “You see my logic.”“Certainly.” Dear god, a taskmaster. “What else might I add to her qualifications?” A huge dowry? That’s what the ton says the old Earl demands of you.“She must be shorter than I. Talented at the piano forte. A good conversationalist.”“Really, how interesting.” Her gaze wandered to her own French piano. She frowned and noted, “Most men would have asked that she be a wizard at cards.”He chuckled. “Most bachelors,” she ventured, “want to ensure they keep their money in the family.”“Oh, never doubt, my dear Kitty, that I have other requirements perhaps more astonishing than not caring about my future wife’s ability at the card table.”Oh, my.  This was the point at which many men told her they wanted peculiar qualities in their spouse. She hadn’t expected any oddities from Justin. Would she be disillusioned as well as surprised? And even more jealous? “Do tell me what they are.”“I want someone versed in the art of conjugal bliss.”Was she gaping at him? “I’m sorry. I supposed, I mean, I presumed—”“You thought I wanted a virgin?”“I did. Most men do.”“Not I.”“Why ever not?” Was that her own shrill voice?A grin flashed over his features. “I also want someone who has had a child.”“A—?” Kitty blinked, clearing her impression of this man who now seemed suddenly so calculating. “Pardon me?”“I need an heir. I need to be assured that the woman I marry can conceive and carry a child to term, birth him well and rear him. This means she must be of good constitution. After all, I will need not one child but at least two. Preferably three.”“Three.”“Children.” Kitty could not believe her ears at his extraordinary list, but nodded and went on with the topic. “Raised by her, of course.” “I want no fainting lily. No frail Bess. And no parade of nurses and governesses.”“But surely, you need one,” she babbled, “ of each.”“Of course. One governess. One nurse. And one loving mother.”“I see.” Kitty began to have a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach that signaled either rage or a headache. Stress like this reminded her of verbal sparing with Henry who thankfully had gone to his Maker. The cure for that had been for her to run to her garden. Prune her roses. Trim her yews. At the moment, she could do neither, but deal with Justin and his demands. “You are being very specific.”“I am.”“Almost too much so.”“Why do you say that?”She rose to her feet, the sensation of standing so quickly made her head light. Airy. Euphoria had her swaying. So unexpected was this feeling that she walked toward the fireplace and put a steadying hand to the mantel. “Let me recount your requirements.”He nodded as he sat in his chair, looking so infernally regal and congenial that she wanted to gather the fine lapels of his frockcoat in her fists and shake him. “Proceed.”“You want a young woman, an heiress with wealth—”He raised a hand to make her pause. “She need not be young. Too young and she is not useful to me as a wife who can bear children.”“Quite. Shall we say that you want a seasoned woman? Yes?”He nodded. “Go on.”“Blonde. Golden-haired, specifically. Shorter than you, so then she must be five-feet-four or five inches tall. Good at the piano, in the assembly hall and the ballroom. Versed in the bedroom. A woman who has already borne a child and who wishes to bear more. She must also enjoy the process of raising them. Anything I have missed?”He let his gaze drift up to her cap of golden curls, then down to lock on her eyes. “That is an excellent summary.”She braced herself for what she was now about to say. “I have made matches for men for a long time.”“Ever since you began to emerge from mourning for your husband.”She gave Justin a small smile. Realizing he knew this about her was a delight. “Yes, and I have created some very fine marriages. Though not all of my couples have yet taken vows, those five who did, are very happy.”Justin brushed imaginary lint from his trousers. “So I have heard.”“But these requirements you list are unusual.”“I am a very exacting man.”“You are. Your friends declare it. I hear your tailor does, too. Your butler.”“I shall have to reprimand my man for engaging in gossip,” he told her but his eyes and his lips quirked in amusement.She tipped her head, unable to resist grinning at him and learning more. “Your butler is a good friend of my cook. They talk often.”“To you as well, it seems.”“My sources are legion. They help me with the work I do.” She raised her brows. “You must realize to match-make I need to know many facts about people.”“A necessity of your occupation.” He winked at her, sending her back to days on his ship when she’d been so entranced by his charm. She cleared her throat and returned to the subject of his visit. “Your list limits me severely.”“I am aware of that.”“There are few women who possess all the qualifications.” He rose and came to stand before her.So close now, she breathed his cologne. Smelled the mint on his breath. Admired the dimple in his left cheek and the facets of green and brown in his large heavy-lidded eyes. “In fact, there are only three women who meet all of your requirements.”“Ah. But wait, you have not heard them all.”“No? Preposterous! There is a very small pool of possible candidates, Justin. To add more requirements would be burdensome—”“But my fortune will be very large. My homes, here and in the country, are grand estates. I will be married to this woman for many decades, and I need the best companion possible.” He frowned, very determined looking. “I have the right to declare to whom I shall be joined!”“Precisely so, my lord, but we must be prudent.”“You be prudent! I shall be as I am!”His virulence shocked her. “Your fees are high. I shall have whom I want! Who is best suited to me.” He strode closer and seized her arms, his powerful body dwarfing hers. Once his might had been comforting, but now, full of fury, his size made her wince. She had been intimidated by her husband far too often and she would not be by any man ever again. She stiffened her spine. “Tell me your other requirements.” “She must spend twenty-four hours with me at Belmont Manor.”“Oh, I see.” She let out a breath, relieved. “You want her to visit.”“No, I want her in my bed.”Kitty blinked. “I...I’m sorry. You want her—?”“Naked. I want to learn if she likes men. Me, to be exact.

HOT TARGET, one scorching #military #romance by @JordanDane excerpt!

Available only on Amazon  Outside Havana, Cuba

Five years ago Rafael lay sprawled on his belly in the gritty dirt for hours, enduring the cool darkness before dawn to the now sweltering heat of the midday sun. He offered up his body to anything that crawled or slithered. With a single-minded purpose he remained as still and unmoving as the boulder he hid behind, dressed in camouflage tactical gear—BDUs, boonie hat, and boots.  Not even the heat or the sweat trickling down his neck distracted him.His unwavering discipline kept him rooted to the land. This had to work.Rafe cleared out every last cent of his savings—after he’d lost all hope for his future—to pay for his covert drop and extraction so he could bring his weapon into Cuba. Without an official stamp in his passport, there would be no record of him entering or leaving the country.When he heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance, he knew his sacrifice had come down to this moment. His eyes shifted toward the horizon and his throat wedged tight. He fought the emotion that welled inside him as he shouldered his suppressed .300 Winchester Magnum. Rafe stared through the Nightforce telescopic sight with his eyes trained on the dirt road below his position.Please let it be him. Not many used this desolate acreage of private ranch land, except for the man he dared to hunt. A truck barreled toward his position and kicked up clouds of dust. As he peered through the scope, adrenaline raged through his veins. Stay in control. Don’t lose it now. He’d come too far to fail. Rafe had his egress routed, but if he didn’t take his target out, he didn’t care what happened to him.The truck would soon be in range. Rafael slipped on his ear plugs and checked for wind, spying the inconspicuous ribbon he’d tied to a downrange branch at dawn. He adjusted the knobs for windage and elevation and took the safety off his sniper rifle. His hand reached for the bolt action and he chambered a round.One shot. One kill.He relaxed his body and took a deep breath before he let it out slow. Rafe hardened his expression as callused as his heart had become. He lined up the man’s face until it centered in the floating crosshair of his scope—Adiós, cabrón—and without hesitation he squeezed the trigger.The man’s head spattered red mist and brain matter onto the windshield. The back of his head severed from his neck. Target down. Confirmed. After the truck veered left and lunged into a ditch, the man’s dead weight landed on the steering wheel. The abrasive sound of a horn cut through the late afternoon air.Rafael lay motionless and glared at the dead man through his scope. Time drained away and he could not move. Tears welled in his eyes. He expected to feel something. It was over, wasn’t it? His body shook and he fought the urge to puke.You gotta go. Now.It took everything he had to get off the ground and stay focused on his egress. He’d have to get to his extraction point and out of Cuba fast before authorities found the body. Out of habit, he policed his brass, grabbing for the spent shell casing ejected from his .300 Win Mag, but something made him stop. He stared down at the brass in his hand. An impulse gripped him hard. Maybe the urge came from his unrelenting respect for justice.He’d built a career in law enforcement with the Chicago police department, his latest assignment in SWAT, special operations. Being one of the good guys was all he ever wanted to be, but today he shattered everything he ever stood for.He’d killed a man in cold blood.In a slow and deliberate gesture, Rafe wedged the spent casing into a notch on the boulder like an artist signing his work. He didn’t care what happened to him—not any more.
Hot TargetWhen Rafael reaches out to his sister for a job, Athena Matero—a founding member of the private security agency, the Omega Team—can’t help but be protective of her younger half brother. After a tragic hostage rescue and its aftermath, Rafael Matero turned into a solitary loner, only surfacing to fulfill his duties as team leader for an elite SWAT sniper unit with the Chicago Police. Athena decides to fast track his application by vetting him on the job—a mission to Havana Cuba to investigate a cold case murder.But when the old murder is linked to the shadowy death of a powerful drug cartel leader, Rafael is burdened by a terrible secret from his past—and an unrelenting death wish—that puts him at dangerous odds with Athena and her team. He believes he’s beyond saving, but that doesn’t stop Jacquie Lyles from trying.Jacquie sees something in Athena’s mysterious brother that touches her heart. Chivalrous and brave, Rafael is as rare as a unicorn in her life as techno computer geek and white hat hacker for the Omega Team. After she joins the team on its mission to Cuba, she uncovers Rafael’s shocking burden and it breaks her heart.Rafael stands in the crosshairs of a vicious drug cartel—powerless to stop his fate—and his secret could put Athena and her team in the middle of a drug war.Tough TargetComing May 2016An Omega Team Novella – Amazon Kindle WorldsNovella 2 of 3By Jordan Dane
Target RichComing July 2016An Omega Team Novella – Amazon Kindle WorldsNovella 3 of 3 By Jordan Dane About the Author Bestselling, critically-acclaimed author Jordan Dane’s gritty thrillers are ripped from the headlines with vivid settings, intrigue, and dark humor. Publishers Weekly compared her intense novels to Lisa Jackson, Lisa Gardner, and Tami Hoag, naming her debut novel NO ONE HEARD HER SCREAM as Best Books of 2008. She also pens young-adult novels for Harlequin Teen. Formerly an energy sales manager, she now writes full time. Jordan shares her Texas residence with two lucky rescue dogs. Connect with Jordan Dane: Social Media Links:Website  HYPERLINK "http://www.JordanDane.com" http://www.JordanDane.comTwitter  HYPERLINK "http://www.twitter.com/JordanDane" http://www.twitter.com/JordanDaneFacebook  HYPERLINK "https://www.facebook.com/JordanDaneAuthor" https://www.facebook.com/JordanDaneAuthorPinterest  HYPERLINK "http://pinterest.com/jordandane/" http://pinterest.com/jordandane/Thriller/Crime Fiction Blogs: The Kill Zone  HYPERLINK "http://killzoneauthors.blogspot.com/" http://killzoneauthors.blogspot.com/Sign Up for Jordan Dane’s Mailing List for Exclusive Content:HYPERLINK "http://www.jordandane.com/mailing.php" http://www.jordandane.com/mailing.php

PRECIOUS CARGO @BrennaZinn's new #military #romance rocks! Out now!

AVAILABLE only on Amazon!    When protecting innocents and fighting dangerous enemies are the easy parts of the mission…Precious Cargo.
AVAILABLE only on Amazon! 
People who have read advanced review copies of Precious Cargo, my first romantic suspense, have repeated the same sentiments to me.  The first is – WOW! You must have done some serious research about Ukraine and its relationship with Russia.  Yes.  I did.  I have a degree in History.  I love doing research.
The second is – This book was intense, the action scenes were so well written I felt like I was watching a movie in my head, and parts of the story made me laugh.  My response?  FANTASTIC! That’s exactly what I wanted as I wrote the story. I can’t tell you how much I love hearing people laugh out loud when they read one of my stories.
The third and final remark is – The story ended too quickly.  I loved the characters and wanted more.  This is a much harder comment to respond to.  Here are some things that comes to mind when I hear this.  I’m so freaking delighted to hear that someone wants more story.  To me, that means they really did like the story, as well as the characters. I know I’ve read stories where I didn’t want the book to end, and the book was about 400 pages long.  (Any Diana Gabaldon fans here?)  But, take heart.  If you read Precious Cargo, you love the characters too and would like more story, then please, please, please let me know.  If I have enough feedback, I’ll add a sequel book to Precious Cargo with Mila and Duke.  Pinky swear.  How does the title Dangerous Cargo sound to you?  You can write me at Brenna.Zinn@gmail.com.  Trust me.  I’ll read your message and will write you back.  I promise a sequel if I hear from readers.
In the meantime, let me share a bit of Precious Cargo with you.  I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it.
Precious Cargo Blurb
Master Sergeant Duke Gunnison sucks at retirement. He has no intention of turning in his combat boots for golf shoes. His former life in Special Ops, where he protected innocents and fought dangerous enemies, provided the rush he continually craved. Without the constant missions to feed his adrenaline addiction, he’s lost his sense of purpose and he struggles to find meaning in his new life—until he gets a life changing phone call.
Grey Holden, a founder of the prestigious private security agency The Omega Team, offers Duke a chance at a second life doing what he was born to do—a special op to safeguard the daughter of an important Ukrainian diplomat. But Mila Bartosh is not only a special envoy’s daughter, sent to accompany her father as he negotiates the removal of troops in eastern Ukraine. She’s on a secret mission of her own—to exact revenge on a powerful Russian mob boss, guilty of unspeakable crimes.
Mila is determined to help protect her father and accomplish her treacherous undertaking at all costs. But as her tasks become more complex, she unexpectedly reunites with the man who stole her heart and then vanished into the night, never to be heard from again, until now. Her love’em and leave’em paramour is none other than her new American bodyguard Duke Gunnison. With innocent lives on the line, can she carry out her missions while avenging her broken heart?

Precious Cargo Excerpt As far as European hotels went, the Grand Lutsk Hotel was near the top of the marks with its classy decorations, spa and guest services. The air conditioning was a definite plus. The majority of places Duke had ever stayed in boasted “rustic” accommodations, which generally meant the hot air outside was cooler than one could expect inside. Having grown up in the swamps of Louisiana, and then soldiering most of his life, sleeping in AC and on anything but the ground or a stained, second-hand mattress felt fairly high-class.He’d barely settled in and managed a quick shower before his first scheduled meeting with Yure Bartosh. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had time to get a haircut or do more than stuff a bag full of washed clothes before jetting off for Ukraine. Now, as Duke rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at his reflection in his suite’s swanky bathroom—what self-respecting man used a bidet, for Christ’s sake?—he had to admit he looked a little rough around the edges.His hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, and its dirty-blond coloring had lightened from his many days fishing and combing the beach. The nicest outfit he’d packed—and currently wore—was a Western shirt, a pair of faded jeans and his snakeskin boots. Had his brother returned the one and only suit Duke owned, he would have brought that along too. But one simply couldn’t pack what one didn’t possess or have time to buy.All in all, he could easily be mistaken for an American bum. The thought made him grin. No harm in being considered a bum. People didn’t expect much from that lot, especially in Europe, which worked in his favor. Anyone seeing him around would think he was an easy target. The men he needed to watch for would come out of the woodwork and try to take him on. Then they’d be in for a big surprise. The same thing had happened when he was a kid, and again when he’d joined the Army. This side job wouldn’t be any different.The rush out the door and onto a plane, plus three sleeping pills, had also meant he couldn’t dwell on the fact he’d be playing bodyguard to Mila Bartosh. Jesus. Having her pop back into his life felt a little like karma giving him a swift kick in the ass. Their coming together again would no doubt top the charts for awkward reunions. He’d be lucky if the feisty woman didn’t haul off and try to shoot him with his own gun. Well, the Ukrainian government’s gun. Europeans didn’t take too kindly to folks flying in with weapons.Someone knocked on the door, followed by a muffled, “Mr. Gunnison, Mr. Bartosh will see you now.” The words were spoken in Ukrainian with a notable Eastern dialect. “Here goes nothing,” Duke said to his reflection. “It’s your first day on the job. Let’s try not to piss anyone off, get shot or blow anything up. What do ya say?”A tall man in a dark suit led him to the top floor of the hotel. They passed several more men in matching dark suits flanking the hallway and stopped outside a set of wide double doors. Plenty of time to get his pulse in check before seeing Mila. He was former Special Ops and here to do a job, not some angsty teenager dealing with an angry date he’d left at the prom. His escort gave him the onceover before knocking. Duke hadn’t missed the man’s disdainful smirk.“We all look like this in the states. Part of our dress code. You’d look like an idiot there.”  Duke spoke in English, not caring if the man understood. If this guy and the rest of the security detail were doing a bang-up job in the first place, he’d still be catching fish in the Gulf of Mexico rather than babysitting their boss’s daughter or facing his past.Without any acknowledgement to what he’d said, the man opened the door then closed it after Duke walked into the room. There, an old but sizable gentleman with long gray hair and an equally gray beard and mustache sat at the end of a table. Based on the pics from files Grey Holden had e-mailed, the fella was Yure Bartosh, the diplomat. Mila’s father. Also based on the pics, the stiff in the suit behind Bartosh was Burton Laramie. The other hired gun sent from The Omega Team. The way Laramie stood, ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back and feet spread slightly apart, were sure signs the guy had to be pure Boy Scout. Someone who always did the right thing and followed the rules down to the crossed T’s. Laramie was probably very good at his job, but he would definitely be no fun at parties.Mila sat at the table as well, her attention focused on a pile of papers. She didn’t look pleased. Duke’s mouth went dry and his heart began to thump fast and loud in his ears. Damn if the woman wasn’t even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her, and he’d seen a lot of her back then.I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I want to be with you. I…I love you.She finally looked up and her gaze met his. She tilted her head and pursed her lips, confused. Then her chest rose and fell as though breathing had suddenly become an effort. Her eyes widened. Color sprang up her neck and raced to her face. In an instant she was on her feet, smoke pouring from her ears. “You! What the hell are you doing here?” she growled in her native tongue.
Brenna Zinn Bio and LinksI remember reading about Texas in an Illinois grade school and thinking I probably would never see the great state where real cowboys ride their horses to work every day and everyone wears western hats and boots. Then again, I never dreamed I would elope in Gibraltar with a Navy man who hailed from the Lone Star state. But here I am, smack dab in the middle of Texas, still married to the same wonderful man and boasting not only the greatest daughter on the planet, but three dogs who are as big as long horns. In between grade school and now, my journey through life has taken me all over the United States, as well as many places throughout the world. Using my travel experience as a guide and peppering in interesting characters I’ve met along the way, I love nothing better than weaving tales of romance and leaving readers yearning for adventures of their own.
Follow Brenna!Check out my website  http://www.brennazinn.comLike my Facebook page Brenna ZinnFollow me on Twitter @BrennaZinn  https://twitter.com/BrennaZinn Follow me on Goodreads  https://www.goodreads.com/Brenna_ZinnFind me at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Brenna-Zinn/e/B00UEK5CO0/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
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HIS FORBIDDEN DEBUTANTE by @AnabelleBryant new #Regency #romance excerpt!

Buy Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/1X1Ng8bB&N: http://bit.ly/1Pr1SJlKobo: http://bit.ly/1QMOD8rDeep, dark secrets.  We all have them. Guilty pleasures we never confess. Inner thoughts we guard in our soul. Whether one accepts them, buries them, or pretends they don’t exist; secrets are there, under the surface of consciousness, scratching to be revealed.
And that’s the problem. Secrets are alive. They pester, prod, and insist on being heard. They dare to be exposed. So much so, many of us produce new secrets to cover the old in a frantic attempt to destroy the compulsion to confess.
In His Forbidden Debutante, Randolph attempts to smother his love for a woman in his past and advance the Earldom by choosing a practical wife. Still the difficult choice comes at a high price. 
How will he forget the intimate conversation shared by correspondence with a woman who disappeared with a word? This yearning begs the question is he hiding his secrets or are they hiding him? Will he be able to forget the past and embrace the future?
Lavinia Montgomery is on the cusp of independence. Having lost the one man she loved, she isn’t ready to settle for a sensible match. When she marries, if she marries, it will be to a man of her choosing—one who respects her opinion, shares her passion and cherishes her gift of love like the author of numerous love letters locked in a rosewood box on her bureau, a reminder of the possibility of true love.
This well-kept privacy binds and separates Livie and Randolph, exerts control through passion, confrontation, abandonment, and realization because secrets kept for years become a strong force with will all its own.
His Forbidden Debutante is a romantic character driven story with the right balance of sensuality and action to keep you turning the pages.
His Forbidden Debutante Excerpt: All rights reserved, Copyright 2016.He cradled her face with his palms, holding her mouth to his. She tasted like a fantasy, ethereal, sweet and forbidden, a temptress who experimented with sin, yet at the same time conjured cherished remembrances of childhood, daring, carefree adventure. She even smelled like the honeysuckle flowers that grew beneath his window. They were bonded somehow. Plighted.Her tongue touched his, at first a flick of curiosity, then a slide of assertive demand, only to curl around his with inviting bliss. She offered and he took. He could hardly think for the pleasure of it, falling down a well of pleasure and he didn’t care a whit.He heard the quiescent rustle of fabric before he experienced her touch, the composed caress of her fingertips along his jaw. Such a tender affection in the throes of their passion, the opposing sensations engulfed him, warred at his conscience and threatened anarchy, urging him to continue though he knew it as wrong. Didn’t want it to stop. He needed to stop. Damn it to hell, he had to stop, but the decision did not translate to action.She was wondrous and original, yet somehow warm and familiar, all things combined, and he pulled her closer, not wanting a breath of space between their bodies as he kissed with all the pent yearning he’d stored for too much time, aching desire and dire longing. He deepened their embrace and moved his hands from her shoulders, over her arms to her waist, locking her within his hold. She made a tiny noise in her throat that ignited his blood like fire. Did she experience the same ferocious need that devoured his better sense? That dared him to do, want, take what he knew he shouldn’t?Blood drummed in his veins, through his heart to his groin. What was this ferocious torture? He barely conceived thought, his body dictating all action. He wanted to feel her smooth flesh, the pleasure of her scent filling him, tempting him. He slid his hands upward, his fingers poised at the soft swell of her breasts. He could feel her every breath, each tremble hot and inviting. He wanted more. So much more. Buy Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/1X1Ng8bB&N: http://bit.ly/1Pr1SJlKobo: http://bit.ly/1QMOD8r
Author Links: Website: http://www.anabellebryant.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnabelleBryantAuthor   Twitter: https://twitter.com/AnabelleBryantYoutube Channel:  http://bit.ly/1r0TjsY
Author Bio:Anabelle Bryant is the bestselling author of seven historical romance novels for Harlequin/HarperCollins. Her love of writing Regency romance keeps her busy in front of her laptop when she’s not in front of a classroom. His Forbidden Debutante released in February and completed the Regency Charms series where every romance was linked by different charms on a fateful bracelet. Sign up for her newsletter and keep up with her novels at AnabelleBryant.com.

Seven Nights of Sin with @sabrina_york #Regency #box set out now!

SEVEN NIGHTS OF SIN
One night, one tryst can change everything...
Seven Sensuous stories by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Sabrina York, with bestselling and award-winning authors Maggi Andersen, Lynne Connolly, Eliza Lloyd, Suzi Love, Hildie McQueen, and Victoria Vane. Enter a world of passion and mystery where dashing heroes and dauntless heroines come together in a scorching conflagration that will will tip your world on its end. 
LUSCIOUS by Sabrina YorkRevenge...or redemption? Which will he choose?
ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT by Maggi AndersenCan one night with a rake be enough for a lifetime?
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW by Victoria Vane  She found heaven in the devil’s arms.
UNDER A SILVER MOON by Hildie McqueenThe shadows of the past fall over a man and a woman attempting to start anew.
MY DEAR MR. FORRESTER by Eliza LloydHe can't resist a woman in trouble. Will he ever learn?
WHAT HE WANTS by Lynne ConnollyLove hides in unexpected places...
PLEASURE HOUSE BALL by Suzi LoveLove revealed at a courtesan’s ball.

Preorder Now:
AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/Seven-Nights-Sin-Bestselling-Historical-ebook/dp/B019EP2X06iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1063152528Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seven-nights-of-sin-victoria-vane/1123048506?ean=2940152666427Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/seven-nights-of-sin-2
LUSCIOUS by SABRINA YORK
When Deveny Hargrove rescues a waif in a rainstorm in the middle of nowhere, he has no idea that she represents his long-awaited chance at vengeance. When she offers him her virginity—in an attempt to escape an unwanted society marriage—he has to agree. To his surprise, very little of his motivation stems from punishing her brother.
The fact is, Matilda Paddington represents his chance at revenge...or redemption…but his choice could destroy them both.
Read an excerpt!   What Providence. That this man—one who, other than the beard, was perfectly acceptable for her purposes, and damn handsome to boot—should stop and pick her up?Clearly God in heaven above was on her side.   “You do realize this is something that cannot be undone?”   She had the sense he was asking the question purely because his moral code required it. “I do.”   “You are quite young…to be making a decision that will change everything.”   “Everything?” she asked. “Do you really believe that one act changes who a person is? At their core?”   He stared at her as though stunned to hear such words from a lady’s lips. But then he said, “I certainly hope not.”   His tone was so dark, so tormented, she had to ask, “Have you done things?” Things that changed him irrevocably?   “Madam, I have just returned from France.”   “Ooh.” How fascinating. “Are you a soldier?”   “I was. An officer in the King’s Dragoons.”   Oh. A cavalry man. She loved horses. “Did you see much action?”   “Far too much.”   “I am sorry.”   He blinked and she realized how lovely his eyes were. A light blue, almost crystalline, with large pupils and a dark ring around the irises, making it hard to look away. “Why are you sorry?” he said, his voice dropping low.  “You must have suffered.”   “I was injured.”   “Yes, but I meant spiritually.”   “Spiritually?” His tone indicated he’d never even considered those wounds.   “War is hell,” she said. She knew of such things. She’d read several books on the topic.   “Yes. It is.”   “But you are home now. And safe.”   “Yes.” He looked out the window and stroked his beard as though he were remembering some of his losses.   She wished one of them had been the beard.   She really disliked beards on men.  “So do you?”  His attention jerked back to her. “What?”  “Do you really believe one act can change a person?”  “I think everything we do, everything we say, every breath we take changes us.”  She blew out an impatient breath. “That is far too deep a rumination for this conversation.”  “Is it?” Why he seemed amused was a mystery.   “Most certainly. We are talking about my giving myself to a man who is not and never shall be my husband.”  “We are talking about you giving your innocence to a man you do not know. Do you have any idea how dangerous that can be?”  “I suppose it would be dangerous.” She had to admit this. “But it is not dangerous with you.”  He reared back. An odd mixture of shock and anger and confusion crossed his face. “How can you possibly know what kind of man I am? What I could do to you when I got you alone? Damn it, Tildy, I could be a monster for all you know.”   “But you’re not.” She knew. She could see it in his eyes.   As her words soaked in, she saw it blossom there, his deep gratification for her trust. But he sighed and scrubbed his face and said “Tildy,” in a tone that made clear he was about to turn her down.   So she went on the offensive. “However, if you do not want to be the one to deflower me, I totally understand. I imagine it can be rather unsettling to be approached by a woman with such a request.”   He murmured, “You have no idea,” beneath his breath, but she heard.   She patted his knee. “And you were injured in the war.”   His features scrunched up. He stared at her hand. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”   She batted her lashes in an attempt to portray her innocence. “I know what happens when men are injured in war.” She leaned closer. “They become incapable. I totally understand.”   “I am not incapable!” Surely there was no need for him to bellow.   “Unwilling then?”   “Bloody hell, no.”   “It is perfectly acceptable if you do not find me attractive. I do look rather like a drowned rat. I am sure I can find someone on the streets of London who is willing to do the deed.” She sighed heavily, just for effect, and then added, “I do hope I don’t get the pox.”   Silence sizzled between them. She determinedly held his gaze, despite the fact that his stare was fierce. His lips worked, as though he was attempting to form a response, several responses, as the moment stretched, and then he reached across the carriage, took hold of her arms and whipped her onto his lap as though she weighed no more than a thistledown.   “Not interested?” he growled. “How is this for not interested?”   And then, he kissed her.   And heaven.   As enchanting as those lips had felt dancing over her hand, it was nothing to this. This was as wild as the storm raging outside, but still unbearably gentle and sweet. His scent suffused her, filled her lungs and stirred some latent hunger deep within. She wanted more. More. More.   And this desire had little to do with her goal of wriggling free of an unwanted betrothal. It had only to do with him. This man. This hunger. This passion.   She’d never felt it before. Not like this.   She’d only felt a passion for passion, which was very different indeed.   His body was warm, heating her. His hands roved, scudding over her shoulders and down to her waist to hold her in place. His lips were hard on her, demanding, yet sensitive to her needs. They engulfed her senses in a velvet trap, one she did not want to escape.   He pulled her closer, settled her more firmly on his lap and leaned her against the wall of the carriage and deepened the kiss, easing in his tongue and tasting her. She had to respond, but she had no idea how her untried exploration would affect him.   Something hard grew against her hip. The knowledge of what it was lit a fire in her belly. Need blossomed and raged. She thrust her fingers in his hair, twining in the strands and tugging. He did the same until they were holding each other still, each consuming the other.   Her mind spun, her body awoke. That long dreamed of desire arose.   She had no idea why, with one harsh movement, he pushed her back into her seat.   They stared at each other across the width of the carriage, the only sounds, their panted breath.  Heat walked between them. Ribbons of carnal lust bound them close, though they no longer touched. Intensity roared.   “Why did you stop?” She didn’t intend for her voice to crack, to be filled with anguish, but it happened.   His lungs worked like a bellows. His stare burned through her. His brow was prickled with sweat, despite the chill of the evening. “Not here.” A whisper, rough and low.   “Not here?”   “I won’t take you in a carriage. You deserve better.”   Oh, she liked that he thought so. She thought so too. “Where then?”   “I am staying the night at a friend’s house in London. Large, comfortable bed. A crackling fire.    Excellent wine. All the comforts a proper seduction requires.”   She could not hold back a grin. “Oh. Is this a proper seduction?”   “It will be.” He settled back in his seat and studied her. There was something in his expression that made it clear to her what he was thinking. He was plotting her seduction. She shuddered.   “You really don’t need to seduce me, you know.”   His lips quirked. “Seduction is half the fun. Besides, you deserve to know all the pleasure there is to be had between a man and a woman.”   Her brow furrowed. “I thought there was just the tupping.” She knew all about it. She raised horses, after all. The male simply mounted the female and they danced around for a bit and then a foal came in the spring. It all seemed pretty simple.  “Oh, there’s more than that.”   “Is there? Do tell.”   “I will not. I’d rather show you. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Read more about Luscious and a chance to win one of Sabrina’s tiaras here:http://sabrinayork.com/seven-nights-of-sin-scorching-historical-romance/

About Sabrina York
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Cerise went to #Hampton Court near #London, brought home #wine and a gentleman!

Front entrance. My picture.
You will note the different griffins or lions.
All below are my pix!    When planning a research trip abroad, it's vital to weave in a quest for more than facts. You crave color, drama, incredulous nuggets of fact that support absolutely nothing you are currently writing!

   My trip with Mr. DeLand from inner London to Hampton Court was just such a train journey.

   The Tudor period is fascinating but not my Fave. It's filled with characters like Henry VIII whose actions and hubris boggle the imagination. Some places I visit show me the character of the person who lived there.

   Hampton Court Palace certainly did that for me and I want to tell you and how and why in words and pictures!

   Did you think that King Henry VIII had gout because he ate only meat? Drank too much wine? Ate too few vegetables?

   You would be so right. Visiting Hampton Court on my last trip to England and listening to the audio tour proved the rumor of Henry's gourmand sensibilities. True, he had at his court hundreds of courtiers who needed to be fed. True, he was zealous when it came to watching them to see they remained loyal. (All those tiny eaves' droppers in the rafters are rather frightening...and made me wonder if someone had installed inside them small CCTV cameras.) True, the number of servants required to feed such an entourage was daunting.

More griffins!   But a tour of Hampton readily proves that the task of feeding such a court was enormous, complicated and a daily job. Here you see the plate, numerous and in its own room for washing, storing, and counting each piece after every meal! The enormous kitchens, just off the main courtyard where the servants received the daily deliveries of meat, vegetables and grains, are many rooms devoted to different tasks of meal preparation.  Here you see items used in jam preparation and pasties or pies. An enormous number of pies were cooked every day.

   Why pies?

   Pie with crusts serves as a convenient means of serving hundreds of people quickly and efficiently. They can be composed of all vital ingredients, packed together into a savory self-contained meal, baked easily together, cooled easily and dispensed just as easily. Servants could quickly grab a pie, eat it and get on with their duties. And unlike the way we eat pie today, they would discard the crusts, lick their fingers (note necessarily wash them!) and march onward!

The huge roasting spit at work today! The pokers sticking out at an angle 
show the different positions of the racks. Men turned the spits and many
weretrained for years at the art of roasting a side of meat.   More elaborate dishes were created for Henry and his premier courtiers. Here you see the huge spit for roasting meat. Hundreds of pounds of meat were delivered to Hampton Court each day. This included deer, wild fowl, boar and other wild animals. Domesticated animals were not a favored entree because in this age, it took many years to grow a steer to suitable butchering size. His rearing was also expensive. For the court to buy many domesticated animals on the hoof would be enormously expensive. So wild game, hunted by the court in sport, served as a suitable substitute.

Queen Caroline by Joseph Highmore   The second major addition to the palace is the Georgian wing. Inhabited and favored by the first Hanoverians, this wing is constructed of sparkling plaster and red brick outside, dark walnut walls inside, punctuated by dazzling silver ornamentation.  I ran out of camera battery power (!!!) here and could get only a shot of the outside. Do see below for my pix. But the charming bits inside here were the long views through the stately windows of the fabulous artfully designed gardens and Queen Caroline's bedchamber. Here, this woman who was George II's wife often bathed in a wooden tub half covered with a sheet. She claimed cleanliness did more for health than the perfume many used to cover their bodily odors. Her bathing practice outraged her ladies. Alas, the poor woman did not benefit much from her practice as she had a ruptured umbilical hernia. She   suffered badly from this, endured surgery for it, but nonetheless soon died from the malady.

   She was well loved, initially by her cantankerous husband, and later by her people.

   I was intrigued to learn that Hampton Court is run by a private foundation, not the Crown. A marvelous short excursion for you from London, this 30 minute trip to Hampton Court offers you a wonderful tour of the house and grounds, a glimpse of two periods in which the house was occupied by royalty—and a scrumptious tea shop with gloriously steaming, creamy hot potato soup and home made bread! (Other items, too. But on the cold day we were there, this fare hit the spot.) And as for that gentleman I brought home with me to consult on future novels?

   He's having a wonderful time listening to Rhianna and watching all the James Bond flicks. I cannot get him away from the political coverage. His advice is simply to have our prime minister dismiss all those running as nincompoops. I keep telling him we have no p.m., but he thinks I'm mad when I speak of a president and congressmen elected by the people. "There's your problem," he tells me. "Clean house. Put in a parliament. Then they all have to find a way to get along."

   I'm sticking to writing romances, I have oft told him. I need info on that. But he's insistent that he knows nothing of love. The man needs a wife. I can see it in his blue, blue eyes.
Henry's kitchens: Oh, the pies! A lot of them, too! Pots for making soups and stews, cooked over grills! The storage room for the plate. Each piece was counted after every meal. No theft here!

Henry's wine cellar. Dark, cool and full.
The second addition to the Palace is this Georgian period wing, all lovely symmetry outside. Inside, the walls are dark
walnut, the appointments dazzling silver and the atmosphere, secretive and murky.
The emblem of the castle and Tudors outside the entrance to the Chapel Royal.