Maggie Robinson's Blog, page 14

Any Wicked Thursday 3

Here's the last exclusive excerpt before Any Wicked Thing comes out next Tuesday, March 1. I think AWT is my hottest book yet. Sebastian and Freddie embark on a journey of sensual discovery that surprises them both.

She raised her arms above her head as if waiting for him to bind them together, but that was not his current intention. Lifting the waves of hair from her back, he twisted them aside. Uncapping a jar of fragrant citrus unguent, he set it on the sheets, warming a dollop of the cream between his hands, then began to rub her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled into the mattress.

"As I said, you are tense. We've had a busy day." He worked at the knotted muscles and moved up to her neck, putting pressure on each rigid bit of spine. More cream, more smooth territory to cover, more friction between his palms and her skin. He traced her angel wings and she quivered at the tickling sensation. With every sure stroke, her body grew looser, her breaths almost purrs of satisfaction. He made his way down her back to the beautiful cheeks of her arse, circling and kneading until he determined she was melting into the bedclothes. His fingers skimmed down one leg to her toes, downy fuzz glimmering along her calf. The firelight was her friend, bathing her in golden glow.

Sebastian could look at her for hours, as long as he could touch, too. He bent her leg, rotating her foot at the ankle, tugging gently on each toe until she felt boneless. Her small foot, so pink and pretty, deserved a kiss. She startled as he pressed his lips to her arch, then methodically kissed his way up her white thigh. He felt her stir restlessly beneath him, as if she wanted to participate again. Good. He had broken through her reserve, at least for now. Which was fortuitous, as he was hard as granite. He had delayed his pleasure for hours, but could not wait much longer.

I can't wait much longer to see what readers have to say about two of my favorite characters. Happy reading!

Any Wicked Thursday 2

If it's Thursday, it's time for another taste of Any Wicked Thing. When we first meet Sebastian Goodard, the future Duke of Roxbury, he is a wicked twenty-one-year old fresh from an eye-opening trip to the Continent. He thinks he knows everything and has seen everything, but his jaded sensibilities are just beginning. Here is how the second-worst night of his life begins, at a costume party hosted by his father:

The castle was ablaze with candles. Sebastian wondered how much of his patrimony was tied up in tallow. People had taken his father's intentions to heart, and were arrayed in a variety of absurd costumes. The duke's authentic mail vest and spurs clinked every time he moved about the banquet hall, which had had been set up as in days of yore, its usual dining table dismantled and a dais built at one end of the room. Plain wooden benches and tables were set in rows; plain wooden trenchers served as plates; plain wooden goblets held mead and ale. His father had commissioned local carpenters to make all this useless stuff, at what cost Sebastian could only imagine and cringe.

"What do you think? Isn't it marvelous?" Freddie was at his elbow at one of the lower tables, wearing an unfortunate pink velvet dress that looked very much like a discarded curtain. With one hand, she balanced a pointed hat on her head, its veil falling over half her face. The other half was obscured by a pink silk mask, but Sebastian would know her anywhere.

"I think it's ridiculous." He grabbed a whiskey from a passing footman. At least he was not forced to drink the medieval swill. "What's your pleasure, Freddie?"

She squinted through her veil at the tray. Impatiently, Sebastian snatched the hat from her head, so that she was now merely covered by what looked like a linen bandage wrapped around her hair and chin. The waiting footman averted his eyes in pity.

"Sebastian!"

"Freddie, you haven't moved from this spot in hours. You haven't even been able to cut your meat one-handed. The hat is a disaster. Admit it."

"You have no idea how long it took me to make it," she said crossly. "A woman was not permitted to wear her hair uncovered. It was considered a sin."

"It's a sin in this day and age to adhere to such silly rules. Take the rest of that stuff off."

Muttering, Freddie unwrapped the linen to reveal a rumpled coronet of braids.

"There! Much better. Now. Champagne or ratafia?"

Freddie rubbed her hands in nervousness. "I don't know. I've never had either."

"What! Impossible. You really have led a sheltered life. Hm." He tapped his chin. "Champagne is apt to go straight to your head on an empty stomach. I'd advise the ratafia." He took two glasses and set them in front of her.

Freddie took a suspicious sniff. "Apricots."

"Yes, fruit. Good for you. How can one abstain? Drink up. I can't believe you're still sober. I know I'm not."

"As does everyone else. You've been quite rude tonight."

"Oh, don't go all governessy on me, brat. Bad enough the old man is giving me the eye. What's next on the agenda now that we've eaten the wild boar?"

"It was only Farmer Easton's pig. Two of them, actually."

"You never touched your bream and eel pasty."

Freddie shuddered. "I have more enthusiasm for the wardrobe of the Middle Ages than the menu. The frumenty wasn't bad. You can't go wrong with honey and raisins."

"Porridge by any other name. And impossible to eat with a knife. Just like my father to forgo the bloody forks for us peasants." Sebastian set his elbows on the table. "I'm afraid I've had enough, Freddie. Of the food and the company. Oh, not you," he said quickly, seeing her hurt expression. "You've been an amusing dinner companion, for all you didn't eat your dinner. But I'm for bed. Care to join me?"

Freddie blushed as brightly as her hideous dress. "Not if you were the last man on earth. And there's to be a scavenger hunt. You won't want to miss that."

"How old are we? Eleven?"

Just then his father tapped his crystal goblet at the dais and the room fell still. No wooden drinking vessel for the Duke of Roxbury. Sebastian leaned back as the duke rambled on about Goddard Castle through the centuries. He was so long-winded Freddie drank both her glasses during the speech, so Sebastian flagged down another footman for her. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. The poor little thing was getting drunk for the very first time.

He stumbled up when the talk got around to the scavenger hunt and its rules. Sebastian always broke rules when he could, and the quest for a mock unicorn held no interest for him. He whispered to Freddie that he was leaving, and she waved him away. She sat transfixed at his father's nonsense, an odd smile on her face.

When faced with the four stone walls of his little room, he had a desire to escape. He changed into an elegant striped robe, a souvenir from a grateful Italian widow, stashing his comforting brandy flask in a pocket. He made his way through the Byzantine halls of the castle by flickering candlelight, carrying a tooled leather case with his smoking utensils inside. Precious balls of poppy resin mixed with headache powder rattled around between the implements, promising peace.

His father had warned the guests about the north tower. It was unsafe, therefore off-limits for the foolish revelers. There was a rope with threatening signage blocking the steps, which Sebastian cleared easily even though he was more than a bit drunk himself. Soon he would be entirely at one with the universe. A universe where his father was in a different galaxy altogether.

He gave up counting the steps, but there were many. They were worn and slippery beneath his bare feet. Once he reached the top, he found himself in an odd-shaped room with half its ceiling gone. The black Yorkshire sky was sprinkled with stars winking down on him, cementing his idea he was rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He swept away some rubble and settled in the window alcove, or what would have been a window if it was still intact. A pleasant summer breeze swept through the space, nearly clearing his muzzy head. That would not do.

With the sort of patience his father would apply to reconstructing a medieval document from fragments, Sebastian opened his case and heated his metal needle, turning a pea-sized lump of opium into a cone. Holding his pipe over the flame, he warmed it, then placed the cone into the bowl. Some of his friends skipped all these laborious steps and simply wrapped the opium in rice paper and inserted it into their rectums, but Sebastian respected the traditional way. The ritual was nearly as compelling as the smoke. He inhaled deeply.

Heaven. Or hell. Opium was highly addictive. He felt the need for it more urgently every day, especially since he was now subject to his father's disapproval. His supply was limited, and not apt to be replenished in Yorkshire. He could fob himself off with drink or hashish for a time, but this was his greatest, most sinful pleasure.

He took the flask from his pocket and drank, feeling the heat of the brandy dance with the cool detachment of the drug. Sebastian no longer felt insignificant but invincible now, like a prototype of mankind. He removed his robe, rolling it up under his head, and stared at the night sky. So many stars, so far away. How many men had seen the same grouping of constellations since the world began? Perhaps as many as the stars themselves. He sipped and puffed until the stars spun.

Cover Goodness (or Badness?)

Whoa. Here's the incredible cover for Agony/Ecstasy, coming from Berkley Heat in December. Margaret Rowe has a short story in it, Wicked Wedding Night. The chick with the whip kind of scares me, but the guy is okay.

Any Wicked Thursday

It's Thursday! Time for an exclusive excerpt of Any Wicked Thing!

Here's the first part of the cover blurb:

One disastrous night…

At twenty-one, Sebastian Goddard, heir to the duke of Roxbury, desperately sought diversion from a life smothered by peerage and position. His quest led him to one night of reckless passion, resulting in betrayal by his oldest friend Frederica Wells, and the discovery of his father's darkest secret. Reeling from the devastation, he embarked on a ten-year debauch that well earned him the nickname–"Lord of Sin."

My hero Sebastian has not seen Freddie since he saw far too much of her one night ten years ago. Here's his first encounter with her now that she's all grown up:

He admired the Archibald crest on the keystone and knocked at the solar's massive oak door. He thought he heard "Come," though between the thickness of the door and stone walls it was impossible to tell. But when he pushed open the polished wood, he stopped listening altogether. All his other senses went on alert, however. Who needed ears when the sight of Frederica Wells was enough to drive any man quite as mad as the king or his father or the frog-loving Earl of Archibald?

Where was the chubby chit he remembered? The girl who fenced and fished with him? In her place was a curvaceous creature with gilt-streaked hair, her tongue licking a lucky wayward crumb from plump pink lips. Whose plumper white breasts nearly spilled from a flimsy dress that was surely too low-cut for tea. And damn it, where was her flirtatious companion when he had most need of her? He'd been without a woman too long if just the sight of his old enemy caused him such stimulation. This was Freddie, whose pigtails he'd pulled, whose feet he'd tripped, who bedeviled him like a little leech until he went away to school.

And when he came home, she tried to trick and trap him, until her head was turned by the promise of few pounds.

"Hallo, Freddie. I see you started without me." He swiped a miniscule biscuit and swallowed it whole.

She wrinkled her perfect little powdered nose. No doubt she found the childhood nickname abhorrent. He'd have to keep calling her that to keep her at arm's length, make sure she knew she held no sway over him. Damn her father for dying, damn his father for dying, damn Freddie for not finding some other man to bother with her hair and her breasts and her rosy mouth.

She inclined her head, as if she were a queen greeting a vexatious subject. By God, she had nerve. The last time he'd seen her, she had been half-naked and white-faced, every freckle on her face like a spatter of mud, their worlds smashed to pieces. One would never know from her sang froid that they were anything to each other but passing acquaintances.

"Sebastian. Or should I say Your Grace, although that seems very odd. How was your trip north?"

He threw himself down into a chair that looked like some deposed king's throne, devilishly uncomfortable as were all the authentic furnishings in the castle. No wonder the knights in days of olde were always riding off to do battle—sitting down at home was as good as getting a jousting stick up one's arse. "Beastly. I've remembered why I never came back to visit. Every single minute is a fresh reminder." He gave her a pointed look, and was pleased to see her blush of discomfort.

Countdown, Content & Contests

Any Wicked Thing, a Margaret Rowe book from Berkley Heat, comes out March 1. I got an early copy today from my editor's assistant in the mail, and it's really beautiful. I'll get a whole box of them at the end of the month, some of which will be given away as prizes. (click on Margaret Rowe's contest link for a chance to win one this month, and Maggie Robinson's contest link to enter for a chance to get a copy of my critique partner Tiffany Clare's The Seduction of His Wife)

But I'm hanging on to the first one. My books are all on top of my rolltop desk, and AWT's snuggling up to Tempting Eden now. When I look up from the computer screen and see five books, I still can't quite believe it.

For the next three weeks (every Thursday, if I can remember, LOL), I'm going to be posting a snippet from AWT. Those of you who subscribe to my newsletter may have already read it, but check back next week for something brand new and shiny. If anything else exciting happens, I'll let you know.

Oh, she was naïve now, entering into this ridiculous agreement with him. And for what? The uncertain roof over her head? But it was too late. She took another step forward. And then another.

He pressed his thumbs to her cheeks, his fingers resting lightly on her temples. His pupils were huge, black as his soul—if he still had one—ringed in dark, fathomless green. She longed to touch the bump on the bridge of his nose, the only imperfection she could detect in his shadowed face. He was whispering something scandalous, but she couldn't listen for watching his lips move. Then he smiled and slanted them over hers, the soft strength of them warm and insistent. Her mouth opened in protest and his tongue traced the seam of her top lip slowly, as if he were measuring by touch, calculating the inches of pink. He did the same to her bottom lip, shocking her with his gentleness.

When they'd last kissed, he'd tasted of too much brandy and smelled of sweet smoke. Tonight there was the merest hint of wine. His clean skin was scented with the rose petal soap she had made herself from the overgrown canes that tumbled over the outer wall. What should have been feminine had been converted into something else altogether—he'd captured the briar as well as the bud. She hoped to steady herself with a deep breath, but instead was swept away to the wild roses and the heat of last summer. Her skin beneath the pressure of his fingertips tingled as he drew her closer, his mouth skimming effortlessly over hers, brushing, savoring. There was nothing to do but meet his tongue and shiver as he tore her defenses down lick by wicked lick.

She felt herself sway, and reached for something to hold on to, although she was still sweetly trapped between his hands. She should touch him, if only to feel his smooth brown chest or span his narrow hips or tousle his curling dark hair. But there was no safe place to touch that wouldn't scorch her as he brought her to him, his velvet mouth angled expertly so that even the corners of her lips received attention.

Frederica had dreamed of kisses like this, though doubted their existence. How odd that her oldest friend and newest enemy was the man to prove her wrong. He lulled her into discomfiting comfort, banishing all thoughts with the steady skills of his tongue and teeth. His fingers slipped through her hair, loosening the braids. Her scalp tickled as he massaged her head and she felt a wash of heat down her neck. Her nightgown was suddenly too heavy, too warm, her arms useless at her sides, her knees weak. Sebastian seemed to know the exact moment of her capitulation, broke the kiss and lifted her from the floor.

Checking Off the List

I finished writing the first of the London List books yesterday, and plunged right into the second book today. I'm going to let Ben and Evie's story rest and recuperate a little before I read/revise it and send it to my editor. I miss them already. Fortunately I can make them turn up for a brief reunion the next book. Authorial magic!

I lived with them for over four months, and Evangeline Ramsey is probably my secret twin. Oops, not so secret. I've told you. But she's sarcastic and snotty and warm-hearted and wildly in love with a man who drives her crazy. She is, however, much braver than I am, breaking rules, hacking off her hair and posing as a man. She's never at a loss for words–except when she's in Ben's arms.

Updates from the Writing Cave

I expect to be on the quiet side for a while. I'm close, oh so close, to finishing my current project. As of today, I have a little over 84,000 words. I know exactly what needs to get written (not always the case, LOL). I'm excited, yet sad at the same time. I love this couple!

But I love Sebastian and Freddie too, who are about to make their debut in Margaret Rowe's Any Wicked Thing from Berkley Heat on March 1. Look for excerpts on the blog in the coming weeks. Here's a snippet:

Frederica removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She didn't want to see her embroidery anyway—she was making a dog's dinner of the vines and flowers on the pointless pillow case. Why embellish something that was to be drooled on? It was not as though she'd ever have a man in her bed to impress with her neat French knots and chain stitches. And if that's all he'd be looking at—

A perfectly wicked thought crossed her mind. True, she had pledged to herself to never marry. She planned on hiring a much nicer companion than Mrs. Carroll in two years when she came into her funds and live modestly on her inheritance, with perhaps a faithful dog or a cat. Perhaps both. Men were, on the whole, disappointing creatures who cared for nothing but their own comforts, and often had fleas besides. Sebastian was the very model of such a man—selfish, careless, reckless. But the play upon the family name—he was known as God of Sin by the chin-wags—was surely deserved.

Frederica's paltry attempt at sexual experience a decade ago should probably not even be counted as such. While she had undoubtedly lost her virginity, she'd never been transported to heaven as was rumored possible. Over the years, she had achieved it for herself with considerable effort without going insane or blind, but how lovely it would be to be brought to abandon by a skillful lover.

A Sebastian who was not dead drunk or full of poppy smoke. A Sebastian who had ten years to hone his skills and earn his disreputable reputation. Of course, he might have picked up something far less desirable than knowledge—gentlemen were dying off left and right from debauchery. But if Sebastian didn't have the pox or nasty little insects nesting in his nether hair, he just might do again.

How very shocking. She was considering making a second mistake with Sebastian. In a real bed this time, with embroidered pillowcases and clean linens and candles scattered about the room illuminating his masculine perfection.

Of course, there was a considerable impediment to her plan. Sebastian Goddard hated her.

But not for long. *g*

Mid-Month Musing

And I'm late even with that, unless January has 34 days. Things have been busy in Robinsonworld. My husband's health continues to improve and I'm out and about promoting Mistress by Midnight. Tomorrow I'll be at The Romance Dish giving away a hardcover copy, just as I am on this site's monthly contest. Selling rights to the book clubs means hardcover copies are printed, which was so exciting for me that I joined the Rhapsody Book Club and ordered my own books, LOL. You can see how they advertised MbM in their catalog…my family will probably put "The clock chimes for lust" on my gravestone.

In other news, I can almost see the light at the end of Ben & Evie's tunnel, about 10,000 to go for their HEA. I haven't shared much about my current WIP, and it's time to change all that. Here, without further ado, is how Baron Benton Craig lays eyes on his old sweetheart and current nemesis, Evangeline Ramsey:

Ben left his mother to her gossip and speculation. Braving the kitchen and Cook's opprobrium, he snagged an extra scone and her copy of the newssheet. Over his crumbs he found the offices of the paper buried between advertisements for the improvement of manly vigor and custom reupholstery.

R. Ramsey, Publisher. An odd coincidence that the bane of his existence shared the surname of his lost and unlamented love.

He had nothing better to do today but defend his honor and demand satisfaction or retraction. He was not going to sit in his club and endure the jibes of his so-called friends as they reminded him that he was the number one topic of conversation in the ton. Bad enough Severson gave him a gimlet eye as he assisted Ben with his coat against the raw December wind.

It would do him good to walk the distance to the newspaper's office. Work up his umbrage and indignation. His calves would get exercise too. Ben wouldn't let a few nights of dissipation wreck his carefully-crafted body. It was damned hard to stay fit in Town, but Ben did by fencing regularly at a private salle d'armes. Using his fists was far too reminiscent of his father's proclivities, so he left Gentleman Jackson's to others.

In a matter of half an hour, he had traversed quite a bit of fashionable London and stood before the impeccably scrubbed front window of The London List. He could see clear to the back of the rear brick office wall and the hulking black printing press which would be idle for the rest of the week. A young gentleman, his black hair cropped brutally short, shirtsleeves rolled up and jacket discarded, appeared to be tinkering with the source of Ben's choler. If the infernal machine was broken, that would save him the trouble of smashing it himself.

No. Ben had other methods of persuasion. He would make the fellow or his employer if he had one an offer no sensible person could refuse.

Ben startled at the tinkle of bells over the door as he entered. The printer turned abruptly to him, his welcoming smile quickly draining away, looking ready to faint onto the wide pine floorboards.

By God and the saints and all that was holy. The young gentleman was no gentleman. Ben felt light-headed himself as he stared into Evangeline Ramsey's parchment-pale face.

Slightly AWOL

Happy 2011! And it is. My husband is recovering slowly but surely from major surgery. I've spent the past five days at the hospital/in a nearby hotel and have missed Romancelandia, but I'm sure Romancelandia's gotten along just fine without me. If all goes well, he'll be released later this week. Please keep your fingers and toes crossed.

I'm still giving away books for the next THREE months–please see the News page for details. Tomorrow I'll be at Romance Bandits, and Tuesday I'll be at Seductive Musings. Thanks so much to SM's Carrie Divine for designing this lovely Any Wicked Thing ad!

Earlier this month Mistress by Mistake was #1 on Amazon's Free Kindle list for several days. Free or not, it was a delightful surprise to be #1 at anything. I'm still smarting from being second-runner-up for my college's May Queen, LOL. Seriously, thanks to all of you who downloaded and hopefully enjoyed the book! And just for fun, me in my not-quite-May Queen days–a whole lot blonder and thinner!

A New Year's Present

Mistress by Mistake is available FREE again in the Kindle Store!

Click here to download. So many mistresses, so little time!

Have a fabulous, safe New Year's Eve and a happy 2011!