Two New Releases -- Coming November 1st!

Two Turtledoves

Baldwyn Sinclair, the Duke of Paisley, returns to London in the dead of winter at the request of his overbearing grandmother to find she has made a betrothal contract on his behalf... without his knowledge. Now he is to be married to none other than the girl who used to throw mud at him in order to gain his attention.

He is not happy about the prospect, but he is nothing if not devoted to duty.

Anastasia Trent has been in love with the Duke of Paisley since she was seven years old and has spent her life pining for him, fantasizing about the moment they would see each other again. But when he makes it clear that her imaginings are in vain, her disappointment drives her into the arms of a dangerous man.

It is up to Baldwyn to rescue her once again, to save her from herself, and to find perhaps, along the way, exactly what his own heart was looking for.

~Leah Sanders

The Devil Duke Takes a Bride

Benedict Devlyn, Duke of Banbury, has one thing on his mind and it isn't marriage. But things take a turn for the worse when his menacing and aunt throws a hitch in his plans to remain the most sinful and talked about man in the ton. After all, a man cannot keep the reputation of being The Devil Duke when he is leg-shackled to some simpering spinster.

But his aunt, bless her heart, thinks she's dying, and believes her nephew’s behavior is the only thing standing in the way between her entrance to heaven or hell. So she very lovingly and selflessly sets him up. With his childhood nemesis.

A young woman who, though she claims it was an accident, has nearly killed him thrice through her lack of grace and manners. It matters not that the minute he sets eyes on her at the Christmas ball, his blood boils with lust. He refuses to allow himself to fall prey to his aunt’s ministrations.

That is, until he is compromised and stuck in an engagement to a girl who claims she'd rather jump from a moving carriage than marry him. Funny thing that, for the very minute she says no, he finds his heart very much wants to say yes. When she doesn't leap at the chance to marry him, he sets about to not only prove that he's worthy of her favor, but also worthy of her heart.

~Rachel Van Dyken

Sweet Saturday: A Knight's Errand

Sir Tristan Talbot was an arrogant fool, but I would never say that to his face. My position was precarious enough without causing turbulence. His former squire had met an untimely end, and the circumstances surrounding it were still rather mysterious.

I suppose the knight had honest cause for his arrogance. He was the most trusted warrior of King Willard and had single-handedly saved the king’s life on more than one occasion.

I knew well that being chosen as his squire was a great honor. Especially given my family ties, which were questionable in their loyalties to the king. So I made up my mind to keep my mouth shut and do what I was bidden. My disregard for Sir Tristan would stay between me and the willow tree.

When the royal messenger arrived to deliver the king’s request, I was overseeing the exercise regimen of Validus, Sir Tristan’s war horse. The sound of approaching hoofbeats tramping a rapid rhythm to the stables caught my immediate attention. Any horse arriving in such a hurry could not mean anything but bad news. War perhaps.

The messenger swung himself down from the horse before she had slowed sufficiently for such a dismount, sending him rolling several feet over the rocky terrain. No doubt there would be scars after such a fall, but the boy leaped to his feet and ran to where I stood in the stableyard.

He bowed briefly as he struggled to catch his breath.

“You bring news for Sir Tristan?” It was a stupid question. Who else would the news be for?

“Yes. Urgent news. The king requests an immediate audience,” he choked out, still gasping from his harried ride. He thrust a sealed scroll into my hands. Ordinarily, the king’s messengers would insist on giving the sealed orders directly to the knight in question, but Sir Tristan refused to interact with anyone lower than his own station. His squire was the only exception to his self-imposed social policy. It was for this reason I always wore the blue tunic embroidered with Sir Tristan’s coat of arms which identified me as his squire.

I took the parchment and nodded. “See the cook. Have some mead and something to eat,” I suggested somewhat absently. It was a perfunctory duty to offer hospitality to one in service of the king. My mind, however, was already sending me with speed to Sir Tristan with the king’s missive. He would not like to be kept waiting, even if he wasn’t expecting the correspondence.

The messenger shook his head. “I wait for Sir Tristan’s reply.”

“Follow me,” I said. We set off at a sprint towards the manor house.

When we reached the entrance, I instructed the messenger to wait while I located Sir Tristan, whom I knew would be lounging in his study after a long night of carousing with some peasant girl he had no doubt rescued from a renegade sheep the afternoon before. Naturally, by nightfall that story would evolve into a rescue worthy of King Arthur’s knights, involving a dragon threatening the maiden’s virtue and that of her whole village.

The man knew how to spin a yarn to make his exploits seem legendary.

Actually, truth be told, he knew how to employ a worthy bard who, in turn, knew how to spin a yarn to make his exploits seem legendary.

But I digress.

Sir Tristan lay drinking wine on a blue velvet pillow near the enormous stone fireplace and roaring fire. Beside him as predicted, sleeping contentedly, was one of the village girls. Her long brown tresses splayed across the pillow. She was not exceptionally attractive as village girls go, but Sir Tristan had never been accused of bias when it came to his evening conquests.

His creed, he has told me many times, when it comes to women, is they are all equal in the dark. His words. Not mine.

As I said before. Sir Tristan was an arrogant fool.

He regarded me with his usual silent disdain as I entered the room.

I stopped several feet from him and waited for him to address me. He liked to play this waiting game. I think he thought he was testing my obedience. I saw it as more of a challenge. Who could stare at the other the longest without breaking the silence.

I always won.

“I presume you have a matter of great importance which requires my immediate attention, squire.” I stood at attention, staring him straight in the eyes. He hated that. It grated on his sense of dominance. Which is exactly why I did it.

Without speaking, I stepped forward, offering the scroll with the king’s gold seal. Sir Tristan reached for it from his place on the floor, broke the seal, and read it. His eyes traced the words scrawled there, but his expression revealed nothing of its contents.

I waited.

He was a slow reader.

In his defense, I’m certain the words were long and difficult to pronounce. The king’s scribes were known for their extensive vocabulary. Sir Tristan was not.

Finally, he thrust the parchment back towards me, which I accepted.

“Read it,” he ordered as he rose from the floor and stripped the blanket from his companion in order to wrap it around his waist. She shuddered but did not wake.

I straightened the scroll and tilted it towards the light of the fire to make out the message.

                Sir Tristan,

                The princess has been abducted. Make haste to the castle.

                In the king’s name.

                Long live the king.

I glanced at him. He stood staring into the crackling flames, clutching the blanket about him with his fist.

“So, what do you think, squire?” he asked, deep in thought.

“The princess has been kidnapped. The king will need you right away.”

“Kidnapped.” He snorted as he adjusted the blanket at his waist. “Right.”

I struggled not to roll my eyes. He didn’t know what abducted meant.

“Call my valet. Ready the horses. We’ll leave for the castle immediately.”

“Excellent, sir,” I answered, turning on my heel to leave. Behind me I could hear Sir Tristan pouring himself another glass of wine. The village girl lay shivering on the floor. It was a shame, so I grabbed a fur hanging over a nearby chair and slipped it over her sleeping form. There was no reason the poor thing should catch her death of cold on the stone floor—velvet pillow or not.

Sweet Saturday: Deal or No Deal?

“In that case, Anastasia Trent, if you wish to travel in my carriage, you shall have to buy a seat.”

“Is that so? And what is the going rate for passage in such a broken down third-rate conveyance?”

“It is quite expensive, my dear. I fear you cannot afford it.”

“Then you have grossly misjudged me, Your Grace, for I am a lady of some means.” The sparkle in her eyes spelled mischief and mirth. How he loved her. What had taken him so long to realize it? “Name your price, good man. For I am in desperate need to arrive in London today.”

“Desperate need?” Baldwyn put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Very well. The cost for passage to London this day is one kiss… Payable in advance.” He lowered his head to hers, but she slipped one finger in front of his lips, stopping his forward motion inches from her mouth.

“I have not yet consented to your terms, sir.” A wry smile played on her lips. “I wish to offer a counter.”

“Anastasia,” Baldwyn whispered against her finger. “One does not say she is desperate and then expect to have bargaining power.”

She giggled. “No. No, I suppose not. But will you not hear me out?”

“What is your offer, Princess?” He placed a lingering kiss on the finger that blocked his path to her lips.

She brought her hand down to rest on his chest. “Two. One now…” she rose onto her tiptoes, meeting his lips with her own in a slow, warm caress that he could feel all the way through him. Baldwyn was breathless when she pulled away. “…And the second payable on safe delivery.”

He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “Sweet Anastasia,” he whispered hoarsely. “You have much to learn about bargaining.”

~Two Turtledoves (work in progress)

Meet & Greet: Benedict Devlyn, the Duke of Creighton

Benedict Devlyn

Duke of Creighton

"The Devil Duke"

After the death of his parents, Benedict Devlyn was taken in and raised by his Aunt Agatha, the Dowager Duchess of Durbin. She was strict and insisted on things being done her way. Benedict, however, was a strong-willed child who never liked to do things by the book. And so he came by his nickname, "the Devil Duke" quite honestly by doing exactly whatever pleased him.

A man of rapidly changing tastes, he has had eight different mistresses in the last year, whom he hires as his housekeeper for as long as they can hold his interest.

It should come as no surprise, that he has no intention to marry any time soon. No woman can capture his heart. But his aunt is growing impatient. She will see him married before her time comes, no matter what methods she must employ to see it done. Poor fellow, he won't even know what hit him!

Sweet Saturday: Playing Nursemaid

Anastasia sank into his warm embrace, wishing the moment would never end. His kiss grew more intense, more demanding, drawing her deeper into the haze of longing for him. His hands felt their way to her arms, as if he would lift her again into his embrace. When his fingers tightened around them, a stabbing pain shot straight through her and she flinched against it.

Instantly Baldwyn released her and stumbled backwards, searching her face for signs of injury. Before her very eyes, the cloud of desire dissipated from his, retreating in the face of raw fear, and on the heels of that fear, sparked to life a blaze of hot fury. So sudden was the transformation, she had no time to react before he had drawn an index finger up in front of her face.

“What were you thinking! Have you not been told never to roam the gardens unchaperoned with any man? Were you not concerned for your reputation? For your virtue? Is this the type of daughter Lord Marks has raised?” Baldwyn dropped his hand to his side, clenching it into a fist with evident rage. He began pacing back and forth before her. Anastasia shrank back as he lashed out again. “You, who so brazenly go gallivanting about in the dark with a suave foreigner? What did you expect him to do, pray tell? Out there in the dark! In solitude!”

“Truly, Your Grace, I wasn’t—” she began, but he cut her off with his continued tirade.

“What if I had not happened by? What if I had been inside searching the ballroom for my betrothed and never once thought to look out of doors?”

A lump rose in Anastasia’s throat, and she didn’t dare risk her voice, lest it give away the tears threatening to break through the floodgates. Confusion and fear reigned.

Only a moment ago, he held her in his embrace. Comforting and shielding her from the waking nightmare she had endured. And now—now he derided her for her glaring stupidity. Her naïveté. Scolding her as if she was a mere child.

A mere child in mousy brown pigtails.

“Were you?”

“What?” He stopped in his tracks and swung around to face her.

“Were you?” she repeated.

“Was I what?” he demanded.

“Were you searching for me?” Her heart dared to hope for it.

His reply was an exasperated grunt. Then he pivoted on his heel and stormed from the room bellowing, “It’s not enough that you tear me from my true duty in the dead of winter, but now I must play nursemaid to the infants as well!”

Savage Winter Arriving Today!

Not gonna lie. I'm so excited about this new release by Rachel Van Dyken, which kicks off a new series called Seasons of Paleo. I had the privilege to read and advanced copy of this book, and I can tell you Rachel has outdone herself in yet another genre.

The story, though shorter than many of her books, still has all the trademark Van Dyken style, story, and characters that make her books so enjoyable to read, but it spreads into the fantasy genre in a world of the author's invention, setting the stage beautifully for the next three books in the series.

COVER BLURB:

If they take you, you don't come back. You either die...or wish you had.  The Western Empire was ruthless. The only reason I survived was because he gave his life for me--a life that might as well have been mine, for when they stole his last heartbeats, they silenced my own.  They call me princess, an answer to the prophecy, but I’m nothing more than a prisoner...awaiting my lifelong punishment. Marriage. To the Prince of the East. But it’s the Royal Protector who reminds me of what I lost. He threatens something I never thought I'd have again...my heart.

And check out that cover! Super sweet--love it!

BUY LINKS: Amazon, Astraea Press

If you leave a comment for me with your contact email, I'll enter you into a drawing for a free ecopy of Savage Winter. The drawing will be done on Monday, June 25th, and the winner will be notified and posted that day.

I will warn you though that after you read this novella, you'll be hooked and probably start stalking Rachel's author page for when the next installment is due. To that end, I'll give you the link to her Seasons of Paleo fan page too, so you can "Like" and get all the inside information of her upcoming releases.

Thanks for stopping by!

Meet & Greet: Anthony Benson

Anthony Benson

Viscount Maddox

By chance, Anthony was born second, but only by mere minutes. He grew up with his best friend and twin brother, Ambrose. They were boys full of mischief, and they never quite grew out of that. In spite of that propensity, somehow they ended up as well-respected gentlemen and the two most eligible bachelors of the ton.

While his brother can be serious at times, Anthony takes life in stride. Everything is a game to be won. Anything can be made into a challenge. If things begin to run towards the mundane, Anthony will find a way to make it interesting. Whether it be through challenging his brother to re-invent a shunned wallflower, or to undertake to win the only woman in society who would spurn his own advances.

He is not completely without scruples, however. For instance, his compassion runs deep for those who have been made outcasts through no fault of their own (though he prefers people to think his motivations are selfish—he does have his reputation to think about, after all).

At the age of seven, Anthony suffered a traumatizing experience involving strawberries. He hasn’t been able to stand them since.

While at Eton, Anthony and Ambrose met Colin Wilde. The three met with an instant camaraderie based on their mutual affinity for mischief, and spent the rest of their educational career perpetuating all sorts of practical jokes and outlandish challenges...again, something they never outgrew.

Anthony's natural confidence draws women like flies, old and young alike. Every Season he has to fight them off with a stick (some more strenuously than others). This, of course, serves only to add a smack of hubris to his already healthy ego.

In spite of his arrogant exterior, Anthony is a romantic at heart and has always fancied himself a knight in shining armor, riding in on his white horse to rescue a fair maiden from a fate worse than death. But in this fantasy, he never once imagined the damsel would despise him.