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.

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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I had a hard time choosing which of my Evolution Series couples to pick for the hook this week, but decided on Theo and Lily from Vain, who visit us again in the novella, Little Witch. The woman Nox is trying not to fall in love with has disappeared and he has come to his employer for advice.

EXCERPT

“Is Salena here?” Nox asked, addressing Lady Lily.

She shook her head while Theophilus demanded, “Who the hell is Salena?”

“I told you about her, darling,” Lady Lily said, recovering her voice. She tilted sideways to look past Nox. “Hello, Grant.”

Grant mumbled a greeting, keeping a wary eye on the lord who studied him and Nox keenly, a white scar standing out on his clenched cheek.

Nox made a quick introduction and explained what little he knew of the situation.

The Lord of Ribeauville listened intently, then stopped Grant when he began to offer details. He forced them to pause while Lady Lily gave Grant dry clothing and the housekeeper brought warmed wine and food. He saw them settled into chairs by his desk before he would hear another word.

Lady Lily glided in to stand behind him. Her presence, her hand lighting on his shoulder, sharpened him. The Lady of Ribeauville was concerned. They now had the full weight of her husband’s attention.

END OF EXCERPT

BLURB:

A vicious neighbor uses a series of coincidences to label Salena as the local moon-charmer and outcast in rural Francia. When Salena encounters her brother’s childhood friend, Nox, out on business for the Lord of Ribeauville, she worries he will accept the locals’ tales about her, especially since they relate to the death of his family a decade before. He is, instead, as charmed by her as she is by him.

As I mentioned above, the excerpt and blurb are from Little Witch: A Historical Romance Novella, but the featured couple’s story is told in Vain, which is Book 3 in the Evolution Series.

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About the Curse of the Lost Isle series: From history shrouded in myths, emerges a family of immortal Celtic Ladies, who roam the medieval world in search of salvation from a curse… but if the Church ever suspects what they really are, they will be hunted, tortured, and burned at the stake.

Princess of Bretagne -Book One http://amzn.com/B007K1EGAM 

806 AD – Alba (Ancient Scotland)

As the Vikings raid the coast of Alba, Pressine of Bretagne sets out to seduce King Elinas of Dumfries, chosen by the Goddess to unite the tribes against the foreign invader. Elinas, still mourning his departed queen, has no intention to remarry. Head strong and independent, Pressine does not expect to fall for the very attractive, wise and noble ruler… Furthermore, her Pagan nature clashes with the religious fanaticism of the king’s Christian heir, who suspects her unholy ancestry and will stop at nothing to get rid of her.

EXCERPT

Without waiting for an invitation, Elinas stormed into the bedchamber.

Pressine shuddered at the loathing in his dark brown eyes.

“Whatever made you think you could violate the apartments of my beloved queen?” Stopping short in the middle of the room, Elinas glanced around, eyes wide with disbelief.

Pressine struggled to sound casual. “Surely your gracious queen would have wanted these rooms light, warm and clean, even alive with laughter, rather than dark, sealed, and stinking of decay.”

The king’s jaw tightened under the short black beard as he towered over her. His hands balled into fists at his sides. “I alone decide in my castle.” The low voice turned to a raucous whisper, more threatening than the shouts of any battlefield. “I shall not tolerate defiance of any kind under my roof. Restore these rooms to their previous state and leave.”

Barely able to slow her heartbeat, Pressine feigned distraction, dusting her blue riding dress. “It simply cannot be done.”

“You dare challenge me?” His surprise would have been comical, if not for the menacing tone.

“The old linens were burned,” Pressine said with a calm she did not feel, as if lecturing a child. She rose to fetch the bundle wrapped in blue silk and handed it to him.

Elinas looked at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Her comb, mirror, distaff, spindle, and other keepsakes.” Pressine waved her hand, encompassing the room. “The apartments themselves will never look the way they did before.” She had made certain of that.

The king’s eyes, velvety brown and soft this morning at the spring, now burned with the fiery amber of a wild cat’s glare. Elinas looked ready to pounce. He snatched the bundle from her arm. “Out!”

Pressine showed none of the apprehension gripping her. The king’s heart, beneath the leather gear, had more mettle than she anticipated.

“Remember that I have your sword.” She paused, observing the sobering effect of her words. “Only this morning, you gave it to me, swearing you would honor your oath of keeping me safe in your halls. Does a king’s word count for so little in Strathclyde?”

“I curse the ill fortune that made me hear you sing, lady.” Eyes tightly shut, Elinas tensed, fists at his side, obviously struggling for emotional control. “I should have known that a princess who refuses to bow to the will of men can only bring strife.”

Encouraged by the spark of reason returning to the distraught Elinas, Pressine hoped he could now face his grief. “I am sorry if I offended you. I meant no disrespect.”

“I have enough Vikings, Angles, Picts and Scots to give me trouble. The gods know I do not want feuds in my home.” Stillness made his stare frightening.

Pressine refused to be intimidated. “Will you honor your word and protect me, then?”

“I should throw you to the wolves!” His voice boomed.

“Wolves?” Pressine repressed a chuckle. She loved wolves. “What would your people think of a king who throws a defenseless princess to the wolves?”

“Defenseless?” The king’s face reddened.

“Everyone in the castle expects to see me at your side at the Beltane feast. If I do not attend, there will be questions. The rules of hospitality state that…”

“Let them ask,” Elinas snapped. “The rules of hospitality do not apply to princesses who misbehave!”

END OF EXCERPT

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The series begins with Betrothal, and here is more about the story.

Lady Alyse de Courcy has fallen in love with Lord Braeton, a nobleman in King Edward III’s court and a man to whom she has barely spoken. Fate, however, has decreed her betrothal to his best friend, Sir Geoffrey Longford—a handsome and imposing knight, yet hardly the man she wants to wed.

When Sir Geoffrey is bound in betrothal by his father, he could not have expected the beautiful stranger to win his heart the moment they meet. Nevertheless, the fascinating Lady Alyse has done exactly that, and his feelings for her only grow as he learns more of her gentle yet spirited nature. But Alyse’s infatuation with his friend casts doubt on whether she can ever return his regard and their wedding day is fast approaching…

Will he have time enough to win her love?

Find this beginning to a great serial novel at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, ARe, and Smashwords.

This story continues with books two and three, Betrayal and Beleaguered.

You can also get all three together in print from Amazon.

Find out more about Jenna Jaxon at her website, http://jennajaxon.wordpress.com.

Medieval Monday continues, so stop by again next week! 

Of course, I love historical romance. It’s my favorite genre to read. So, my selfie is with Judith McNaught’s A Kingdom of Dreams, a classic historical romance from 1989. I’m showing very little of myself because it’s a writing day and nobody wants to see me on a writing day….

Saturday is usually reserved for a first meeting excerpt, so I’m going to share a few paragraphs of Ms. McNaught’s story, and you’ll wonder how she ever brings these two people together for their happy ending.

EXCERPT

‘Tis said he eats the flesh of those he kills…. Young Thomas’s words came back to her while rage blended with the sound of Brenna’s scream and the calls for pity from the prisoners. The rope around her arms was suddenly jerked loose. Driven by the twin demons of fear and fury, Jenny surged clumsily to her feet, her arms flailing at the cloak, looking like an enraged ghost trying to fling off its shroud. And the moment it fell away, Jenny doubled up her fist and swung with all her might at the dark, demonic, shadowy giant before her, striking him on the jaw bone.

Brenna fainted.

“Monster!” Jenny shouted. “Barbarian!” and she swung again, but this time her fist was caught in a painful viselike grip and held high above her head. “Devil!” she cried, squirming, and she landed a mighty kick at his shin. “Spawn of Satan! Despoiler of innoc—!”

“What the—!” Royce Westmoreland roared, and reaching out, he caught his assailant at the waist and jerked her off her feet, holding her at arm’s length, high in the air. It was a mistake. Her booted foot struck out again, catching Royce squarely in the groin with an impact that nearly doubled him over.

END OF EXCERPT

Not a very promising beginning, but believe me, they do warm to one another. Lovely stuff.

Anyway, go revisit one of your favorite historical romances and join in the fun by posting your own selfie on whatever social media you like. You could share in on the event page or my Facebook page www.facebook.com/jillhugheyromance, or mention @jillhughey if you tweet it. Just remember to use the #FallBackInTime hashtag. And then check out other people’s posts to discover some new authors!

And set back your clock tomorrow….

In war torn England the battle lines between Saxon and Norman are clearly drawn. The Saxons must fight for everything they have in the hopes of winning their country back from the Normans who are determined to break their resistance.

Rowena Godwinson, the sole remaining member of the defeated royal family, stands proudly against the Normans that would trample them underfoot but her nobility and grace make her an ideal pawn in the Norman King William’s play for power with the Saxon people. When he decrees she marry a powerful Norman knight, her subjugation appears to be complete. The handsome soldier with the kind brown eyes and gentle touch is a threat to her determination to defy the interlopers. Can she hold firm to her Saxon heritage and refuse to give in to his advances?

John of Normandy wants only to prove himself worthy of the king’s trust. He is rewarded for his service and loyalty with land, titles and a Saxon beauty for a bride. John balks at the marriage, driven by the secret guilt of knowing Rowena’s father died at his sword. However, John’s reluctance is soon replaced by a burning desire to please this woman and win her over as well as her people.

As their people look to them for guidance and peace, can John and Rowena find a love that unites all of England?

EXCERPT

Pacing the small area like a confined animal, she finally paused to look out the window. The dreary day reflected her feelings, rain threatening at any moment. “Do you know when my husband will be returning?”

“I am back now.”

John stood in the doorway handsomely dressed as befit the new Lord of Essex. Rowena’s breath caught in her throat. She looked away before the immense pleasure she felt at his return showed on her face.

Joan quickly gathered her sewing and removed herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

“Will you attend me, my lady?”

Rowena went to him and helped him remove his surcoat before seeing to the heavier chainmail. He smelled of horses and leather. Manly. Rowena tried not to close her eyes as she drank in the intoxicating smell of him. Why would a dirty, sweaty man make her feel so light headed? She stepped away when she realized why, the chainmail slipping forward off his arms. His hooded eyes told her that he knew what she was feeling.

“Is there a problem?” His deep voice seemed to reverberate through her body.

Quickly putting the heavy material down, she headed to the door. “I will order a bath for you.”

“Wait.”

Rowena froze with her hand on the latch and heard him coming toward her. He stood close behind, his breath soft against her cheek.

“Yes?” Be done with this. Her body yearned for his arms to pull her against him, to feel his kiss again. She licked her lips.

“Why are you leaving in such a hurry?” His hand lightly touched the side of her head as he spoke, pushing her hair away from her face. He leaned in closer to her exposed ear. A responding shiver ran down her body. “Are you afraid of me?”

She backed up to the door with a thud and faced him. Her pulse was racing as she lied. “No, my lord. Methinks you have a rather strong odor about you and I would have you take a bath before the evening meal.”

John backed away quickly, his eyes flying open. “I am sorry if I offend you. Please see to the bath.”

Rowena felt only slightly guilty when he turned away from her, standing like a lost little boy in the middle of the room.

END OF EXCERPT

The Saxon Bride is available at Amazon.

Ashley York loves to hear from her fans. Email her at ashleyyorkauthor@gmail.com. Visit her website www.ashleyyorkauthor.com. She’s also on Facebook and Twitter.

Thank you for visiting, Ashley.

If you want to find more Medieval Monday posts, check my archives and come back next week.

Setup of the scene: Caelen and Brenna were married as children. After many years of him being fostered with Clan MacLean, he has returned home as his father lies dying. To appease Brenna’s father, Laird Grant, she has been sent for and is now on MacKenzie lands where she awaits the arrival of her husband.

EXCERPT

Brenna shut her chamber door. The smoke from the wall torches filled the turret stairs and stung her eyes. She waved away the cloud as she descended from the top floor. That chamber had been her own since she was seven, when the laird and lairdess first fostered her. Brenna loved the space, since Caelen once rested his head there. Being in the chamber was the closest she came to sharing a bed with her husband.

Learning her role as the future Lairdess of Clan MacKenzie, her life consisted of watching, waiting and being a help or a hindrance. Lately, she had been a help. Only that mattered to Brenna, especially after she intruded upon the Lairdess weeping in the garden. That was her place of refuge. Brenna had moved forward and then stepped back, leaving her to her sadness. What did one say when death hovered near? The truth was, Brenna wished she could make the laird survive. Brenna took pride in her healing skills and knowledge of herbs, but in this instance, those skills were meaningless, so she strived to lessen the Lairdess’ burden. This day, the duties had been split between her and Rowen.

Rowen would see to the household, the meals, the cleaning of it, and other duties. Whereas Brenna was to assist the clan and handle any issues the clanfolk faced this day. So being a crumpled mess of shattered bones at the bottom of the stairs was not part of her plan. As a child, she had sped up and down the stairs without a care that she might fall. Yet, when she returned here a sennight ago, she had fallen up the stairs and landed on her face, three steps up from the one she just tripped on.

She reached the last step and halted. The smoke must have conjured images. Caelen stood at the end of the corridor. She blinked, believing the vision would vanish into nothingness. The arched doorway framed his muscular form, which was draped in MacLean plaid. His head hung down. His long locks draped around his face and blocked him from her view. Light flickered over his Viking blond hair. She blinked a few times, waiting for him to notice her standing here. She must have moved because his head flew up. When she had lived on Grant lands, Brenna caught—stalked—a young couple sneaking to the back of the kitchens. She watched the maid nibble on the kitchen’s boy ear.

Brenna should have been ashamed. Should have. “Caelen.”

He faced her. A smile spread across her face and her cheeks hurt from it. She wanted to throw herself in his arms. Instead, she buried the urge. She even squeezed out a couple of tears.

Her feet skipped over the floor as she raced to him. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. She lacked the strength to hold him as she wished. Caelen was all hard muscle. He smelled of the outdoors—greenery, and of the fresh wind that whirled about him and caught in the weave of his plaid, along with a manly scent that was his own. She stroked her cheek against his plaid. The scratchy wool caused her skin to tingle.

She ran her hands over his thick arms. He had come for her. She linked her fingers with his. She leaned her head to the side to look at the shut chamber door. Last night had been a difficult one. The healers and servants had been going in and out through the night. Their muffled voices reached her chamber along with the groans of pains coming from the laird—aye, the laird would be leaving this earth soon. Her smile dimmed along with the heady delight within her. “You have finally returned.”

Caelen arched a brow, revealing his blue eyes. She loved his pure, blue hue that shined bright with shards of white, unlike her plain, brown ones. He pulled his hand away. She tucked her empty hand within the pleats of her dress. This was not the reunion she had imagined since she learned he was returning home. Caelen was supposed to grab her in his arms and swing her about. After holding her close for a drawn-out moment, he was supposed to slide her down his body, and then kiss her. After he ravished her mouth, he was to stare deep into her eyes. He might have even whispered tenders words. Instead, he stood there, his arms at his side. The man didn’t even reach out to her.

“You look well, Brenna.” His gaze slid over her, lingering at her hips. She felt the heat of his inspection. He no longer looked at her as a little lass.

“You haven’t cleaned up from your journey.” His plaid was wrinkled and the pleats were flat. She brushed at a smear of dirt marring his leine. It was just a reason to touch him.

“Seeing my father was more important.” He peeked over his shoulder. “I should have been here earlier.”

She licked her lips. “Has the laird fallen asleep?”

“Nay, he…he started coughing.” He shook his head. The ends of his blond hair fanned out. The pale tips caught the amber light of the torches. His strong brow was more pronounced from the lowering of his brows.

“Last night was hard for him, but your arrival shall make him feel better. When I sit with him, he always speaks of you.”

When he hung his head, she wished she could take back her words.

“You sit with him often?” He pushed back his hair.

“Aye. Sometimes, we discuss you, and other times he tells me stories or curses the healers. It depends upon how he feels.”

His broad shoulders that seemed to be able to bear all of Scotland and England upon them, straightened. “I am here so I can see to the running of everything. You shall assist me.”

She rose to the tips of her toes. “Of course. I am your wife.”

END OF EXCERPT

Seems like Brenna may have a job of getting Caelen to warm up to her. I’ve always enjoyed stories that involve long-separated spouses though I’m don’t think I’ve ever read one in which they’d married as children.

I’m sure you want to read more, just like I do. You can find Claiming the Highlander at the following retailers.

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If you want to know more about Mageela Troche, she can be found online at a variety of places.

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SETUP OF THE SCENE The Marquess of Taverham married young and fast with his eye firmly on his bride’s dowry as the means to repair the family fortunes for the next generation. Too late he discovered his new wife wasn’t going to make achieving all of his dreams that easy. What happens when the runaway bride comes back?

EXCERPT

The lady had the audacity to dip Kit a low curtsy and flutter her fan as if she were overcome. A curtsy of all things! She stepped farther into the light and the crowd in the theater gasped loudly, the theatergoers beginning to mutter to each other.

The last time he’d seen Miranda, she’d just spoken her vows after a long night of making love to him. That had been ten years ago. Since then, little had changed of her looks except she had become even more beautiful. She was still as elegant as his memory remembered, still as desirable as his fantasies supplied. His eyes lowered slightly from her startlingly direct gaze, skimming along her flawless skin and dipping into the cleavage her scandalously low-cut gown revealed.

He still wanted everything he saw.

“Darling,” she replied in a clear, strong voice that must have carried far in the unusually hushed theatre as she rose. Her gaze raked him from the top of his head to the tips of his boots with a bold, proprietary eye. “You’re looking well. The new fashions agree with you. You look very fine in blue, but I don’t suppose I’m the first to flatter you with that fact tonight, am I? Your good friend there was just complimenting you on your boundless generosity.”

He stared at the woman he’d married a decade before. Same dark hair curling around her ears and nape, same almond-shaped gray eyes that he could lose himself in. Her cheeks were flushed with hot color and her breath was quick, forcing her breasts to rise and fall seductively. However, her smile wasn’t the one he remembered from before their marriage, though that might stem from finding him attending the theatre with a pretty widow on his arm and secret plans in his mind to marry again.

Yet the fact that he was in such a position was entirely her doing. He was not in the wrong. He had finally convinced himself that Miranda must be dead and had made new plans for his life beginning tonight. He folded his arms across his chest and refused to feel guilty. “Where the devil have you been?”

Emily stood too and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Is this the best place for this discussion, Kit?”

He nodded decisively. Miranda might still hold a certain power over his body, but he wanted everyone to know that it was not he who had driven her away. He had chosen his wife poorly ten years ago, and he would not be that unguarded, reckless man ever again. He’d paid a high price for her abandonment. Some whispered he’d murdered her for her dowry, though he’d never been outright accused of any crime.

He stared Miranda down. He would not say another word until she answered him.

“Where I was wanted.” Miranda’s eyebrow quirked upward innocently, and when she glanced at his companion, her smile was full of pity. “I am sure you are overjoyed to be witness to our happy reunion after so many years apart. I regret spoiling your first season out of mourning with my return, Lady Brighthurst, but you still cannot have him.”

As the crowd’s mutterings rose higher, Emily stepped around him to advance on Miranda. “You turned your back on a great man.”

“I’m sure you’ve been a sincere comfort to him over the years.” Miranda smirked as she drew back. “And if he’s as attached to you as clearly as you are to him, then you may continue in that vein and skulk about together in private as much as you like. But remember, you’ll never be his marchioness now unless he divorces me or kills me.”

Kit scowled at Miranda’s flippant remarks. Divorce was abhorrent to him, and while her disappearance might have angered him, even worried him, he’d never once wished her dead. He’d had enough subtle accusations of that nature to find no amusement in it.

He slipped around Emily to grasp Miranda’s arm, more to prove her not a figment of his imagination than to pull her close. One touch, however, and that same reckless attraction stirred his heart as it had when he’d first met her, as if her disappearance from his life and their estrangement had never happened. He had the unfathomable urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her right there and then before everyone.

END OF EXCERPT

Hmmm, what has brought Miranda home, and how much of a marchioness is she prepared to be? If you want to find out the answer to that question, get your copy of Keepsake at Amazon while it is still a 99-cent bargain!

MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she writes sizzling regency romance stories that skirt the boundaries of propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Heather has published over twenty novels and shorter works. Catch her latest news at www.heather-boyd.com. She lives north of Sydney, Australia, and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family (including cat Morpheus) into submission. (Heather’s website has been enjoying a recent remodel, so if you can’t get on this instant, try again later today!)

You can connect with Heather directly about Keepsake at its special page on her website.

Heather and I welcome questions and comments. Come back every Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt from a fresh new author.

BLURB

Rochelle of Alda, a feisty Frank noblewoman, expects to continue her industrious life managing her family’s estate. When her emperor summons her to the palace to meet the skilled soldier she is required to marry, Rochelle engages in a battle for independence from David of Bavaria. As her own deceptions multiply, she suspects another of also plotting against their marriage. To her surprise, and too late, David’s passion and patience begin to win her heart. Can their love survive the tangled web of her schemes and the secret adversary David refuses to see?

In this excerpt of David and Rochelle’s first meeting, David has arrived to take Rochelle to the palace for the betrothal, and is dismayed to learn her mother has told her nothing about it.

EXCERPT

David turned his head as the noise from the door escalated, unsure what he expected to enter his life. Given her mother’s shocking hair, he didn’t hold his hopes too high for the girl’s appearance, no matter what Theo said. The need for deception to even get her to Aix did not indicate a particularly biddable personality. Based on the increasingly violent rattling from the latch, she couldn’t even open doors for herself.

He was about to climb the steps to offer assistance when the door finally wrenched open, releasing a storm of muttering about city workmanship and rotten carpentry carried in a whirlwind of deep blue linen. She all but flung herself onto the narrow staircase. Not exactly light of foot nor entirely graceful, she rushed down the stairs, noticing his presence in time to abruptly stop on the bottom step.

She stared at him.

From across the room he could feel the chill of cold caution. Even so, his concern about her looks evaporated. She stood taller than her mother, clear skinned, with eyes of a soft green. The gold circlet on her head held her veil neatly in place, covering what it was intended to cover. An unexpected desire to see the color of her hair shot through him. He could only approximate it from her eyebrows:  not quite brown, but certainly not red either. And her female attributes remained a mystery to him as well, hidden under layers of varying shades of blue, though a heavy gold girdle studded with aquamarines suggested narrow hips.

“Mother?” she queried.

David reluctantly turned to Marian, who, it appeared, had been watching him stare at her daughter. A small smile quirked her lips. Her tightly clasped hands now lay on her chest as if in prayer. She did not find her voice until David cleared his throat expectantly.

“Rochelle!” she said too loudly. “Theophilus, the gentleman who has helped us so much, sent this burly young man to escort ye to yer audience with the emperor. He is called David. A Bavarian, no less!”

David raised his brow at her rather obtuse explanation of his role in the upcoming event. Marian gave him a slight warning shake of her head. Well, if the woman hadn’t the courage to tell this girl the truth of the matter, he certainly did. He didn’t know much about getting along with women, but he guessed that starting his marriage with deception – and necessarily short-lived deception at that – could not be wise.

As he opened his mouth to explain exactly who he was, Rochelle spoke, “I do not see why I need an escort. I found the palace yesterday.”  She lowered herself off the last step and strode toward him with a confident swing of her arms. “But if Theophilus wants to share his guard, so be it.”

Marian bobbed her head. “It was quite thoughtful of him.”

David held up a hand. “I am not Theo’s guard. And did you just suggest you were wandering about the city yesterday, alone?”

Rochelle studied him assessingly. Yes, assessingly was the only word for it and, God help him, she was lovely up close. Her not brown, not red brows arched over green eyes flecked with hazel. A dusting of freckles decorated a thin nose that flared pertly at the nostrils. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted exposing straight teeth.

“Not alone. Our servant, Gilbert, was with me.”

“Gilbert, the bag of bones who opened the door?” David scoffed. “He could not keep a street rat away much less a pack of thieves. From this day forth, you will not leave here without an able-bodied man at your side.”  She smelled nice.

Rochelle placed her hands on her hips, pleasantly outlining a slim waist beneath her clothing. “What has given you the idea you can make pronouncements such as that to me?  I will go where I wish, when I wish, escorted or not, as I wish!”  Her chest heaved a bit and there were breasts under that tunic, he could tell, and damn it when was the last time he’d lain with a woman?  He mentally bridled himself. First, betrothal. Betrothal was the task set before him today. It was time to attend to that task.

He stepped forward, purposely crowding her and letting his hard gaze bore into her fiery eyes, daring her to challenge him. “I will tell you what gives me the right –“

Marian made a strangled sound before finding her words. “Ye should be going!  It will not do to be late to the palace.”

Rochelle eyed first him, then Marian, before backing away to grasp her mother’s hands. “Mother, I do wish you would reconsider. Certainly the nobles have forgotten your circumstances by now. Father would want you to have the honor of meeting Charlemagne’s son.”

Marian laughed a bit shrilly. “No, that is no place for me. Ye shall have the glory today, daughter. Here is your cloak.”  She kept babbling as she closed the gold and aquamarine clasp at the neckline of the pale blue garment. “David will keep you safe. Do as he says, my dear. He is in charge of you today. And possibly tomorrow.”

Rochelle chortled. “Mother, do not be ridiculous. This will be over in an hour or two and then we are going home!  Home, where I also do not require an escort!”  She fixed David with a significant look before she walked to the door, wrenched it open with relative ease, and stepped onto the street without him.

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