All About the Writing

First on the Scene: Where Have All The Scoundrels Gone?

This is one of my favorite books, partly because it has three separate romances, all connected by one of my fave characters, the Dowager Lady Thornham. She first appeared in Lord Rakehell's Love (which I featured last week), and in that book she was upbraiding the wrong scoundrel for his scandalous behavior. She enjoys reading all of their exploits in the newspapers, but now she fears all the scoundrels have settled down. She has to come up with a new pastime, and she chooses matchmaking. The victims? Her three nephews.

The first scene that came to my mind is when the first couple, Miles and Gemma, meet. I had so much fun writing it, but worried it might be a little too out there. I described it to a writing friend as "the hero is essentially talking to the heroine's butt. . ." She wanted to read more, so I took that as a good sign.

I'm posting the scene, and you can let me know if you like it.

~~~~~

Miles walked past the manicured gardens, grinning at the Dowager's belief that her carefree nephews would be able to find love at her house party. It was easy enough to let her have her way for two weeks' time, especially if it meant she would not retract the allowance she loved to dangle in front of them.

He would survive without it, of course. But it would certainly assist in financing his next excursion…

"Oh you blasted thing!"

Miles halted. That was not the language he expected to hear coming from the numerous rows of yellow rose bushes. Nor did he usually hear such heated words in a soft, melodious voice.

His gaze was instantly caught by a froth of white muslin, near the ground, wedged between two closely-planted rose bushes. He moved closer and saw the sheer fabric was draped over a woman's shapely bottom. It was the only thing visible, since it appeared she had been captured headfirst by the ferocious plants.

He grinned. "Allow me to assist, madam."

"Could you? I would be so grateful." She began to wriggle, which was not what he had anticipated, but he could not deny it was a delightful sight. "Drat! I should never have come through here."

Before he could question why she had chosen such a route, he heard a distressed mewling sound.

"There now," he rushed to reassure her, "no need to succumb to tears. We shall have you out of there in no time at all."

An enchanting round of giggles followed his words. "That was not me. That was Snowball, the reason I am caught in this predicament. Such a naughty kitten."

The young miss attempted once more to back away, but there was a distinct sound of tearing. He did not have to imagine the calamity that would ensue if they were caught together, her clothes in shreds.

"Madam, please." He approached her quickly. The thorns had managed to catch her from both sides, which made it impossible for her to retreat. "If you will permit me to remove the thorns from your ensemble, we can get you upright once more." He knelt to one side of her and began working on a large thorn embedded in the delicate muslin. "What possessed Snowball to choose this particular hiding place?"

"I have no idea. We were simply out for a walk—"

He could not contain his laughter. "I had no idea kittens enjoyed going for a stroll."

"This one is a bit unusual." Her laugh was as delightful as her voice. "Not to mention completely wicked. I can see the wretch reclining right in front of me, but can't quite reach…"

There was another determined wiggle, as she obviously tried to grab the instigator of this situation.

"I fear you will rend your dress if you continue—" Miles could not help but imagine such a sight, but it was so craven, he pushed it aside immediately. "Hold still while I disentangle you, and then I shall see about luring Snowball from her lair. Or his lair."

She giggled. "Her lair."

"Snowball is rather clever, for it appears she has lured you into the precise spot with the biggest thorns." He carefully extracted the barbs from the fabric on the left side, and then moved to the other side. "This one appears to be a bit more difficult."

"Why is that?"

"I cannot see where it has caught you. No, do not move about or you shall catch yourself on the one I have just removed."

"Can you attempt to reach it?"

"It would require some—" He swallowed with a bit of difficulty. "Uh, exploration."

"Oh."

"Yes. Precisely."

"I could try to reach my hand back—Ow!" There were some unladylike curses amongst the muttered words, along with several threats of what Snowball was likely to suffer in the very near future. "I had never realized quite how many thorns one rose bush contained. Well, we must do something. I cannot miss the parade of marriage-minded debutantes intent on snaring one of the Dowager's nephews. With two dozen young women in attendance, the hunting is bound to be quite fierce."

Miles found himself enchanted with her voice, filled with amusement rather than distress. He had never enjoyed a tête-à-tête more than this one, and he had yet to see her face-to-face.

"You are making me feel a great deal of sympathy for the poor nephews. And you are not participating in this endeavor?" He found that regrettable, since he was already anticipating more encounters with her.

"After a fashion. I have been charged with ensuring the young misses have plenty of opportunities to engage with the potential bridegrooms."

"A matchmaker then. Why were you selected for this important role?"

"I have wondered that myself." She chuckled again. "Perhaps because I have a little experience at keeping people entertained. Still, I realized a long time ago it was pointless to ask the Dowager for her reasons, as she does not always know herself."

"Hmm." Miles finally removed one last determined thorn, and her dress was free. "You should be able to back away now. Though I would do so slowly," he instructed. "I shall hold back this branch that seems particularly intent on snagging you once more if given the chance."

"Thank you," she said, slowly moving towards him. In the next instant, she had cleared the rose bushes, and was doing her best to stand up, which was difficult with an unhappy cat in her arms.

"Allow me." He lightly touched her arm to assist. Once she was upright, she straightened her bonnet, moved the cat more tightly into her arms, and then turned to look at her rescuer.

A slow smile appeared on her face, and Miles could only describe his resulting emotion as thunderstruck.

~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed this first scene! If you want to read more, you can find Where Have All The Scoundrels Gone? at these locations: 

Amazon ~ Apple ~ Kobo ~ B&N

~~~~~~~~

On Tuesday, January 29th, I'll be re-releasing Book2 of The Matchmaking Earl series, titled Truly, My Love. Maybe it'll be next week's First on the Scene entry.

                    

First on the Scene: Lord Rakehell's Love

The first scene that appears in my mind as a new story idea is not always the first scene of the book. It would make things easier if it was, since that scene usually depicts a moment when a character's life has changed or is about to change.

However, my brain tends to throw out a teaser, a tantalizing "what if" that makes me eager to learn what else is going to happen.

That's what happened with Lord Rakehell's Love.

I thought about a hero, a rake, who is late to his wedding, and all the commotion that would cause. How could he possibly recover from such a dreadful faux pas?

I was sure I had it all figured out. He had been celebrating the night before with his best friend—the Regency version of a bachelor party—and then he oversleeps, jumps out of bed realizing what a jerk he is, and rushes to the chapel to his unhappy bride.

I must have written that scene about ten times. I revised and revised, trying to explain why he was tardy on the most important day of his life.

He was in bed dreaming of his new bride, thinking she's there with him, and then realizes she's not. . .

*mashes the backspace key until no trace will ever be found*

He wakes up with the mother of all hangovers, wondering why he feels so crappy, instantly sober when he realizes he's late. . .

Nope. Nope. Not it. Delete, delete, delete to infinity.

Why didn't this important scene have the impact I wanted?

Just before I was about to toss my laptop out the window of a moving car, I got my answer: I had jumped too far ahead.

Yes, his mistake was a catalyst, since it changed what happens in the story afterwards. But the story hadn't truly started yet. The consequences for the hero's behavior were too generalized. Anyone hearing about a groom late to his wedding would think, "Wow, that sucks." They might even wonder what happens next.

But how would they respond after experiencing this couple falling in love?

So here's how the scene changed, and it's one of my faves. We're at the chapel, and well, you can see what happens:

~~~~~

It was the wedding debacle of the century.

Georgiana sniffled, hiding her distress in a weak smile and her lawn handkerchief. The very handkerchief from the evening she had fallen instantly in love with Simon. She had insisted on having it today, for purely sentimental reasons, while she plighted her troth.

Unfortunately, the groom was not present.

Nor was there any indication he was planning on being at the church anytime soon. If he was, surely he would have sent a servant to relay the news, along with a basketful of apologies. She was torn between wishing something dreadful had befallen him, and wishing he would arrive so she could be the one who caused something dreadful to befall him.

It had been such a whirlwind romance. During the past weeks she had become the darling of the gossips, since it was unheard of for a Wallflower Row miss to receive an offer of marriage from a genuine London rake.

Everyone had been incredulous when Lord Rakehell had declared himself in love, and ready to join her in holy matrimony. Perhaps he had not been ready after all.

Georgiana sniffed again, fighting back tears she refused to let fall. If only she had heeded her mother's warnings about wedding a notorious rake. Yet how could she have attended Mama's entreaties to be cautious? She had been swept up into passionate and exciting moments she had never thought to experience.

Perhaps instead of finding the love of her life, she had just committed the grandest mistake of her life.

All at once there was a commotion outside the church, with the sounds of horses whinnying and shouts from an assortment of people. Her heart leapt, much as she chided it for doing so.

In the next instant, Simon was walking toward her, his demeanor as sheepish as when the Dowager had called him a scandal. His clothing was in complete disarray, something she had never seen from him, even after the stolen moments they had shared when chaperones were scarce. His hair was mussed, but not in the careless manner that was so fashionable.

No, it was as if he had just tumbled from bed, and dashed across town to the church.

Georgiana steeled her features into the most disapproving of expressions.

"Georgie!" Simon's arms were spread wide, as if expecting her to race into them and smother him with kisses.

She had quite a different smothering in mind just then. "My lord."

His smile vanished at the unwelcoming monotone of her voice. "Georgiana, I can explain."

"I am eager to hear it." Her tone grew icier as she considered all of the possibilities. None of them would please her, she was quite certain of that.

"Yes, well, I am not at all sure how it happened. Because I have been thinking of nothing else but this night. . . I mean, this day."

Her cheeks heated, for she had spent a great deal of time pondering this evening too, but she pretended she did not take his meaning. Instead, she lifted her eyebrows, awaiting his explanation.

Every one of the wedding guests leaned forward in the oak pews, unable to hide their interest in what he had to say.

"Georgiana." Simon moved closer, his voice lowered so only she could hear him. "I know it is unforgivable, but I beg you to forgive me nonetheless. I have no idea how this happened. It was not intentional. I can assure you of that." His eyes begged her to relent. He leaned in until his lips were at her ear. "I shall spend the entire evening proving my devotion. As well as the next. And every night thereafter."

She shivered. She had waited a seeming eternity for the moment they could explore the passion that flared between them on a constant basis. She almost fanned her face, but did not want the amassed audience to know how ardently he affected her.

It was not such a terrible slight, was it? She knew without a doubt that he loved her. His eyes sparkled, as if he could see how close she was to capitulating. The devil knew how much she desired him and was using it to his advantage.

Georgiana opened her mouth, ready to upbraid him for causing her such distress, and for handing the gossips additional reasons to chatter about the unlikeliness of their romance. Once she had given Simon a proper chastising, one that even the Dowager would admire, they could continue with the wedding, and the wedding breakfast, and, at last, the wedding night. . .

She nearly swooned at the delights awaiting them. "Simon, I—"

Another commotion at the entrance to the chapel stole her attention, as well as that of every person in the building. A high-perch phaeton could be seen through the open doorway, and Georgiana was certain she saw Lord Weyson at the reins, along with—

"Lord Rakehell! Your hat."

A scantily-clad woman climbed down from the rig and carefully lifted the headgear from her curly red hair. For propriety's sake, she did her best to stay outside the church, although she was perilously close to falling outside of her bodice. "You forgot your hat!"

Georgiana heard a gasp, and then a muffled thump, and turned to see her mother in a heap on the stone floor. The poor cleric had been unable to stop her fall, though judging from the way he painfully clutched his arm, he had made a valiant effort.

"Georgiana," Simon said again, but this time his shoulders sagged, and his stricken expression made it clear he knew there was no recovering from this catastrophe.

Not when the guests gazed at her with such pity on their faces. After such a public embarrassment, forgiveness was not a gift Georgiana could bestow, no matter how fervently Simon pleaded.

She turned away from him and made it all the way out of the chapel before collapsing into hopeless tears.

~~~~~

I hope you enjoy this First on the Scene post. I plan to do it again in the future, with other books, and possibly works-in-progress.

If you haven't yet read Lord Rakehell's Love, you can find it here:

Amazon ~~ Barnes & Noble ~~ Apple ~~ Kobo

 

Bite-Sized Pieces

I'm in planning mode, trying to get this year's writing projects on the calendar, so I can schedule editor appointments and decide which books will get published in 2019.

It's easy to feel overwhelmed because I'm looking at a whole year, which feels weird since we just barely started this one six days ago. I'm even looking at 2020, which seems so far away, and in reality is not. I know if I don't look that far ahead, time gets away from me, like it did in 2018, and I'm determined not to have a repeat of that less-than-stellar writing year.

But this kind of big-picture planning has a downside: the picture is too big. As a result, my "plan" ends up looking like this:

This is when I remind myself to think about bite-sized pieces. Every measure of time we use is built upon smaller bits. A year has twelve months in it, a month has 30 or 31 days.

(Well, except our good friend February who not only refuses to do the 30 or 31 day thing, it also throws in an extra day every four years. Ya gotta love a maverick month that refuses to play by the rules.)

I firmly believe it's a good idea to keep the big picture in mind. But it's an even better idea to keep the smaller units in the forefront of my mind.

I am more motivated when I feel like I've accomplished something. It demonstrates that I'm making progress. My lizard brain needs that little pat on the head, especially to acknowledge I've done something I'd rather pretend doesn't need doing. An "atta girl" and a high five keeps me moving to the next thing on the never-ending To Do list.

While I hate the stress of deadlines, I discovered last year something I detest even more – not getting things done because I didn't have the stress of deadlines driving me to the finish line. So not only am I planning what projects to accomplish this year, I'm breaking it down, focusing on chapters, scenes, and weekly word count. Smaller, realistically do-able chunks that add up until they are a completed book.

Bite-sized pieces.

That's the plan for this year's stories. There will be at least two new ones, and very likely three. I've made great progress on two of them already, so I'm even thinking of adding a few other items to this year's schedule, maybe audiobooks.

There's a lot to do, but I know how to do it.

Where Did Ten Years Go?

I updated the copyright date on my blog, as I do every year, and it hit me: I started this in 2009. A whopping ten years ago! It doesn't feel like that much time has zipped by, and yet I think of how much has happened since I started doing this. . .

I began blogging, reluctantly, because the accepted wisdom at the time was "you need a showcase for your writing". I was querying agents back then, and I grumbled that the manuscripts I was submitting should be a better showcase of what I could do with words, but I eventually succumbed.

(When I did have an agent, the first time she called me, she was looking at my blog/website while we chatted about my book. So the blog absolutely worked as designed.)

While I was waiting to hear back from agents, I discovered how much I enjoyed blogging. It was a great way to explore different topics racing around in my mind. I genuinely looked forward to the twice a week posts, and I put a lot of thought and effort into what I wanted to say. The routine was beneficial, too, forcing me to keep to a deadline, something that isn't easy for a pantser like me.

The blog also led to some other fun writing-related things. My first self-published short story, Summer Lovin', came about because of a writing prompt I put on my blog one day. A couple of other posts were "audition tapes" for when I applied to be a blogger at the Heroes & Heartbreakers blog.

I made a lot of friends, because way back when, there was time in the day to visit other writers' blogs, and comment on their posts, and they would do the same at mine. But that free time eventually disappeared. I quit visiting, and then quit blogging, devoting my limited writing time to trying to produce more books. The infrequent times I did blog, it was more of an announcement service, letting people know about my latest book release.

Ten years is such a milestone, though, and it feels like I should celebrate it with a return to blogging. I'm also in favor of this idea after a not-so-great 2018, which produced the least amount of writing in a decade, as well as a lot of moments where I seriously considered "retiring" from writing.

I'd forgotten how much blogging helped me sort out writing issues and worries about life in general. Sometimes those were intertwined. Words are how I process the puzzling aspects of the world. When I'm feeling anxious or out of sorts, words bring peace by lining up, one after the other, forming a coherent pattern that I can follow to a satisfying conclusion.

So my plan is to see if I can resurrect my blog this year. I don't know if I can devote the time and energy to it like I did in the past. It's easy to get caught up in that rosy-hued optimism that comes from starting a new year, adding fourteen thousand new projects to the agenda, while forgetting the regrets from the fourteen thousand that fell by the wayside in the year just gone by. I also have no illusions that anyone will have time to read my musings if I do manage to get them written.

But it's still something I want to try. (Just like I'm going to try, once again, to use a planner for my writing projects. This time it may actually work – I bought one that has no dates in it. LOL)

I'm not sure what my brain will want to explore. For now I'm interested in talking about how certain stories started—why they intrigued me, and how they morphed as I learned the lesson they were presenting writing-wise, and what I find entertaining about them.

It feels like a good way to jump into the next decade of writing.

Lord Misrule is Here!

Book 1 of The Matchmaking Earl Series

Juliana, Lady Courtenay, is no stranger to scandal. Not after her late husband died in the bed of another man. Now that the mourning period for her unwanted marriage is over, she is impatient to celebrate her freedom—and what better way than with a love affair during the most festive time of year? Finally she can experience the excitement of spending the entire night with a man completely devoted to her pleasure. Except that when she asks Lord Misrule to be her very first lover, the rogue declines.

Lord Misrule is eager for a diversion that will banish the regrets that always resurface during the Christmas season. Yet he cannot accept the desirable widow's tempting offer. If he did, it would be impossible to adhere to his strict rules for affairs—no debutantes, no innocents, and no attachments—all of which are necessary to prevent future misfortune.

But when it seems Lady Courtenay will choose a less-than-honorable man to be her lover, Lord Misrule's chivalrous nature insists he charge to her rescue. He offers her a twelve-day affair, intent on providing her a fortnight of pleasure without causing her heart, or his, a lifetime of harm.

~~Previously published in the A Very Wicked Christmas anthology~~

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Available for Pre-Order: Lord Misrule

 

Juliana, Lady Courtenay, is no stranger to scandal. Not after her late husband died in the bed of another man. Now that the mourning period for her unwanted marriage is over, she is impatient to celebrate her freedom—and what better way than with a love affair during the most festive time of year? Finally she can experience the excitement of spending the entire night with a man completely devoted to her pleasure. Except that when she asks Lord Misrule to be her very first lover, the rogue declines.

Lord Misrule is eager for a diversion that will banish the regrets that always resurface during the Christmas season. Yet he cannot accept the desirable widow's tempting offer. If he did, it would be impossible to adhere to his strict rules for affairs—no debutantes, no innocents, and no attachments—all of which are necessary to prevent future misfortune.

But when it seems Lady Courtenay will choose a less-than-honorable man to be her lover, Lord Misrule's chivalrous nature insists he charge to her rescue. He offers her a twelve-day affair, intent on providing her a fortnight of pleasure without causing her heart, or his, a lifetime of harm.

~~Previously published in the A Very Wicked Christmas anthology~~

 

Amazon ~ B&N ~ Apple ~ Kobo

 

Coming soon: Lord Misrule

Juliana, Lady Courtenay, is a widow whose husband caused quite the scandal when he died in another man's bed.

Now that her mourning period is over, she is eager to have her very first love affair, and the man she wants is the rogue known as Lord Misrule.

He has rather strict rules for affairs, mainly to keep anyone's heart from becoming attached--it's the only way he can handle the regrets from his role in a past Christmastime tragedy.

This story was originally published as part of the A Very Wicked Christmas anthology. Now it will be available on its own for the very first time.

Lord Misrule is the first in The Matchmaking Earl series. The second story -- Truly, My Love -- is currently in the Fool for Love anthology.

Here's an excerpt, to tide you over until Lord Misrule is released on October 15th:

Juliana had missed out on so much already. Did she want to miss out on even more?

Before she could answer her own question, there was a discreet knock at the door. Her butler, Sanders, entered, proffering a letter on a silver salver.

She stood up, grabbing it, knowing already who had written it. She walked to the window overlooking the garden, opening the missive while trying to settle her heart into a normal rhythm.

It was impossible once she read Lord Blaise's brief note:

My Christmas gift to you –

Twelve entertaining days.

Twelve sleepless nights.

I await the pleasure of your response.

Juliana plopped into a nearby chair, fanning herself so briskly with the letter her curls fluttered wildly. Lord Blaise had taken a simple everyday salutation and imbued it with a meaning that could not be mistaken.

Was it madness to accept such an offer? Perhaps it was. She should pack her belongings and head this instant to Bedlam, taking up permanent residence there.

Yet how could she resist? The few moments she had spent in Lord Blaise's proximity had been impossibly arousing. It was not difficult to imagine what the man could accomplish in twelve days and twelve nights.

Juliana dropped her head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling, wishing it contained the answers to her dilemma.

"I have no idea what I should do," she muttered. "Which decision will prove to be the mistake? Which choice will be the one filled with lifelong regrets?"

 

 

Scoundrels on Sale!

You can get Where Have All The Scoundrels Gone? for a mere 99 cents -- that's 33 cents per scoundrel! Yes, this book has three scoundrels falling in love, in three interconnected stories (thanks to their meddling matchmaking aunt).

Grab your copy now and fall in love once, twice, three times!

 

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Scene Inspiration: Where Have All The Scoundrels Gone?

I had already chosen this photo for the cover of Where Have All The Scoundrels Gone?, but I didn't realize at the time that it would play a part in the story. One of the stories, actually, since this book contains three connected romances involving three cousins.

In the third story, William is a painter who is in a bit of a slump, and he is finding his way back with Honora, someone he has adored from afar, and who may be forever out of reach.

Here's how the cover pic became part of their story:

 ~~~~~

"You can pose for me," Honora said. "Remove your shirt, and toss it over your shoulder. Yes, precisely like that. Now stand here." She moved him into position, and it took all he had not to grin at her earnest endeavors. "Turn your head slightly."

He leaned down and kissed her. "Like this?"

"No."

He kissed her again, aroused by her enthusiasm for the project they were undertaking. "Like this then?"

She gave him a mock frown. "Now I can see why you have never been an artist's model before. You do not take instruction very easily."

"Oh, but I do. Remember when you asked me to touch you—"

She clapped her palm against his lips. He grinned and gave it a little nibble. "Now if you will stand here, I will be over there." She motioned behind him. "I want you to turn your head slightly, as if you have just realized I am entering the room."

"I will always know when you are entering a room, or sadly, when you are leaving a room."

She did not say anything, but he heard her breath catch and knew his words affected her deeply. That is one thing he adored about her. She felt emotions intensely, and even though she did not always display them, there was so much more to her than the coolly bland surface she presented to the rest of the world.

He was much the same way. Yes, they were indeed quite the pair. A matched set.

Honora moved around behind him, setting the easel where she wanted it, and getting everything prepared. He wanted to turn around to watch her, but he stayed in place exactly as she had requested.

"This is not the pose I would have expected," he commented.

"I find I am rather partial to this view." She laughed softly. "Also, it solves my inability to reproduce your nose."

He burst out laughing. "I applaud your creative solution. Though I am bereft at being unable to watch you at work."

"I have a solution for that as well." He heard her moving about again, and the next thing he knew, she was dragging something in front of him.

A cheval mirror.

"I cannot believe I did not use that earlier. We shall employ it later."

"I should pretend I do not know what you mean." Honora tilted the mirror and then moved back to her easel. "But I am quite intrigued by the notion."

"I have so many notions, we may not have time to complete our portraits."

He wished he had not reminded her of how little time they had available, and nearly recalled his words. But she smiled once more. "I may have a solution for that as well."

His eyebrows shot up with surprise. He could see her watching him in the mirror, and it was as arousing as the thoughts he had had moments ago, of both of them reflected in the looking glass…

Honora moved away from the easel, gazing at him in the mirror as she approached. His heart beat faster, and he could feel the desire rising in his body. He was ready to carry her to the chaise once more, the portrait be damned.

Before he could move, however, she placed her lips on his shoulder. He expected the tender kiss, but the gentle bite afterwards was a surprise.

"Now do not move," she said with mock sternness, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or you shall soon learn what an unyielding taskmaster I can be. Well, until I have need of your advanced skills to finish this painting. Then I shall throw myself at your mercy."

"Now I shall stand here and ponder which I wish to see more, the taskmaster or the supplicant."

She returned to her position behind the easel, her expression filled with delight. She picked up the brush, glanced at him, and then beamed while she filled the brush with paint.

If William had thought he had lost his heart before now, he had been wrong. Completely mistaken. He should do a self-portrait, to memorialize this moment. It would show him on bended knee in front of Honora, his heart in outstretched hands, unabashedly asking for hers in return.

Now all he had to do was ensure it was not merely a figment of his fevered imagination, or simply a depiction in oils and canvas. He needed, more than anything, to bring this particular portrait to life.

~~~~~

Where Have All the Scoundrels Gone?

That is precisely what the Dowager Lady Thornham wants to know. She devotes her days to reading every scandalous morsel published about London's rakes and rogues, but lately it seems they have all settled down and abandoned their wicked behavior.

Fortunately the Dowager has hit upon a new diversion: matchmaking. She has summoned her three nephews to a house party attended by a score of marriage-minded debutantes, and warned the young men they shall lose their quarterly allowance if they thwart her matrimonial schemes.

Three Scoundrel Heroes. One Determined Dowager. Three Unexpected Romances.

Miles – The summertime gathering is a good excuse for Miles to reminisce with his cousins about the mischief they have gleefully caused their aunt throughout the years. The allowance would benefit his upcoming return to Egypt, financing his quest for antiquities, but a bride is not in his plans…until he rescues the beautiful widow Gemma and her pesky cat Snowball from some treacherous rosebushes.

Richard – His resistance to marriage makes him utterly irresistible to the marriageable females in attendance. Unfortunately for them, he is only interested in Constance, a doctor's daughter who refuses to give her heart again, especially to a charming scoundrel who extracts secrets for a living. When his wooing has little effect, he proves his devotion in another way—with a fairyland hideaway he has created just for her.

William – He is the quiet one that people rarely notice unless he is sketching their likeness. His aunt's paid companion, Honora, a budding artist, has been both his muse and the source of his inability to paint since their first brief encounter two years previously. A series of secret art lessons benefits them both, and their budding attraction is given a chance to finally blossom.

 

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Last Chance! Rogues Gallery for only 99 cents

Show your e-reader some love! Lord Midnight, Lord Rakehell's Love, and Lord Wastrel are available in this boxed set for 99 cents--but only for one more week.

 

 

Lord Midnight

Lord Midnight, a dashing highwayman, lives for revenge against the uncle who stole his title and tried to kill him as a child. His plan for vengeance--seducing his uncle's bride-to-be--collides with his passion for this spirited young woman desperate to escape her wedding. Soon he must choose: saving the woman who stole his heart, or destroying the man who stole his life.

Lord Rakehell's Love (The Curse of True Love, Book 1)

Simon is late to his own wedding, and Georgiana is heartbroken by the scandal. After such a blunder, how can this rogue known as Lord Rakehell prove his devotion to the woman he loves?

Lord Wastrel (The Curse of True Love, Book 2)

Lord Wastrel--the most notorious rake in London--has a child? Clearly he knows how to sire one, but he knows nothing about raising one. He needs a scandal-free woman to be a suitable mother. So why is he falling for Flighty Felicia, who is notorious for her numerous elopements?

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