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Tag Archives: Historical Romance

Her Seafaring Scoundrel by Sophie Barnes – Release Blitz

28 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by Elizabeth McKenna - Author in Book Tour, Release Blitz

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Historical Romance

The Crawfords, Book 3
Regency Romance
Date Published: April 28, 2020
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The last thing she wants is a husband…
Least of all one determined to win her heart…
Lady Cassandra has no desire to marry. But when Captain Devlin Crawford brings scandal to her doorstep and offers salvation, she cannot say no. Not with her daughter’s future at stake. So she decides to accept Devlin’s offer, provided he agrees to never being intimate with her. For although Cassandra is drawn to Devlin, she refuses to dishonor the memory of her one true love.
Devlin knows he’s made a mess, but now that it’s done, marrying Cassandra doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. Far from it, though it will take serious effort on his part to convince her of this. Especially since she’s never stopped mourning the man she was meant to marry over a decade ago. So once they set off on a grand ocean voyage, Devlin embarks on his greatest adventure yet – the wooing of his wife.
Other Books in The Crawfords Series:
No Ordinary Duke
The Crawfords, Book 1
Release Date: August 2018
He’s everything she’s trying to avoid…But somehow precisely what she needs…
Caleb Crawford doesn’t want to be a duke. He’d much rather build houses for a living. So when fate disrupts his peaceful life and burdens him with the responsibilities of a newly inherited title, he does what any sensible man would do by fleeing London, disguising himself as a laborer, and seeking refuge with three young spinsters who need his help with a leaky roof.
Ruined by a marquess who promised her the world, Mary Clemens has sworn to avoid marriage forever. Instead, she intends to live out her days with her friends and the orphaned children they’ve taken into their care. But when Mr. Crawford comes knocking, Mary finds herself in real danger of risking heartbreak all over again. Especially when she discovers that he’s not at all what he seems.
Purchase on Amazon
More Than A Rogue
The Crawfords, Book 2
Release Date: June 25, 2019
All she wanted was a kiss…
What she got, was fiery passion…
Emily Howard knows she is destined to be a spinster. She has accepted this fate, but that doesn’t stop her from wanting to experience kissing. What she doesn’t expect, is for Griffin Crawford, the handsomest man in the world, to do the honors. Or for all her female relations to discover her in his embrace. Naturally, marriage is instantly mentioned, but since Emily knows this is not what Griffin wants, she tries to escape him, her family and the ensuing scandal.
When Emily flees the Camberly ball in the wake of their kiss, Griffin goes in pursuit. He will not allow his sister-in-law’s determined friend to risk her safety for any reason. And risk it she will if she means to return to her countryside home by herself. But the longer he remains in her company, the more he is tempted to kiss her again. If only he could risk falling in love and remain in England forever.
Purchase on Amazon
Excerpt
“I cannot believe the duke and duchess would think to invite her.” The speaker had just stepped onto the terrace a few yards from where Devlin stood.
“It is my understanding that she and the duchess are dear friends,” another voice gently advised.
“Well yes. There is that, I suppose. But to not consider the Vernons’ feelings really is bad form.” There was a small sniff. “Can you imagine having your scandalous daughter make a spectacle on the dance floor for all the world to see? I mean, honestly! She practically threw herself at him, poor man.” There was an outraged snort. “As if Lord Devlin would ever consider marrying the likes of her. The mere thought of it is—”
“What?” Devlin asked stepping forward. He set his glass aside anven if that meant forcing the horrid baroness to choke on her own words.
“Yes?” he inquired in an eerily quiet voice that managed to turn his own stomach. “You were saying?”
“Um…merely that…er…” She glanced at her friend while fidgeting with her gloves but when she found no help there, she surprised Devlin by raising her chin and looking him dead in the eye. “You are a duke’s brother for heaven’s sake and she is nothing but a—”
“Lady DeVries,” Caleb snapped.
“—trollop,” the baroness finished, punctuating her statement with a victorious smile.
What she couldn’t see was the blood rushing through Devlin’s veins or the tight strain of his muscles. Never in his life had he been so livid, and if Lady DeVries had been a man, he would have called her out by now so he could have the pleasure of shooting her dead.
“Devlin,” Caleb murmured from somewhere nearby. “Don’t do anything rash. I beg you.”
But the middle-aged woman who stood before Devlin, dripping with smug maliciousness, had pushed him past all reason. “And what makes you so much better?” he asked.
Lady DeVries gasped. Her friend gulped, took a step back, and then fled back inside the ballroom, abandoning the baroness to her fate. Caleb groaned and Monty managed to get in a weary, “For God’s sake, Dev,” before Lady DeVries recovered and said, “I will not be spoken to in such a rude manner. I deserve better.”
“So does Lady Cassandra.”
The baroness crossed her arms. “Don’t be absurd. She might have been born into the nobility, but she threw all of that away the moment she chose to—”
“Madam,” Devlin seethed, “I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”
“Or what?”
“Or I shall have to ask you to leave,” Caleb said.
The baroness scoffed – scoffed! – in response to her host’s statement, but Caleb apparently chose to let it go without comment. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked as she turned away and started toward the French doors leading back to the ballroom. But just when Devlin thought that might be the end of their quarrel, she turned back to face him with all the arrogance Devlin despised about the aristocracy. “Lady Cassandra is a fallen woman. When even her parents can see that, I don’t understand why you find it such a hard concept to grasp.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Monty murmured.
Devlin speared Lady DeVries with his hardest glare. “You will not speak of her in that manner.”
“As much as I respect your family, I hardly think it appropriate for you to advise me on how I may or may not refer to a person of such low moral standing as Lady Cassandra.”
Maybe it was the fact that he’d just gotten off a ship after several months at sea, maybe it was the champagne—though he seriously doubted it, or maybe it was the fact that he’d really enjoyed seeing Cassandra again that finally made Devlin come up with something completely unplanned and, quite possibly, cataclysmic. What he did know was that he could think of only one way in which to give Cassandra the stamp of approval necessary to make this woman regret her words.
Blind with rage and as he’d later admit not entirely clear-headed, he ignored Caleb’s words of warning and leaned toward the baroness. Meeting her gaze with all the hatred he possessed for her at that moment, he said, “It bloody well is when she is to be my wife.”
About the Author

Born in Denmark, USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She’s lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish, and Romanian with varying degrees of fluency. But, most impressive of all, she’s been married to the same man three times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.
When she’s not busy dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.
Contact Links
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Facebook
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Purchase Links
Amazon
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The Colonel and the Enchantress by Paullett Golden – Book Tour

15 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by Elizabeth McKenna - Author in Book Tour

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Historical Romance

An Enchantress Novel, Book 4
Historical Romance
Date Published: February 14, 2020
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From the shadows of war, love rises.
Lady Mary Mowbrah, daughter of a duke, fell in love with a man beneath her station. When he leaves for war, determined to earn her hand as a hero, she promises to wait for him, never dreaming the man who returns will be different from the man who left.
Colonel Duncan Starrett returns from war with honors, accolades, and a debilitating injury. As much as he still loves Lady Mary, he fears a future between them is now impossible.
This is the love story of Mary and Duncan as they forge a future from the shadows of the past.
 
Other Books in the Enchantress Novel Series:
The Earl and The Enchantress
on Amazon
The Duke and The Enchantress
on Amazon
The Baron and The Enchantress
on Amazon
Excerpt
Prologue
August 1790
 
Five years earlier
Stretching out his legs, Duncan Starrett lay across the picnic blanket, his forearm sinking into the dewy grass beneath. His eyes met those of his love’s—wide, walnut brown, framed with black lashes against alabaster skin. For nearly a year he had loved her, yet one look still made his pulse race.
“I want to come with you,” she said, brushing soft fingers against his cheek.
“I’ll return before you notice I’ve gone; a decorated hero worthy of your hand.”
She pleaded with her eyes.
“The battlefield is no place for you, Mary. How could I fight for Crown and country when worrying about your safety? Not that your family would ever consent for you to follow the drum.”
“Oh, Duncan, let’s elope! It would be so romantic.” Wistful, Lady Mary clasped her hands, looked to the heavens, and fell back against the blanket with a sigh of youthful innocence.
Tree branches danced shadows on her features. His heartbeat quickened as he leaned over her, tracing her lips with his fingertips. Leaving her behind would be the most difficult task of his life. His Mary. His love.
“Dream of my return,” he said. “We’ll attend the best parties, dance until our feet blister, and ride into the sunset on our fastest horses. Once I return, I’ll ask permission for your hand.”
She combed her fingers through his hair, sending shivers from scalp to toes. Pulling him to her, she kissed him, a gentle pout of moist lips pursed to his.
“We’ve lingered too long,” he murmured, lost in the depths of her eyes. “Go home before they notice your absence.”
***
1791
As an ensign in the Light Dragoons, Duncan saw more ballrooms than battlefields, easy to do when there were no battles. He craved the clash of swords and thunder of guns. After a childhood filled with his father’s romantic war stories, Duncan longed to experience the scenes for himself: hiking impossible hills, meeting the enemy with sword drawn, wading through rivers, sleeping beneath the stars. In the quiet of the night, he brandished his sabre at the darkness, practicing his moves, striking a dashing pose.
*
1792
Lieutenant Starrett had yet to see war. Was this his route to heroism? Was he fated to return home an officer who had never drawn his sword?
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years.
The French were at war with themselves, launching a revolution against their monarchy. The British Army remained idle, waiting. Waiting for what? An opportune moment to fight? Duncan wanted to fight now. For too long he had waited for action. He recalled the promises made when his father purchased his first commission—the Crown would take advantage of France’s weakness. When was this grand takeover? His blade was sharp, his gun was clean, and he was ready.
*
July 1793
Captain Starrett ached with desperation to prove himself.
And then, he found war. Or rather, war found him.
The daring! The glory! The action exhilarated him.
He roared into battle, a fierce foe, heart in his throat, body tingling with excitement tinged with fear. He fought for his life, for his country, for his father, for Mary. In this moment, he was man—raw power, passionate and invigorated, victory red.
He thought himself debonair, a real hero.
With the elation of battle pulsing through his veins, he wrote to Mary. He could not very well return after wielding his sword only once. He wanted more—thirsted, hungered for more. What was another couple of years after the three he spent waiting? It was not as though he would never return.
*
April 1794
Major Starrett dabbed the tender skin of his stomach with a wet cloth. The blade had come too close for comfort. Only now did he realize how close, as it had sliced through his waistcoat and grazed his skin. The more superficial, the more troubling. He winced with each stroke of the cloth.
However safe at camp he was, the apprehension of more bloodshed buzzed in his ears. The morning would see the fighting renewed. His limbs were clammy from the cold sweat all too familiar both post- and pre-battle. Tonight, he would dream of holding Mary, inhaling the aroma of her lavender-scented hair, savoring the feel of her velvet skin.  
*
June 1794
He trudged with throbbing feet, overwrought muscles, and pounding head, disillusioned by war. Lost were his dreams in a sea of red, bathed in the glow of regimental coats mingled with blood. This was not heroic. This was not glamorous. This was a horror show of vacant stares and flashing steel. He was Charon, ferrying sons from their mothers and husbands from their wives. No longer did he crave the battlefield with its death and guilt.
And yet, he still craved the valor, the camaraderie, the rhythm of the drums, the scent of victory, the sounds of gallantry.
*
August 1794
Atop his stallion Caesar, Lieutenant Colonel Starrett of the Light Dragoons led his men into battle. British, Dutch, and Austrian troops launched against the French, a proper invasion of a weakened and ruler-less country. With sabre at the ready, he leaned forward and squeezed his calves to the hot horseflesh, signaling his mount to charge. The formation was tight, mere inches between cavalry riders. A roar of power erupted as they broke through infantry lines, slashing an opening for the foot regiments.
There was no greater feeling than a horse beneath him, an inseverable bond between beast and man. Only his legs and weight signaled his horse’s movements, for his hands wielded weapons of war rather than reins. His horse was an extension of himself.
Boxtel was a fierce and bloody battle, but Duncan was untouchable atop his stallion.
*
January 1795
Colonel Starrett shivered. More men had died from exposure than battle; a harsher winter they had not seen. With white clouds for breath, they prepared to defend the frozen waters of the Lower Rhine. The horses pawed the iced earth, ready. He stroked Caesar’s neck, his hand trembling.
The enemy lined the opposite bank, muskets aimed, bayonets fixed.
Ignoring the smell of fear in the air, Duncan signaled his regiment with his sabre.
Time slowed. Seconds stretched to infinity between spur and charge. Duncan’s attention funneled. He knew only the hoofbeats of his horse, the song of bullets, and his steady breath.
The cavalry hoofed alongside their field commander, an impenetrable wall of horse muscle and blades.
Convinced the Holy Spirit was on their side, the enemy marched across the frozen water.
Steel clanged and men cried as the dragoons broke the line at the riverbank.
A moment of victory before it all went wrong.
Another line crossed the river, muskets aimed, bayonets fixed. Another line behind them. And another. His regiment, decimated by the cold, chattered their teeth along the river’s edge as they watched the endless onslaught of Frenchmen.
Retreat! The cry echoed through the ranks, the survivors running or fighting their way back to safety.
Duncan, one hand wielding his sabre, the other holstering his Elliot pattern pistol, nudged Caesar to about-face. Without further encouragement, the horse turned and retreated, the whole of the allied troops doing likewise.
His one thought: get the men to safety.
A slap to his lower back broke his focus. He looked to either side, expecting to see one of his men. Leaning forward to quicken the pace away from the river, he felt a tightening pressure along his spine, warming as it twisted, a fire poker sinking into his flesh then tugging.
The scorch spread, hot and wet.
As he straightened, slowing his mount, he felt winded, the air knocked out of his lungs. He panicked, struggling to breathe.
Before him, arm outstretched, hovered an ethereal Mary. His Mary. His ladylove. Even as he reached out to her, his head swam in a dizzying vortex. Their fingers touched as he slumped against Caesar’s neck.
 
About the Author

Celebrated for her complex characters, realistic conflicts, and sensual love scenes, Paullett Golden puts a spin on historical romance. Her novels, set primarily in Georgian and Regency England with some dabbling in Ireland, Scotland, and France, challenge the norm by involving characters who are loved for their flaws, imperfections, and idiosyncrasies. Her stories show love overcoming adversity. Whatever our self-doubts, love will out.
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Website
Twitter
Facebook
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Purchase Link
Amazon
 
 

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