Sunday, 5 October 2014
As part of the Clean Indie Reads Fall Sale, I'm offering A Similar Taste in Books, Book 1 of my Regency "Love and the Library" series, for 50% off. That's 99 cents! A Similar Taste in Books will be on sale from October 5 through October 11, 2014.
A Similar Taste in Books is on sale at Smashwords only (note, Smashwords has all formats) with coupon code MT58S (not case sensitive).
A Similar Taste in Books on Smashwords here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/247691
If you don't care for sex, violence and profanity in your reading material, check out the other Flinch-Free Fiction in the Clean Indie Reads Fall Sale here: http://arcaniarts.com/index.php/fall-clean-book-sale
The CIR Fall Sale sale runs from October 5 through October 11, 2014.
Thank you all,
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
Tuesday, 30 September 2014
Woodland Daughter is set in Yorkshire in 1902, Queen Victoria has died and the new century has brought in many changes, including another Boer War in South Africa, which features a little in this story.
A new century brings change to the carefully ordered world Eden Harris maintains, change that threatens all she holds dear. Despite years of devoted service to the Bradburys, the leading family of the community, Eden hides a secret that would affect them all. When an enemy returns, her world is shattered and her secret exposed. Torn and provoked, she strains to protect her family until a devastating accident leaves her alone and frightened. As the threat against her grows, Eden takes her precious daughters and flees from the only place she's called home, to live amongst masses in York. Her attempt to start anew is not so simple as the past haunts her, and the one man she thought lost to her so many years before, returns to claim what has always been his. Eden must gather her strength and look into her heart to accept what the future offers. Can she find the happiness she longs for?
Joel rested his body against the ship’s rail, bracing himself for the slightest pain in his shoulder. With one arm in a sling tucked beneath his uniform jacket, he was careful to keep out of the way of people. The slightest touch could have him sweating in pain. The sea breeze lifted the hair on his forehead and neck, cooling him slightly. He needed a haircut, but he’d wait until he’d reach England before attending to that.
Below him on the deck, he watched the crowds scurrying about like ants. Soldiers, nurses, travellers, ship crew, dock workers all hurried back and forth. Behind him, from within the ship, came the noise of eager travellers settling in for their ocean journey.
He stared out into the distance, where Table Mountain dominated the view. He was sad to be leaving Africa. He’d come to think of it as home in a way. The sights and sounds, the heat and people were familiar now. Of course nothing competed against Bradbury Hall, but he’d been in Africa for seven years. It was a long time. The army had replaced his family. He’d learnt to rely on his fellow officers to ease the loneliness, and at first it had worked well. The adventure and excitement kept his mind from thinking of home. But lately, for the last year and a half, a yearning to return home had claimed him and not let go.
The ships funnels belched smoke and the boarding siren wailed. Under his feet he felt the deck shudder as the enormous engines surged with power. Anticipation welled. He was going home. Despite the ache in his shoulder, he smiled. Time to start a new phase of his life. Time to reaffirm the links with his family, the estate, old friends, and… Eden.
He was conscious of the changes awaiting him back home. Much had happened in his absence. Not long after he joined the regiment, his mother died. That had been a blow, but on the whole he had managed to keep the family and home intact in his mind. When he’d left England, his father had been alive, Charlie well, Annabella cheeky, pretty, naive and Eden… Eden had been beautiful, a free spirit of the woodland where she lived.
What awaited him now?
The ship eased from its berth and glided out into the harbour. The breeze sharpened and Joel turned away from the rail. He glanced at a crippled solider standing near the door leading into one of the saloons. The soldier swayed on his crutches, one leg gone in battle.
Joel checked his step and hurried over to steady the man with his good arm.
“Thanks, Sir.” The solider smiled.
“Stevens, isn’t it?” Joel mused, helping the man to lean against a wall and out of the way of other passengers.
“Stevenson, Sir, Corporal Dave Stevenson.” He leaned against the support and breathed out slowly. “I still haven’t got the hang of these things yet.” He held up the crutches.
Joel grinned. “I think it might be an art that takes practice, Corporal.”
Dave took of his hat and wiped the seat off from his forehead, his fair hair stuck to his head. “Do you mind, Sir, if I sit down? This leg isn’t used to holding all the weight and gets a bit shaky, like.”
“Of course, man, sit.” Joel again aided Stevenson in lowering to the deck. There were no chairs about and after a moment’s hesitation, Joel join him and gently eased his backside down, careful not to jar his shoulder. “We should have gone inside, it would be more comfortable.”
“Sorry, Sir, but I’m no sailor. Once inside my stomach has a mind of its own. I’m better out here.”
“Well, I’ll keep you company for a while until dinner is announced. My stomach is the opposite of yours. Once on the ocean I’m always ravenous. I do nothing but eat.”
“You might struggle with a knife and fork, using only one hand.”
Joel chuckled. “Yes, true. So far I’ve had only soup and sandwiches.”
Stevenson laid his crutches beside his good leg and gazed out through the iron rail. “So, we’re going back home to England. I’ve been away three years. I should be happy to be going back, but I’m not as excited as I should be, I don’t think.”
“It affects men in different ways.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how do you feel? Was your clipped wing the reason for you to go home?”
“Yes. My shoulder stopped a bullet.” He glanced down at his padded and bandaged left shoulder. “Normally they’d take it out and I’d be back in the mix of things, but this Boer bullet went in at an angle and wedge itself deep. The surgeon managed to get it out, but he wasn’t sure what damaged had been done. Only once the swelling has gone down and the soreness gone, will I know what strength remains in the arm.”
“Does your family know about it yet?”
“No, not yet. It didn’t seem worth writing when I was going home anyway. What about your family?”
“Oh aye, they know. I’ve been in hospital a while, long enough for letters to go back and forth.” Stevenson bent up his leg and rested his elbow on it. “They say they don’t care if I come home missing a leg, as long as I’m coming home to them. I’m an only child see, and I used to help my father run our grocers shop.”
“Will you do that again?”
“I guess so. Funny how things change, isn’t it. I hated working in that shop as a lad. All my friends would be out playing football or cricket and I’d be stuck behind a counter. The first opportunity I got to leave I took, and that was the army.” He tapped the toe of his boot on the deck. “Now, I can’t wait to get back there. I miss me mam and dad, and me gran, who lives with us. My mam makes the best jam roly-poly you’ve ever tasted. Dad brews his own beer in the back shed and Gran used to be my partner in cards.”
“There’s nothing better in this world than returning home to a family that loves you.” A picture came into Joel’s mind of the estate in autumn, the tall graceful trees, their leaves turning gold and amber, the squirrels scurrying around in the wood, collecting the last of their booty, harvest time and bringing in the hay, the smell of open fires as the gardeners raked up and burnt the fallen leaves.
He leaned his head back and smiled in remembrance. “I long to go riding with my brother. We used to ride for miles. Sometimes we’d stop at a pub and have an ale and a hot pie smothered in gravy.”
“Me mam has written of a neighbour’s daughter, Vera, who she hopes I’ll one day marry. I’m not so sure what Vera has to say about it though. We got along all right before I went away, but…well, I’m not as I once was.”
“If this Vera is a decent woman, she’ll not mind.”
“Maybe.” Stevenson lifted his face to the breeze. “Will you have a girl waiting for you at home, Sir?”
Joel’s stomach clenched. “Perhaps. I’m ready for a family. However, I’ve been away longer than you, and I’m not sure what to expect when I arrive home.”
“None of us are, Sir, none of us are.”
A group of children ran by, the shoes thundering on the timber deck. One cheeky boy paused and waved to Joel and Stevenson before scampering off again. A harassed nanny tried to catch up as she wheeled a pram after them. Joel watched until they turned a corner at the bow of the ship and were out of sight. His heart constricted, thinking of the boy’s lively face. A son. He wanted a son so badly it hurt. A boy to teach all the things his father taught him, to hunt, to fish, to ride, to play sports. He thought of Charlie. Two sons perhaps. Two fine boys to grow up together like he and Charlie did.
Emotion clogged his throat and he coughed to clear it. He’d been away from home too long…
Buy in ebook or paperback from all online retailers such Amazon USA and Amazon UK, iBooks, Nook, etc.
I hope you enjoy it.
Monday, 29 September 2014
Sunday, 7 September 2014
Love and the Library - A celebration of the beginnings of love wherein four young Regency gentlemen meet their matches over a copy of “Pride and Prejudice” at the library.
Book 3: Felicity and Frank
Every woman should have her own Mr. Darcy--unless she prefers Mr. Bingley.
Something strange goes on in that library.
Not one, but two of Mr. Frank Wynne’s friends found the ladies of their dreams at the library over a copy of “Pride and Prejudice”. Magic? Divine providence? Hardly. Coincidence or luck? Perhaps. And to prove or disprove the possibilities, he’ll go to the library and read “Pride and Prejudice”. Day after day after day. To his surprise, the book is funny, and he does like that Bingley chap. His lady doesn’t appear, though. Of course not. But still…
Miss Felicity White adores “Pride and Prejudice”. But while most ladies swoon over Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley is the man after her own heart. Happy, good-natured, cheerful, outgoing Mr. Bingley. She loves him so much, she even rewrote “Pride and Prejudice” from his perspective. Now, if she can only find a gentleman like him…
When Felicity and Frank run into each other, the enchantment of “Pride and Prejudice” and the library just might strike again.
A sweet, traditional Regency romance, but not a retelling of “Pride and Prejudice.” 45,000 words.
I write in the style of my favorite author, Barbara Metzger. If you like her Regency comedies, you may enjoy mine.
“I have the most wonderful news!” Felicity maneuvered herself and Frank to the only two seats together. Unfortunately, they were in the middle of the semicircle, with ladies on both sides
Frank sat on the edge of his seat. The chairs’ arrangement was unnervingly like a gigantic feminine claw, ready to snap shut on a tasty treat.
He stilled. Mayhap if he didn’t move, they would forget he was there. And pigs will fly.
Miss Barrett clapped and the murmuring ladies quieted. “Felicity, please tell us your news.”
Felicity popped up. “You know I have written Pride and Prejudice from Mr. Bingley’s viewpoint.” She gave a little bounce. “Mr. Blackmore of Blackmore Publishing has requested the manuscript!”
Feminine squeals reverberated around the room. Miss Barrett rose to shake Felicity’s hand. “Well done. Mayhap you will pave the way to the future, when others will want to read about the further adventures of the Pride and Prejudice characters.”
Miss Liddell, one of the ladies who had squinted when he entered, squinted anew. “I doubt anyone will want to read about Mr. Wickham’s experiences. Or Lydia’s.”
“Never say never.” Miss Nisbet, seated at Frank’s other side, sniffed. “Some people enjoy tales about villains. I daresay they like to see the blackguards receive their just deserts.” She leaned closer to Frank. “Have you read Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Wynne?”
Gazes on both sides of the pincer-like arrangement of chairs closed in on him. More perspiration broke out on his forehead. “Yes, I have.” Outnumbered. Perhaps he had better say as little as possible.
Miss Liddell squinted again. “You are unusual, sir. Most men do not read novels. Or at least, they claim not to.”
He flashed his most winning smile, the one that normally made the ladies melt. Almost-clergyman he might be, but that did not preclude him from appreciating the fairer sex. “I am not most men.”
Barnes and Noble
Smashwords (note, all formats are available on Smashwords)
Also available in all the other Amazon stores.
Barnes and Noble
Smashwords (note, all formats are available on Smashwords)
Coming soon to Kobo
Thank you all,
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
Saturday, 30 August 2014
Post by Lily Harlem
Well, excuse me but I just happen to like crowds! Actually I don't when it comes to everyday life. If I'm out shopping and get caught in a gust of people or I'm on the Tube being bustled along, I can feel quite panicked, more so since I've lived in the Welsh countryside and become used to having space around me. But when it comes to writing novels, and my characters falling in love and into bed, then yes, the more the merrier!
The first menage a trois book I read was Colter's Woman by Maya Banks. It's a fairly simple plot compared to some of the more complex novels I've read (and written) since. Three brothers who like to share one woman, and a woman - once over the initial shock of their desires - who has a great time!
It was the dynamics of the characters emotions that got me thinking and then spurred me onto write my first menage a trois novel, Shared. The plot idea came from a headline in the letting section of the Cardiff paper "Room to Let - Wanted Girl to Share." Me being me with my naughty mind started thinking what if two hot guys placed that advert, and like the brothers in Colter's Woman, really did want a girl to share in every sense of the word?
So Shared was born (set in Cardiff) and then Shared Too. The complexities of a polyamorous relationship was like a gift that kept on giving for me as an author, and although it's possible to leave off on a happy ever after, there is always going to be something to go back to with such an unconventional relationship.
So I've kept on writing my threesome stories and, I'm pleased to say, readers have kept on reading them. It's something I really enjoy writing about. Making sure the men (because I usually go in the two guys and one girl route) are sufficiently different in their personalities and needs and the heroine is believable in how she handles and responds to her blokes.
I do know a threesome in real life. They live in the village and again it's two guys and a girl. Perhaps it's because I'm more open-minded than some people, (because of my writing and the erotica authors and readers I spend my days hanging out with online) that I didn't bat an eye when I saw them together at a BBQ - her holding his hand one minute and then sitting on the other's knee the next - but some of my friends were quite shocked by it - Mmm, maybe shocked is the wrong word, fascinated, enthralled, curious, it took up a good chunk of our 'wine and gossip time' at the local the next week!
Inquisitiveness is the reaction, I suppose, that makes menage a trois novels so popular. It's not a situation many women find themselves in, being loved and adored and satisfied by two men, so their lifestyle and choices are interesting to other women - I'm talking relationships here, not just a good old romp between the sheets.
Jealousy I think is one of the big hurdles for non-threesome type people to understand. "How can he not be jealous if the woman he loves is screwing another man?" Well, if he thinks it's hot to see them together he's going to have a great time, he might even join in - a bit of double penetration always makes for a fun scene! Also if that's the plan, the agreement, and they all have reasons for this working for them individually as well as a group then it will be just fine.
The men might be into each other (this is the theme for my novels The Glass Knot and The Silk Tie). The men like each other too, they kiss, enjoy each other's bodies and she loves being part of the action. She likes to watch, get on top of them, beneath them, in-between them. Gorgeous naked guys who are into each other and getting down and dirty, are, let's face it, a seriously sexy thing to witness!
The men being into each other adds new twists to the story, to the way the characters interact and makes for a fabulous range of new sexual exploits. Of course they are all stories, but they could be real, these things could and do happen, but just not to the majority, so having novels to read about threesomes lets us all jump, vicariously, into bed with a couple of hot men even if it's just between the pages of a book!
Thanks for reading, do leave your thought on menage a trois in the comments below :-)
Posted by Lily Harlem at 09:02
Monday, 18 August 2014
Thursday, 14 August 2014
Rosemary Morris’s most recent novel The Captain and the Countess has received 5* reviews and is available as an e-book for 77p from www.amazon.co.uk and for $0.99 from https://museituppublishing.com until midnight on the 17th August.
Exract fromThe Captain and The Countess
Edward, the Right Honourable Captain Howard, dressed in blue and white, which some of the officers in Queen Anne’s navy favoured, strode into Mrs Radcliffe’s spacious house near St James Park.
Perkins, his godmother’s butler, took his hat and cloak. “Madam wants you to join her immediately.”
Instead of going upstairs to the rooms his godmother had provided for him during his spell on half pay—the result of a dispute with a senior officer—Edward entered the salon. He sighed. When would his sixty-one year old godmother accept that at the age of twenty-two he was not yet ready to wed?
He made his way across the elegant, many windowed room through a crowd of expensively garbed callers.
When Frances Radcliffe noticed him, she turned to the pretty young lady seated beside her. “Mistress Martyn, allow me to introduce you to my godson, Captain Howard.”
Blushes stained Mistress Martyn’s cheeks as she stood to make her curtsey.
Edward bowed, indifferent to yet another of his grandmother’s protégées. Conversation ceased. All eyes focussed on the threshold.
“Lady Sinclair,” someone murmured.
Edward turned. He gazed without blinking at the acclaimed beauty, whose sobriquet was ‘The Fatal Widow’.
The countess remained in the doorway, her cool blue eyes speculative.
Edward whistled low. Could her shocking reputation be no more than tittle-tattle? His artist’s eyes observed her. Rumour did not lie about her Saxon beauty.
Her ladyship was not a slave to fashion. She did not wear a wig, and her hair was not curled and stiffened with sugar water. Instead, her flaxen plaits were wound around the crown of her head to form a coronet. The style suited her. So did the latest
fashion, an outrageous wisp of a lace
cap, which replaced the tall, fan-shaped fontage most ladies continued to wear
perched on their heads. Paris
Did the countess have the devil-may-care attitude gossips attributed to her? If she did, it explained why some respectable members of society shunned her. Indeed, if Lady Sinclair were not the granddaughter of his godmother’s deceased friend, she might not be received in this house.
The lady’s fair charms did not entirely explain what drew many gallants to her side. After all, there were several younger beauties present that the gentlemen did not flock around so avidly.
He advanced toward the countess, conscious of the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, the muted noise of coaches and drays through the closed windows and, from the fireplace, the crackle of burning logs which relieved the chill of early spring.
The buzz of conversation resumed. Her ladyship scrutinised him. Did she approve of his appearance? A smile curved her heart-shaped mouth. He repressed his amusement. Edward suspected the widow’s rosy lips owed more to artifice than nature.
“How do you do, sir,” she said when he stood before her. “I think we have not met previously. Her eyes assessed him dispassionately. My name is Sinclair, Katherine Sinclair. I dislike formality. You may call me Kate.”
“Captain Howard at your service, Countess.” Shocked but amused by boldness more suited to a tavern wench than a great lady, Edward paid homage with a low bow before he spoke again. “Despite your permission, I am not presumptuous enough to call you Kate, yet I shall say that had we already met, I would remember you.”
“You are gallant, sir, but you are young to have achieved so high a rank in Her Majesty’s navy.”
“An unexpected promotion earned in battle which the navy did not subsequently commute.”
“You are to be congratulated on what, I can only assume, were acts of bravery.”
“Thank you, Countess.”
The depths of her ladyship’s sapphire cross and earrings blazed, matching his sudden fierce desire.
Kate, some four inches shorter than Edward, looked up at him.
He leaned forward. The customary greeting of a kiss on her lips lingered longer than etiquette dictated. Her eyes widened before she permitted him to lead her across the room to the sopha on which his godmother sat with Mistress Martyn.
With a hint of amusement in her eyes, Kate regarded Mrs Radcliffe. “My apologies, madam, I suspect my visit is untimely.”
Her melodious voice sent shivers up and down his spine, nevertheless, Edward laughed. Had the countess guessed his godmother, who enjoyed match-making, wanted him to marry Mistress Martyn? No, he was being too fanciful. How could she have guessed?
“You are most welcome, Lady Sinclair. Please take a seat and partake of a glass of cherry ratafia.”
“Perhaps, milady prefers red viana,” Edward suggested
“Captain, you read my mind, sweet wine is not to my taste.”
In response to the lady’s provocative smile, heat seared his cheeks.
Kate smoothed the gleaming folds of her turquoise blue silk gown. The lady knew how to dress to make the utmost of her natural beauty. Her gown and petticoat, not to mention sleeves and under-sleeves, as well as her bodice and stays, relied for effect on simple design and fine fabrics. He approved of her ensemble, the elegance of which did not depend on either a riot of colours or a multitude of bows and other trimmings. Later, he would sketch her from memory.
Kate inclined her head to his godmother. “Will you not warn your godson I am unsound, wild, and a bad influence on the young?”
Edward gazed into Kate’s eyes. Before his demise, had her husband banished her to a manor deep in the country? If it was true, why did he do so?
Kate’s eyebrows slanted down at the inner corners. She stared back at him. He laughed, raised her hands to his lips and kissed each in turn. “I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you.”
“High-handed.” Kate gurgled with laughter. “Captain, please release me.”
What did he care if she were some ten years his elder? He wanted to get to know her better. Edward bowed. “Your slightest wish is my command.”
…. A frozen glimpse of despair deep in her eyes unsettled Edward. Did he imagine it? He could not speak. Why should a lady like the countess despair?