Jude Knight's Blog, page 62

The war between thoughts and actions on WIP Wednesday

What we do and say isn’t necessarily a reflection of what we’re thinking, and part of the fun of writing is to let readers into the thoughts our characters are not willing to share with those around them. This week, I’d love to see any excerpt you care to share where a character’s actions are being driven by thoughts they’d rather keep to themselves. Mine is from To Tame a Rake. Charlotte has sought Aldridge’s help to rescue a boy who has been kidnapped. The boy has already escaped, but Aldridge rescues two prostitutes.

Aldridge sent his footmen home. “Get some food into you then sleep,” he told them. Tell Richards I’ve given you the rest of the day off.”

Lady Charlotte was glaring at him. “I will do myself the honour of escorting you to Winderfield House, my lady,” he told her.

She put her chin up, her nostrils flaring as she took in a deep breath to wither him.

“It is my duty, as I’m sure my mother would insist.”

“I need no other escort but Yahzak and his men,” Lady Charlotte said, looking to her fierce guard captain for his support. Yahzak backed his horse a step, his face impassive, saying nothing. Her statement was undoubtedly true from the point of view of her physical safety.

“Nonetheless…” Aldridge replied, not wanting explain—barely wanting to acknowledge to himself—his burning need see her safe inside her own home before he surrendered to the fatigue that was his reaction to the night they’d spent.

Especially that moment when he had stood by the mouth of that alley expecting Wharton’s hirelings, only to see Charlotte emerge, putting herself right in the path of danger when he had thought her safely out of the way observing from the rooftops.

That moment of heart-stopping fear had given way to anger when they’d ridden beyond the reach of the slum boss, and he’d been fighting ever since to contain his temper, to speak with her and the others with calm and civility.

Her obstinacy over the prostitutes had nearly defeated his control. Didn’t she understand how her own reputation could be tainted by association?

His civilised self knew that Saint Charlotte was nearly as well known for her virtue as for her works of charity, and that wouldn’t be changed by housing a pair of refugees from a brothel, especially two witnesses who could help bring down a dangerous criminal.

Actually, the value of the investigation was a good point to make if anyone dared criticise his ladyship in his hearing. Not that it soothed his irritation in the slightest. He was being irrational and he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

On the ride back through the steadily brightening streets, she ignored him, though he rode beside her. Probably as well. He didn’t trust himself to speak without disclosing more of his feelings than was consistent with dignity.

She had clearly been stewing, however. In the forecourt of the Winshire mansion, when he dismounted and reached her stirrup ahead of Yahzak, ready to help her down, she allowed the privilege, but stepped out of his reach while his body still hardened from her touch, turned both barrels of her ire on him and let fly.

“You take too much on yourself, Lord Aldridge. I am grateful for your help this past night,” (she didn’t sound grateful), “but that does not give you the right to dictate my behaviour or comment on my decisions.”

Aldridge managed to keep his reply courteous, even pleasant, despite his pathetic emotional state. “I want only to protect you, my lady.”

“Because I am not capable of protecting myself?” she demanded, with heavy irony. “Because I don’t have a family of my own to support me?”

“No!” He clamped his mouth shut on the next words on his tongue. Because you are mine. She would kill him. Or castrate him.

Tea with Rumours of War

Eleanor, Duchess of Haverford, had gathered together a group of her god-daughters and protegees for a long afternoon of exchanging news. At the moment, the conversation had swung to events in Europe.

“He must be defeated for once and for all,” said Susan, firmly. Her husband, Major Lord Rutledge, had been called into the Horse Guard, where her father, Eleanor’s friend Henry Redepenning, was one of the quiet brains behind the mobilisation to oppose Napoleon in his triumphal return from Elba.

“Can no grounds for agreement be found?” Sophia asked. “We, perhaps more than most, understand how much these long wars have cost. So far, he seems to be concerned with reestablishing himself within France. Do we want to go back to feeding our men and boys into the maw of battle?” Sophia’s brother, the Earl of Hythe — with her sister Felicity — was on his way to the Low Countries once more, after having his journey interrupted by a mighty storm. Hythe had been commissioned by the Marquess of Buckingham to explore the possibility of accommodation with the Corsican.

Prue nodded. “David has heard that he is reforming the empire’s constitution with a view to becoming a constitutional monarch.” David Wakefield, cofounder with his wife Prue of the private enquiry firm Wakefield and Wakefield, had eyes and ears all over the continent.

Cecilia frowned. “Marcel says that the Emperor will not stop at France’s borders. He still dreams of Empire, and the longer he is given to reestablish himself, the more of a threat he will be to the rest of Europe and to England.” Marcel Fournier was the son of a family who fled the revolution, and hated the sans-culottes, but he thought Napoleon far more of a war-monger the Bourbons of the ancient regime and even the successive administrations of Revolutionary France.

As the ladies in the room offered their points of view, the weight of argument shifted back and forth. All of the ladies remembered the sons and brothers and friends who never came home, or who returned maimed or scarred in body and soul. Some felt one more campaign honoured those sacrifices. Others wanted to find a path that did not lead to such high costs.

Yet, in the end, the die had already been cast. On 13th March, the Congress at Vienna had declared Napoleon a traitor and an outlaw. From that moment, the Emperor was fighting for his survival. And, as Eleanor and her ladies feared, the toll was high. Within the next two months, the two sides would meet in a major series of battles, culminating in Waterloo. Out of close to 800,000 combatants, more than 200,000 were killed, wounded or missing.

 

 

Spotlight on Storm & Shelter: Jude Knight and Grace Burrowes

These two novellas — mine and Grace’s– end the anthology. The review in Flippin’ Pages Reviews says about Grace’s: There are some really good stories in here, but this was my absolute favorite. And about mine: OH! This was the sweetest, loveliest story. I loved ALL of the characters. (She had nice things to say about all 8 stories. Honestly, folks, this book is a peach.)

A Dream Come True: By Jude Knight

The tempest that batters Barnaby Somerville’s village is the latest but not the least of his challenges.

Vicar to a remote parish, he stretches his tiny stipend to adopt his orphaned niece and nephew and his time to offer medical care as well as spiritual. A wife is a dream he cannot afford.

But the storm sweeps into his life a surprising temptation—a charming young woman who lavishes her gentle care upon his wards—and him.

God knows, he will forever be richer for having known her, even if he must let her go.

Excerpt:

Barney turned toward the voice, and there she was. Theo. His ministering angel. His beloved. Her eyes were weary, her clothing rumpled, and wisps of untidy hair fell from the braids that crowned her head. He had not seen a more splendid woman in all his years. She was altogether beautiful.

A Kiss by the Sea: By Grace Burrowes

He’s not really a blacksmith, and she’s not really an heiress… Can they forge a happily-ever-after anyway?

Thaddeus Pennrith finds a way to recover from multiple griefs when he accepts the blacksmith’s post at Fenwick on Sea. Village life gives him a sense of belonging that Polite Society never could, though he must resume his aristocratic responsibilities soon. Along comes Lady Sarah Weatherby, refugee from an engagement gone badly awry, and Thaddeus is faced with both a compelling reason to reveal his titled antecedents, and a longing to keep them forever hidden….

Excerpt:

“I need a repairing lease too,” Sarah told Thad. “I found myself engaged to marry a party who turned out to be unsuitable, and those around me were not inclined to listen when I said so. I learned that my intended was about to abduct me for an unscheduled journey north.”

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

Family in WIP Wednesday

Most of my characters live in the middle of family, some loving and close, others hateful or distant. We learn a lot about people by how they behave to their parents, siblings and children, and what makes them behave that way.

This week, I’d love you to share an excerpt that shows your main character or characters with family, either the one he or she was born into, of the one they have created through friendship.

Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover. Nate has escorted his half-sisters to The Regent’s Park, to meet the son he has only just found out about, and Sarah has told him that she wants to build a future with him and Elias.

Sarah smiled up at Nate, and he desperately wanted to lean under her very fetching hat and kiss her, but just then Norie screeched, “But I want to go on the bridge!”

The nurse, who was unfortunately as timid as Letty, was making ineffectual noises, but Elias said firmly, “You cannot, Norie. It is not safe. My Mama says it caught fire, and it might collapse if we go on it. Then the fishes will nibble your toes, and you would not like that.”

Norie narrowed her eyes.

“Go on bwidge,” Lavie demanded.

“Go to the tea shop for cake,” Nate suggested, swinging her back up into his arms, and the distraction worked magnificently. “Would you like to join us for cake, Master Elias? You and your family?”

***

Elias opened his mouth to reply then shut it. Sarah was pleased to see him remember his manners. “May we, Mama?”

At Sarah’s nod, he managed a creditable bow. “Yes, please, Sir.”

“To Fourniers, then,” Nate said, and shared a smile with Sarah when the boy offered his arm to Norie in imitation of his elders. Charlotte grinned at Sarah and took Drew’s arm.

What a procession they made!

Drew and Charlotte led the way, with Elias and Norie, and then Nate and Sarah with Lavie still enthroned on Nate’s other arm.

The cluster of nursemaids followed with Phillida still in her baby carriage but now awake and chattering in baby gurgles at everything they passed.

The footmen brought up the rear and the guard spread out on both sides of the path.

Quite a sight, if somewhat wasted on the noon-time park crowd of children and their nursemaids, off-duty soldiers, and scurrying citizens using the park as a thoroughfare between Westminster and Mayfair.

Tea without a scandalmonger

I have an excerpt post for you today–and no, I haven’t made a mistake in the title. In the new novel, To Mend the Broken Hearted, Eleanor Haverford does not have tea with Lady Ashbury, although she pours herself a cup after the widow leaves.

The widow was not one of Eleanor Haverford’s usual circle. She was too young to be one of the titled ladies with whom the duchess had ruled Society for more than thirty years, and too old to be one of their daughters.

That was not the real reason Eleanor barely knew her, of course, as Eleanor admitted to herself. The real reason was that Eleanor liked cats only when they had whiskers and four paws. Lady Ashbury was a cat of the human kind: one for whom the less influential members of Society were mice to hunt and torment.

If an innocent action could be given a vicious interpretation, Lady Ashbury would find it and the sycophants who clustered around her would spread it. And woe betide the person, lady or gentleman, who made a misstep in negotiating the silly rules that governed the lives of the ton. It would be magnified a thousandfold if Eleanor and her own allies were not in time to mitigate the damage.

Lady Ashbury sat in Eleanor’s formal drawing room, a striking beauty still, though she was in her late thirties. She should look colourless in her light blue walking dress and white spencer, with white-blonde hair drawn into fashionable ringlets that did not dare to do anything so indecorous as bounce, delicately darkened brows arching over ice-blue eyes. Instead, in the sumptuous splendour of the room, she drew the eye, like a diamond centrepiece that outshone the splendour of an ornate collar of gold and gems.

“How kind of you to invite me, Your Grace,” she purred. “I have long wished to be better acquainted. I admire you so much, and feel for you. I understand what it is like to be married to a man who is persistently unfaithful. My husband, too…” She trailed off.

Eleanor smiled, a baring of teeth containing little amusement. If this upstart thought the Duchess of Haverford was going to be manipulated to play her game of insinuation and scandal, she could think again.

“You were invited for one reason only, Lady Ashbury. I understand you are taking some notice of Lady Ruth Winderfield, the daughter of the Duke of Winshire.”

Lady Ashbury dropped her lashes to veil her eyes. “You have an interest in the matter, of course. The feud between Winshire and Haverford is well known to me, Your Grace.”

Eleanor allowed none of her disgust to show. “Your motivation, of course, is your brother-in-law, whose name you have chosen to couple with that of Lady Ruth.”

The woman looked up, a flash of spite in her eyes. “They connected their own names, Your Grace, when she stayed with him, unchaperoned.”

Eleanor could argue that Ruth had her companion with her, as well as a bevy of armed retainers, a maid, and six children; that she was taking refuge during a smallpox epidemic; that she was providing medical care for several people, including Lady Ashbury’s own daughter. But Lady Ashbury was not interested in facts, but in fixing her claws into the weak. This time, she had chosen the wrong targets.

Eleanor showed her own claws. “I would take it amiss, Lady Ashbury, if these rumours continue to circulate. Very amiss.”

An expression at last. Alarm, quickly concealed. Lady Ashbury’s tinkling laugh was unamused. “You jest, duchess. Haverford hates the chit’s father.”

Eleanor raised a brow. “I have not invited you to address me as an intimate, young woman. Nor will I.”

Colour flooded Lady Ashbury’s face. “Your Grace. My apologies, Your Grace.”

“You have miscalculated, Lady Ashbury. His Grace of Haverford cannot abide scandal-mongering women.” A slight exaggeration, but his pride, which would see an insult to his wife as an insult to him, would ensure that he supported Eleanor, at least in public, which was all that mattered.

“In addition, I am dearest friends with Lady Ruth’s aunt. I must thank you, however, for drawing my attention to the Earl of Ashbury. I had not noticed his absence from society since his brother’s death. I intend to amend that oversight. Your brother-in-law shall be presented to the Regent under my sponsorship and that of His Grace, the Duke of Haverford. I suggest you make yourself least in sight for the remainder of the little season. A sojourn in the country might be good for your health, Lady Ashbury.”

Lady Ashbury sat, as pale as her spencer, her mouth open.

Her Grace stood and pulled the bell chain. “My footman shall show you out,” she said.

Spotlight on Storm & Shelter: Alina K. Field and Rue Allyn

Novellas five and six in Storm & Shelter feature heroines with unusual occupations–a part-time smuggler and a privateer.

Don’t miss this wonderful box set. Eight superb authors, with eight fascinating stories set around one storm. Only 99c as an ebook until publication on 13th March.

 

The Comtesse of Midnight: By Alina K. Field

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm, and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the woman he’s seeking, the one who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she is, in fact, the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the one he’s seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

Excerpt:

The lamp on the mantel emitted a low light, as did the fire. Malcolm carefully swiveled his head. A candle sat atop the dining table, next to his open travel bag. The woman bent close to the dim light, studying a paper. In three silent strides he was on her.

Wait for Me: By Rue Allyn

Enemies by nature—Esmeralda Crobbin, aka the pirate Irish Red, and Captain, Lord Brandon Gilroy have met before.

Fate trumps nature—When a fierce storm creates a chance encounter and forced proximity, Erstwhile pirate, Esmeralda discovers Captain Gilroy is more than a uniform stuffed with rules and regulations. Gilroy learns the pirate is a woman of serious honor and responsibility. Both love the sea with boundless passion, but can they love each other?

Excerpt: He blinked rapidly. She fished in a pocket for her handkerchief. Damp as it was, it would clear his vision. She used the kerchief to wipe water from his eyes and face. She bent to place the cloth in her pocket, and when she returned her gaze to his, he glared at her. A very familiar glare. A glare that had haunted her for the past three years. Now I know fate is laughing at me. Before her lay the one man who hated her most in the world. The storm had placed him exactly where she would to trip over him then feel compelled to help him before she had any clue as to his identity.

The Hundred Days

Storm & Shelter, the new Bluestocking Belles With Friends box set, has an interesting political backdrop. Our heroes, heroines, villains, and other characters are caught up in a massive storm off the North Sea, which begins with steady rain on 31st March, steadily worsening until the early hours of 1st April, and rampaging for two days, only finally dying away on the 3rd of April. Meanwhile, a storm of a different kind is gathering in Europe.

After eleven months in exile on the island of Elba, the Emperor Napoleon was once again on the move. He landed at Cannes on the 1st of March, leading 1,500 men. On 7th of March, his path was intercepted by the 5th Regiment, who had been ordered to stop him. He approached them on his own, shouting, “Here I am. Kill your emperor if you wish!” The soldiers rallied to him, and joined the march on Paris. On 14th March, Marshall Ney, who had been ordered to arrest Napoleon, joined him with 6,000 men. By the time Napoleon entered Paris on 20th of March,  Louis XVIII had fled the capital in terror. The period known as Cent Jours, or One Hundred Days, had begun.

The crisis in Europe and the confrontation between Napoleon and his 200,000 men and the Seventh Coalition (Prussia, Britain, Austria and Russia) would end in the Battle of Waterloo on 18th June. Napoleon abdicated for the second time on 22nd June, in favour of his son. On 8th July, Louis XVIII was returned to his throne and Cent Jours was over.

Napoleon finally surrendered on 15th July, and was exiled to St Helena in the South Atlantic, where he died six years later.

In the eight novellas of Storm & Shelter, quite a few of our characters are on the move because of Napoleon’s bid to take back his empire. You’ll recognise them when you see them!

Mistakes and consequences on WIP Wednesday

I always enjoy stories in which the narrative drive comes from decisions made by the main characters—a choice that goes badly wrong (or beautifully right, as the case may be). So that’s this week’s topic. Feel free to add an excerpt from your work in progress into the comments.

My contribution is an excerpt from the story I’m writing for next month’s newsletter. I set a contest at a Facebook party asking commenters to give me an image as a basis for April’s story, and the painting above was the winner.

George was right about Arthur. That burned worse than Millicent’s own stupidity in allowing herself to be abducted. Her hurt pride, thought, was nowhere near as strong as her anger at her kidnapping, imprisonment and then, adding insult to injury, abandonment.

She hadn’t seen Arthur for three days. Not since the rain started. Not since she threw her chamber pot at him and assured him that he would never be safe in her company. 

“But I mean to marry you, Millicent,” he stammered.

As if that forgave all his crimes against her! “I will never wed you,” she promised, though he had already explained that his mother had a cleric that was willing to perform the marriage ceremony even if the bride had to be gagged.

“When I escape,” she told him, “my brother will have the marriage annulled, if you survive your maiming.” She stamped a foot. “I told you that I released you from our betrothal.”

Arthur pouted, then must have realised that the childish expression did him no favours, for he struck one of his attitudes, his chin up and his chest out, his profile to Millicent as he emitted a loud sigh. “Mama explained that many females are overwhelmed by their emotions as they face marriage. I shall overlook it. Mama says that experiencing the marriage bed will probably help to bring you back to yourself. You do not need to be afraid, Millicent. I shall be gentle.”

Even when she thought Arthur the romantic hero he resembled, Millicent had been disturbed by his repeated references to his mother’s wisdom. Now, she wondered how she could have been so infatuated with him.

“You shall not come near me, then, for I will never submit willingly,” she declared.

Arthur had been at a loss for an answer, eventually concluding that he needed to consult his mother. “I shall probably not be back until morning,” he said. His lip curled as he cast a glance at the chamber pot, which had a large wedge out of the rim from where it hit the door frame as he ducked. “You can probably still use that if you need to.”

Three days later, he still hadn’t returned. Surely, he didn’t mean to leave her here? The cell he had locked her into was just above the river bank, and with the constant rain, the water had breached its confines yesterday afternoon and was now lapping just below the sill. 

Tea with the Oxford ladies

The ladies of Lilac Cottage were largely ignoring their guest, focused as they were on sharing news about their vast pool of connections, with whom they kept up a voluminous correspondence.

Today’s visit was to cousins of His Grace’s father; three sisters who lived together just outside of Oxford. The Duchess of Haverford tried to call on them whenever she was in the vicinity, and she was always astonished at how much she learned.

“Sephronia has lost patience with that grandson of hers,” Muriel Grenford observed. “She plans to swoop on that village where he has taken refuge, with a list of suitable young ladies to become his countess.” In appearance, Cousin Muriel was the external epitome of a dear elderly spinster, including the silver curls under her lace cape and the round spectacles that she often pushed up onto her head and forgot. Eleanor Haverford was of the opinion that she fostered the appearance in order to disarm her victims.

Quite early in her marriage to the Duke of Haverford, Eleanor had taken over responsibility for the spinsters and widows who formed the highest percentage of the duchy’s pensioners—distant relatives of His Grace who lived in properties he owned, or on allowances from the duchy’s coffers. She enjoyed the challenge of finding the younger ladies opportunities for a fulfilling future, but the older ladies were also rewarding, in their own way.

“She has learned nothing from the mistakes she made with his father and brother,” pronounced Marilla, Lady Thorpe, the only one of the three ladies to have raised sons. Plumper and more faded than her sisters, Cousin Marilla was given to handing down implacable verdicts on the child-rearing habits of others. To be sure, her two sons were pleasant fellows, so perhaps she had the right.

Eleanor knew of only one Sephronia whose very eligible grandson had been unaccountably missing from Polite Society for years. She took another sip of her tea to hide her interest.

The third of the sisters offered a new line of thought. “Eudora Fletcher writes that Sephronia is staying with her, and so is that nephew of Eudora’s and the Tewksbury pup who is betrothed to young Sarah.” A long career as owner and proprietor of an exclusive academy for young ladies had left Maude Grenford with a broad girth, a vast tolerance for the foolishness of girls, and a correspondingly poor opinion of most men.

Eleanor easily placed the nephew spoken of so contemptuously. He must be the Earl of Bassham, whose niece and former ward, Lady Sarah Weatherby had not been seen for some days. And her betrothed, Matthew Tewksbury would be the pup. Eleanor agreed with the assessment. Acres of charm when he wanted his own way, but as likely to make a mess on the carpet as not. Eleanor judged him the sort to promise anything and deliver very little.

“Eudora says,” Cousin Maude added, with glee, “that Sarah took refuge from that dreadful storm in the village of Fenwick-on Sea.”

The other two ladies put their cups down, and stared at her.

“But that…” Muriel started.

“Isn’t that where Sephronia said…?” Marilla said, at the same time.

Maude nodded, delighted with the reaction. “Indeed, it is.”

Mrs Fletcher’s great niece has indeed met the dowager’s grandson, as you can read in A Kiss by the Sea, a novella by Grace Burrowes in Storm & Shelter.

A Kiss by the Sea: By Grace Burrowes

He’s not really a blacksmith, and she’s not really an heiress… Can they forge a happily-ever-after anyway?

Thaddeus Pennrith finds a way to recover from multiple griefs when he accepts the blacksmith’s post at Fenwick on Sea. Village life gives him a sense of belonging that Polite Society never could, though he must resume his aristocratic responsibilities soon. Along comes Lady Sarah Weatherby, refugee from an engagement gone badly awry, and Thaddeus is faced with both a compelling reason to reveal his titled antecedents, and a longing to keep them forever hidden…

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.

One storm, eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas.

Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles’ project page. 

Only 99c while on preorder. Published April 13th.

Spotlight on Storm & Shelter: Caroline Warfield and Sherry Ewing

I’m continuing our series about the lovely collection by the Bluestocking Belles and Friends with novellas three and four by my dear friends Caroline and Sherry.

Don’t forget, this book is only 99c while on preorder, so get it before the price goes up.

Eight authors, eight heartwarming novellas, all set around one storm, and at least in part a single village. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: Storm & Shelter.

The Tender Flood: By Caroline Warfield

Zach Newell knows Patience Abney is far above his touch. But he has been enchanted by her since she raced out of the storm and into the Queen’s Barque with a wagon full of small boys, puppies, and a bag of books. When the two of them make their way across the flooded marsh to her badly damaged school in search of a missing boy, attraction overtakes them. She risks scandal; he risks his heart.

Excerpt:

Before she could speak, he crossed the room and pulled her into a crushing embrace, taking her mouth with his until her knees failed and she had only his embrace to rely on.  Insanity born of hope. Zach could think of no other explanation for his behavior.

Before I Found You, A de Courtenay Novella: By Sherry Ewing

A quest for a title. An encounter with a stranger. Will she choose love?

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady.

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball.

Their connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s quest for a title at all cost. What if the cost includes love?

Excerpt:

A young woman suddenly caught his attention as she skipped to the lively patterns of the current dance. Dark brown hair was swept up in a pleasing coiffure sprinkled with what looked like diamonds winking in the candlelight of the room. Her gown was pale blue with a pink ribbon just below her breasts. She turned and the look on her face was one of bored indifference, making Jasper inwardly laugh. Had Lord de Courtenay seen in his features what this woman showed to any who cared to gaze upon her?