Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 22

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
Check out my Pintrest boards http://www.pinterest.com/brennazinn/

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
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & snarky to scorching romance.  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.comto check out her books, excerpts and contests. Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKb.
Bookshelf! http://sabrinayork.com/books/Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bj8tKbWebsite: http://sabrinayork.com/Follow my Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/sabrinayorkLike my Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/SabrinaYorkBooksFollow me on Twitter @sabrina_york https://twitter.com/sabrina_yorkFollow me on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5817917.Sabrina_YorkCheck out my Pinterest boards: http://www.pinterest.com/sabrinayork/boards/Street Team: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/12s46... the conversation on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/SabrinaYorkChatAndContests/

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.

Cerise went to #England, brought home #gin, a carriage and a yummy earl!

http://www.sipsmith.com Yes, I went on my annual research trip, lugging along only 1 suitcase, my iPad, tons of notes...and my husband. He is such a good bloke to go with me each year. I promise different sights. He promises to like (most of) them. I also promise great dining at yummy restaurants and he finds the wine. And the brandy. This year we discovered Sipsmith Gin! (Swoon worthy G and Ts were appreciated by Mr. DeLand and me at Rules and I'll have more on that divine feast in another post!)

And did I bring home an earl?

And a carriage?

Well, the next best thing to both, I brought home fab pix of carriages and lots of info about men of some (varied) repute. All of this, of course, is for character building, house and estate "establishment" and other words of historical accuracy while permitting two people to fall in love and have an HEA!

This year we did England. Almost two weeks in London found us taking the Tube each morning to a new and exciting destination, previously chosen for sound research in the Regency period (and some in the Victorian, too). I have wonderful tales to tell in succeeding blogs and hope you will return for the fun of it, and the news of how this all folds into this new novel or that one!

First up, where did I find that carriage? And that earl, you ask? Well, while hubby and I have been to England often, we'd never taken in the Royal Mews. We began there.
And what a great site it is too for finding sumptuous carriages fit for...well, yes, a queen. But I found a few other oldie but goodies, too.

Near Buckingham Palace, the grounds were opened by Henry VIII. With horse stables and separate areas for the royal motorcars, the Mews is arranged around a courtyard. Here, the stable doors are open to visitors to view the horses, royal carriages and autos.

While I was not able to get a picture of any of the horses (because staff ask that you not disturb the animals overmuch with snapping and flashes and such), I did get a few great shots of the elaborate, immaculate carriages which Her Majesty and her family use for many state and family occasions.

Semi-State Landau, Royal Mews. (My picture.)The one that appealed to me most was this one. The Semi-State Landau. Although its top is up, I can imagine it down, people riding graciously in facing seats whilst being taken around town by matching horses.

This wonderful coach is often used by the younger royals in parades such as the Trooping of the Color for the Queen's Birthday. Very popular with Queen Victoria, the coach gives a feeling of youth, vibrancy and allows for a full view of those in the seats. It was gilded and decorated for her Golden Jubilee in 1887, surviving today with the excellent care of the staff at the Mews.
But what would you do, what carriage would you want if it rains?

The Scottish State coach, used by Queen and Prince Phillip
during wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.
Picture is mine.Try this one! Known as the Scottish State Coach, it is used for glamorous state occasions when being seen is the best PR tactic. Built in 1830 for George IV's younger brother, the Duke of Cambridge, it was refurbished for the Royal household a century later. Used by Her Majesty to attend Scottish Parliament and other state occasions, the coach bears the Scottish crown on the top. 

As for me, I intend to use a coach similar to it in my next Regency. Of course, the hero must be fabulously rich, perhaps even fabulously vain! Hopelessly handsome, too. Hence, the reason for the grand display.
And if that one is in repair, then perhaps this one would appeal more! This is the Golden State Coronation Coach made for George III in 1762 at the then cost of more than 7,000 Pounds. Covered in gold leaf, this enormous carriage sits in the Mews in splendor. Like the other coaches, it remains in a constant state of readiness at significant cost to the Crown. Hand painted outside and in by a contemporary artist of period, Giovanni Cipriani, this coach boasts red velvet interiors to complement the priceless artwork inside. It requires a team of 8 horses. This coach has been used at every coronation since George IV,  including Queen Elizabeth to her coronation and on her Diamond and Golden Jubilees.

Each coach is described by a plaque to one side of the carriage. Do enlarge to read this one and then note you can also see the extent of many of the stables to the left.

Throughout the exhibit area, other means of conveyance are exhibited.
A pony cart. A child's miniature carriage. And here is a sedan chair, looking extremely uncomfortable, I must say!

And what about that earl?
Where did I hide him?
Is he happy here in Texas with me?
View of courtyard of Royal Mews.
My photo.As soon as I give him more than one of these carriages to ride in, more than a stiff G and T and a proper home to live in (Osterley, perhaps?), he'll be well satisfied!

17th Century Sedan Chair.
My picture.
The Irish State Coach built for an Industrial Exhibition in 1853 in Dublin
in hopes of attracting the attention of Queen Victoria.
The Crown purchased the coach and Queen Victoria used it often.
Picture is mine.

Susana Ellis gives us her new #Regency, A Home for Helena, #timetravel, #release party today! Prizes!

A Home for Helena Release Party: March 29, 2016, 4:00-11:00 p.m. EDTGuest authors • Prizes • Fabulous gowns • Swoonworthy heroes • Fun for everyone
ABOUT A HOME FOR HELENA           Widowed father James Walker has no intention of remarrying until he makes the acquaintance of his daughter’s lovely new governess. 
Lady Pendleton, a time-traveling Regency lady herself, suspects that these two belong together. First, however, she must help Helena discover her true origins—and hopefully, a home where she belongs.
A Home for Helena  is Book 2 of  The Lady P Chronicles.
Book 1, The Ultimate Escape, originally published in the Bluestocking Belles’ anthology, Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem, will soon be available individually.
http://www.facebook.com/events/534215620086552/http://ow.ly/ZSgJ1
EXCERPT, All Rights Reserved.“TAGLINES
Misplaced in time… can she find her way home?
BUY LINK$2.99 on Amazon or FREE on Kindle Unlimited
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susana Ellis has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar.
A former teacher, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.Website: http://www.SusanaEllis.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/Susana.Ellis.5Twitter: https://twitter.com/SusanaAuthorPinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/SusanaAuthor/Newsletter Sign Up:http://eepurl.com/u5u3X
ALSO BY SUSANA ELLIS The Ultimate Escape: Book 1 of The Lady P Chronicles (from Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem)On the eve of her wedding, Julia realizes she cannot marry her fiancé after all, no matter that it’s been her dream for eight long years. Too distraught to face him, she follows in her mother’s footsteps and flees to the future for a brief reprieve.
Oliver knows he has bungled things badly, but he is determined to win the woman he loves, even if he must travel through time to do it.
Amazon
The Third MacPherson Sister (from Sweet Summer Kisses)Rebecca’s older sisters took the ton by storm while she herself has failed to attract a suitor in four Seasons. Miles is pondering his urgent need for a wife when Rebecca lands in his lap in the nave of Bath Abbey. A match between them seems ordained by the heavens… except for the little matter of his past history with her sisters.
Amazon
Lost and Found Lady (fromBeaux, Ballrooms, and Battles)Catalina and Rupert fell in love in Spain in the aftermath of a battle, only to be separated by circumstances. Years later, they find each other again, just as another battle is brewing, but is it too late?
Amazon
A Twelfth Night Tale (from Cotillion Christmas Celebrations)A wounded soldier and the girl next door find peace and love amidst a backdrop of rural Christmas traditions.
AmazonBarnes & NobleKobo
Treasuring Theresa She's a country lady. He's a London swell. They have nothing in common. Or have they?
Treasuring Theresa was a finalist in the 2013 EPIC Awards.
AmazonBarnes & Noble
Kobo

A nibble of my new #Regency cherry, INTERLUDE WITH A BARON? YES! #99cents

Amazon   ARe   NOOK   KOBO   iTunes
An excerpt from Cerise DeLand’s INTERLUDE WITH A BARON, Copyright 2016, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
“Excuse me, will you?” Dray dismissed himself from the group. He had four days to talk with all these people at this house party. What lured Dray was his favorite puzzle. The famous Marlthorpe maze.  He escaped through the French doors opening to the veranda and the complex design of the evergreens. He loved this labyrinth, its path copied from an ancient Greek oracle. For many years, he’d come here to Marlthorpe’s springtime party and sought out the serenity of the garden and the mental exercise it afforded. Puzzles were his favorite pastime when he was not making money.Starting down the entrance, he paused a moment to consider the right turn or the left. He’d tried the left last year and found it led to a circular route back to the entry. Right then, it would be. The yews had grown two inches or more since last spring and the enclosure was quiet, comforting. That is, it was until he heard giggles from another quarter of the shrubbery.  The sounds were those of a young child and a woman.  “Come now, Christine,” the female voice was low, breathless. It had a distinctive rasp.  Dray halted.  “You must put on your mask, dearest. You have the advantage if you can see!” The woman laughed though she tried to sound stern.  And Dray swallowed, drowning his instincts about the identity of the lady who chased her daughter in the garden.   The child shrieked in delight, then pattered away.  Rustlings in the bushes gave evidence of the two running.  “I found you!” the woman said.  “Not fair. Not fair, Miss Bedlow.” The girl objected but laughed nonetheless.   Miss Bedlow? How could it be?     Dray stared at the wall of greenery.   The two chuckled and chased each other.   The woman stopped. “Wait, Christine!”   He spun around, following the sounds, his head whirling with the shock and the possibility that Emma Bedlow was a guest at this party. That she played with a child.   And that she was in this garden and he was, too. After years of taking care to never cross her path, how ironic that he could come to a house party on a spring afternoon in Berkshire and be so near.   He stood, confounded by his choices. Call to her. See her. In truth, over the next three days, he would eventually be near her. To converse. To dine. To dance. Better to face her alone now than later in a room filled with curious spectators.  So be it. Following their voices, he tracked her and her charge down one path and left across another. Luck was with him and he recalled one lane with the grey stone bench…and another one with the potted white roses along the east barrier.  The noises stopped.  The girl asked a question and Emma answered, walking toward him and laughing.  Anxious, fretful, he turned a corner.   Halted.   Let his eyes revel in the sight of her.   She was holding hands with a girl and beginning a children’s roundelay.  The girl broke away from her, racing around like a little animal and not watching where she was going, she ran right into Dray.   With a grunt, she froze and peered up at him.   Dray caught the child with hands to her shoulders. She squirmed and pleaded with him to let her go.   But Dray had no presence of mind to do it. He gazed at Em, his soul drinking in her pale green gown, her fuller figure, her wealth of midnight hair. He had died of thirst for years to see her—and he rejoiced that she appeared hale and hearty, even happy, if also at the moment, shocked to stillness.  What to say to her? What to call her? He wouldn’t address her by her title. That was one she’d hated, never wanted. And since the autumn, she told it about that she wished to discard her married name for her maiden.  “My lady, how wonderful to see you again.”  She gaped at him as she blinked and stepped backward. “My lord.”  “I had no idea you were here.”   “I—I was amusing her, tiring her before…”   He tore his gaze from hers and looked at the girl with a critical eye. The child was too old to be hers and Montroy’s. Was she ten? Eleven? Twelve years old, at the very most. When he’d last seen Em after Waterloo, she’d been married only a year and the anniversary of that great battle would be five years in June. This child was not hers.  He peered at her. “You are invited to the house party?”   Emma shook her head so forcefully that her shining hair, so thick, fell from her pins, draping her shoulders with fat curls. “ Yes. But I will not attend.”   He took a step nearer. She was as lovely—no, even more beautiful than she’d been as an eighteen-year-old dancing in his arms at the Dunstables’ ball. Now she was what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?   Her cheeks were plumper. Her exotic aqua eyes round with shock. Her form was fuller. A woman, no longer a girl. A woman who had seen too much agony and deserved all the laughter and light she could garner in her lifetime.   “I don’t understand. Are you not a guest?”  “I am acting governess to the earl of Tunbridge’s daughter. Forgive me. This is Lady Christine, my lord. My dear, I present Baron Lansdowne.”   While the girl murmured how she was pleased to meet him, he took a second to realize Em used the formal title of Naill Wainwright. Astonishing, too, was that this child was Naill’s, the one no one ever saw and often remarked might not exist.   “You are employed?”   “I am.”   That confused him. She had money. He’d made certain of it. His sum complemented that from her mother’s dowry, which her father had not been able to throw after bad schemes, grasping mistresses and cards. “Will you come inside and—?”   “No, my lord.” She stiffened and never took her eyes from him. “I cannot.”  “I am so delighted to see you, Em.”   She looked as if she were about to cry. But she took hold of her charge’s hand. “I must go.”   “Wait, Em. I must talk to you.” Make amends.   “I do not wish to speak with you. Go about your party, my lord. Say nothing, I beg you, of this or me to anyone.”   The Elgin family had invited her. They had evidently accepted that she needed careful assistance to enter society again. He didn’t understand why she hung back.   Unless she was angry at him.  And he couldn’t blame her. “Em, I mean you no harm.”   She put up a hand. “Please, Dray. I must do this my way. Let me go in peace.”
   And since she had had so little of it in her life, he did as she asked and watched her leave him. As she always did.

A nibble of my new cherry, MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS! You need it!

Masquerade With a Marquess, Regency Romp #3          Amazon   ARe   NOOK   KOBO   iTunesAn excerpt from Cerise DeLand’s MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESSCopyright 2016, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved. Victor made his way toward the threesome—and stopped in his tracks.Across the room, a woman stood near the wall. Attired in a simple gown of cream, she portrayed a Greek or Roman queen. Her half mask was white, covering a straight nose and framing eyes that darted and scanned, settling here and there and moving on. Her hair glowed like pale sunlight. Beneath a headband of gold and white satin, her tresses curled in a braid high around her head. In a bow to current fashion, delicate wisps dangled at her ears. But the disarray made her more elegant, more classically beautiful. He could not drink in enough of her—and his mind stalled. His stomach clenched. Oh, most definitely, this was the elusive housemaid. Or more accurately, Sophia di Bertolla di Contini, the daughter of the famous Italian courtier and poet, Marco di Bertolla.Why would she come here to this party disguised? The irony that she should appear here in plain sight when he had searched for her for weeks had him setting his teeth. What game did she play?The woman had disappeared from Whiting’s house that night in December. He’d run out into the streets to search for her, to no avail. He’d hired men he often employed to track thieves or those who owed him money. But they’d found no one answering her description in any lodgings in greater London. He’d extended their territory to search for her in Dover and Calais, assuming she might seek refuge there to book a packet across the Channel. They had come up short.But here she was. No maid’s drab cloth for her tonight. The opposite. Poised, shining and polished as a marble goddess, she surveyed the guests, all grace and purpose. She spoke with no one. In truth, she seemed to hug the walls. Was she here alone?He made his way across the ballroom. In the crowd, that took him time. Too much, in fact. And as he wove his way among his guests, she left her secluded spot to wander toward the central hall. Odd, that. The ladies’ retiring room was on this wing. If she wondered precisely where, she need only ask a servant who would redirect her.  But she didn’t.She continued toward the foyer. Scurrying, really.Then she froze. Her eyes rounded.Victor followed her line of sight.Dray appeared straight ahead of her in the doorway, his ginger hair mussed by the wind and the half-black mask he wore. She turned aside, deftly weaving around Dray with not so much as a nod of greeting. That easily, she slipped out.Victor hastened to catch her. But damn the crowd. Threading his way through the throng required more greetings and diplomacy than he had expected. Next year, by god, he’d stay home. He wished to speak only to this intruder who appeared here as a guest. A creature who perennially danced in his memory like Salome.Muttering to himself about his failure to eradicate her from his thoughts, Victor picked up his pace toward the hall. But in his path stood Dray.“I must speak with you.” Dray stepped toward him, straightening his tailcoat but looking oddly agitated.“Later.” Victor clasped his step-brother’s hand. “Wait for me, please.”“This is important. Where’re you going?” He turned as Victor passed him by.“A guest.” He’d explain her identity later. “She’s headed the wrong way to the retiring room.”“Put a footman to the task. I have news from Windsor—”“Dray, wait.” “I can’t!”Victor ignored him and hurried away.At the first floor landing of the staircase, he came to a stop. He turned to one side, the movement of a figure catching his eye. But it was a man, not Sophia.In a stealthy move, the man shut the door behind him. As the latch clicked, so did knowledge of who the man was.Otis Underwood. A degenerate of the first order.Was he stalking Sophia? Was she in that room? The reason that she might have gone there rose like bile in his throat. Did she seek an assignation with Underwood?Preposterous. She had better sense than that. Or had years ago. Why would she consider alliance with such a man as he? She had no reason.But he squeezed his eyes shut a second. Of course, it was her looks. The soft blue eyes that mesmerized a man. The lush rosy lips that inspired erotic fantasies in any man who gazed upon her. Young, old, infirm, any man with blood in his veins took one long look and coveted her.Distaste for Underwood and his nefarious actions washed away all condemnation of Sophia.Still, why was she floating around Winterbourne’s house?She wasn’t a thief. Or hadn’t been that night at Whiting’s.But was she in that room and if so, what did she want?Flummoxed, he ripped off his mask and swung about, once more in complete review of the hall. No doubt of it. Unless she’d left the house, she was in that room where she should not be.He’d root her out. He would.He took the hall on cats’ feet. With utmost care, he turned the knob and thrust open the door.Ah.
Across the moonlit room she stood in profile to him facing Underwood. The man advanced on her, a salacious smile upon his fleshy lips, his hawk-like nose hooked like the predator he was.

Did Cerise's #Marquess and his lover, the Countess, really find Pauline #Bonaparte's missing gold? #Regency

Amazon    ARe   NOOK   KOBO    iTunesYou love your historical fiction to have a few facts? Of course you do!

Not just the way the characters dress or talk or regard each other with proper manners. No, no. You like them to have a foot in their own era, their own problems.

Well! Do I have fun for you!

Lots of occurrences in my MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS are true. Like what, you ask?

George III really did die in Windsor Castle January 29, 1820 only days after his youngest son passed away. And that man was Duke of Kent, Victoria's father. A year and a half mourning period ensued. The royal court wore black. Noblemen and women wore black armbands and Parliament did adjourn, then reconvene later in the spring. Parties were at a minimum or scaled down in reverence for the king's passing.

Pauline BonaparteBut in the novel, my heroine Sophia di Contini searches for treasures stolen from her during the Napoleonic wars. The treasures she seeks were taken by Napoleon's sister Pauline and Sophia has the names of those who may have taken them into their own possession!

Is it true that Pauline was inclined to take items that did not belong to her? Yes.
Is it true she took them to her own home in Paris? Yes.
Is it true she sold her house to Wellington? Oh, yes.
Is it also true that her portrait is the  only one of a woman  hanging in the Duke's Apsley House Waterloo gallery in London? Oh, yes.
And is it true that she wished to use this money to finance Napoleon's return from Elba and to the Imperial Throne of France?
Indeed, it is.
Do you know what happened to the remainder of that money?
No? Then you must read MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS!
Winston ChurchillAnd might you know what has become of that house today?
It is the residence of the British Ambassador to France.
Oh, yes, and one more fact. Winston Churchill's mother, American Jennie Jerome, and Winston's father, Randolph Churchill were married in Pauline's home. Do you know why?
The Churchills did not approve of the match and they refused to attend!
Hotel Charost