Here’s a little more about the story: Loving the Hawke is the first full-length book in a brand new series, The Seven Curses of London. Two wounded souls, a wallflower and a war hero, stumble upon each other time and again in slums and ballrooms, realizing they fight a common cause and share an unbridled passion. Will the curse they fight be their downfall? Or will love win the day?

EXCERPT  Nathaniel Hawke, unwillingly retired captain of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, couldn’t believe his eyes. Considering all he’d witnessed during the Indian Rebellion, the Second Opium War and his military service, that was a considerable feat.

Yet no matter how hard he stared at the cloaked figure speaking with several girls near the bridge, it didn’t change what was happening. A well-to-do woman was accosting several young girls, leaving their factory jobs for a quick meal before returning to work. She was about to ruin an entire week’s worth of reconnaissance.

He’d positioned himself in the doorway of a shop several doors down from the bridge entrance. He’d hoped to identify the men said to be luring girls from their factory jobs with the promise of high wages as a house maid, only to put them on ships to be sold as prostitutes in faraway lands or to serve in London brothels.

Instead, a lady, by the fitted cut of her cloak, was drawing far too much attention by attempting to speak to the young women. What on earth was she about? If one of the men he was trying to find observed her, she would be in grave danger. She might very well find herself on board a ship alongside the girls to whom she was speaking.

Nathaniel waited several precious moments, hoping the woman would proceed on her way. But no. She continued to speak earnestly with the girls. Several more stopped to listen.

That was the last straw. The crazed woman was ruining his chances of identifying the men running this operation, which would allow him to save the girls. Now he’d have to take the risk of revealing himself in order to force her to move along before something terrible occurred.

As he stepped out of the doorway, cane in hand, he once again cursed the damaged leg that caused him to limp. It was the reason he’d been driven from his previous life where he’d made a difference. Its constant ache was an unwelcome reminder that he could no longer protect his men, that he was no longer needed.

He thrust aside the dark thoughts as he tried to decide how to play this particular mission. He’d been forced to disguise himself on various operations during his military career, so while this was nothing new to him, he didn’t care to do draw attention to himself in a place he wanted to return to. Blast the woman.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel caught sight of a man strolling toward the bridge. With his bowler hat and better-than-most attire, he might very well be one of those Nathaniel had been watching for. Double blast.

Nathaniel had nearly reached the woman. Her face was hidden by a fawn-colored bonnet with a ridiculous bow on the side of it. He took an immediate dislike to the ugly thing.

“Excuse me,” he said, with a slight bow. “May I have a word with ye, miss?” He did his best to disguise his accent, not wanting to display his Cambridge education.

The woman turned in surprise as the side of her bonnet had blocked his approach. For some reason, he was stunned by how attractive she was. Large hazel eyes framed by dark blonde lashes and brows regarded him suspiciously. Her alabaster complexion was flawless with the exception of a tiny dent in her chin. “No, thank you.” Her tone was polite but firm before she turned back to the girls.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, but I must insist.” Her refusal made it difficult to hide his irritation. His position as an officer for so many years meant no one refused his orders. At least until now.

She glanced at him again, brow furrowed. Then she looked back at her audience. “Do any of you know this man?”

“No,” they all agreed as they stared at Nathaniel. They seemed to be waiting to see what might happen next.

“There’s no loiterin’ in this area,” he persisted. He gestured with his hand, hoping the girls would continue on their way so he might have a moment with the woman to explain the danger.

The older girls tugged the younger one’s sleeve. “Come along with ye, Alice. This don’t concern us.”

“Wait,” the woman said, sparing a moment to glare yet again at Nathaniel. “If you’re truly interested, here’s the card of the shop I mentioned.”

Alice reached out a cautious hand to take it, staring at it as though it might contain a hidden message. “I don’t know…”

“Think upon it. That’s all—”

Nathaniel snatched the card from the girl’s hand to read it. Madame Daphne. Seamstress. “What is it ye’re askin’ these girls to do?” he asked, allowing suspicion to color his tone.

“None of your business.” The woman seized the card from him then made a shooing motion. As if that would have any effect on him.

“Ye’re causin’ trouble for these poor girls,” he said and turned to glare at them, hoping it would work better on them than it had on the woman. “Leave them in peace.”

“We must be goin’.” The girls eased back, pulling Alice with them, but not before she took the card from the lady once more.

“Wait,” the woman bid them. “I want to help.”

With one last glance over their shoulders, the girls hurried down the street as though anxious to put more distance between themselves and the woman.

Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief. Now he need only get her to do the same. Perhaps his vigil wouldn’t be wasted after all. “If you would—”

“How dare you.” The anger in the woman’s tone surprised him as did the passion that flared in her eyes. But it didn’t sway him from his purpose.

He leaned close, intending to intimidate her, dropping his East End accent. “Do you have any notion of the danger you’re in at this very moment?”

LOVING THE HAWKE is available at Amazon

Amazon Bestselling Author Lana Williams writes historical romance filled with mystery, adventure, and a pinch of paranormal to stir things up. Her historical romantic suspense books include two series set in medieval England and two set in Victorian London.

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Thank you, Lana, for sharing this wonderful first meeting with the readers here! I, for one, love wounded heroes so this is definitely on my TBR pile.

That’s a wonderfully romantic tidbit, and my oldest son’s name is also Peter, though we didn’t pick the name until he was a bun in the oven!

Setup of the scene: Becky Winstanley, mistress to the Marquess of Aldridge, is expecting her protector, who has promised to escort her and her daughter Sarah to Astley’s Amphitheatre as a treat for Sarah’s birthday.

EXCERPT

That was Aldridge now; an unmarked carriage with nothing to distinguish it from a thousand others turning unobtrusively into the mews. Aldridge was as careful with her daughter’s reputation as she was herself, and would not let the scandal sheets pick up on the connection between Rose’s house and the one where Miss Sarah Winstanley lived.

He was early. She crossed to the sideboard where she kept his favourite brandy, and was pouring him a glass by the time she heard his steps in the hall. Two sets of steps? Who did Aldridge have with him?

The other man was as tall as Aldridge, but dark to his fair. He must once have been stunningly handsome, and one side of his face was still carved by a master; subtle curves and strong planes combining in a harmonious whole that spoke of strength and, in the almost invisible network of lines at the corners of his eyes, suffering.

On the other side, dozens of scars pitted and ridged the skin, as if it had been torn and chewed by an animal; an animal with jaws of flame by the tell-tale burn puckers. Thankfully, whatever it was had spared his eye, which, she suddenly realised, was glaring at her.

“Well,” he demanded, and she was shaken anew by his voice, rich and mellow. She had been staring. How rude. But for some reason, she didn’t apologise as she should, but instead blurted, “I was just feeling glad that what injured you spared your eye.”

He looked startled, and suddenly a lot friendlier. “Thank you. I am glad too.”

That voice! He could charm bird from the trees with it. Becky wondered if he sang.

“An unusual approach to an introduction,” Aldridge observed. Becky collected herself and smiled at her protector. “No one is more important than the man who keeps you,” a mentor had once told her. “When he is present, you notice no one else except as it reflects well on him.”

And Becky had never before had her attention so focused on a guest that she had been unaware of presenting her cheek to Aldridge for his kiss, giving him the expected squeal in return for his squeeze, and returning the kiss.

“An introduction would be polite, Aldridge,” she said.

“My dear, you have heard me speak of my friend, Baron Overton.”

Yes. She had guessed it must be he from the description in the gossip magazine that was even now on the desk in her little sitting room. ‘Baron O., who, despite his gruesome scars, seems set to bag the full haul of heads, or should we say tails, he and the M.M. need to win their bet. She looked at him without favour. Another heartless aristocrat tomcatting his way through life without thought of the suffering he left behind him.

But why was he here? She turned to Aldridge in alarm.

“Overton is coming to Astley’s with us,” Aldridge said. He expected her to make a fuss. She knew that mulish expression in his eye. He felt he was in the wrong, he wasn’t going to back down, and he’d feel better if they could fight over it.

Instead, she turned to Overton. “Lord Overton, I am going to assume that Lord Aldridge would not have brought you here if you were not sober, trustworthy, and aware that my daughter’s future depends on no one making the connection between her mother and Lord Aldridge’s mistress. Since my lord clearly trusts you, I will too.” And, her tone said, I will find a way to destroy you if Aldridge is wrong.

The woman might be a whore, but she had the carriage of a queen, and when she lectured him, her eyes flashing, all he could do was mutter, “Yes, ma’am.”

He’d heard Aldridge’s mistress was beautiful, but beautiful didn’t come close. What on earth was the man doing with other women when he had this one in his keeping?

Satisfied with his answer, she was pouring him a brandy, having already handed one to Aldridge. Aldridge was teasing her about the present he had in the carriage for the little girl. He’d dragged Hugh to the shop to pick it up; a doll as beautiful as a princess and a wardrobe to match. Inspired, Hugh had ordered two: one with dark hair for Sophrania, and one with fair hair for Emmaline. They would be ready in a week, the woman assured him. Good enough. His one month of freedom would be nearly up in a week, with just enough time to ride home.

Aldridge, though, was assuring the woman he had a sack full of kittens, or a pair of puppies, or a pet bear. She just laughed at him, telling him that the care and feeding of such a menagerie would be to his cost, and not hers.

Hugh couldn’t reconcile her speech, her grace, her manners, with her being a member of the demi monde. She was unlike any whore he’d ever known. And what was her name, anyway? He hadn’t really been listening; had half thought Aldridge was playing one of his japes. A mistress who couldn’t be called by her mistress name, which was Rose or Pansy or something like that, but had to be called some other name, and treated like a lady in front of her daughter. Surely it must be a joke?

But apparently it was true.

“What am I meant to call you,” he asked, and could have bitten his tongue. He was never this graceless.

“Mrs Winstanley,” Aldridge said, looking over his shoulder, “and if you’re not going to behave, Overton, you can leave right now.”

“Mrs Winstanley,” Hugh said.

And Aldridge nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the woman. “Do you not think Sarah would like a pony,” he asked, clearly wanting to continue his game.

From behind his back, Hugh glared at the uppity female, and she, with no idea of her place, glared back.

END OF EXCERPT

Well, no one likes an uppity mistress or a rude guest, and I have no idea how this will play out. Who is first going to fall in love? For the answer to that intriguing question, you’ll find the pre-order links below, and also several ways to keep in touch with Jude Knight.

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Preorder links for A Baron for Becky: release date 5 August 2015

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Thank you Jude, and all our readers, for visiting today.

Normally this blog post features first meeting scenes, but this book is about a couple trying to save their marriage of seven years, so the thrill of their first meeting is far behind them, though maybe the flight attendant will become important? Crash and Burn is part of the Crashing Into Love book bundle now available on Amazon.

In the following scene, Keira Matthews is on a plane heading to Australia with her husband for a second honeymoon at the order of their counselor.

EXCERPT

“I’m leaving you.” His harsh words echoed in her head. Her stomach clenched. Did the gasp come from her lips?

Anger boiled in her gut. Strike back. It’s not my fault. She balled her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. “You never have time for me. You’re always working. How can we even think about a family with you being gone all the time?” Her words spilled from her mouth like acid. She hoped they burned him.

“Look, I want a family, but someone’s got to provide for them.” His hand reached toward hers. His eyes pleading. “I’ll give it one more try. Let’s see a counselor. I still love you, have for seven years….”

Keira’s gaze slid to the wedding photo on the wall. Seeing the younger image of the man she married, vowed to love forever, she took a deep breath and released the anger. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Okay.” Her voice weak and soft. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Slowly waking, she glanced around the dark, unfamiliar interior. Confusion warred in her mind until she put the pieces together. I’m on a plane somewhere over the Pacific. She looked over at the sleeping man on her left—her husband. How did we get to this point? A romantic second honeymoon never starts with orders to fix your marriage, heal your relationship. I pray it works.

She stretched up and pushed the signal to get an attendant. The soft light and beep echoed in the silent cabin. Why can’t I sleep? Time change or bad dream? She observed the crisp black uniform of the put-together woman approaching her.

“Yes, ma’am. What can I get for you?” Her soft voice with a melodious Australian accent soothed Keira.

“Can I please have a cup of ice and bottle of water?”

The attendant nodded and headed toward the front of the plane.

Keira reached over to the carrier in the seat next to her. Shoving her hand inside, she felt the soft coat of her fur-baby. The gentle lick of a warm, wet tongue on her fingers tickled. “Shh. Don’t make noise, Gris. Everyone’s sleeping. Go back to napping. We’ll be there soon, and you can have a treat.” Another doggie kiss made her smile. My mind won’t turn off. I’m too nervous about flying and how important this trip is to my marriage. Appears as if slumber isn’t going to return. I can’t read without waking my husband. Maybe if I get my drink and let my mind wander, I’ll finally get tired enough to doze off.

“Here’s your ice and water, ma’am.” The attendant handed the items over. “Is there anything else?”

Keira noted her name tag. “Thank you, Julie. How much longer until we land?”

She looked at her watch. “About two hours.”

“I think I’m stuck in Midwest time. Still daylight back home.” She smiled at Julie and set the glass and bottle down on her seat-tray.

“Where are you traveling from?” Julie squatted down to whisper.

“We’re from Ohio. Our first trip overseas. A second honeymoon.”

“I’m sure you’ll love Australia. It’s a beautiful country. Let me know if you need anything else. Hopefully, you can rest again.” Julie touched her shoulder then stood and walked away. The tender contact of another person soothed her. It’s been a long time since anyone’s stroked me, hugged me, loved me.

Once again alone with her thoughts, she turned toward her husband. They’d been married for seven years, and his looks still caused her stomach to flutter. I love running my fingers over his buzz cut. And his rough beard left sexy marks on my neck when we made love…not that it’s happened in a while. A part of the reason we’re on this trip is because of our lack of sex, tenderness. Of course, he’d have to be home in order to touch me.

END OF EXCERPT

You can find Crash and Burn within the Crashing Into Love book bundle at Amazon.

If you’d like to stalk Melissa (her word, not mine) you can find her here:

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Thank you, readers, for visiting, and thank you to Melissa Keir for joining me today on First Sight Saturday!

SETUP OF SCENE:  Kali Shaheen speaks to her new protector for the first time unchaperoned. 

EXCERPT

He motioned her to one of Mayuri’s prized Riesener chairs, covered in a puce, satin-band double damask so fine it showed almost no sign of being woven at all. He took a seat on the accompanying ottoman, sitting forward, elbows on his knees, far enough away she would not feel crowded. His face seemed perpetually curious, as though the world could never give him enough answers, even if he could find the right questions.

“You should understand you are not entirely unknown to me.”

Kali had not thought otherwise. Mayuri had told her Lord Fitzmarten had been inquiring after her well-being for months. Not her suitability for intimate congress, not the condition of her maidenhead, not her skill in music or dance—not her price—only her state of health and happiness. He had offered to meet her expenses, even her sister’s, if it would ease Kali’s way in the world, and he had never once asked to interact with her more closely. He had shown considerable displeasure, once with his fists, when other customers at the Masala Rajah had spoken of Kali in vulgar or lecherous terms.

“I had not pushed for an introduction before such time as you were prepared to take on a protector—you were so very young when you arrived in London—but Mayuri has been aware of my interest for some time. I have always found you exquisite, so terribly graceful, and hope very much you might accept my offer of carte-blanche.”

Acceptance was assured once she had given Mayuri control of the negotiations.

“However, it is rather abrupt to arrange contracts without ever once meeting. I do not wish you to believe I see you as merely a commodity.”

Kali spoke more freely than she had ever been taught. “Is that not what I am, my lord?”

Once the words left her mouth, she placed the back of her glove across her lips, as though she could push the thought back in. Her eyes widened when he grinned. His smile really was devastating.

“I do not want a mistress who sees herself as interchangeable with any other, or less than human. I would like to be able to talk to you, not merely take you to bed. Is that something you desire as well, or do you expect to hold yourself apart from me?”

She retreated to the comfort of her training, hands folded in a dainty twist atop her lap. “I can speak on many subjects, my lord. I am well educated, and will, of course, offer my intellect for your delectation, should you choose. It will be my fondest desire to please you in all things.”

He stood and ran his hand through his thick hair, mussing it, then paced to the fireplace and stared right through the Persian vases on the mantelpiece.

“I’m sorry. This will not work. I apologize for wasting your time.”

Kali sucked in a breath and fell back, stunned. When Mayuri had made it known she was entertaining offers for Kali’s virginity, he had offered any amount to be her protector. The contract terms were the most generous of any girl Mayuri had ever placed. Kali was not sure what had made him lose interest so quickly. She had only repeated, word for word, what she had been taught to say as far back as she could remember.

“My lord, I am confused. How have I displeased you?”

He sighed, his hand stopping halfway through his hair. He dropped it to his side before he turned back.

“I am not displeased—as such. Only this is why I have never employed a tawaif for more… formal… personal services before now. If I am to spend a great deal of time with a woman, I would have her engage with me, not tell me what she imagines I want to hear. I will not pursue an intimate relationship based on habitual phrases that leave me no room to understand who you are. The thought leaves me cold.”

“But—” She sat up straight again, as she had been taught. “I do not understand. A gentleman chooses a tawaif for his pleasure, for enjoyment, not… not for… companionship. Not for love. I exist to serve your needs, not force my own upon you.”

As she spoke, she remembered the pain that had consumed her mother every day she had lived without Birchbright. Of all possible futures, that was one Kali would never want. Living without love was her station in life, and this man had no right to try to persuade her otherwise.

She rose to leave the room, trying to leave ice trailing in her wake. “I believe you are right, my lord. I do not think we will suit at all.”

TO BUY THIS ENTICING BOOK AND FIND OUT HOW THESE TWO GET TOGETHER

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SETUP OF OUR SCENE:

Jessica Quinn has gone out for her morning run. She passes Mack Ellsbury’s recently purchased house while he’s in the process of moving in some belongings.

EXCERPT:

Trying not to think about the ache or what to do about Sharon, Jessie pushed on. Maybe she’d started running again too soon. Tomorrow, she’d head over to the gym for a swim before opening the store.

“Hey, Jessie,” a familiar voice called out as she approached the Kerry house. “How’s it going?”

Jessie stopped, grateful for the distraction as Sean O’Brien came down the front steps on his way back to the moving truck. “Hi, Sean. I was going to call you this afternoon. The bathroom vanity you ordered came in yesterday.”

Sean stopped in front of her. “Excellent. If we finish up here early enough, I’ll pick it up. Otherwise I’ll get it tomorrow.” Sean uncapped the water he’d grabbed on his way over and took a long swallow. “I want the downstairs bathroom finished before Mia comes back for Ma’s wedding.”

“She won’t make it back until then?” She’d become friends with Sean’s girlfriend that summer when Mia had stayed at The Victorian Rose. Earlier that month Mia had returned to California to finish the movie she was starring in.

Sean shook his head. “Doubt it, but I’m flying out to California next weekend.”

“Need a break already, O’Brien?” Mack emerged from the house, a backwards baseball cap covering his dark hair. “I guess that’s what happens when you get old.”

For a moment, Jessie spiraled back fourteen years and her tongue went from being a useful organ to a giant bowtie just like it had every time Mack had tutored her in geometry during study hall. A senior, and one of the most popular guys in school, Mack was the number one crush of most of the girls in her freshman class—including her. Not that he ever noticed any of them. Why would he when every cheerleader in North Salem and Danvers were constantly throwing themselves at him?

“Hi, Mack. Congratulations on the new house,” Jessie said once the knot in her tongue loosened.

Mack’s forehead creased and his eyes searched her face. “Jessie?”

Jessie let Mack’s surprise go over her head. After all, he hadn’t seen her in a while.

Sure, he visited his family frequently with his daughter, but he didn’t make a habit of stopping in at the hardware store. In fact, before today, the last time they’d seen each other had been six months ago when he’d come in for the security videos. Back then, she’d still had long hair and glasses. Not to mention, she’d been wearing her favorite oversized cranberry sweater and a long skirt, a fact she shouldn’t remember but did because, well, this was Mack so he wouldn’t have noticed the weight she lost.

“It’s nice to see you. Your parents must be happy you’re moving back.”

“Yeah. Grace, too. She already has plans to spend every weekend at my parents’ house. They haven’t agreed yet, but she’s well on her way to convincing them.”

“She does adore your mom,” Jessica answered, thinking of all the times she’d seen Mrs. Ellsbury with her granddaughter.

“You’ve met Grace?” Mack asked with surprise.

“This is North Salem remember? Your mom brings Grace to my grandmother’s every Sunday for quilting club if she has her. And your dad comes in the store with her.”

Another look of surprise passed over Mack’s features. “I didn’t know that, but it makes sense.”

“She even started her own quilt. Your niece did, too. Your mom brings her over on Sundays sometimes, too.”

Jessie waved at another of Mack’s friends as he came down the front steps. “Hi, Tony.”

“Hey, Jessie.” Tony Bates smiled as he walked toward them. “Unless you  ladies want to finish alone, get your asses in gear. I’ve got things to do this afternoon.”

“I gotta go anyway.” Jessica took a step backward. “Will I see any of you at the block party tonight?” Once a month, starting in late spring, their community threw a block party on the Town Common, shutting the whole area down to traffic.

“Not me. Too much work at the house, but have fun,” Sean answered. “I’ll see you later.” With that, he went back to the moving truck.

“I might pop in. If I do, I expect you to save me a dance,” Tony said.

Jessie rolled her eyes. She never took anything Tony said seriously, especially not lately. Ever since she’d lost the weight and ditched the glasses, he’d been saying things like that, but she knew better than to get into any kind of relationship with Tony. While he was a good guy, he didn’t understand the concept of monogamy. He went from one woman to the next much like the way people changed their underwear.

“Bates, get your ass over here and help me with this,” Sean called from the truck.

Unable to contain her smile, Jessie glanced at the ground. Whenever Tony flirted with her, Sean went into his protective guardian role. Thanks to her close relationship with his sister, Charlie, Sean treated her a like a baby sister.

“I might take Grace if she’s not too tired. I think she’d like it.” Mack waved at a car that passed by the house.

“She loves it,” Jessie answered, looking back up.

“My parents?”

“And your sister.”

“I should’ve known.” Mack readjusted his baseball cap, a habit he’d had for as long as she could remember. And she could probably remember every time he’d done it. Yeah, she’d had a big-time unrequited crush. Apparently, that hadn’t faded too much because he was still the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

END OF EXCERPT

Ah, who doesn’t wonder about the one who let you get away? If you’d like to snap up a copy of Mack and Jessie’s story you can find them at the following links.

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And for more about Christina…

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Thanks for much for visiting today, Christina!

SET UP OF THE SCENE

Magnus is a second generation Norman, a descendant of the first Vikings to settle in the Seine valley. Recently widowed, he is obliged to leave his grieving daughters to fight against Flemish incursions into Norman lands. In hotly disputed territory he comes across a wedding ceremony taking place outside a church. The bride, sister of the Flemish leader, swoons upon catching sight of the enemy troops. He jumps from his horse to save her from the mud.

EXCERPT

Magnus leapt from his horse and strode to the door of the abbey where an older woman—a servant he’d guess—struggled valiantly to keep her mistress from falling into the muck. He scooped up the mud-splattered maiden who’d swooned on first catching sight of them. His thoughts went back to the last time he’d held a woman in his arms, but he shook away the bitter memory. This one was still very much alive, as evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

The appealing mounds of female flesh were big enough to fill his hand. A tingling tugged at the base of his spine, but then shame swamped him. He’d only recently buried his wife.

Judging by the presence of the priest and a young man in black who’d fled at their arrival, he’d wager the wedding had been underway. But where were the well-wishers?

He stared at the woman in his arms. Despite her disheveled appearance and pallor, heightened by the bright red of her nose, she was stunningly beautiful. Her tangled hair was the color of chestnuts. He willed her eyes to open, but she remained oblivious. A peculiar hope rose in his heart that he’d arrived in time to interrupt the wedding, but he quickly dismissed it. What did he care if Arnulf’s sister had wed a coward who’d run rather than defend his bride?

The priest scowled, though his anger seemed to be directed more at the woman in Magnus’s arms than at him. Something strange was going on.

“I am Magnus Kriger of Montdebryk,” he said to the cleric. “I am a Christian. You and your fellow priests have nothing to fear. We are Normans, part of an army sent to recapture Montreuil.”

The priest eyed him with scorn. “You claim to be Christian, yet you wear a pagan symbol around your neck.”

Magnus didn’t look down, but surmised his Thor’s hammer must have worked its way free from under his gambeson. He decided to ignore the priest’s comment.

The cleric shrugged. “What do you intend with the woman?”

He looked down at Arnulf’s sister. She felt right cradled against his chest, though she’d moaned softly a few times. He feared when she awoke and espied his father’s Viking helmet she’d think him a barbarian. Why it mattered he wasn’t sure.

“Take her for a moment,” he said, intending to remove his headgear, but the priest backed away, his palms held out as if warding off evil spirits. What ailed the man?

“I’ll take her,” his cousin, Bendik offered, coming to his side.

An surge of jealousy addled Magnus’s wits and he clutched the stricken woman more tightly.

Bendik chuckled. “I won’t harm her,” he said.

Magnus laughed at his foolishness and handed her over. He removed his helmet, thrust it into the priest’s hands, then retrieved his prize. It was lunacy and Bendik’s frown indicated he agreed. The town and abbey had to be secured, but the only thought on his mind was the desire to comfort a beautiful woman.

He thought of Katarina. “You and I would willingly kill anyone who might treat our sisters in such an abominable way,” he said to Bendik. “Does the Comte of Flandres care nothing for his sibling?”

***

Judith was warm for the first time in days. A man with a deep, soothing voice was carrying her. It rumbled from his chest—a solid chest, though it felt good to rest her weary head against it. She wanted to murmur her gratitude to the brave hero who had rescued her from a fate worse than death, but her throat was too dry. He must be one of Arnulf’s men.

She slowly opened one eye and looked up. She was in the arms of a fair-haired giant whose broad shoulders blotted out everything else around her. He was still speaking, but her head was stuffed with the wool of a newly shorn sheep and a drum pounded in her ears. She cleared her throat, but swallowing was difficult.

“Don’t be afraid,” Beatris said.

Judith opened the other eye and strained to see her maid. Where was the confounded woman? If there was no need for fear, that must mean—

Wait.

It wasn’t Theodoric carrying her. How unseemly to be in the arms of another man. The memory crashed in. Surely Arnulf hadn’t wed her to a freak of nature. “Husband,” she shrieked.

“He has fled,” the deep voice said with a strange accent. He must be a foreigner.

Foreigner? The only foreigners she’d seen recently—

Riders led by a massive barbarian.

Her heart raced. She looked up again at the stubbled chin of her hero. Her eyes fell on a silver pendant nestled in the folds of his gambeson. Dread seized her. It was a pagan symbol; the hammer of one of the Norse gods. Her savior was a Viking.

It didn’t make sense. Vikings didn’t save women. They carried them off, raped then slaughtered them. She flailed her arms and legs, desperate to escape. She had to warn Beatris. “Vikings!” she screamed.

END OF EXCERPT

You can find The Rover Betrayed at the following sites.

You can find out more about Anna Markland at

Thanks, Anna, for visiting with me today!

Here’s more from Alicia about the origins of the series. Ruined is part of a fun series I did in conjunction with three of my writer friends. We have been meeting for martinis at the Martini Lounge in Edmond, Oklahoma nearly every Friday for the past four years. From those get-togethers, we developed the idea to write a series centered around a Martini Club. Those stories are finally completed, and we’re pleased to present the Martini Club 4 series…

Fun fact about Alicia: Even though I am not from there, nor have I ever lived in Cincinnati, or Ohio for that matter, I am a huge Cincinnati Reds fan. I’ve taken my son, who is 22 now, on the 850 mile road trip to Cinci twice, just to watch the Reds, and I hope to go again before long. I’ve also watched them play in other cities; Kansas City, Houston, Atlanta, and St. Louis.  I usually try to slip in a mention of the Reds in most of my stories, but in this one, I had to settle for the dreaded New York Yankees due to the setting.

Setup of the scene – My hero has traveled from Philadelphia to New York City in search of his childhood friend and former fiancée. He’s in a speakeasy questioning one of the locals and searching for clues.

Excerpt

The bartender slid the hooch in front of them. Vince took a sip, surprised to find the whiskey smooth and full-bodied, not like the coffin varnish normally served in juice joints. He turned to his new friend. “You know a girl named Cynthia who hangs out here?” He withdrew his wallet and pulled out the small photo of Cynthia—hands on hips, making a kissy face at the camera–taken last year at the neighborhood barbecue.

Tim swigged the whisky and squinted at the photo. “Huh, Cynthia… Can’t really place her…wait. I think she’s one of Oscar’s girls.”

Something unpleasant shifted in Vince’s chest. “Oscar’s girls? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A short skirt.” The guy shrugged. “Oscar is…you might say…a…professional party host. He throws these bashes at his place and lines up gorgeous dolls to, you know, entertain the clientele. I never been to one myself, too rich for my blood. But word gets around, ya know?”

Fury pumped through Vince’s veins. His fingers tightened around the photo. Not my Cynthia… “You must have her mixed up with someone else.”

“Don’t think so.” He pointed at the beauty Vince had been eyeballing earlier. “Ask Eliza. She works for Oscar too.”

An illogical wave of disappointment washed over him. He didn’t even know the dame, why would he care if she was a party girl?

He stood and threw a few bills on the bar. “See you around, pal. A little tip, though.” He slapped Tim on the back hard enough that he coughed and nearly spit out his drink. “You might not want to razz any other former prizefighters you happen to meet.” He winked. “Not all of them are as much of a pussycat as I am.”

Tim gave a jerky nod. “Sure yeah, thanks for the drink. Take it easy.”

Vince wound through the crowd until he reached the stool where the broad was sitting. She looked up at him, golden eyes rimmed by black make up, pouty pink lips made for kissing.

But then, that’s what those lips got paid for—kissing and a whole lot more.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was just as he imagined, sweet with an underlying husky tone, but he hadn’t predicted the English accent.

“Mind if I have a seat.”

She inclined her head. “Free country.”

“Yeah, but not everything is free, am I right?” He slid onto a barstool next to hers.

She raised a brow, a faint hint of amusement hovering on her lovely mouth. “You’re quite astute, Mr….?”

“Taggart, Vince Taggart. And you are?”

“Eliza Gilbert. Is there something I can do for you?”

Instinct told him coming on too strong with the interrogation would make her clam up. Something about her made him think she would scare easily. She had a wary look, but at the same time there was something defensive and tough behind the pretty façade. As if she was waiting for, expecting, an attack and when it came, she’d strike back like a wounded tigress.

“I just saw you sitting here all alone, thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

She nodded. “My friend, Meggie…Lady Margaret…is the singer. I came to watch her show.”

“She’s very good.” He glanced around nonchalantly. “Draws quite a crowd. Of course, the booze doesn’t hurt anything. It’s good to find a nice place to knock a few back.”

“You’re not from here, are you?”

He grinned. “No, what was it, the accent?”

“Precisely.”

“Of course, with your accent, you’re definitely a local.”

She laughed, an unexpected and delightful sound that he felt clear in his chest. “Right, a Yank through and through.” Her eyes twinkled. “Where are you from?”

“Philly, Philadelphia. I’m in town looking for someone. A girl. Her name’s Cynthia Yost.” He showed her the photo. “Do you know her?”

Her brows drew together, and she shook her head. “She doesn’t look familiar. She isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“I’m afraid she might be. I haven’t heard from her in days, and she was supposed to come home a week ago.”

“I’m sorry. I hope she’s okay, but no, I don’t know her.”

He didn’t detect dishonesty in her response, but then, she was a pro. Maybe she was good at lying. He wouldn’t push her tonight, but he’d be back and push a little harder next time. For now, he might as well play nice. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She favored him with another of those head spinning smiles. “That would be marvelous, thank you.”

End of Excerpt

Ruined is available for pre-order on Amazon for $0.99 until February 26. Its regular price will be $2.99. And don’t forget all the other stories in the vintage romance Martini Club 4 series, listed below. You can find them all at this Amazon link.

• Rebellious by Amanda McCabe – Can an aristocratic lady melt the cold heart of a Russian gangster?
• Ruined by Alicia Dean – She vowed she’d be no man’s doxy, but fate had other plans.
• Reckless by Kathy L Wheeler – Lady Margaret turned Lady Bootlegger.
• Runaway by Krysta Scott – Can she prove her innocence before more than her dreams are destroyed?

Thanks so much for visiting me today, Alicia, to share your story from an up-and-coming time period for historical romance!