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SHARABLES: One Night for Seduction

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New Release: Never Say Duke

Twelve Dukes of Christmas #4: Never Say Duke!

Yes, Virginia, there is a Viscount…

Miss Virginia Underwood cannot resist rescuing a stray. Her latest find turns out to be a surly, reclusive war hero trying to recover from his wounds in peace. He doesn’t want her help—and Virginia definitely doesn’t want to fall in love. Not when a future with him would mean returning to the the same haut ton who laughed her out of Town during her very first Season.

Theodore O’Hanlon, Viscount Ormondton, sequestered himself far from London to heal in anonymity. For now, he can be himself. As soon as he returns, he’s meant to wed the woman his father selected years before. But when Miss Underwood turns his carefully mapped life upside-down, Theo must decide which battles are truly worth fighting for.

The 12 Dukes of Christmas is a series of heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!

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Meet the Heroine: Miss Virginia Underwood

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Never Say Duke!

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###

After depositing the chick back into its nest, Virginia dropped down from the tree and brushed the debris from her gloves and person as best she could.

Her bonnet had gone askew and her freshly pressed coat was wrinkled, but what did it matter? Christmas was the furthest haven in England from the disapproving glares of beau monde grand dames and other such exacting personages. Just like her cat, here Virginia was free to be as Virginia-like as she pleased.

Unlike her cat, Virginia had not suddenly disappeared.

“Duke,” she whispered.

He did not respond.

“Duke,” she called a little louder.

Nothing.

She sent a suspicious glance up the tree. No sign of Duke there, either. Nor did his paw-prints lead in this direction.

In fact, it appeared as though he had set off in the direction of… the Duke of Azureford’s cottage. Every one of the wide glass windows were inexplicably cranked open, despite the falling snow and winter chill.

Just as Virginia could not resist adopting strays, her cat could not resist the temptation of a beckoning window.

She dashed across the street. Little paw-prints in the snow led past the appropriately closed front door to just below the sill of a ridiculously gaping window. There the trail stopped.

The naughty beast had invited himself inside.

With a sigh, Virginia presented herself at the main door. At least the cottage belonged to a friend. She smiled at the butler. “My cat slipped through the window. May I fetch him?”

Swinton ushered her inside and shut the door behind her. “May I take your coat and bonnet?”

“I shall only be a moment.” She hurried forward in search of her cat.

Duke was not in either of the front parlors, which were the only rooms Virginia had spent time in on previous occasions. Nor was Duke in the kitchen or the larder, to Virginia’s great relief. The dining room was also intact.

She headed toward the living quarters at the rear of the cottage, grateful Azureford was not present to witness this gross trespass of his home.

“Duke,” she called into each open doorway she passed. “Duke, please come out.”

Not that she could blame him for running off when opportunity had presented itself. It was one of the reasons they shared such a kinship. Virginia had often wished she could dive into someone else’s life, too.

“Duke…” She nudged open a cracked door and came to a full stop.

There, perched high atop a wardrobe with his dark shoulders hunched low and his furry hips wriggling high, Duke prepared to pounce.

Just below, seated in a stiff, wheeled chair beside a four-poster bed, sat a man cloaked half in bandages and half in shadow.

His face snapped toward hers. “Get out.”

She stepped closer. “I’ve come for my cat.”

“I don’t have your cat,” the man growled.

“He who does not look, knows not what he possesses.” She rushed forward to place herself between the innocent bystander and her mischievous cat before Duke could cause the poor man more harm than he’d obviously suffered.

He flinched at her sudden movement, then gave an almost simultaneous wince, as if the mere act of flinching had caused him extraordinary pain.

Virginia’s heart twisted. She might not be competent at reading expressions or subtle social cues but wincing and flinching were behaviors she very much recognized. Every single one of her wounded strays had begun just so before they healed.

“Don’t take another step,” the man ordered, his harsh voice little more than a cold rasp.

She inched closer.

Normally, Virginia did her best to follow all explicitly spoken directives.

If anything, she often wished everyone could state their desires plainly, instead of expecting the crease of a brow or the position of a painted fan to convey what actual words could communicate so much more effectively.

Wounded strays were different. They didn’t want her help. They needed her help. They just didn’t know it yet.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “I’ll do my best to block the attack, but he is very good at being a cat.”

The bandaged man went completely immobile. It was as if he was cloaked not just in dappled shadow and strips of cloth but encased in a thick layer of ice. His long black lashes did not blink. His wide lips did not grimace. Not even a twitch on the visible half of his chiseled face.

With effort, she tore her gaze from his soft black hair and rigid muscles and spun to glare at the fluffy predator atop the wardrobe.

She held out her arms. “Come here, right now.”

Ignoring her, Duke lowered his haunches and bared his teeth.

“I mean it.” Virginia lifted her hands higher. “Right now, Duke.”

He gave a loud hiss, retracted his claws, and launched himself into her arms.

She cuddled him to her chest. “You naughty scamp. Please leave nice gentlemen alone. You could have hurt…” She turned toward the bandaged man. “What was your name?”

“I didn’t give it.” His voice was as frigid as the wind outside.

Virginia liked the cold. She sat on the edge of a wingback chair, careful to keep Duke trapped in her arms. “I apologize for my cat’s behavior. I didn’t mean for him to stalk you. He slipped away while I was climbing a tree and…”

She clamped her teeth together. Short explanations. That was one of the rules. One cannot say the wrong thing when one says nothing at all. That had been the very first rule. She was breaking them both.

The man stared at her. No smile, no frown. No mockery. He was a mystery.

She gazed back in interest. If he was this handsome half-hidden in bandages, he must be absolutely stunning when fully unveiled. She gave Duke an extra scratch behind the ears. Coming here had been an excellent choice.

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Meet the Hero: Lord Ormondton

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Never Say Duke!

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###

“This way.” The butler strode down the corridor at a pace Theo very much appreciated. Brisk. Normal.

As if Theo was not a bandaged husk crumpled at all angles inside a wheeled chair, but a capable and healthy man.

The guest chamber was large and comfortably equipped, boasting several windows with a view of the snow-covered lane leading up to the picturesque castle perched atop the mountain. This would do.

As soon as the rooms had been sufficiently aired, Theo would seal the curtains at once. Until he was completely healed, he could not be recognized. Not like this.

That was why he was so far from home. Why he had avoided inns and other such public meeting-houses. As far as the beau monde knew, he was still at war, leading his troops, doing his part.

Movement outside the open windows caused Theo to drag his gaze from the dancing orange flames out to the gently falling snow.

A young lady walked alone down the winding narrow path from the castle, accompanied only by a coal black cat with a tall plume of a tail, his paws obscured by snow.

Theo’s curiosity turned to growing disbelief as he watched the cat accompany its mistress like a dog. The beast hurried to her side after falling behind to sniff something. Glanced over his shoulder to ensure her impending arrival if it happened to prance too far ahead. Paused when she paused, continued when she continued. Theo watched, transfixed.

The closer the pair drew to the cottage, the more details he could pick out.

The woman’s hair was the red-brown of autumn leaves. Her lips and cheeks were a flushed, becoming pink. Her coat was the same dark green as the snow-speckled forest behind her, her boots as dark black as the cat’s fur.

She was too old to be a debutante, too young to be on the shelf. Her attire appeared warm, serviceable, and well-tailored, but without any particular pretension toward current fashions.

In other words, the mystery lady was of indeterminate age, indeterminate background, indeterminate everything.

Theo could not help but be intrigued.

Almost without fail, every person he came in contact with all but broadcast who and what they were. Not this woman. Even her cat made no bloody sense.

As he watched, she spied something in the trees just across the street from his window.

Without bothering to so much as glance over her shoulder to make eye contact with her pet, the woman held up a gloved palm and murmured, “Heel!” as if the ball of black fluff at her side actually was a dog.

Despite the pain, Theo could not help but indulge a small quirk of his lips at such folly. Obviously, a cat would never obey a command like—

His jaw fell open as the beast practically rolled its feline eyes in reluctant submission and sat on its haunches. How on earth…?

The woman paid no attention to her improbably obedient pet, as though she took it as a matter of course that all cats should respond without question to their masters’ commands.

Instead, she scrambled over the hill of snow lining the road. With a tender look upon her face, she, too, dropped to her haunches and disappeared completely out of sight.

Rapt, Theo rolled his chair closer to the window.

Moments later, the woman rose to her feet with aching slowness, her leather gloves cupped together to protect a tiny puff of feathers. A baby bird. She tilted her head back and craned her face up toward the branches overhead. Theo’s heart skipped in trepidation.

She would not attempt to climb a tree. She would not attempt to climb a tree.

She was absolutely going to climb the tree.

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New Release: Wish Upon a Duke

Twelve Dukes of Christmas #3: Wish Upon a Duke!

Love, Actually…

Rumor has it, charming adventurer Christopher Pringle is finally ready to settle down. He’s searching for a free-spirited bride to join him on his travels. But when the matchmaker he hires turns out to be the woman he had a public spat with the day before, nothing goes as planned!

Miss Gloria Godwin loves exploring the world… from the safety of a book. She detests her dashing client’s attempts to force her from her comfort zone. It should be easy to marry off the handsome heir to a dukedom. But the more she tries to match him to other women, the harder it gets to say goodbye…

The 12 Dukes of Christmas is a series of heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!

###

Amazon Kindle | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Google Play

Meet the Hero: Mr. Christopher Pringle

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Wish Upon a Duke!

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###

Mr. Christopher Pringle turned away from the stairs. Although he was staying in the castle—it was the only “inn” for miles—he was far from ready to retire. Night was when the heavens came alive.

His jaw tightened. If his prized telescope hadn’t been damaged on the trip north, he’d stay out until dawn admiring the sky.

Especially on a night as clear as this one.

With determination, he strode to the castle exit to see how many stars he could spy with his bare eyes. A movement not far ahead caught his interest.

Just across the garden stood a cluster of about a dozen individuals, all with their heads tilted skyward and their fingers pointing above them.

He stepped closer in surprise. This far from London, he was usually the only gentleman astronomer about. This motley group appeared comprised of adults and children, male and female alike.

He turned to one of the door attendants. “Have you any idea what those people are doing?”

“Sky-walk,” the footman replied without hesitation. “First Saturday of every month, castle guests tour the grounds, peering up at the stars.”

A sky-walk.

Christopher’s pulse skipped in pleasure. He could not think of anything more noble than instilling young people with respect for and knowledge of the stars. It was a calling he took quite seriously.

Indeed, if travel was his passion, astronomy was his obsession. His pulse hummed. That he should discover twin souls in a sparsely populated Christmas village, of all places… He hurried forward without waiting to summon his greatcoat. He could not let an opportunity to befriend fellow aficionados pass him by.

As he neared the circle, it became quickly apparent that the leader of the sky-walk was not a fellow gentleman astronomer, as Christopher had presumed, but a beautiful young woman. A lady astronomer. His heart thumped. He had never met a female scholar of the stars.

This one had thick black curls, a truly sensuous mouth, and a sensible fur-lined pelisse to protect her from the weather. Christopher was still too far away to discern the words of her current lecture. He gave up all pretense of nonchalance and began to lope across the garden to catch up with the group and meet their delightful leader in person.

The conservative science-minded men of his acquaintance had long pooh-poohed the idea of a woman learning the intricacies of the stars, but obviously they had never met—

“That’s right, Annie,” the lady astronomer was saying to a child. “We do call the brightest star in the sky ‘Brummell’ because it’s as shiny as a dandy’s spangled waistcoat.”

Christopher nearly had an apoplexy on the spot. He drew up short in shock.

To his horror, the other adults in the group clapped and nodded their agreement, as if this heretical redefinition of Polaris had come as a commandment from the Crown.

“And that one?” asked the lady astronomer.

Christopher shook his head approached with caution. Surely, he had misheard her.

“Yes, that is absolutely the front wheel of a landaulet. And this one?”

He was wrong.

She was a madwoman.

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Meet the Heroine: Miss Gloria Godwin

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Wish Upon a Duke!

Amazon Kindle | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Google Play

###

“This way, please.” Miss Gloria Godwin ushered this month’s crop of stargazers away from the light spilling from the castle’s front doors.

This evening, only a dozen individuals braved the crisp winter weather in search of stars. The few Gloria did not recognize were tourists. Each time she took a new group, she hoped the future love of her life would be among them.

Cupid hadn’t struck yet, but surely it was just a matter of time.

“Shall we wait another moment in case there are latecomers?” Gloria glanced over her shoulder at the castle entrance and forgot whatever else she’d been about to say.

The dashing Mr. Christopher Pringle was standing at the open doors, bathed in light from the crystal chandeliers just inside. She had almost had a chance to meet him two weeks ago, during a party at the castle to celebrate her friend’s latest perfume.

Instead, she’d remained a wallflower. There had been no one to properly introduce them. All she could do was admire him from afar.

And, oh, was there plenty to admire.

Dark brown hair. Snowy white neckcloth. Black superfine coat cut to accentuate broad shoulders. Gorgeous buckskins that clung to the muscles of his legs. Gleaming Hessians. Adonis, come to life.

Her pulse skipped. Was he coming on her tour? Would she finally get to meet him?

Until a fortnight ago, all she knew about Christopher Pringle was hearsay and a too-brief listing in Debrett’s Peerage. His elder brother was London’s most infamous rake and heir presumptive to a dukedom, making the younger Mr. Pringle second in line to their cousin’s title.

Like his rakish brother, he spent his Seasons in London and was every bit as mind-meltingly handsome in the flesh. There the similarities ended.

While his brother’s infamy was due to countless seductions in Society boudoirs, Christopher Pringle was far more mysterious. His name never graced scandal columns, and his antics—whatever they might be—had not once been immortalized in a penny caricature.

Gloria’s heart stopped. He was looking right at her.

She forced her suddenly frozen features into a welcoming smile.

He didn’t smile back.

She added an encouraging wave of her fingers. A friendly little come-on-over, the-stars-are-fine. And an even wider smile.

His expression did not change.

He didn’t see her, she realized in mortification. He was staring right at her, but his mind was on something more interesting, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

“Miss Godwin?” one of the tourists asked hesitantly.

Gloria’s cheeks flushed with heat. Heaven help her. The group had caught her gawking at one of the castle guests as though he were a celestial being she’d just discovered.

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New Release: Kiss of a Duke

Twelve Dukes of Christmas #2: Kiss of a Duke!

Just one more kiss… (Milady, it’s cold outside)

Lady chemist Penelope Mitchell took England by storm with Duke, a perfume for men that has women swooning at their feet. To prove the same aphrodisiacal potency of her upcoming version for ladies, the new perfume must cause a rake to fall in love with her in ten days. And she has just the man in mind…

Sexy pleasure-seeker Nicholas Pringle—known as “Saint Nick” for his wicked ways—wants to end the absurd cologne that has every young buck believing himself a ladies’ man. How hard can it be to charm a spinster into changing her mind? But when Penelope does the charming, this rakish scoundrel must decide between losing the war… or losing his heart.

The 12 Dukes of Christmas is a series of heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!

###

Amazon Kindle | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Google Play

Meet the Hero: Mr. Nicholas Pringle

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Kiss of a Duke!

Amazon Kindle | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Google Play

###

Nicholas hid the flower he’d purchased from the castle greenhouse behind his back and turned up the snow-dusted walk leading to the perfumer’s front door. No matter how hard he tried, life was full of surprises.

Instead of visiting comely ladies of ill repute, today’s target was some bluestocking lady chemist whose naïve oversight had spawned chaos in London’s previously stable social order. The only way to stem the explosion of faux rakelings was to halt production of Duke.

At least the errand should only take a moment. Not because Nicholas expected his reputation to do the work. By all accounts, Miss Mitchell was as awkward and science-obsessed and reclusive as the most fervent of her male counterparts. The lady was unlikely to have heard of him.

In this case, one could not count on so-called sapphire irises or the curve of his smile to sway her. The rose in his hand was just for insurance. Nicholas intended to appeal to her logic. As a natural philosopher, she was no doubt already immersed in some new project. He would encourage her to give up Duke and focus on that instead.

His knock upon the door was answered by neither a maid nor a butler, but the lady chemist herself. Miss Mitchell wore thick leather mitts with strange burn marks, a stiff gray smock dusted in white powder, and a beleaguered expression. “What?”

Nicholas thrust the flower forward out of reflex.

The prevailing wisdom was that roses could dissolve any disagreement between a lady and a gentleman. Because he had never returned for a second day’s company with the same woman, Nicholas had never had to test the theory. He hoped his brother was right.

It did not appear so.

Rather than coo or simper or whatever female reaction single red roses were meant to elicit, Miss Mitchell glanced over her shoulder as if she had left something far more interesting in another room before returning her irritated gaze to Nicholas. “Did you want something?”

What was the best opening gambit?

Her eyes were neither cobalt nor emerald nor turquoise, but brown: a color rarely waxed poetic upon by romantic fools. Clearly, they had never glimpsed Miss Mitchell’s eyes. Hers were not a dull brown, or a forgettable brown, or even a plain, serviceable brown. Not even the brown of coffee or cinnamon or chocolate.

Hers were different from all the other brown eyes Nicholas had ever seen. Deeper. Sharper. More dangerous. These were eyes that did not merely look, but saw. He would need to be careful.

“Forgive me for not waiting for a formal introduction,” he said pleasantly, lifting the perfect rose a little higher so she could not miss it. “My name is—”

“‘Saint Nick’, the infamous London rake.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve heard.”

Well. That explained the frosty welcome.

“My calling card phrases it a bit differently,” he said, and tried again. “I am Mr. Nicholas Pringle of London, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“That makes one of us.” She sent another impatient glance over her shoulder. “I’m not interested in you or your services. Is that all?”

“I’m not offering myself to you,” Nicholas stammered. There was nothing to purchase. He wasn’t a cicisbeo. Good God. How had he lost control of what was meant to be an easy conversation? “I was merely hoping for a brief tête-à-tête.”

She arched a brow. “Then why bring a flower?”

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Meet the Heroine: Miss Penelope Mitchell

Enjoy an excerpt from the newest Twelve Dukes of Christmas romance,
Kiss of a Duke!

Amazon Kindle | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Google Play

###

Miss Penelope Mitchell wrenched out of her best friend’s grasp and angled her head across the ballroom toward the open doors. “Where are they?”

Gloria fanned her throat. “Saint Nick is the gentleman with—”

“Found him.” The strangled words barely escaped Penelope’s suddenly dry throat. Gloria was right.

From a biological perspective, he was the finest male specimen Penelope had ever seen. And as a living, breathing woman… Good heavens.

Features: symmetrical. Jawline: chiseled. Visage: arresting. Light brown hair tumbled over a perfectly shaped head. His cravat was as white as chemists’ talcum, a subtle explosion of sharp points and soft folds designed to add elegance without distracting from the rest of the package.

And Saint Nick made one tempting package.

The hard curves of his muscled arms and wide shoulders were shown to advantage in a dashing coat of black superfine that begged to be touched. His waistcoat was the shimmery silver of magnesium, an element oft-combined with iron. She wondered if his will was just as strong.

Coal-black boots, tight-fitting buckskins, kid gloves… All he’d need to do was jingle a bell and every woman present would clamor to be his.

Every woman but Penelope.

Yes, his looks were the very definition of all that was virile and desirable in a gentleman. But his approach to life made him the last man who could hold her interest. He was an accomplished rake. A man who relied on romance to woo silly women.

The urge to spread one’s seed might be a natural male directive, but Penelope would never fawn over a man with nothing to recommend him beyond symmetrical features and pretty words. She had better things to do. Her mind preferred the comfort and excitement of her laboratory to pointless strolls down moonlit paths with a man who couldn’t hold a meaningful conversation.

Penelope cared about facts, about science, about logic. A natural philosopher would never select a mating partner based on external beauty alone.

“Uninterested,” she said abruptly. “Shall we find the dessert buffet?”

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