Shehanne Moore's Blog, page 38
January 29, 2014
Here’s to us.
‘Wha’s like us—damn few and they’re all deid.’ as we say here in Scotland. In keeping with my little Scottish theme, I had planned on having this post up on Tuesday but as Rabbie
YOU CAN TELL I LIKE THE SPECS.
himself would have said, the best laid schemes o’ mice and men etc, etc, etc, went so far a gley. Don’t you just love it when your PC gets kow-powed by an update? As I sat biting me nails wondering if my data had indeed been swiped, I managed to cobble together a sort of Frankensteinian affair.
I don’t know who was more surprised that it ground to life. I won’t say it went. I don’t regard taking 10 mins to open an email as an accomplishment
Feeling it is preferable to shove bamboo shoots beneath ones fingernails either. Although when it flagged up it had recovered from a serious malfunction after I kicked it defo showed it had some sense. It is called booting your PC I believe. Preferably in its steel goolies.
Anyway Scots’ literary giants. Wha’s like us? Plenty. Every country has its giants.
Oh yes…
But I’m suggesting that maybe that’s the toast those in the main picture would drink to one another. Unless of course they were —
For a small nation, let’s look at just what these Scots’ literary gents gave the world.
Let’s start with Rabbie, Scotland’s ploughboy poet. Do you know he even inspired my top commenter Ranting Crow to write this for a sort of joke?
But the all deid bit is.A silver tongue and matching looks
had farmers boy write poetry books
a coin for his addiction he crave
left him dead and poor in his grave
not a single day he lived alone
When thousand visited his resting stone
Who hasn’t heard of Auld Lang Syne, or Tam O’Shanter?
And all right, Burns wrote in Scots. but let’s not forget his
‘But pleasures are like poppies spread You seize the flower, its bloom is shed. And like a snowflake in the river One moment here, and then gone forever…….Or like the rainbow’s lovely form. Evanishing amid the storm.’
And let’s not forget the er …haggis evenings. Burns Night. 
I mean there are those who like haggis…..
Moving swiftly on to our next giant, there’s J.M. As in Barrie……1st Baronet. 
Tinkerbelle, Peter Pan, oh and of course that amazing pirate, Captain Hook.
The son of handloom weavers, Barrie hailed from Kirriemuir in the Angus glens.
I know a descendant on his mother’s side. The guy’s first name…Barrie, spelt a la J.M..
Talking literary pirates let’s move to another famous one…
Long John Silver, creation of Robert Louis Stevenson who ranks amongst the 26 most translated authors in the world and someone who “seemed to pick the right word up on the point of his pen, like a man playing spillikins’ according to G.K Chesterton. Robert Louis also gave us –
Talking world famous characters, let’s move to another author, another creation….
Many faces, one creation. Sherlock Holmes, all the work of the Edinburgh born Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Not telling you who my fav Sherlock is. There’s ones I haven’t even included.
Next up….Sir Walt. My lord, another baronet. I have to say I am not a big fan of Sir Walt and yeah it peed me off big time that Ivanhoe married Rowena.
(A visit to specsavers was in order)
But Scott’s place on the world’s stage is still assured with that story.
Now this one above IS a fav mine even if Grassic Gibbon might not rank with the A listers. He still made his mark with his stream-of-consciousness and lyrical use of dialect and the book is considered one of the most important Scottish novels of last century. The pity was he died young.
Gibbon’s took his inspiration from another fav of mine, George Douglas Brown, an illegitimate farmer’s son, who died even younger. Unfortunately it was the year before the release of his classic story, The House With The Green Shutters, a book that broke the kail-yard stereotype. A sort of grand gothic affair almost in terms of a family and what can befall them against the backdrop of Barbie…oh not the doll, the fictional place. It’s well worth reading if you don’t know it.
I’m sticking here for today. I still have my films to get to next and a load more stuff to install on my revitalised PC.
,
Filed under: Lists of, writing Tagged: Arthur Conan Doyle, Auld Lang Syne, Captain Hook, George Douglas Brown, Ivanhoe, J.M Barrie, Lew Grassi Gibbon, Long John SIlver, Peter Pan, Pirates, Robert Burns, Robert Louis Stevenson, Scottish literary giants, Sherlock Holmes, Sunset Song, Tam o'Shanter, The House with the Green Shutters, Treasure Island, Walter Scott 
January 24, 2014
Why was Rabbie Sexy?
Very well, it’s not actually Burns Night. That’s tomorrow. But dates aren’t my strong point and I’m kind of busy tomorrow. Boy does that make a change….not.
I don’t know if you’ve seen my doodling buddy, Elzabeth M Valey’s blog. It’s got absolutely sod all to do with Rabbie. But there’s a fun quiz, http://inadreambeyond.blogspot.com/2014/01/tntconfidential-author-spotlight-on_23.html?spref=tw It’s on the jewel thieves. Which one are you?
Sapphire, Pearl, Ruby, Amber, Jade, Splendor or Diamond? Also, one must share one’s news. Her ladyship is coming out in print.
Tres exciting and a big thank you to my publisher, Etopia Press. Tails and chasing? Been doing it all week! So Rabbie…. Why is he Sumexy?
What is a Burns Supper as opposed to a fish supper….?
Why do we have them, not just in Scotland, but worldwide? Especially when the food is……
YES. You are seeing that….
(Saying nowt….)
……..except I always avoid the food.
AND finally, what can we expect at a supper to take our minds off that food?
Well, let’s be clear Robert Burns was a total babe magnet. Just look at him in the shades.
Okay. So there were no shades around in his day, fifty or Ray Ban, just the naff sideburns. But. despite being dirt poor, he was a clever, educated guy. And when you consider the average farm labourer of his day, you could see why the ladies dropped their drawers for the sumexy Rab. 
What was more he liked women. He wrote them nice poems and he knocked up his ma’s servant, while courting his later wife. Move over Mr Byron!
But men liked Rabbie too. And not just cos he wrote love letters for yir average tongue in knots local to give their amour.
Men liked a drink with Rabbie, his easy understanding of human ways. You know to me that’s the mark of a truly sumexy person. Male, or female, both sexes like you. When he died rock bottom broke, at the tender age of 37, 10.000 people came to pay their respects. Imagine that amount. His friends held a night on the anniversary of his death to remember him. That’s the origin of Burns Night, except they got a bit mixed up as to when his death was and celebrated it in July….
What can we expect? Well… I’m getting a few characters from my hottie Scottie book, His Judas Bride to show us Burn’s Night Kara and Callm style….. Which ones would I choose and why….. 
Okay…..Firstly before author Anne Lange runs off screaming, I need to clear up the confusion caused by the lovely author, Sharon Struth. Dug really looks like this 
Yes, don’t you fall for that other eyelash batting cur one bit. Given that the real Dug would tear the haggis and half the guests to bits, she will have been skilfully locked up, not for the first time, by Kara. 
even if she and the Wolf cross swords about it. So the first item is the howling –oops—piping in of the guests. Shug would do that, he’s the musical one of the live together die as one Wolves. 
Followed by the Selkirk Grace. NO. That is not some weird sister. Some hooker either. The Selkirk Grace is the Selkirk Grace. Only this being Lochalpin, I think we can forget anything religious. I think we can probably forget the soup too, if that dinner party that was thrown in Kara’s honor is anything to go by….
If she was able to get her teeth into the fossilized chicken leg Ulla now set before her, it would be a miracle on a par with the loaves and the fishes
SO let’s head up to the piping in of the haggis. 
No. I said the HAGGIS.
Not Ewen McDunnagh even if he is one. Certainly not Ewen McDunnagh when the Wolf is going to do the address to the haggis.
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
In fact whose idea was it to give Callm that knife when he won’t be happy unless he attacks it from 30 paces, attacks Ewen too? Then chops both up in a frenzy.
Next up? The whisky toast. So now there’s a rammy over that, Ewen refusing to part with a drop. Lastly the official toasts..
The Immortal Memory
to Rabbie’s life and memory, except now Ewen’s scoffed the whisky I doubt we’ll be having that and unless it’s all about him he won’t want to listen either.
The toast to the lassies
Well, if Ewen’s giving it, I doubt any one will want to listen.
The reply from the lassies
Who gave Kara that knife? ……Right? Fallon…it was you, what a surpise. 
I think we can all agree that asking Kara and the Wolf to run a supper would be a mistake.
Personally when it comes to replies from the lassies… and I’ve twice done them, I like the notion of this one.
And whaur do you suppose was Kate
When market days were wearin’ late.
While Tam frequented wretched dives
And fooled around with landlord’s wives.
And rode poor Meg through mud and ditches
And had an eye for handsome witches.
Played ‘Peepin’ Tam’ at Alloway
And yelled and gave the himsel’ away
And fled from there amid the din
While Maggie barely saved his skin!
Whaur was Kate?-
Next up Scottish literary giants……..
Filed under: heroes, heroines, writing Tagged: Burns night, Burns supper, His Judas Bride, Robert Burns, Scotland, The Black Wolf of Lochalpin
January 22, 2014
It’s very nearly Rabbie’s Day
And being a good Scot’s lass–ok mixed ancestry but hey– to celebrate I am going to be looking at certain things Scottish over the next few blogs. Sharon Struth, can we just get the kilts out the way now, please thank you…
Kara and the Wolf –my hero and heroine of His Judas Bride — will give you their own Burns supper. Yes. Ewen and Dug may even attend doing the toast tae the dugs. (Anne Lange WILL like that). I want to look at who I believe are the best Scots literature giants and their creations…. Scottish films… Then there’s Scots royalty…
SO do tune in.
To start with I am reblogging some Scottish women…ones who absolutely knew their place in life as Scottish women do, but that will be it for the reblogs. Besides I know there are those who are yet to read…….
Looking incredibly noble here for someone about to have their arm snapped….let’s see how good she looks after eh?…. did Kate sit mutely doing her embroidery, saying I know my place, when assassins arrived to kill James 1st of Scotland? A quite common occurrence for a Scottish king, by the way. No. Kate’s place was at the chamber door, sticking her arm through the staples, while the King fled into a sewer tunnel. Now, if she had spent all these hours embroidering tapestries and bed sheets, would she have had the eyesight to see the bolt had been removed? She didn’t save the king by the way, but it wasn’t for want of getting her arm broken for her trouble.
Jenny certainly knew her place in that she went to church. Yes. But as for sitting quietly there, Jenny wasn’t for having Charles 1st’s new prayer book. ‘Daur ye say mass in my lug?’ Jenny enquired, turfing her prayer stool at the minister. Before we go thinking Jenny did this entirely from a desire to keep her ears unblemished, she, and a number of other women had been paid to disrupt the service. Would any man have done that if he thought woman were meek and mild? Jenny’s stunt sparked a riot, which led to a war, which led to the execution of a king. Who says only the Scots did that? Mind you he was of Scots’ descent.
Well, what list of Scottish women would be complete without Flora? When the Bonnie Prince fled Culloden, more or less landing up on her doorstep with his tattered hopes and dreams, a price on his head, did she say, I’m awfie sorry Charlie, but I wouldnae be kenning my place if I let you in the night?
Absolutely not. Flora did time for taking the Prince, disguised as a maidservant, by boat, over the sea to Skye.
Again, the list would be incomplete given the way Mary blazed through life. Imprisoned at the age of 25, by which time she’d lived a lifetime, widowed twice, a son she would never see again, a ruinous marraige to the kidnapping, allegedly rapacious, Bothwell, Mary had a lot of time to learn her place. But the feisty queen preferred to spend her time escaping, allegedly writing letters implicating her in her second husband’s murder and getting involved in various plots. All leading to her place eventually being on the executioner’s block – in a dark red petticoat no less.
Mary would hardly be commemorated on Scottish banknotes today if she’d known her place. At that time in Dundee? You would have to be mad. Mary was soon saving hundreds of sets of twins in Calabar – a place said to be less rough than Dundee Hilltoon on a Saturday night – nursing, teaching, and generally gaining a respect unknown for a woman there. it wouldn’t have happened if she’d worked in a Dundee jute mill.
NEXT UP. On their first Burns Night together just how will Kara and the Wolf, not to mention Dug, fare……?
Filed under: heroes, heroines, Lists of, writing Tagged: Burns night, Etopia Press, Flora Macdonald, His Judas Bride, Jenny Geddes, Kate Barlass, Mary Queen of Scots, Mary Slessor, Robert Burns. Scots
January 19, 2014
She kissed him then she reappeared
No. That’s not her, hugging an inn sign. That is me. But you can see that after sticking the Wentworth emeralds on Dev, Saff’s been appearing all kinds of places… With the fabulous Antonia Van Zandt..
http://antoniavanzandt.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/loving-lady-lazuli-sensational.html
the fabulous
totally to be recommended by the way. She’s now with the equally and marvellous……
and there’s an amazon card giveaway. First stop today is here.http://bookstolightyourfire.blogspot.com/ The fire being books that are hot…. not books you might use to stoke yir hearth up with cos they are minging.
On release day she was here
a very stupid place actually 
But may I say the hypothermia is much better now? And wasn’t the Lochan pretty as always?
I also think I may have set a record time for getting off a mountain top. Saff needs to stop kissing Dev… But she won’t. Anyway she was also here…
and yes I am reblogging. Noelle Clark author of Rosamanti and Let Angels Fly did such a great Q and A job of this piece about the Sisterhood, , I gotta share it!! Unlike when Incy Black reblogged her homecoming post recently and called it Blatant Duplication, this is
Absolute Duplication…..
NOELLE CLARK
Loving Lady Lazuli is Book 1 in the new series: The Starkadder Sisterhood. London Jewel Thieves, and focuses on Sapphire, one of the eight members of the Sisterhood.
As you’ll see, the sisterhood are not part of a religious order, however they certainly lay claim to some odd, and even dirty, habits.
Shehanne, can you tell us a little about Sapphire, and why you chose to write her story first?
Firstly Noelle, thank you so much for asking me here today to your lovely blog. It’s a great pleasure for me to be here. I value it and I value your friendship too. Okay Sapphire, well, Sapphire has been stealing since she was five years old. There’s mysteries about the years before that, before she and her brother Matthew, wound up in London with ‘Uncle’ Starkadder. 
These are mysteries she wants to solve. She’s the number one jewel thief. The woman who can pull off any heist. The mistress of disguise. But this gang is like Fagin’s in a way. The girls don’t gain anything from their efforts. They are forced to steal. Every time Sapphire refused she was beaten till she agreed. So she and Ruby determined to escape. They’ve spent ten years planning it and they’ve faked their own deaths to do it.
I never meant to write about her first or indeed write a series. I only ever start with a spark of an idea. In this instance I saw Christmas Eve and this beautiful sixteen year old girl walking along the highway in distress so this young man offers her a lift in his coach. She plants a stolen necklace on him and he goes down for it. Lol! I’m sure you know what it’s like. If I had written this twenty years ago that scene would have been chapter one and all the action would have taken place after it, with them ending up as convicts in Australia or something. But now, Regency romance is so popular, that’s not how you’d write it. So that scene became the backstory. 
When I got to chapter two and the idea of her past, and the girls coming into her thoughts, I found I was naming them after jewels, and I saw I could make up stories about their lives after the gang breaks up,
This sounds to me like it will be your most powerful book yet. You always have extremely strong heroines, and they get into some tough situations, but do you consider Sapphire to be your grittiest girl yet?
Hmm. I don’t know. Fury bolted over her emotions and Kara was fairly tough, although she bubbled away underneath. Sapphire has her emotions in control. Being gritty without making that special effort is second nature to her because she’s been getting out of tight corners since she was five years old. In some ways she doesn’t know any better that way. It’s what makes her so confident about dealing with Devorlane Hawley, when the sensible thing to do would be to bolt. That’s her undoing–greatest strength, greatest flaw thing– as I am sure you can guess.
There are eight girls in the Sisterhood – Sapphire, Amber, Diamond, Emerald, Splendor, Ruby, Jade, and Pearl. Can you share with us which of the sisters will feature in Book 2?
Splendor features in Book 2. She’s actually not a thief. She’s Dora-Do-It-All, their general skivvy. But she would like to be like them, so she has all these airs and graces. That’s why she calls herself Splendor.
On your Pinterest board, I notice that Pearl looks totally out of place among the strong, sassy, sisterhood. You even describe her as “Pearl – plain as milk”. Does that mean that Pearl won’t get to star in her own book? Is she really too plain? Or does she have a dark side? 
Pearl does look out of place and that is deliberate. She is only fifteen in Loving Lady Lazuli and she actually isn’t a ‘proper’ thief like the other girls. She was being trained. Anyway when Sapphire and Ruby made their plans to escape from the gang they cut in Pearl in as they couldn’t stand to see her having the kind of lives they’ve had. She’s not the brightest spark. All the stories are set over a period of years after the gang has broken up, because Diamond has murdered Starkadder, so cutting forward, Pearl might get her own story.
And that’s it…after Splendor, I want to tell Diamond’s story after all, she’s for the drop isn’t she? AS for Pearl….well…hmmm. I just might.
You cans e more of Noelle’ blog here.
Filed under: blogging, Glencoe, Guest bloggers, heroes, heroines, writing Tagged: Antonia Van Zandt, Etopia Press, Glencoe, Incy Black, Loving Lady Lazuli, Noelle Clark, Shehanne Moore 
January 15, 2014
So…as promised…she kissed him then she disappeared..
Excuse me….did I really say a chapter? When this adobe reader stuff–hope you clocked my politeness there –means it took me a half hour to get you a single word…do we kid are the words that come to mind.
BUT I did say, so here it is…. Dev in all his glory. Does it match the preparations? The lovely ladies huddled like this…
Everything all my writer buddies have done to make him stay?
Please, just give him a moment will you? No-one knows more than me he’s kind of difficult…
England 1809
(Obviously it’s illustrated)
Ten years for a kiss. Yes. Devorlane Hawley, the fifth Duke of Chessington, could understand his companion wanting to get this straight. Ten sodding years.
Imagine.
What he’d have gotten for a bleeding fuck wasn’t worth considering, especially given he’d just finished indulging in the activity in question.
“Probably more.” Edging himself free of the woman facing opposite, he let the clatter of hooves fill his head. “But let’s keep this decent, shall we, Charlie? I have sisters.”
“Sisters?”
Well, he did, didn’t he? “For now anyway.”
It was bad enough the first time he’d told that story, ten years ago, in his crass, blundering naivety, to those he’d thought might help him. Now that the coach clattered up the driveway, he was hardly about to expend further precious time wondering just how many more years might have been lost, when he needed to prepare himself for what lay ahead.
Nor, when his immaculately pressed trousers had cost a fool’s fortune, did he want them creased or stained.
Chessington. The place he had sworn never to return to, not even in a box.
Chessington. The place of ivory turrets and golden crenulations.
Chessington. Whose front door had been slammed in his face so acrimoniously that frost-flecked Christmas Eve.
Chessington…
Devorlane glanced through the steam blighted window. Not eagerly exactly—at least, he tried not to be, for all a thousand memories drew his sleeve.
Chessington—damn it all to hell—seemed to have shrunk since that door had reverberated inches from his nose, despite the glowing palette of late autumn sunlight painting the stone. He remembered it bigger, grander, with ornate statues on the sweeping lawn and, beyond the bare trees, spaces that boasted gilded cupolas, bowers festooned by ascented myriad of roses, that even on a winter’s day held fascination in their black roots and thorny stems.
Memory? A kittle thing for all it didn’t alter his plans one jot. Whether the building was small or large, was no odds to him.
The coach rumbled to a halt and he strove, when so much was required of his dignity, not to throw open the door in anything less than a leisurely fashion. Lucifer re-ascending to heaven would take his time. So would he.
Although, standing on the rough stone of what was now his doorstep, he admitted the house looked…poorer…dilapidated. A place from where the soul had fled, as opposed to a place he fully intended flaying the soul from. The plant pots crumbled around their desiccated contents. Grime from the week’s earlier storms coated the windows.
He eyed his reflection darkening the coach window and drew his brows the tiniest fraction; he straightened his cravat. He looked like an uncertain prince of darkness perhaps. But damned diabolical as ever.
Ten years. To think there were times he’d been on the verge of letting go. How damnably glad he was he had resisted the temptation. Would he stand here now, staring at himself in the plate glass, older, harder, if he had done anything so inconceivably foolish? No. Which was why he squared his jaw and smoothed the tendril of flat, dark hair the wind had coaxed free. He had come to do this and he would. Keep this decent? Hell wouldn’t just crust with ice first, its fiery core locked in subterranean depths for centuries to come. Hell would be obliterated.
“Let’s get on with this, shall we?”
“Hell and damnation, Guv.” When it came to admiration, Charlie could barely suppress his, as he stumbled from the coach. “You got a flagpole’n everything. My lot would have counted themselves lucky ter have afforded the bleedin’ flag.”
True. Which was why Devorlane’s veins sang with delight that his current good fortune could be shared with those less fortunate than himself. Charlie. And this…striving to find the words to describe the rare jewel he had scouted the sewers and whorehouses of London to find, he came up short enough as to be speechless. 
An exceptional occurrence, but one that boded well, where the present occupants of Chessington were concerned.
“’Ow! A cut above moine then. He’ll be wanting us ter call him His bleedin’ lordship now, Charlie. Just watch this space. And him a bleedin’ thief.” The rare creature adjusted her voluminous pink skirts.
He extended a hand and drew her from the coach. He did not know her name. He did not need to. He did not want to know, any more than he wanted to know any of their names. Those cheaply perfumed whores. Those exotic creatures of the night, who satisfied his every whim. Every craving and carnal requirement.
All he knew was that none, no matter the essence of their perfume, or accomplishment of their ruby lips, were her.
The name he’d remember till the day he died.
The name he cursed to the furthest regions of hell.
Sapphire.
* * *
“Surprise!”
It had been ten years since that door had last opened to him and the shock could have been no greater had Devorlane limped across the damaged stone threshold into the wrong house.
That Tilly, damn her, should still be able to do this to him—and more. This wasn’t just about her out manoeuvring him. How much of his precious inheritance had been squandered on this damned wasteful nonsense? On making absolutely certain each and every one of those present was prepared to be in the same room as him?
Recognizing not one in the sea of faces, he could only assume it might be the whole damn lot, every brass farthing of it. In addition to the carriage loads of people she must have wheeled from London, scoured the hedgerows, the workhouses, the cottages of the poor, to find, she must have spent hours putting them through their dull but important paces. Now can we, all of us, please just remember? Devorlane’s a soldier, not a thief.
“Guv…”
He turned his head. “Make one move and I’ll kill you before you reach the door.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He had known Charlie too long and owed him too much. But to turn on his heel and walk out now would be admitting that the stabs of memories knifing from every candlelit corner were too great. He would, if Charlie didn’t damn well stand beside him. Chloe too, he thought, naming her in that second, whether it was what she was born with or not.
How foolish would that be, when he was no longer a humble pawn standing on this checkered floor, but king of this particular castle.
“Devorlane.”
He frowned. The kiss plastered on his cheek was so gin sodden, it almost knocked him sideways. Tilly? Tilly…drunk?
So much couldn’t have changed since he last stood between the Ionic columns his late father, the third Duke, possessed such fondness for that he’d had them installed in every nook and cranny, could it? She couldn’t be so foxed she hung on his shoulder like a piece of paper? Plastering kisses?
“I can’t tell you—hic—how very galad, glad, I am—hic—how glad we all of us gathered here today are, you’ve finally come home, Devorlane.” She waved an empty champagne flute beneath his nose.
Tilly, so much older and so drunk she could hardly stand, were two shocks.
For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t scoured London, its underworld dregs and whore palaces, seeking the most delectable creature he could find, for her not even to be noticed. By any of them. For him to stand here feeling vaguely as if his behavior was not expected but perfectly acceptable. He narrowed his eyes. With this crowd it probably wasn’t just acceptable, it was every bit as typical of their own.
The sooner Tilly learned what his plans for Chessington were, and how she would be leaving within the next half hour, the better. Provided she could stand up, that was. Her present inability did not give him much cause for hope.
“Words finally failed you, have they? That must be a first.”
“Oh, s’not at all, Devorlane. S’in fact, it’s probably a hundredth. A thousandth even. But come in, come in. Bring your friends. Then you can all be drunk too.”
“I’ve no wish to be damn well drunk too.”
He lied. Of course. Drink. Drugs. Women. It would be very nice to deny it, but he didn’t imagine she was unacquainted with the facts. Or perhaps it was simple shock he was no longer the little brother she could bully that made her widen her eyes.
“But surely you can see—hic—you have guests.”
“I’m sure I do, but as I didn’t ask them particularly, I don’t see why I should have to be particular about entertaining them either.”
“But your friends here, Devorlane, wouldn’t they like to be s’introduced?”
The creature it had taken two weeks to find extended her grubby paw. “’Ow sin? ’Ow very kind of yer. I’m always up for a bitta sin. Ain’t I, Dev? You know, we both are.”
“How very good that is to know—hic. After all, Devorlane, what would our dear papa say if I didn’t make your dear guests welcome?”
“Not a hell of a lot, I imagine. He’s been dead two years. Now this place is mine—”
“S’of course, Devorlane. S’of course. It’s yours. S’it’s what dearest Papa and dearest Mama and dearest Ardent, God rest them, all their souls, wanted. You to have it. All of it.”
“Is that so? Ardent dropped down dead just to oblige me, did he? Quite a feat, even for Ardent.”
“On his death bed Papa said—hic.”
Devorlane was quite sure he hadn’t—certainly not as Tilly did, since the old duke was completely tee-total, which was why, mastering the bolt of agony that seared his thigh, Devorlane strode forward. Anything rather than listen to this soused horse piss.
“He regretted it.” Of course Tilly had to follow on his heels, like a puppy. “Driving you away. Papa spent a fortune trying to find that, that girl. You know the one.”
As if he could forget. As if he could ever forget.
“A fortune wasted then, dearest sister. We all know who took the emeralds. Me.”
He halted. When he gained his revenge as he was about to do, it would be good to look into her eyes. “But I will say it’s kind of you to lay on the champagne. Your departure should be toasted.”
“Sapphire.”
Damn it. Didn’t she hear him? Or did she choose not to, dragging that damn bitch’s name into the equation? As if she had somehow only suddenly remembered it.
“Yes,” Tilly said. “But never mind her. Or all this s’nuff and nonsense about departure. You and your friends will s’like the crowd in here. They’re young.”
She swayed past him and wrenched the library door open.
No brothel madam showing him a larder-load of tarts could have looked prouder, except these were marriageable virgins. A palpable shudder swept his spine. To think she believed this was the way to sew his future up for the next ten years. As if he had any use for virgins. It must be bad though, that she’d given up trying to stitch him up with their mother’s ward, Belle.
“As you can see Lady Armstrong’s widowed. This cursed war. But as for the rest…”
Devorlane didn’t care to look at the rest. 
While he did his best to fight it, his stare was lured across the silken sea to the most amazing curves he had ever seen, being kissed by a sheath of dazzling black bombazine, in his entire life.
A crow among doves that way. Nothing like a widow. Nothing like any widow he’d ever seen. In fact, never mind the sheath of black. Neither the severe scraping of her hair into a tight topknot from which it tried to escape, nor the meek set of her face, could disguise her boldly hot-house air. Her skin glowed like creamy alabaster. Brilliant shards of lapis lazuli seemed to glitter beneath finely winged brows. Not that his gaze exactly lingered. Why would it when her wayward lips beckoned?
Their coral ripeness perhaps best explained her allure in that he just wanted to kiss them. In fact he could think of only two words for them: sin incarnate. He could also imagine them clinging in all sorts of ways to his body. But it wasn’t just the lips. There was a brassy confidence, a vitality he recognized. A slight commonness that made her face interesting—her nose and chin a shade too pronounced to be truly beautiful. He’d lay odds on her voice possessing a provocatively uncultured note.
If he’d encountered her in a whorehouse, he’d have put down his fortune to possess her. But here, in rural England, at afternoon tea with every well-bred virgin the county had to offer…
Ridiculous.
Who was this creature? Flaunting the idea of widowhood with these eyes that spoke of dark, intimate, sexual knowledge.
Her husband—whoever he’d been—must have gone kicking and screaming to his grave, to be dragged from this bird of paradise. Any man would. Even he, standing in the doorway, only able to imagine how it would feel to possess that ripe sin of a mouth, felt his blood burn with painful longing, his groin tighten at…that ripe sin of a mouth.
Memory stirred from its lavender press, stirred faintly like autumn leaves rustling along the alleyways of his mind. Christmas Eve. Ten years ago.
Lady Wentworth had been such a generous hostess, the best in the county, and her parties had always been bright, glittering affairs. Especially her Christmas ones. It had taken him no time at all to dance too little and drink too damned much.
Of course he had drunk too much. Why not? In those days he was a reckless young blade doing everything entirely too fast, and he always drank too damned much. He did everything too damned much. Hell, he had to make up for Ardent, didn’t he? The family’s precious boy, who prayed and went to church and recited the bible in Latin. That was why Devorlane had been in the coach, alone, his head hanging out the coach window, going home in disgrace. Again.
“Lady Armstrong?” He tried to quell the uneasy feeling that he had seen this exotic creature before somewhere, and it wasn’t in the ten years he’d just spent in the military either.
Tilly’s nod suggested faint moral discomfort. Despite being three sheets to the wind, clearly she’d still have been a damn sight happier if his gaze had slid to one of the other girls in the room. A younger one who didn’t have the encumbrance of a former association, who she herself could neatly control, who wasn’t in deepest mourning.
Mourning? His mind reeled. Talk about brass neck.
“Is she insane? What the hell is she doing here?”
“I know. I know.” Tilly spread one bony hand despairingly. “And I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have let her come. I told Belle. I said, a widow should not flout herself in pulblic—hic—sorry, public, epecially s’in times of war. But you know what Belle is s’like. A boss. An absolute boss.”
The hair had been entirely different, he recalled. Fair in the clear, cold moonlight. So silvery, beneath the magenta hood, he’d actually thought he was gazing at an angel. But luxuriantly disarrayed, as if she’d impossibly tiptoed from some man’s bed, only minutes before.
True, the fire’s glow caressed raven black locks, so tightly bound he had to actively restrain himself from striding across the floor and freeing them from their prison of pins. But there was something very familiar about the widened curve of her lips and the jaunty tilt of her head, something which was getting the same unfortunate reaction from his straining trouser front now as then.
He gritted his teeth. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. Why the hell would she be here? Now?
“Another man lost to the war is it?”
“What? Oh, Devorlane, I don’t know.” Tilly shrugged. “But I honestly wish you wouldn’t stare at her like that. S’it’s impolite. Where are your manners? She’s a widow for heaven’s sake.”
Heaven. Yes, in his completely befuddled state that’s where he’d thought the beautiful, ethereal creature was from. In the frosted cavern, made by the dipping boughs, she’d looked unreal. A forest fairy. A tree sprite. Hang it all, it had been Christmas Eve, and he’d drunk enough punch to sink the British fleet—at anchor. The creamy skin, the succulent coral lips, had done more than just catch his attention. They’d drawn him in. Had cast a spell. So he’d ordered the coach stopped.
That rustle had begun to rush.
“Just how old would you say she was?”
That damned conniving vixen had been roughly sixteen. Or so he’d reckoned. And he’d stuck to the belief through thick and thin. She had been far too young to be Sapphire, the notorious jewel thief whose name had been on everyone’s lips that season. And the entire two seasons before that. Entirely justified as the heists piled up: 
The Lambeth heist that saw a reward of a thousand guineas being offered for the return of Madam De Courcy’s diamond tiara, gold locket, and topaz bracelet from a chest in her chamber—although how Madame De Courcy came to have a diamond tiara in a chest in her chamber, when she had apparently fled the Terror in France in her stocking soles, had never been fully explained. Or how she could afford the thousand guinea reward either. Then there was the Weaverfield Mansion heist,a mystery involving a locked room and its even more mysteriously missing contents. Then, within two weeks, as if Sapphire needed to prove her worth, because rewards were being offered, because people were desperate to see her hang, the Buckleys, the Fieldings, the Mornays—all families of note—found their jewel boxes lighter, that no safe was safe enough.
How many times had he been told only Sapphire would have possessed the guile and daring to have snatched the Wentworth emeralds from beneath the Wentworths’ noses?
The crime had her hallmark stamped all over it: A glittering house-party. A bauble worth a king’s ransom. A sudden, daring raid. How on earth could Sapphire have only been sixteen? It wasn’t possible. It meant she must have started stealing when she was nine or ten.
It was the single reason no one had been prepared to believe him. Not even his own family. Although, now he considered it, not one single description of Sapphire existed in any newspaper. Or any wanted sheet. Like Lady Armstrong, she was a mystery. An enigma. A mythical creature no one had ever actually seen.
But, if that damned hell-cat had been roughly sixteen then, it meant she would be approximately twenty-six now. The sweet set of her ladyship’s face said if she was a day over it he was his own grandfather.
“Old? Why, Devorlane! Stop it!” Tilly giggled with unease, largely for the benefit of those sitting nearest. “You know as well as I do, the subject of a lady’s age is not deemed fit for discussion. Hic.”
Fighting not to spit the words, he muttered, “Just answer me one question. Did you do this deliberately?”
“Deliberately? I admit I asked some of these girls here. Yes. I thought it—well, you see, it would be s’nice. But not her. No. No. You would have to ask Belle about her. Although I must say, while I may not know anything about Lady Armstrong, what I have been able to determine—”
“Not a hell of a lot, by your own admission.”
“—is mannered and cultured and—”
“Manners and culture, be hanged. They’ve never been worth a damn.”
Gritting her teeth, Tilly continued. “What ish the matter with you? Hmm? Don’t you know the past ish the past?”
“Isn’t that easy for you to say?”
“I do say. I don’t see why not. And even though she never discusses hers, it is perfectly obvious her grief is genuine, so she must be respectable. I mean just look at her, the poor, poorwoman. How terrible to sit there, seeing everyone else so happy, when she herself has lost so much.”
He’d honestly believed that light-fingered trollop was respectable too. It was one of the worst things about the nightmare that had followed. When he’d seen her and ordered the coach to stop, she was so damned respectable she’d gathered her skirts and hurried across the road, like some demure maiden, terrified he was going to rape her.
Even at that distance he’d seen the frozen tears glistening all along the dark curve of her eyelashes, brilliant diamonds in the frosted light. A lady in distress. A beautiful, tear-stricken creature. That was what had made him open the coach door. Ten years. Gone in a flash.
“How exactly does ding-dong, excruciating Belle know her?” Of course Belle would be the one to bring her here. Belle, who had never done a useful thing in her entire life, except fall in with his mother.
“Why shouldn’t Belle know her? We all do. Oh, Devorlane, I forgot, there is just so much, so much you don’t know. So much we do need to catch up on—later. But you remember Barwych Hall? The house s’about a half mile from here?”
“That old dump?”
He remembered it well. Hall was perhaps an overly generous term. It did not boast above six rooms and had been uninhabited for almost, if not quite, as long as he remembered.
She shrugged. “Lady Armstrong lives there. She’s our neighbor.”
“Neighbor?”
“Yes. She lives s’lere with some serving girls, Pearl and Ruby, 
she brought from London. Very, very refined girls. So I’m afraid we get no gossip. Not even a snifter. Anyway, why are you so s’interested in Lady Armstrong? Do you know her?”
Know her?
Ten years ago on Christmas Eve, the most stunning, most ethereally beautiful girl he had ever seen had accepted a lift in his coach. She had kissed him. Then disappeared into thin air.
He had never forgotten it. The ice-fire of her lips. Or her. Or the gift she’d somehow slipped into his pocket, while he sprawled there, dazedly thinking if that was heaven, he’d forfeit the rest of his life then.
The Wentworth emeralds.
His father needn’t have looked that far after all.
Now, unless he was completely mistaken, that damned bitch was sitting by the library fire in respectable widow’s weeds, the coral lips parted in pretended conversation with his mother’s fawning ward, Belle.
……………………………………………………. Copyright Etopia Press Shehanne moore
Well, that’s the end of the sneaky peeky. We’ve all seen the cover but here it is again.
As for what happens next……………hmm… Plenty actually.
Filed under: heroes, heroines Tagged: Etopoa Press, Loving Lady Lazuli, Shehanne Moore
Lastly, but not least….
What a week and a bit it’s been. Setting out to do this, I wanted to thank some of the fabulously supportive writers and authors I’ve met in this business. I could have done doubled that amount. There’s the wonderful Sharon Struth, Faith Ashlin, Jane Hunt–who gave Fury the most amazing review on her First Steps blog the other day– Nikki Dee Houston, Cat Cavendish, Charley Descoteaux, Aimmie Duffy, Susan Arden. Oh well, wait till the next release!
Anyway, I must say everyone’s pulled the stops out to ensure my new hero Lord Devorlane Hawley, is going to enjoy his homecoming, as you can see… 
Whether he does or not, you can read here tomorrow when I share the first chapter with you, before it goes live on Amazon.
Today, after yesterday’s fun and games, http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/let-elyzabeth-entertain-you/ we have a final guest, so the actual program looks like 
You mighta guessed after Anne and I did that Naughty Days of Christmas bloghop, she’d be here somewhere. So why not entertain the assembled company with a little speech AND a reading from her book Friends With Beneifts, released on Friday 17th January along with Lady Lazuli. Well, cause them all to collapse on the floor anyway! Firstly I gotta share this… I heard about it yesterday and I was SO excited U was clog dancing. I must say a certain girl sure gets about….and not just in men’s’ pockets either…..
Now over to Anne…….
Looking all set to party. Just needing Flint on the arm there Anne….Or maybe you have a new love…….And his name is Will–watch out Incy, she’s here and she’s relentless!
Now, Shehanne invited me to help plan this little recital of hers to welcome Devorlane Hawley home. I know she’s trying very hard to keep poor Dev on the straight and narrow. But the man has been away for ten long years. He’s ready to PARTY!
There is some wonderful food planned, and I simply love Italian.
http://shehannemoore
.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/you-are-cordially-invited/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/let-elyzabeth-entertain-you/
The music that’s been prepared is wonderful, 
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/having-met-the-family/and I so do love to dance. Especially to those sultry songs, which are just divine for close-contact dancing. So, I’m wondering what type of dancing Dev would be interested in…
Or maybe
Or perhaps.
And I brought the wine, I wasn’t sure what he’d like, so I brought a few to choose from.
Now, I understand, security is well in hand. They do need a competent security team to ensure the Sisterhood doesn’t steal everything but the kitchen sink.http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/when-security-is-at-stake-who-we-gonna-call/
OMG. They’re already in the building. Incy! Where are your men? Where’s Marshall? Quick Somebody tie the girl up.
You, know, I have to admit, I was a tad disappointed Shehanne appeared worried I might get my hands on Dev and steal him away before girls got to him. Really? She was worried about me and I wasn’t even here yet.
Well, okay, I will admit, it was an option. I am all about keeping the guy safe after all. I wouldn’t want those sisters to get their grubby hands on him. But all that said, I already have my eyes on somebody else. You see, I have an in with a member of the security team.
Well, all of them really, but it’s Will I’d do (almost) anything for. I just love his eyes, and he loves my…well… that’s between us.
Now, I know Marshall doesn’t want Dev disappearing with a lady (or two). But I heard Dev say to him the other day here…
“ They’re the downfall of all good man, me included. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a hell of a way to stumble. Spent. Satiated. One’s skin still aflame with the remnant press of soft thighs and teasing tongue—”
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/when-security-is-at-stake-who-we-gonna-call/
So, I happen to have a couple interested in having somebody join them for the evening. She could scratch his itch, he could help scratch hers? It would give Dev that little romp he’s looking for. I’m sure Marshall and his men can keep things secure while Dev is busy. And what better way to welcome him home? Personally, I think the poor man needs to let off a little steam. I think it could take his mind off things, get him back into the swing of things after being away for so long. What do you think?
Now the Excerpt from Friends with Benefits for the benefit of the assembled guests….Warning, get the smelling salts out now, or don’t read further…..
Angie sat cross-legged on the window settee. The brightness of the moon belied the late hour, pushing the shadows deep into the corners. The faint murmur of Tyler’s and Connor’s voices rose through the floorboards from the first level. She looked over at the rumpled bed sheets and then down at the journal lying open in her lap. She re-read her entry.
We did it. I actually did it. How much must Tyler love me to have granted me this particular fantasy? Who knew my husband had a kinky side? And, even though he encouraged me to play with Connor over the weekend, which…WOW…tonight was different. Very different. Tonight the man I’m committed to watched another man make love to me. He helped another man make love to me. No jealousy. No competition. Only mutual excitement, sharing and exploring.
Honestly, it was a little weird at first. But, knowing Tyler trusted Connor made me feel secure. Though I guess I should have known he’d arranged the whole thing. I just didn’t think his surprise would include his best friend.
Oh, my. I can still feel their hands and their lips gliding over my body. The way they touched me, as if I were made of spun sugar. They kissed me. First their lips soft and sensual, and then demanding, scorching, as though they couldn’t get enough. I’ve never felt so alive, so beautiful, so treasured.
Few words were spoken. Few were needed.
“Let’s tie her up.” I’ll never look at Tyler’s silk ties the same way.
“Your skin is so soft, like flower petals.”
“You smell like vanilla, but you taste like some exotic brand of honey.”
They were so in tune to each other. Their hands guided me where and how they wanted me. All I could do was moan and sigh—until the end. Sometimes they took turns, sometimes they played with me together. At times it was almost too much. Having four hands or two tongues pleasuring me…my body hummed like a tuning fork. The energy they created…oh…I could almost feel the blood rushing hot and thick through my veins.
The blindfold hid them from me, and I so wanted to watch. But, I admit, I had no difficulty telling them apart. Their bodies are similar in build, but they are different in every other way.
The only thing that could have made it better would have been to feel both men inside me at the same time. Being sandwiched between two gorgeous men…that’s something I think many women fantasize about. I imagine my body would struggle to accommodate them, but in the end they would win. I think I’d forget to breathe.
My mouth’s watering as I write this. My body tingles. Should I be ashamed of how I feel? How will Tyler react now that it’s over? Was this a one-time event? How do I tell my husband I’m counting the hours until we can do it again?
Angela paused and raised her head when the bedroom door opened, and her husband walked in, a knowing smile on his handsome face.
That’s it folks, it only remains for me to thank Anne for her friendship and dropping into the recital when she’s sop busy herself, to wish her mega sales with her new book….
Friends with Benefits
Available January 17, 2014 from Etopia Press.
Also that you can find her here
Connect with the Anne
Web Site | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest | Amazon
and lastly just what really happens at the homecoming?
Find out tomorrow.
Other related posts http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/13/and-now-for-something-completely-different/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/5275/
http://hehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/welcome-to-chessington/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/meet-the-family/
Filed under: blogging, Guest bloggers, heroes, heroines, writing Tagged: Anne Lange, Etopia Press, Friends With Benefits, Incy Black, Loving Lady Lazuli, Shehanne Moore
January 14, 2014
Let Elyzabeth entertain you
Well, we’ve nearly got the homecoming show on the road. We’ve met the family, Chessington is sparkling, the smells coming from the kitchen are delicious, Nick Marshall is patrolling the grounds. What little treat is in store today? Firstly…it’s some recipes. YES. Remember these nice little cupcakes you saw here the other day? http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/5275/
Marguerita Cupcakes
pina-colada cupcakes
Well, after a little persuasion, Ranting is more than willing to share! Imagine that. Not showing off or anything, but Fury may have nicked Dev, she couldn’t get Crow to do that. What is more he made a gorgeous new banner for me.
With his arm broken in ten places too. So firstly, courtesy of The Crow, les recipes… Can we just please keep Dev’s sister Tilly, away given the amount of booze in these.
Margarita cupcakes.
Dry 200 grams flour, 7 grams baking powder (tablespoon scraped)
220 grams sugar, ½ tsp salt, Lemon zest of one lemon
Wet 1 egg, 60ml sunflower oil (instead of buter), 120ml buttermilk or milk (1/2 cup) 60ml lime juice (1/4 cup)2 tbsp tequila
Frosting 225 grams unsalted butter (room temp) 600 grams powdered sugar, 1 tbsp lime juice, 2 tbsp tequila. Pinch of coarse salt
Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl. 
(Shey. Hic..the larger the better says Tilly, the more Marguerita the better too. Someone get her out of here. Thank you.)
Put aside and mix the wet ingredients in a separate bowl. Put wet mix into the dry mix and mix through until nice and smooth.
Fill cupcake papers 2/3 and bake in a preheated oven at an 180 ºC or for some 350 ºF or Gas mark 4 for about 25minutes until slightly golden. Leave to cool.
Making the frosting. Beat the butter till nice and silky and slightly lighter in colour, Add to that the powdered sugar and mix through till all sugar is mixed in now add the lime and tequila. If you want less alcohol use 1 tbsp of Tequila and 2 tbsp of lime juice Mix to a smooth mix. Pipe the frosting on the cupcakes and sprinkle some of that coarse salt over and finish with a lime wedge.
Pina Colada cupcakes.
Dry 200 grams flour, 7 grams baking powder (tablespoon scraped)
220 grams sugar, ½ tsp salt, 100 grams shredded coconut
Wet 1 egg, 60ml sunflower oil (instead of butter) 180ml Coconut milk, (1/2 cup), 60ml lime juice (1/4 cup) 2 tbsp rum
(Shey .Please don’t mention rum either, we don’t want any more pirates about the place nicking Dev.)
Crème to pipe on top. Pineapple cream 1 vanilla pod
250ml pineapple juice, 40grams sugar, 2 egg yolks, 2 tbsp flour,
250grams of butter, 50 grams of powdered sugar.
Extra topping
Tiny dice of pineapple and roasted shredded coconut. Some pineapple jam if liked.
Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl Put aside and mix the wet ingredients in a separate bowl. Put wet mix into the dry mix and mix through until nice and smooth. Fill cupcake papers 2/3 and bake in a preheated oven at an 180 ºC or for some 350 ºF or Gas mark 4 for about 25minutes until slightly golden. Leave to cool.
Making the crème. Half the vanilla pod and scrape it out. 
(Shey. Hide that before Dev sees it and thinks it’s some substance he can abuse)
Bring in a pan the pine apple juice and vanilla and half the sugar to a boil. Mean time whisk the egg yolks and rest of sugar and stir in the flour. Mix in a splash of the heated liquid in to the egg mix and whisk it through. Pour it back in the pan and bring back to a boil. Now on low heat cook till down for about 5 minutes. Poor on a plate or platter and lay over a plastic film and leave to cool in fridge. Once cooled we can continue. Maybe could have said to make this first.
Beat the butter till nice and silky and mix in the powdered sugar. Add the cooled pine apple mixture. Make sure it mix in nicely. Now we can pipe it on. Double ring and in the middle have some pineapple dices and roasted coconut. If like heat up the jam with the diced pineapple a little. Now I hand you back to Shehanne…..
…….. What can I say but I hope your arm gets better soon and added to the food, Pietro’s busily preparing, I reckon we will get Dev in the door. Anything involving booze and flooze is good. Which brings us from what’s first to what’s second here today.
Yes. The program continues with the lovely Elyzabeth M. Valey. Not just a talented author but my very special doodling buddy…the things we do to while away a lonely hour that way, you have no idea. When I chucked the invitation to help with the homecoming to celebrate my forthcoming release, her way, Elyzabeth firstly came up with this doodle
Then she agreed to do the…..party games. OOOOH! So long as these involve booze and flooze I am sure Dev will stick around long enough to want to stay. But just let’s remember it is 1809, so who knows if these games will be enough for him…
Fun and Games by Elzyabeth M. Valey.
I’m sure that with such fascinating guests as there are in this party, conversation won’t lull to a dull but just in case I thought I’d propose a few games.
Cards:
From Loo to Commerce, bring some money for there is always some gambling involved. Be careful with your purse or you might end up like my Vincent’s brothers, indebted to their graves- though they preferred Gentleman’s clubs rather than formal parties.
(Shey. Hmmmm. Well, so long as it’s not Happy Families. Bring money with the Starkadder Sisterhood about though? They’ll have it off you before you can say….)
Snap-dragon:
Heat some brandy in a shallow bowl and throw in some raisins. Light them. Now, pluck them out and eat them without getting burnt. Fun eh?
(Shey. Hmmmm. Dev might think this a shocking waste of booze he’d sooner drink. But I guess if certain fingers got burnt … And to make sure we could play this one first…. )
Blind Man’s Bluff:
Like hide and seek but with a little more touching, if you ask me. Someone from the party is blindfolded and counts to twenty while everyone else goes on to hide around the room. The blindfolded person has to chase and catch someone and identify the person by touch alone (this can be interesting *grin*). If identified correctly then that person is “it”.
(Shey. Now this one..if Dev was just interested in the nice young ladies at the party, but then he does like bad ones so he just might be tempted to play….)
Hot Cockles:
(Shey. surprisingly…after thinking god knows what will come up on google images….)
I have a dirty mind and the name of this game brings certain images to mind…as do the rules: Blindfolded, one player sits or kneels and places his head in someone else’s lap. He then places a hand on his back, palm up, while the other players take turn to strike it. The submissive, er, blindfolded person, must then guess who hit him.
(Shey. I am saying nothing because….)
Then of course there is always the
Dancing
(Shey. Clock this …on the chequered floor too)
How about some lively English country dance such as Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot?
(Shey. I am saying nothing here either. )
Or perhaps something more romantic like the Waltz (though it was deemed inappropriate until about 1814)? Dancing was a great way to flirt back in the age… though if you ask me, I think I’d rather play the blindfold games *giggle*
(Shey. Hmm well poor Dev has a shattered thigh so he probably would sooner play blindfold games too.)
SO…there we go, it only remains for me to thank Elyzabeth, not just for her friendship but doing this today. And say that she has several books out. She’s brought one along today. Tomorrow we have one more lady to hear from on my release day countdown…. As it ‘s Anne Lange, I am sure you can guess the spice level…
The Golden Cock (Naughty Fairy Tale and book 1 of the Witches’ Mischief Series)
Kind-hearted Vincent Stowe spent years with an inferiority complex until, one day, after accepting to help an older woman with an odd request he receives a life-changing gift.
“Ice Duchess” Brielle is desperate for a solution to her inability to orgasm, so when word about a man with a magical cock reaches her ears, she decides that he just might be what she needs.
Will Vincent’s “Golden Cock” be enough for the “Ice Duchess”, or will something else come to play along the way?
Be Warned: multiple partners, MFM, FFM, m/m sex, f/f sex
Available at:
Evernight Publishing
Amazon.com
Amazon.uk
All Romance Ebooks
Stalk Elyzabeth at:
Blog
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads
Pinterest
Filed under: blogging, Guest bloggers, heroes, heroines Tagged: Blind Man's Buff, Elyzabeth M. Valey, Etopia Press, Evernight Publishing, Loving Lady Lazuli, Naughty Fairy Tales, Regency Party Games, Shehanne Moore, Snap Dragon, The Golden Cock
January 13, 2014
And now, for something completely different….
Oh, I know you will be saying but what could be more completely different than a crow providing puddings? http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/5275/ –I’ve got the recipes by the way and will be sharing them along with tomorrow’s guest, my lovely doodling buddy, Elyzabeth M Valey.
We also have Dev back rescued by the Incy Black cavalry and the Starkadder Sisterhood, after Fury pinched him. How she did it…well that’s here.
http://furiousunravelings.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/1275/
The Starkadder Sisterhood themselves are over here today with the lovely Noelle Clark. Or rather I am answering questions about how they came into being and spilling some beans on them generally.
http://noelleclark.blogspot.com/2014/01/loving-lady-lazuli-new-release-from.html
But to answer that BIG question about something different….Honeys you ain’t seen nothing yet.
So, so far the actual program is looking like this. (You will appreciate I need to remind myself)
Yep. Of course we have additions…
But we do need to add to the event program and so today I have invited my lovely Texan Celt buddy author, Adrienne deWolfe 
who I first met when I was on a blog tour on her blog (with a name like that I got to love this girl and make her an honorary Scot, so of course I did) and she has sent a very special visitor….
CELESTIA
a medium no less. And just any medium. Madam Celestia Cooper (fortune-teller, extraordinaire if you please) is a rather eccentric woman in her mid-40′s, who wears a purple turban, genie pants, and elf shoes (you know the kind that curl up at the toes?) (Doubt Saff would nick them)
She specializes in crystal balls and palm reading. In the novel, her nickname is “Cellie”. (oops, let’s not tell Flint that one since it’s the name of his dead mistress.)
SO without more ado, I am going to hand you over and let’s just see what Celestia has to say about this little homecoming. Will Dev even come in? Is there anybody there in his family? And if there are what messages do they have for him?
Hello, Dearies! by Adrienne deWolfe or rather CELESTIA
My, how lovely you all look today at Shey’s recital: all sparkly and golden. Angels in the making, I daresay.
Except for that Lazuli woman, of course. Now THAT character really is a handful. She can’t sing for her supper, so she pinches it. My darling Dev had better watch his family jewels – especially the ones below his belt, if you know what I mean.
I beg your pardon?
Well, of COURSE I know what I’m talking about. That Lazuli chit pinched the emeralds and stuck them in Dev’s pocket – right about the time she was sticking her tongue down his throat. I know all, because I see all.
Uh . . . by the way. You didn’t happen to notice my crystal ball around here, did you? The little rascal seems to have rolled off somewhere. Balls have quite a mind of their own – but I don’t have to tell YOU that, do I Dev dear? Always cavorting with elves and fairies and drunken dragons.
No, no, my darling boy. The CRYSTAL BALL, not your bollocks.
Now then. Where were we? Oh yes! My crystal ball. It’s not tucked under my turban. (Why, thank you, Belle, dear. My turban IS a lovely shade of amethyst, isn’t it?)
And the crystal ball isn’t tucked inside my sash . . .
Oh, bother. Now where did this stick of dynamite come from? Honestly, I find the strangest things stuffed inside my belly-sling.
Tavy must have sneaked it into my sash for safe-keeping after she romped through the mine. She’s quite irrepressible, as otter pups go. Why, in the middle of my last séance, Tavy had everyone thinking she was a ghost! Chased a cheese puff right under Silver’s skirts! You’ve never seen such a commotion! Bullets flying, women fainting, chandeliers dropping glass shards on everyone’s heads. Is it any wonder the spirits were NOT amused?
Speaking of spirits . . . I have a message for you, Dev dear! Your brother Ardent has come all the way from the great Beyond. Goodness gracious, I’m afraid that Ardent’s a tad miffed at you!
Ardent
He says that since he was so obliging, and dropped down dead just so you could inherit his manor, the very LEAST you could do is start saying nice things about him. Especially to that sot you call a sister.
Tilly
Ardent also wants you to know that Papa loved him best. And that you should stick your head inside the loo.
I beg your pardon, Devorlane? Was I filching from the liquor cabinet?
Nonsense, dear boy. I only talk to spirits. I don’t drink ‘em.
Well, my darlings, I do believe my time is up! Shey has many other guests on her program to entertain you! But before I go, I really MUST remind you to look for me in the pages of SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE (which SHOULD have been named after me. But alas, that author-twit named my book after my son-in-law, Rafe.)
Speaking of SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE, I have a little treat for you today! That’s right, dearies! A scene straight out of the novel! It’s my moment of triumph! My fifteen minutes of fame! (It’s also quite possibly the ONLY reason that book ever became a #1 bestseller on Barnes and Noble.)
And now, without further ado, I give you that bestselling, award-winning, FABULOUS historical romance novel, SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE (which is only 99 cents today, for all you lucky Nook and Kindle owners!)
Ta-tah, my darlings!
SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE
(Book 1, Velvet Lies Series)
By Adrienne deWolfe
Book Description
Raphael Jones is a Kentucky-born scoundrel, who has never played by the rules. When Colorado mining heiress, Silver Nichols, hires him to stop her precious daddy from marrying a golddigger, Rafe sets out to seduce Silver and win her fortune.
But beneath Silver’s cool veneer, Rafe encounters a sweet vulnerability and an aching secret that threatens to send his whole world up in smoke.
Now the wily scoundrel must choose: walk away or wager the one thing he can’t afford to lose—his heart.
SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE
(Book 1, Velvet Lies Series)
By Adrienne deWolfe
Excerpt: The Séance Scene
“The spirits speak of danger, yes,” Celestia said solemnly, in answer to Silver’s question.
“What kind of danger?”
Celestia closed her eyes, rocking rhythmically for a moment behind her crystal ball. Her purple turban listed aft, allowing her blonde curls to jut past her ears, like corkscrews. But somehow, as Celestia waved her chubby, bejeweled fingers over the odd mist that was rising in that ball, Silver had to concede that the fortune-teller maintained her dignity.
“Retribution,” Celestia announced dramatically.
Every man who’d been holding his breath at the séance released it on a gasping rush of air—and just as quickly gulped another.
“Hot damn,” Papa muttered. “Penhalion, you and your boys aren’t planning any dynamite mischief, are you?”
The squat, feisty miner scowled. “Now see here, Nichols, we may be immigrants, but we’re law-abiding—”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Celestia held up her hands for silence. “Please. Communication with the otherworld is a delicate matter. One cannot bully answers out of spirits. One must show gratitude. And respect.” She shot a blistering look at Buckholtz, who was scribbling notes into his news reporter’s notebook.
“Now then.” Celestia settled more comfortably on her pillow, threw her slipping shawl over her shoulders, and gripped her crystal ball once more. “I shall ask the questions. You will listen for answers. Spirits, is someone in this circle in danger?”
Everyone in the room jumped as an audible thud answered her query.
“Does one rap mean yes?”
A single rap answered, this time from the other side of the room.
“How will you answer no?”
Two raps sounded close to the window. So did a faint scratching noise.
“How the devil is she making those sounds—”
“Shh!”
Everybody at the table glared daggers at Buckholtz for interrupting.
“Is a man from this circle in danger?” Celestia intoned.
One rap. Silver frowned, glancing uneasily at the shadow-steeped walls. Had Papa helped his fiancé rig the knocking noises? If so, how had they done it so convincingly?
“Will there be bloodshed?” Celestia demanded.
Silence rolled like a tangible fog through the candle-lit chamber. Silver counted five, perhaps six heartbeats before the answer finally knelled: One rap.
“For heaven’s sake, who is it? Who is it!” Daisy wailed.
“Is it the husband of Daisy Trevelyan?” Celestia intoned.
Two raps.
The elderly socialite sobbed with relief.
“Very well,” Celestia said. “Then we shall determine who among the remaining gentlemen it is. Spirits,” Celestia called, her voice rising in volume and power, “we seek the intended victim’s name. Kindly knock when I state the first letter. A,” she said slowly. “B.” Each syllable resonated with dramatic authority. “C—”
A horrific crash drowned out her voice. Papa leaped to his feet. So did Rafe and Daisy.
“It’s the ghost!” Daisy shrieked, pointing at a renegade crab puff. It bounced from the armchair
to the floor. Before everyone’s astonished eyes, the pile of china on top of the cushion toppled, shattering into a dozen pieces. Slowly, spookily, the white ticking on the armchair began to rise.
“Merciful God on Sunday,” Buckholtz choked, his eyes bugging out to twice their normal size. The ghost gave a sleepy bark, and the newsman drew his .45.
“No!” Rafe shouted, lunging for the newsman’s arm.
The Colt fired. Plaster showered from the ceiling. Daisy wilted in a dead faint.
And the ghost, yiking in terror, streaked out from under the ticking to dash beneath Silver’s petticoats.
……………OOH!!! SO there we have it for today. It only remains for me to thank Adrienne, tell you a little about her and some of the other work she does, AND to add that tomorrow’s guest Elyzabeth M. Valey will be showing us the invitation cards she designed plus revealing Ranting Crow’s fabulous recipes as we continue the countdown to Dev’s homecoming and my reveal of Chapter One.
About Adrienne deWolfe
Adrienne is a #1 best-selling author and the recipient of 48 writing accolades, including the Best Historical Romance of the Year Award for Texas Wildcat (Book 3, Texas Wild Nights) and Doubleday’s Book of the Month Selection for His Wicked Dream (Book 2, Velvet Lies.) Adrienne is excited to announce that she will be donating a portion of her royalties from the Velvet Lies Series to urban reforestation efforts.
Fascinated by all things mystical, Adrienne writes a weekly blog about dragons, magic, and the paranormal at http://MagicMayhemBlog.com to help her research her upcoming paranormal romance series. She also writes a weekly blog featuring tips about the business of writing at http://WritingNovelsThatSell.com. She enjoys mentoring aspiring authors and offers professional story critiques with her book coaching services.
Follow Adrienne deWolfe
http://facebook.com/Writing.Novels
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http://www.goodreads.com/Adrienne_deWolfe
pinterest.com/AdriennedeWolfe/boards/
Twitter (Fantasy Fiction)
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http://twitter.com/AdriennedeWolfe
Purchase Adrienne deWolfe’s Books:
http://ebookdiscovery.com.p8.hostingprod.com/AdrienneDeWolfe.html
http://ebookdiscovery.com.p8.hostingprod.com/AdrienneDeWolfe.html
The Secrets to Getting Your Romance Novel Published (Series)
http://writingnovelsthatsell.com/the-secrets-to-getting-your-romance-published/
Filed under: blogging, Guest bloggers, heroes, heroines, writing Tagged: Adrienne deWolfe, Alison, Antonia Van Zandt, Celestia, Elyzabeth M, Etopia Press, Incy Black, Loving Lady Lazuli, Mediums, Noelle Clark, Ranting Crow, Scoundrel For Hire, Shehanne Moore, Valey
January 12, 2014
Enter the Crow
Firstly, far be it for me to say anything, but….
I mean Dev seems to have vamooshed despite the fact that
I really don’t want to have to go ask Fury about it but I have a horrible feeling…… Just when Incy reblogged the post too explaining how
after a jostled retreat from my own heroes, Nick, Jack and Will, Nick Marshall stepped up, hiding his concern of travelling back across the centuries.
http://incyblack.weebly.com/1/post/2014/01/blatant-duplication-almost.html
AND after Noelle Clark mugged this up for a giggle…..
she’s gone and pinched him although how I have no idea. We must just hope that Nick and just maybe the Starkadder Sisterhood can put this right if the business Fury is taking care of involves kidnap. Tomorrow we continue with the actual event program. The reason I feel fearless about it is that tomorrow one of these lovely ladies is sending us a very special guest who will soon find Dev.
Hopefully not in a brothel at that IF that is really where he is.
Yesterday we had the lovely Alison showing us just how tastefully and beautifully she could make Chessington sparkle and be the kind of place you’d want to properly stay in. http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/welcome-to-chessington/
as opposed to turning it into a brothel. 
Today I am welcoming a special guest amongst the lovely ladies I’ve come to know since setting out on this game…
.okay that’s more robin there, but… Crow, is well, seriously? Crow is Crow. And I wouldn’t be without his comments. (Besides if Fury has got Dev, you think I won’t do a swop here when Myrtle the parrot has the hots for our feathered friend.)
Seriously Ranting Crow is a great poet and writer. He does a weekly Heart Ship chapter about lost love and also a zany on going tale about Milady Chambelle and McSniff…cats by the way.
http://rantingcrow.wordpress.com/author/rantingcrow
But he’s also busy with other things and my fingers are crossed this will be the year for him.
So, what’s Crow doing for the homecoming. Well firstly he hasn’t come empty handed. Noticing Noelle’s Pietro had no sweets,
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/meet-the-family/
and of course not wanting to suffer the fate of being baked in a pie, Crow has provided his devilish his top secret ..
(Saff would steal these)
Pina-colada cupcakes and
(Saff would steal those too. I would steal these)
Marguerita cupcakes. ……
In fact had Saff made off with these ten years ago instead of 
and just eaten them instead, the story would be quite different. As for Dev after being ten years in the army….
the indignities he’d suffered as a duke’s son in that damned regiment to begin with, how they’d
pissed in his food—pissed on more than his food
I would think Dev might be tempted by these cupcakes. Crow certainly does. That’s why he’s perfectly willing to help Alison enhance Chessington by sitting in a nicely guilded cage. Although I must say now he’s done so and we want these recipes……
even if crows hate being caged. 
So, the music is playing , the food is circulating, the place is sparking, the security is back up and running and the bird is caged, tomorrow we welcome a lady with special powers….
related media http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/welcome-to-chessington/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/when-security-is-at-stake-who-we-gonna-call/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/having-met-the-family/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/201http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/meet-the-family/4/01/07/you-are-cordially-invited/
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/meet-the-family/
Filed under: blogging, heroes, heroines, writing Tagged: Etopia Press, Incy Black, Loving Lady Lazuli, Nick Marshall, Noelle Clark, Ranting Crow, Shehanne Moore
January 11, 2014
Welcome to Chessington….
Yes. Today, in terms of the homecoming, it’s time to look at the place itself. The food is circulating, courtesy of Noelle Clark’s Pietro.
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/you-are-cordially-invited/
Thanks to Antonia Van Zandt, the music has certainly taken a u turn for the better. 
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/having-met-the-family/
and as for the security….well, http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/when-security-is-at-stake-who-we-gonna-call/
her team of special agents and specially disguised agents…
proved a big success yesterday, even if Antonia and I did slug it out behind the scenes over Jack.
Talk about taking care of business. Incy I mean. She’s a Corleonie that way. And by the way the Corleonies have votes now too.
http://shehannemoore.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/meet-the-family/
We’ve met the Hawley family. So today, on the Loving Lady Lazuli release day countdown what is in store? Well, I am delighted to welcome the fourth of these ladies
Alison who is beavering away —AREN’T YOU ALISON?—on various manuscripts. In addition to beavering, Alison has a fabulous blog http:/beloved-eleanor.co.uk/ But, she also has fandabbydosy Pinterest boards. http://pinterest.com/eleanorcastile
AND not content and one of the reasons I’ve invited her to show us Chessington, she’s been kind enough to design pinterest boards for Lady Fury http://pinterest.com/eleanorcastile/dressing-lady-fury/ a daunting task AND -sorry Anne Lange– The Fury and Flint wedding.
http://pinterest.com/eleanorcastile/flint-fury-wedding/
So, when it came to recreating Chessington for me, who else was I gonna ask? So what kind of place Dev coming home too? Does it really resemble..
A place from where the soul had fled, as opposed to a place he fully intended flaying the soul from.
Or has Alison transformed its tattered edges and threadbare soul? Let’s take a look shall we? Firstly let me show you how she sees Chessington.
Let me show you the place that inspired Loving Lady Lazuli, a place I have never seen until today doing this post.
Yately Hall. As to why? Well, that’s a family history story and Antonia is going to be sharing that next week.So, yeah, Alison has done a good job there. She’s got the driveway, whereas I have it all wrong with that moat. SO now the coach comes to a halt and we go inside.
Yep…the chess-board floor.
Drinks anyone? As Dev says to his sister Tilly…
it’s kind of you to lay on the champagne. Your departure should be toasted.”
Will he change his mind when he sees the library?
and what’s in it…I mean he likes
/
Oops…Who we gonna call?
More would be telling. But you can see more of Alison’s fabulous board including the piano, 
Saff can’t play and Belle can’t sing to here,
http://pinterest.com/eleanorcastile/a-homecoming
It only remains for me to thank her for taking the time to put these wonderful boards together and to say that tomorrow we have another special guest…a gentleman….
Filed under: artists, heroes, heroines Tagged: Alison Lodge, Chessington, Etopia Press, Loving Lady Lazuli, Pinterest, Shehanne Moore, Yately Hall 
