The Quill and InkWell

Researching The Historical--The Human Connection

2012-01-27T07:56:00.000-08:00

Its Friday, and that is research day for me!!! I love research, flipping through costume books, and English tourbooks. Surfing the net for bits of gossip, and snippets of reports.
It is usually a fun filled day where one fact leads me to another link, and then another, and then before I know it I am on a bender, completely off course, researching things I have no business researching! but that is not the case today. Today I am brushing up on my coal mining knowledge.

I come from miners. My great grandfather was born in Glasgow and worked in the mining industry. When he emigrated from Scotland to Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, with his family they settled in Sydney Mines. he picked up his axe and headed down to the coal mines. Upon vacation there, I was struck by the desolation, the bleakness of it--as I recall in my eleven year old mind. And it was scary. Downright terrifying to be so far beneath the ground. But its a proud tradition to have in your family, and its a pride amongst the colliers.

As a nod to my family, the hero of my first Westlake book (yes, that new series) is a man of common birth, who as a young child was forced down into the mines at Newcastle. I have spent some time researching the mines, the equipment, the owners and their often brutal treatment of their employees. I have learned the conditions of the mines, and yes, it all gave me pause, thinking how horrible the conditions were that these men and women were forced into. I have jotted down the medical issues that plagued these human souls, and wondered how they continued to work while ill. No paid sick days then!

But then I came across some interesting links that talked about children working in the mines, some as young as five years old. I cannot imagine it. In fact cannot fathom the hell they endured. My daughter feels hell is having her iPod battery go dead during a game of Angry Birds for crying out loud!

So, today was the human condition when it comes to researching a historical novel. Often times these dark and gritty realities are glossed over, but I am never one to gloss over that. For me, being faithful to an era, or a vocation is th only way to be. That is the beauty of writing historical, the glamour and romance of an idealized era, juxtaposed with the grim, and harsh realities of those who are so often on the fringe of the romance novel, when in life, they were truly the backbone of the nation.

If you are looking for something truly fascinating, something to bring you immediately back in time, read these short accounts from the mines, all children, told in their own words. Fascinating...heartbreaking, and so inspiring!

Be Well!
http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/victorianbritain/industrial/source4.htm

A Sinful Valentine From Matthew, Lord Wallingford, to Jane...his Beloved.

2012-01-18T10:36:00.000-08:00

Ha! That got your attention! Eons ago I posted a question to readers, who would you like to read a short story about, Lindsay, from Addicted, or Matthew, Lord Wallingford from Sinful. Readers voted, and with an overwhelming margin they voted for more of that bady boy Wallingford! So, as promised, I do have something for readers. It took a bit, but I hope its worth the wait. So, where the heck is it you ask? Patience.....the story is a steamy Valentine's Day short that all begins with a very naughty letter and painting that Matthew has sent to his lady love. So, it would not be appropriate to release it until....well, just a bit closer to Valentine's Day. I just completed it last night, and was anxious to share the news that Matthew will be back in full seduction, bad boy mode!

So, how does one get ahold of this....well, just sign up for my newsletter. Please don't groan. Really, it's not bad or painful at all. I don't send out alot of newsletters. I am doing them quarterly this year, alongside two extra special ones. So six in all. I won't flood your inbox. I promise. I also won't sell anyone's name or private info.

Putting up a short story with....sex...(yeah, because you guys would totally be killing me if there was no sex in it) makes more sense in a newsletter. It's private for one thing. Second, it allows me to make certain that little eyes aren't reading it, and third, it helps me to keep my readers informed of new releases, and it gives me something to tell my publisher--'yes, I do have readers, and yes, they do sign up for my newsletter'! Publishers like to know this sort of thing.

I have a couple of extra shorts planned for readers this year. Lindsay fans, do not despair! I have
a fabulous autumnal story with Lindsay and Anais, and also, a nice short with the boys from the Brethren Guardian trilogy, along with a secondary character from Temptation and Twilight, that I fell in love with! And, I am thinking of a little Fey loving, too. My Sins and Virtues series has been pushed back by the publisher, and I am anxious to write a bit for them. So, maybe I will do a short, something to tempt and tease you with! So, there will be lots of juicy little things to tempt you in my newsletter. Plus, in my newsletters, I am planning on excerpts from upcoming books (sexy ones, because everyone wants the smexing) that will be found no other place than in my newsletter, as well as offers of early arcs to newsletter subscribers!!!

So, won't you be Lord Wallingford's Valentine and sign up? You can do so here http://charlottefeatherstone.net/index.html

Thank you for supporting me.I truly have the best readers!
Be Well!

Fun Friday!

2012-01-13T06:23:00.000-08:00

Well, there is a blizzard outside my study window! My new study is done, and I am sitting down watching the electric flames flicker in the hearth, while pretending they are real! Fridays are edit and research days for me, and because its so nasty outside, and because I just yesterday made my final payment on a 10 day Southern Carribean cruise I have decided to do some warm weather research!

As you know, my new series has a West Indies tie-in, Barbados to be exact. Barbados is a stop on our cruise, and I have already booked a private tour quide who is a historian to tour me around and show me things I need to know to paint a historical, and authentic Barbadian atmosphere in my books. We leave in April, and frankly, I cannot wait! In my new series, the Westlake family has owned a plantation on the island since the early 1700s, so I will be researching plantations, the processing of sugar, and rum! My husband is especially looking forward to the rum tours! lol!

But research is needed before that, and because the wind is howling, I decided to pull out my copy of Wide Sargasso Sea. For those of you who do not know this, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte is my ultimate favourite book! I adore it, and I love Rochestor. Those familiar with the book will know of the crazed wife of Jane Eyre hero, whom he acquired in Jamaica. Well, Wide Sargasso Sea is a prequel of sorts, written in 1966 by Jean Rhys that tells the story of how Rochestor became married to the woman. Being an Eyre fanatic, I read the book and enjoyed it. But strangely, I have not seen the movie adaptations. I have two to watch for comparisons, and for a bit of visual research. Jamaica is not Barbados, but still, I cannot help but think that scenery should provide great visual inspiration. I understand the older version of this DVD is quite steamy in its love scenes--an added boon!

So, I have my cuppa--Earl Grey--and a warm blanket, and now I shall indulge in Wide Sargasso Sea--all in the name of research, you understand! lol!

And then what will I do, I will be forced to wait till April until I can do my first hand research! In the meantime, does anyone have any recommendations for movies like this one that might work

Be Well!

New Series Tease

2012-01-09T07:55:00.000-08:00

Love is often gentle, desire always a rage--Mignon McLaughan

Well, here it is, as promised, a teeny-tiny glimpse into my new series. I am SO excited about it, its near and dear to me, and I hope it will be the same for readers, too. I think the above quote so fitting for this group of books. I love writing about the madness of passion, the fever of lust, and the emotions of falling deeply in love. I also like exploring the connectedness, and relationships between families, and in this case, it will be about a duke, and his five sisters, who he has raised after the devastating death of their parents. But he has help from a very lively and enchanting aunt, whom I know readers are going to adore!

This series is a mix of so many elements that I love. First off, it is a straight romantic relationship series. I loved writing the mystery subplot in the Brethren Guardians, but I missed writing those dark, emotionally intense love stories, so with the Westlake Series (as its known for right now) brings me, and readers back to that those deeply emotional, romantic, intense and yeah, sexy as heck books!

I pitched the series like this, the haunting beauty of the Brontes brooding Yorkshire moors, meets Jane Austen lively Bennett family, in an intensely emotional and highly sensual Victorian-set series about forbidden love, passionate love letters, the exotic pleasures of a West Indies island, and a scandalous secret admirer, whose mysterious identity has set the Ton on its ear!

Phew! Right. Well, here are a few facts about the series.

It will be Victorian set, 1837, the very year Victoria came to the throne. So, really its very early Victorian. I love the decor at that time, the frilly, feminine dresses, the way they bare the shoulders and the decolletage (fabulous imagery for those heated love scenes). It still feels old, but so much change was just brimming, waiting to spill over. So, I had to take a risk, and write in an era that I have not done so before. The research is wonderful!!! And I am having waaaaay too much fun virtually shopping and surfing for my heroines wardrobes!

The series takes place in North Yorkshire, with the moody moors, the windswept coast, the haunting, often stark beauty of the landscape. I find that atmosphere so lovely and romantic, perfect for a family known to be eccentric, passionate, scandalous, and a touch wild, to hale from.

Another tie in with the series is the island of Barbados. I wanted something exotic to intersperse with the wildness of the moors. Not every book is going to be set in Barbados, but I know for sure two of them will have a hefty amount of island time represented. Think sultry nights, mahogany plantation furniture, four poster beds draped in white netting, two people admidst the crumbled white linen, the scents of the ocean, the exotic flowers, their passion between them. Beautiful men sweating working for their lovers pleasure....you know, you get the drift! lol! What is it, with that toe curling image of a beautiful male with a trickle of sweat glistening between his pecs! ;)

Another aspect that carries through this series, that I truly adore is the theme of the written--and whispered word! I am not ashamed that I have always longed to receive a love letter--a real passionate, soul bearing one. One that could sweep you off your feet, one that you would wrap in a pretty ribbon, and tuck away, to be pulled out and stroked, to be lovingly read and re-read, to be brought to your lips to kiss, and to be tucked beneath your hand and buried with you for all time.

With the way the world is, texting, emailing, twittering, the art of a love letter, carefully written with quill and ink, and scrolling words, folded, and sealed in wax is, for the most part, dead. I wanted to bring that back to readers. I wanted to explore the use of words to convey the most profound feelings and emotions, and yes, the most base desires beautifully, erotically written. I wanted all the longings of the heart and soul to be poured out onto a piece of parchment, written at a writing desk, with only candle light illuminating the black ink. So a series involving love letters, in varying shape and form, and manner were born! I have already written a few such letters for the first book, and I have to tell you, what fun and pure fantasy it was to write them! I hope you enjoy opening them up and reading them, right along with the heroine.

With love letters comes the very thrilling and yes, titilating idea of a secret admirer. Who has not wanted to be secretly admired. So, yes, there is an admirer in there!

Forbidden. I love that concept. We have all been tempted by something, have we not! These books are alot about the forbidden, about temptation, about giving into our desires that run soul deep and not worrying about the fall out. Forbidden, yes, I do love that word!

I hope you will stay with me as the series progresses, and that perhaps, I have tempted you today to keep an eye out for the new series comign from HQN books.

I do not have any release dates yet, or titles, but I will soon, and I will share those as soon as I know them. But for now, I can let you know that there will be a prequel for this series coming in Nov, 2012. It is a novella, entitled Missives and Mistletoe, and its in an anthology with Stephanie Laurens and Nicola Cornick! This will be a first glimpse into the world, and pleasures of the scandalous, and extremely passionate Westlake family!

I will leave you with these quotes, which my hero does use. What Romeo can resist quoting the bard....
I will live in thy heart,
die in thy lap,
And be buried in thy eyes....-Shakespeare

Or this one...
love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs....

Be Well!

A New Year, New Possibilities

2012-01-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are! We've survived the holidays! I actually really enjoy the holidays, but have to admit, I get a bit down in the dumps when its my year to work them. Its only fair, of course, but being human I tend to allow myself to sink into banal human emotions like envy and self pity! BUT, when the new year rolls around, always feel invigorated by the possibilites that lay ahead, and this year is no different. I was blessed in the middle of December with a new contract from HQN books, and an invitation to write a Christmas novella in an anthology with Stephanie Laurens and Nicola Cornick, whose books I truly adore!d
But more tidbits about the new series to come. All I will tell you is that it incorporates many of my loves, and that the books will be just straight romance between the hero and heroine--no over lapping mystery and such (although I loved writing that in the Brethren Guardian series). I am returning to my roots of deep, emotional romance, and I can't wait!

I've made my new years resolutions, and mostly they consist of writing goals, and they are to keep my website updated....Lord preserve us, I am SO bad at that, and also to keep up with this blog. I plan to be a bit more interactive with my readers as well. I also have resolved to stop and enjoy the release of my books, something I have been much too busy to do as of late!

I am excited about the new year, and all it might bring. I'm sooo excited about the new series I am going to undertake. And even though at this point I am only there in my mind, I am so excited to be back in the lovely North Yorkshire Moors writing my series. In fact, I am there now, writing the Christmas novella. Here's what it looks like where I am!

You will have to forgive my geography, but I could not resist this estate! I love it, and while it's in Yorkshire, its not exactly located in reality, where I've planted it in my fictional world. In fact, it's just a bit away from Harrogate, Yorkshire, another lovely place that I have yet to see, but plan to.

Isn't it lovely? Imagine being the lady, or in the case of my series, the duchess of such a house!
Well, back to my imaginery world, sipping tea by the fire with a strong, imposing black haired, green eyed duke staring intently upon me as he undresses me silently--and thoroughly--with his bedroom eyes!

All the best for a wonderful 2012!!!

Pride and Passion--Official Book Trailer

2011-12-27T08:04:00.000-08:00

I know....this book came out a few weeks ago, but take a look at this trailer that the awesome Book Candy Studios did for me! I have been so absolutely crazy with family drama, family issues, the holidays, works and writing that I have not been able to get this up and around the cybersphere. But here it is. Good things come to those that wait, right!

Enjoy.....wonder what they will do for that bad boy Iain Sinclair, Lord Alynwick book....mmmmmm

So what does everyone think of it!

http://youtu.be/sH6aSt09S_M

Christmas Wishes

2011-12-16T05:38:00.000-08:00

I know its a tad early to be wishing readers a Happy Christmas, but the truth is, this next week is going to be absolutely insane for me, as I know it will be for readers, too! Its my year to work Christmas (fate of those in professions such a police, firefighters, and for me, the medical field) So, before the insanity insues, I wanted to take time to thank everyone for their support this year, and for picking up my books, and reviewing them, tweeting about them, facebooking about them, and most of all, for loving them and my characters.

Writing can be a solitary career, and its so wonderful to receive mail from readers who let you know that all those hours spent pouring over words and paragraphs and unruly characters was worth it! And I do have wonderful, wonderful readers who I cannot thank enough!

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, in whichever celebration you might partake of. I will be back in the new year, with a new project I am excited to share, and a new excerpt of Temptation and Twilight.

Merry Christmas, and best wishes for a happy, peaceful and prosperous new year!

Pride and Passion BIG Contest Winners

2011-12-02T05:23:00.000-08:00

Thanks so much to everyone who blogged, tweeted, and reviewed Pride And Passion! I really appreciated, not only getting word out about my newest release, but also spreading word about the wonderful cause of, Because I am a Girl.

So, without adieu, here are the lucky names of the winnes, as picked randomly by my daughter from a bag.......

Grand Prize: The Doll, and a signed copy of Pride and Passion.....

                                                                Punya!!!

Prize Number Two: Fifty Dollar Gift Certificate from Amazon, and a Signed copy of Pride and Passion

                                                               Carrie!!!

Prize Number Three: Bookmark and a signed copy of Pride and Passion

                                                               Elaine!!!

Prize Number Four: Signed Copy of Pride and Passion, and a Because I Am A Girl T-shirt

                                                            Cindy!!!
Congrats to all the winners, and thank you to everyone who participated! Winners please email me at charlotte@charlottefeatherstone.net with your address!!!

A BIG contest in time for the holidays!

2011-11-09T02:46:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. Love it, love it, love it. And this month, well, in a little more than a week actually, I have a new release coming out, and I want to celebrate it with all of you. Many of you will already know it, but the book is called Pride and Passion, and it involves a very passionate couple, Lucy Ashton, and a duke, Adrian York. I loved writing this book. It made me laugh, made me cry, and made me think.

You see, Lucy is a product of her times. She's basically a pawn, as most women were back in the day. But Lucy has a voice. Sure, her father isn't hearing it, but she voices it all the same. It made me rather grateful that I was born in the century I was, because I don't believe I would have fared well back then, when I was expected to hold my tongue and obey the commands of the men around me, even if they were...gasp...my father or husband! No, I surely would not have been a very obediant daughter, or wife. I am much too independent, too stubborn, and yes, something very volatile bristles inside me at the thought of a man telling me I cannot do something!

But you know, there are still places in the world today where a woman's voice is stifled. Where women and girls are second class citizens, to even little boys. It makes me angry to be honest. I am a daughter, a wife, a professional, a writer, and a woman. There is not much closed off to me, I've had a dream of being a writer since I was eight years old, and I've achieved that dream because no one told me I couldn't. No one told me it was silly or useless, or not my place to leave the house. No one forbid me an education, no one denied me the right to follow the dream I saw before me. I am the mother of a daughter who has the same dream laden path awaiting her. She has a father who is not only invested in her life, but in her dreams as well. He's never told her she can't. She's never been anything less than wonderful in his eyes, despite the fact she's 'just a girl'. I have two beautiful nieces, and they do whatever boys can do--and enjoying telling you they can!

We are so blessed in our Westernized countries to be independent, to be able to follow dreams and speak our minds. To grow up loved and protected, educated, and encouraged. To be what we want to be. To write what we want, and read what we want (yes, all those sexy romance novels! Imagine being denied reading them. I for one cannot imagine being denied writing them!)

I am supported by absolutely wonderful, successful women, my agent Jessica Alvarez from Bookends Literary Agency (an agency founded by a woman, and run by women btw, and rather successful, I might add), my wonderful editor, my wonderful cover artist, my friends, my coworkers who work alongside me every day as I work as nurse, helping women bring their babies into the world. My mum who taut me my worth was more than that of the man whose arm my fingers were laid upon. These are all women who have made a difference in my life, and other's as well.

It is in this spirit of women giving back to women, and of Lucy being able to at last have her voice heard, and to be gifted with love by a man who not only listens to her, but accepts her for who she is, that I am happy and excited to announce that I will be donating half of my royalties for Pride and Passion to the wonderful organization of Because I am a Girl. Please have a quick peek at the videos, or have a look around the website to see what wonderful things they are doing for girls and women. It`s not charity, it`s empowerment!

It's my hope that myself, my readers, and Lucy from Pride and Passion might make a difference in the world of women! I will keep everyone up to date of how much I donate, and when. In the meantime, watch these very powerful short videos.

.http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=QcMxxT6rr3o

Now have a peek at this one:

I am very passionate about this cause, thankyou for helping me to share it.

Now, a big contest you ask? YES!!!!! So, in keeping with the spirit of sisterhood, my most talented friend, Heidi has made me a wonderful prize to give away. for the release of Pride and Passion. The prize is rather fitting, I think, for Lucy from Pride and Passion collects these. And I was thinking that it`s a fitting way to not only represent the book, but also the girl themed organization. Without further adieu, I give you the grand prize; the Pride and Passion doll, just in time for Christmas gift giving and keep for yourself, or give to a daughter, grand daughter, neice, mother, grandmother, god child, and the list goes on and on!

Grand Prize. This exquistie doll from Victorian Nursery, and a signed copy of Pride and Passion.

Prize Number Two: A Fifty dollar Amazon gift card, and a signed copy of Pride and Passion

Prize Number Three: The beautiful bookmark, and a signed copy of Pride and Passion

Prize Number Four: Any signed copy of any book from my backlist (just not the Secrets one, I`m out of those!) and a Because I Am A Girl T-shirt.

So what`s the catch, right. There is one, but nothing too heavy. Just blog, review, chat about Pride and Passion, Tweet the book, this contest, or Facebook it, and come back to this blog and send a link to whatever you did in the comment section. Do it a couple of times and increase your chance of winning. And that`s it. Easy peasy.

The contest will close on Thursday, Dec 1, at Midnight EST so there is enough time to ship it for Christmas, or whatever holiday or special occasion you might be celebrating.
Please visit Victorian Nursery and discover all the beautiful dolls that Heidi has made. Good luck to everyone! I`ll keep this post up so it doesn`t get missed.

happy holidays, and Peace On Earth!

Temptation and Twilight Teaser!

2011-10-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

Readers have asked for a little glimpse of Iain Sinclair, Marquis of Alynwick's book. Apparently, he's captured the fancy of quite a few readers, and I'm so glad. I loved writing him, and his book. And his heroine, Elizabeth, is one of my favorite heroines, right up there with Jane, from Sinful. I love their story, the emotion between them, the raw, and sensual love scenes. I hope readers will, too. So, here is a little Friday tidbit. Temptation and Twilight's cover, the song that inspired their romance, and a couple of little teaser passages. Enjoy!

I just love this cover, the colours, her gown, and the model portraying Elizabeth. The hero is quite handsome, although, he is not 'my' Alynwick. He's a little too soft in this cover. Alynwick is hard, rough around the edges. He's deeply intense, a violent storm brews inside him. And this model just seems....well, I don't know what it is. But it's not my image of Iain, and how he holds Elizabeth the first time. Here's the image I had in mind for Iain. I've used this model quite a bit--it's the hair, but mostly its the eyes--so intense. So focused--yet sensual and beautiful.

And whenever I hear this song, I always imagine Alynwick saying these words to Elizabeth. I just love this short piece, and I did write two love scenes to it. Just perfect for them!

I

In this excerpt, Alynwick is in Sussex's study, secretly watching Elizabeth from his spot by the window...

Elizabeth had softened his hard edges, but he was rather grateful for it. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself a modicum of honesty in regards to his true feelings, but in this, he had to be honest. He had never stopped caring about Elizabeth and her well being. Had never stopped desiring her. Had always secretly loved her, knowing she held nothing inside for him but a seething hatred, he knew all too well he deserved.

Iain had always feared that love for her, feared examining his feelings about loving another--so fiercely--and not having the same feeling reciprocated. Before he had faced death on Gresham Field, Iain had been able to bury that need. To use the savage control and discipline his father had made him acquire to bury his feelings for Elizabeth where they could never be found, or disturb him. But something changed that night. Like Pandora’s Box, the long ignored feelings had sprung free from their hiding place, bringing chaos and fury, and a sickness that clung to him. Every thought, every decision was made with a purpose to reunite him with Elizabeth. For the past few days he felt as though every breath he took, was for her. Always her. Only her.

And now, here she was, robbing him of breath and speech, and the brutal self control that hid everything he was. Elizabeth had done this, taken a wild, snarling wolf and turned him into a damnable, drooling lap dog!

Before, the very idea of allowing himself to fall so easily, to be vulnerable to another human being would have sent him lashing out, reeling against feeling anything. Surprisingly, he did not feel angered by the fact that she could have no idea what it was like to lay in bed at night and ache for another, to love only one person on Earth and know she did not feel anything but contempt. Did she know how lonely it was? Could she imagine his guilt, regret, the hatred he held for himself and the actions he had caused twelve years ago? Could she fathom that he, the Mad Marquis, the Aberrant Alynwick could harbor such deep sentiment, a love that would cross oceans of times--lifetimes. A love that would never die?

Would she believe him if he told her all this? If he exposed his feelings to her, and in doing so, expose himself to her ridicule and rejection?

How did one take such hatred and turn it into love? As she stood before him, he pondered that, questioning how he could take something dark and forbidding and make it pure and desirable. He’d give away his fortune, his title, all his earthly possessions for one chance to make Elizabeth see it--his worth. His love.

He didn’t know how to pray. He was not a man of religion and faith, despite his vocation as a Brethren Guardian, but he swallowed hard, closed his eyes and silently plead. 'Please, give me one more chance to earn her forgiveness. Let me love her well, like I should have all those years ago…one more chance at redemption, and I shall do whatever you ask.'

2nd excerpt. Elizabeth has been standing before a looking a glass, in her blindness she is unable to see the woman she has become. Iain has come to her, and this scene is one of the ones I love most with them. It's sexy, and yet, it strips them down, raw and bared (and not in the literal sense!) and you really get a sense of each of their pain, and the struggle within. Iain is struggling not to hide from Elizabeth and his feelings, and Elizabeth is struggling to hid from him, knowing how easy it would be for her to accept him, and forget the past.
Here's a bit of a teaser from this scene...

Her hands, of their own volition slid up along the curve of her hips, hips her gown could not conceal, and over to the rise of her belly, the soft protuberance beneath her corset, and up, to the bodice of her gown.

She felt the curves, sensed a woman’s body, but could not decipher if it was the sort that was becoming to men. Impotent frustration rose like a fury inside her. She was not vain, not at all, but there were times in a woman’s life when she wanted to see her reflection and gaze upon herself, discovering the woman she was. What others saw in her. What she saw in her own eyes while looking upon herself. She had no idea what shone in the looking glass. No sense of identity, or person…

“Wondering what he sees when he looks at you?”

She startled, gasped, nearly screamed until she felt him, the heat of Iain’s chest against her back. The firm grip of his large hands anchoring around her waist as he slowly brought her rigid back to rest against the long length of his body.

“Shall I tell you what he sees? What any man sees.”

“Don’t.” Ooh, her voice sounded breathless and weak, so very unconvincing in her protestation. She thought back to that afternoon, to Lucy and Isabella, and she only felt weaker, thinking of what they had said. What they saw in Iain’s gaze. “Let me be your eyes, Beth.”

The whisper of her name, the name only he used, was at once so arousing and powerful, yet like a sword to the heart. How could one weaken, be aroused, when they were slowly, but effectively being stabbed to death?

“G…get out before you are discovered here. You have no right to come here, none at all!”

“I think I do.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“I only wanted to make certain you were safe.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? This is, after all, my home.”

“You are determined to thwart my attempt at being a gentleman.”

“No, to prevent any more lies that spring so easily from your lips.”

His hand was hot, burning through the bodice of her gown. “All right then. The truth. I came up here to find you because I could not stay away.”

Elizabeth snorted, trying to find level footing. “Not likely. You have some other motivation up your sleeve.”

“Perhaps. Maybe its that I want to kiss you again. Want to see your body naked in this mirror, with my hands covering you. I want, Beth” he whispered darkly next to her ear, “to see myself sink so deeply inside you. To watch you accept me.”

“No.”

“Slowly, penetrating deep, softly, lazily, until the past is gone, purged from us both.”

That, she could not allow. She was not good at hating. Forgiveness and understanding came too easy to her, she feared; and knew it would be all too simple to forgive him for the past. To want to allow him that kiss. Or worse, to wish he would take the decision from her hand, and just take it from her. Yes…that…she had always gravitated to that aspect of him, the dominant part that always knew what she wanted, that wouldn’t allow her to run away in fear.

Swallowing, she gathered her courage to fight him, and her body‘s natural instincts. “I am not at all interested in your kisses, my lord.”

“Are you not?”

How smooth and dark his voice was, whispering into her ear. The man knew she lied. It seemed she couldn’t hide anything from him.

“What of Sheldon’s kisses?” he asked darkly, “are you in interested in his?”

“I don’t see what concern that is of yours.”

“Everything you do concerns me. Everywhere you go, everyone you visit, everything you do…or dream.”

“I have no need of your concern. You may continue in the pursuit of your own vices, and no longer have to involve yourself in anything I’m doing.”

“I’ve been involved in your life, Elizabeth, whether you have noticed it or not, for a very long time.”

She struggled against him, fighting against a warmth that refused to grow cold in his arms. How she wished she could send him on his way, but she was weak and inconstant. The wicked creature who always found him irresistible was much more insistent than the woman of good sense.

“You’ve said your piece, now it is time to leave.”

“Not yet. You haven’t answered my question,” he said quietly, his voice wrapping around her in the dark, “what is your purpose standing here before this mirror?”

“None of your business.” She could not weaken. Could not. “You have no right to know my thoughts.”

“I know it for the truth, that I should never be allowed into your life, that I have no right to assume I should be allowed in. Yet I cannot help but think it is my concern. After all, I have tasted you, have brought you to shuddering climax. My body has been so deeply inside yours. I know you as no man ever has, Elizabeth. We have a connection, and although you want to deny it, to ignore the fact, that the bond between us remains--neglected and dormant, but like a bud in the spring, is awakening beneath the heat.”

“I will never allow you back in.”

He sighed, and Elizabeth felt his chin drop to the juncture of her shoulder and neck. He needed a shave, for his chin was covered in a night beard. The devil slowly brushed his chin against her, abrading her, sensitizing her, and her womb responded with a deep ache of want.

Blast him, not even a kiss, only a small grazing and she was already aching deep inside. She closed her eyes against the knowledge of it, the realization that she was weak and wanton.

“I am already there, aren’t I? Already so deep inside you. Just as deep as you are inside me. The past might lay between us, but there is something there beyond the hurt. Isn’t there?”

She refused to answer. Couldn’t. Didn’t trust herself to speak for fear she might say ‘yes,’, or to even nod in agreement. No man made her surrender, made her give up her control like Alynwick.

“Damn, but you smell so good,” he murmured as his palm, large and firm, moved from her waist and made a slow progression over the rise of her stomach, her ribs, the valley between her breasts where the tips of his fingers toyed with the edges of the bow on her bodice. “I can smell you, the building desire, the struggle within. I remember it from all those years ago, the heady musk of your excitement. The outline of your body before the window. The way it made me feel to look at you, to know you were mine. The way I took you,” his lips brushed softly over her flesh. “The way you gave to me.”

Once before, they had stood like this, in the dark of night, when he had crept into her room. She had been watching for him from her window, and he had silently come up behind her, captured her around the waist and tore off her nightrail and wrapper, rendering her naked to him. He had made love to her like that, her naked and on her knees, her hair fisted in his hand. Him, behind her, fully dressed, breathing hard--exciting her. He had possessed her, and she had allowed him to. Had given him everything she had, and he’d taken it, like a man starved, he had greedily consumed her.

“Tell me what you were searching for, standing before this mirror?”

Shaking her head, Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She refused to answer, to give words to her vulnerability, but he knew…somehow the soulless, callous Alynwick always could read her thoughts…knew what she wanted, what she yearned for her. He proved her correct when he said, “see yourself through my eyes, Beth.”

Coward. Weakling. Silly wanton. No, she could not allow him to show her what she was. She had no wish to see how quickly and easily she could succumb to him.

But oh, god his fingers, hot on the bare flesh of her bosom felt so good. The trembling of them against her, the sweep of his mouth against the bounding pulse of her neck.

It felt too good to resist, and she allowed her head to fall back against him. It had been so long since she had been touched. She’d had so much of him before, his mouth, his hands, his body moving inside hers. And then he had left, abruptly withdrew from her. It had been like a death, her body grieving for what it once had, and no longer did. His touch had been a living thing, a life, and when he had left her, withholding his touch from her, it had been a death. Hers.

How she longed for this in the nights. To be stroked. Held. Caressed. There was nothing to rival a lover’s soft, reverent touch. It had been sacred to her, he had made her body his, a supplicant only too willing to obey with just a touch. And like all masters do with their slaves, he had tossed her aside when her worth was no longer of any value to him.

“You are so beautiful,” his lips moved over her neck, his chin over her sensitive collar bone. “You cannot imagine how lovely, Beth. Every man’s dream. My most wicked, erotic fantasy come to life.”

“No,” she shook her head, protesting not his assessment, but the way she felt herself falling against him, the way her arm rose up over her head to clutch at him. She could not stop the action, could not prevent the tears that started to well behind her closed lids.

So much pain….her heart was aching with it, with the memories of his betrayal. It was mixed with the onslaught of pleasure, so acute, so overwhelming. She was literally trembling with it, her body awakening after years of being cold and dead. It wanted to reach out to him. To live. The inner struggle, it was tearing her apart, and she could do nothing more than rest against him and pray…pray that he would not destroy her once again.

“Let me in, Beth,” he murmured, his voice dark, compelling. “Please…”

Time hung, suspended, the sound of his breathing mingled with her racing pulse.

Please…had he ever asked before? Ever begged?

“Come back to me, Beth, let us find our way back to one another.”

A tear slipped from her eye and she squeezed them shut, struggling with an answer to a question she could not answer without regret. To deny him, and live in regret for the dashed opportunity to feel his exquisite touch, his body loving hers, or to submit, and despise herself forever for her weakness.

“Beth,” he whispered, “I am your slave. Command me to your will, and I will do anything you desire. Anything….”

To stand firm or submit….she struggled with the decision, and from some place deep inside her, she wondered how sweet and heady it would be to surrender, to yield to Iain and the dark, sensual pleasure that awaited her.

Be Well!

News! Sins and Virtues.....

2011-10-11T16:38:00.000-07:00

I've been swamped lately, so my apologies for letting the dust collect on this blog! Thanks to everyone who has been emailing me asking me about the next book in the Sins and Virtues series. I have news!!! No cover yet, but news!

So, some of you might have heard that the Spice line from Harlequin was streamalined into part of the HQN umbrella. It's still going to be the same old Spice that readers love, but I think (and please don't hold me to it) that the only difference will be that they are coming out in mass market paperback. As I was told, this was done to increase the ability for wider distribution. Erotica as a whole is a niche market, so, to get their books out to more readers, they've merged. So, that said, that tipped back my release date beacause my Brethren Guardian series was already slotted for release. So, book two is Vanity, and it's releasing Jan, 2013. I know, crazy long wait. But, usually HQN releases a few weeks early, so you might be able to get a copy in December, 2012.

I know readers are anxious, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait. Vanity is a beautiful dark Fey, and as I've promised readers who've emailed me, you will get to see more of Envy, and that bad boy Gluttony as well! I will post the cover, and little juicy excerpts to keep you going until then, I promise!

So, because I've sat down and started plucking away at Vanity, and because we're spending more time in the Unseelie Court in his book, I've been surfing around the net looking for inspiration. Well, I've found it. In my mind, the Unseelie Court is this fantastic, erotic and sensual version of an Aruthrian court. In my mind its clear what it looks like, but readers can now see what is pretty much going on in my grey matter. I think this girl has some mad skill! This video is just gorgeous, and its everything the Unseelie Court is.

Enjoy it! And I will keep you updated as we move along! Thanks so, so much for all your support! It's SO appreciated!
Be Well!

Oooh la la!!!

2011-09-03T06:02:00.000-07:00

Is this not a lovely cover for the French translation version of Sinful. And it has a new title, too, which I am loving!

The colors are pretty, although purple and mauve never really occured to me while writing Sinful, but I have to say these colors give a nice feel. I love, love, the way that very male beringed hand is pressing against her breast, beautiful, and very Wallingford if you ask me.

I think it is a good reflection of Matthew and Jane, and the vibe and color scheme are making me think fall. I love fall....my fav time of year!

So, what do we think, a keeper
Hope everyone is having a lovely long weekend.

Pride and Passion Giveaway!

2011-08-31T05:47:00.000-07:00

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Pride & Passion

by Charlotte Featherstone

Giveaway ends October 31, 2011.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Just a girl in the world! Please Read

2011-08-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

Yep, that's me. Just an ordinary girl, working for a living, helping to support my family (and yeah, as much as he hates to admit it, I do make waaaay more money that Mr. Charlotte) I'm educated, I'm a labour and delivery room nurse, supporting women through the most wonderful time of their lives--and sometimes the most tragic moments of their lives. I'm a writer, writing whatever I want, embracing love and romance, and the beauty of sexual relationships. I'm a wife--whose husband treats me like an equal, a mother of a daughter, who was was raised for the first five years of her life by a devoted father because she was too ill to go to daycare, and because I made 2/3 more than what my husband made. I'm a daughter, raised by two parents who made me think for myself, who taught me life lessons, and inner strength and conviction, who did not raise me any different from my two brothers. I'm Canadian, born into a country where rights are for both sexes, all colours, all religions. And thank God for that, because if I had not been, my world, and my life might have been drastically different.

It's amazing,and heartbreaking to me that girls in developing countries, and third world countries are still treated without dignity and basic human rights. There are millions of women and girls out there who could make a difference in their family, their village, their city, and their country if they were only allowed to contribute but cannot because they were born female.

It burns my rear end whenever I think of it. I look at my daughter and see a future, a bright future with lots of chances to follow hopes and dreams, and then I think of the female babies being born today around the world and know that they will not have the same chances.

We can do something about this, and I'm going to! In the coming months I'll be announcing the release of Pride and Passion, and also Temptation and Twilight. Those books contain two very strong, independent women, struggling with their sex, and the ideals of men in Victorian England. They overcome and they come out winning! What better way to showcase the empowerment of women, but with Lucy Ashton and Elizabeth York. And what better way to benefit Because I Am A Girl than by sharing proceeds of my royalites with this fabulous group!

More to come on what I will be doing, and more on tCanada's plan, Because I am a Girl to come. But just so you know what I'm talking about, have a quick peek at their introduction video. Or visit, http://plancanada.ca/becauseiamagirl?WT.mc_id=BIAAGFY11GS18 to see what they're about.

I really want to make a difference, and give women and children the freedom and gifts that we in developed countries enjoy, but more than that, have come to expect! I will hope you will join me in the coming months, because after all, we are all just girls!

Damn Hot! Presenting the Duke of Delciousness!

2011-07-21T10:39:00.000-07:00

It's hot as hell here in Southwestern Ontario! OMG, like suffocating hot! And it's not made any better when you have to sit for hours at a time with copyedits of Pride and Passion, and the naughty duke of Sussex! So, thought I'd share this with you, it's a nice, hot scene with Sussex and Lucy. Sussex has just discovered Lucy, in the dark of night making her way to her where someone from her past is waiting for her. Hope you enjoy it--and the picture I used to inspire the Duke of Deliciousness! Thanks to my friend Aly whom not only supplied the picture, but also gave him his nickname!

Stay cool and enjoy! This excerpt is not for anyone under 18 yrs..just sayin! :) Oh, yeah, could still be some typos etc...this is copy edit stage, so please excuse any housekeeping I might have overlooked!

“You were going to meet him!” his gaze narrowed. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

Raising her chin in defiance, she replied, “I don’t believe I owe you any explanations.”

Something snapped inside him, and roughly he reached for her arm, and pulled her to him, then started to make his way deeper into the house, all but dragging her along, Lucy protesting bitterly. In the library he shoved her into the nearest chair and pulled his already loosened cravat from his neck.

“You will start speaking now, or I swear…” he threatened, unable to finish the sentence. His mind was reeling with information, the implications, and the terror of knowing that Lucy was alone on that bloody street, intent on meeting her lover at the House of Orpheus.

“I will not,” she sniffed haughtily as she artfully arranged her skirts. If you want to know you’ll have to drag it out of me--torture me with one of your Templar methods.”

Oh, he’d love to, he thought as he stared down at her, mesmerized into pure idiocy as he focused on her mouth, and thought how he’d like to torture her--he’d start by unpinning that glorious mound of red hair. Shaking himself, he focused on the task at hand.

“I could use a Brethren Guardian tactic,” he growled, unsure if the Brethren even had a torture tactic--certainly none that had ever been implemented in the past two or three centuries. “But you wouldn’t like it.” Which was the entire point of torture--you idiot!

“I am prepared.”

With an arch of a brow, he reached for her reticule and snatched it from her, causing her to jump up in outrage. “That is private! You cannot simply just open my bag and go searching through my effects!”

“Brethren tactic, remember?” She tried to wrestle it out his hands, but he held firmly onto it, while forcing her gently back into the chair. “Why don’t you just explain what you were doing out there, at this time of night, and why you have the coin with the mark of Orpheus? That will do nicely for starters.”

“Never! You’ll have to force it out of me!”

He laughed despite his foul mood. “Dear me, Lucy this is not the crusades, and I’m not going to strap you down on the rack.”

She eyed him speculatively. “We’re enemies.”

“If I were to strap you down…” he shook his head and cleared his throat. Certainly he couldn’t finish the thought because he knew she would not like to hear how damn much he wanted to lay her down on his bed and torture her with pleasure until she screamed and called out his name.

“Now, then,” he muttered, after steadying himself. “You may tell me your tale, or I will go rifling through your reticule. Your choice.”

With a shrug, she nodded to the beaded bag he held in his hands. “Do your worst.”

Such a dramatic little thing, he thought with a smile as he pulled on the corded and tasselled strings that held the purse closed, such fire. It made him want to bed her--hard--riding her into submission. She would burn hot beneath him, every expression naked for him to see, just as her body would be. And her hair, it would resemble a river of flame over his pillow, and he would reach for it, wrap the silken strands around his hand and tilt her face up to look at him as he thrust hard into her, making her accept him. And in her inherent dramatic fashion she would come beautifully--and loudly--for him.

Christ, he was hard as iron standing there, and he lowered the purse in his hands, trying to conceal the fact. He was supposed to be livid with her, not thinking of bedding her. He should be investigating her actions, discovering what the devil she was doing with this coin, but the image of her pale body arching beneath him, of her searching and reaching for the orgasm he masterfully held just out of her reach. By God he would make her wait, make her teeter and fall, only to rise up again. He’d make her want….make her weep…keep her in an acute state of longing and aching need before he gave her what she wanted--just like she had done with him.

Get on with it, he reminded himself. And reluctantly he tore his gaze away from her face, and his mind from the fantasy of making love to her. He would--he vowed. He would have Lucy Ashton, there was no mistaking that.

Drawing the strings, he opened the reticule. There was some money--some coins, a key, presumably to her father’s house, which made him ask the asinine question, “does your father know what you’re about tonight?”

“Oh certainly,” she replied mockingly. “I shook him awake and informed him I was going traipsing through Mayfair in the dead of night to meet with the man who took my innocence.”

It was though an electric bolt lanced through him. He had known what was in Lucy’s past, and he had discarded it. But now, hearing it from her own lips caused a new ravaging in his soul. Was it insufferably hypocritical and priggish for him to wish that he could have been her first? He had dreamt of it for so long, how it would have been between them. He would have taken such good care of her. Would have made it beautiful, and tender--and slow, not rushing her, just allowing her to experience ever nuance of pleasure he and his body to give her.

With a savage oath, he picked through the bag until he came across a folded piece of paper. Her eyes widened, but their expression taunted him, dared him to unfold this bit of private correspondence, which did nothing to ease his riled, and feral--not to mention sexually frustrated mood.

“So this is the damming evidence, is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?’

Opening it, he read the contents, and saw red as every vessel in his head began to bleed, leaching blood from his brain, to his eyes, until his vision was swimming in crimson.

“God damn it!” he roared. “What the devil you do you mean by obeying this summons? Alone? In the dark? My god, when I think of what might have happened to you. You’re reckless….a danger to yourself,” he huffed, quickly losing his control. “You ought to be tied up for your own good and safety and given to a man who will make it his life‘s purpose to keep you out of mischief!” he had roared those last words, and reached for the cravat, that lay pooled on the table.

“What do you mean by this!” she snapped as he began to bind her hands.

“What does it look like?”

“Untie me at once. Oooh,” she stammered as she stamped her foot against the floor, trying to connect with his foot. The foot wouldn’t hurt half as much as his groin still did. “You cannot do this!”

“I assure you, my love, I can. And I am doing a fine job of it.”

He was done tying her, but his palm had caught her wrist, checking to make certain the cravat was not too tight. He had removed her cloak, and her arms were bare, the skin pale and beckoning as he made an upward brush of his hand along her arm.

“Get your paws off of me,” she gasped, struggling to free herself as she squirmed in the chair. “Cease your manhandling.”

That did it. He stood in front of the chair, bent down to eye level as his hands wrapped around each of the chair’s curved arms. He stared into her vivid green eyes, as glorious as a blade of spring grass and said, “I am not manhandling you.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I am not. Trust me, you will be fully cognizant of the matter when you’ve been manhandled by my paws.”

“Oh, really?” She drawled haughtily. “And what distinction will you make, hmm? What difference will there be from now?”

His mouth came dangerously closer to hers. His cock stiffened, and his bollocks burned with a gut deep ache, but he could not stop himself. Her lips were too close, her mouth so daring and tempting…

“You’ll know, because I’ll do it properly, and you’ll beg me for more of my hands.”

She frowned, crinkling her nose as though she was hit with a most distasteful odour, then her eyes went wide. “You are intoxicated, your grace.”

The revulsion in her expression, the derision in her voice made him feel something more than a little dangerous. “Only mildly inebriated,” he drawled with a sardonic air he did not feel.

“Disgustingly drunk.” Her green eyes narrowed a telling sign she did not find his repartee one bit amusing. “You are foxed. Ripping drunk, sir. Sauced.”

Something he had kept tightly tethered inside suddenly snapped, he straightened, putting distance between them, or else he might fall on her like a ravening lunatic. On the mantle, his glass of whiskey from earlier sat unfinished, and to settle the roiling emotions in him, he strolled to the hearth and reached for it.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, he curled his lips around the crystal tumbler and studied her. The brandy did nothing to settle him. He wanted her with a power that would not be harnessed.

“Sauced is cockney cant, Lady Lucy. Does your lover,” and he spat the word with such vehemence, “speak it to you?”

Her elfin chin tilted upwards in defiance. “You insinuate that he is less than a gentleman, but he is more than you, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yes,” he thundered, his hand gripping the crystal in a dangerously tight hold. “The very paragon of gentleman like behaviour. The man who shot and killed another in cold blood!”

“You have no proof!” she countered, and the passion in which she defended the bastard made him see red.

“I was there, damn you. I saw him point the gun and shoot Wendell Knighton in the chest from the rooftop. I am telling you, he did it.”

“It…it can’t be.”

“Why? Because you don’t want it to be true? Because you cannot bring yourself to ask a few, very pertinent questions regarding the man you foolishly believe is better than me?”

“He is better than you!” she railed.

“Oh, really?” he drawled, the sound belying the depths of the darkness that he felt. “Well, I for one, would never make you walk through the darkness of night to my carriage that I hid around a corner,” he said with lethal softness.

Something like pain flickered in the depth of her eyes, and he almost despised himself for saying what he had, but jealousy and an unholy unrequited desire was ruling him now, ever since he had read that damned missive.

Her gaze turned mutinous. “Well, I know for certain, that he would not bring me to the very place where he had only just completed fornicating with his mistress!”

Stunned. Adrian knew he stood there with his mouth agog, and his eyes bulging. Whatever her response, he had not expected that.

“The room reeks of her, and her perfume. That same overbearing scent that fouled the air at the musicale. I saw her,” Lucy continued on, her voice taking on a strange tone. “The tall blonde that kept saddling up to you, the one you made no pretence of showing interest in. For all your prudish, priggish ways, you quite forgot your head tonight, did you not? I was not the only one to notice the spectacle you made of yourself.”

Something inside him fired to life, and he replaced the glass atop the mantle, and strode slowly to where she sat, still bound in the chair. “She is not my mistress.”

She snorted in derision, her eyes rolling. “You must think me a fool.”

He caged her within his arms, his hands gripping each of the curved arms of the chair, making her jump, but he shortened the space between them, bending lower until he could look into her eyes, smell her skin, feel the rapid puffs of her breathes against his lips, and his body responded, wanting her, desiring to show her how it could be between them, what sort of lover he would be to her.

“I think you a maddeningly obtuse woman,” he growled, and her eyes widened, either at his tone, or the look in his eyes. “You could have been killed tonight--or worse,” he said, reaching out to stroke her silken cheek with the back of his hand. “You might wonder at that statement, what fate could be worse than death, but I assure you, there are fates out there that would make death appear a blessing. And regardless of that, you walked blindly into the depths of it.”

“Nothing happened,” she whispering, shivering, his touch obviously repulsing her.

Abruptly his hand fell away, only to return to the arm of the chair. “We’ll never know, will we? For I intervened, saving you from a certain distasteful end, I am certain.”

“Thomas would never let anything happen to me.”

“No? He let some stranger come out of the darkness and drag you into an alley before the night watchman could even lift his torch light. Do you think he is still there, waiting for you? Wringing his hands with worry? Or do you think he muscled up and had the carriage turned around in the direction of your home to see if you were safe and sound?”

“You’re crowding me,” she sniffed, trying futilely to press away from him. But ruthless, he dipped his head, forcing her gaze to land on his face.

“Tell me,” he asked, his voice dropping low when his gaze lingered over her moist, pink lips, “why he is so much better than me? Is he handsomer? Wealthier?”

“None of that means anything to me,” she spat. “If you knew me, you would never dare insult me with such innuendos.”

“Than what can it be?” he asked, determined to be without mercy, even if it cost him his pride, a strip of his hide. Damn it, he could no longer go on wondering what this man was, how he could provoke her to such lengths of loyalty, when he would do anything--anything--for her, and yet she would not give him one glance.

“Your grace, this is not at all proper.”

“But you don’t like it when I’m proper. You think me a prig, remember?”

“I think the whiskey has made you say things that you will regret upon the morrow.”

“You think this is all the work of liquor, do you?”

“Of course.” She gazed at him with something like pity. “Obviously it has made you not in your right mind. If you were, then you would not be here. I would not be here, and we would not be having this conversation in this home, under this very peculiar, not to mention, potentially destructive circumstances. You do realize how this appears, do you not? If we were to be discovered-”

“I don’t give a damn how it appears, and every demon in hell could descend upon this room, and I won’t give a farthing until I know if his touch makes your heart flutter? If his kisses leave you witless, breathless, aching for more.”

She blinked, her lips parted, breath stilled for a fraction of a second. Adrian didn’t dare blink, for fear he would miss some nuance of need. A flicker of desire. Her mouth opened, worked, but no words, no sounds were emitted from her beckoning mouth--she just studied him, and he moved closer, insinuating himself to stand between her thighs and loom over her, taking up the space between them.

“Does his hands touch you, caress you so softly you want to weep, to shudder in anticipation? Do you let down your hair for him? Does he brush it over your shoulder and allow his fingers to skim over the delicate curve of your arm? Does he kiss your neck, whisper in your ear?”
“Your grace,” she murmured as she stared intimately into his eyes, seeing something, something he didn’t want her to know. But he was too far gone to think. To see the look of worry, and fear in her eyes. He’d been deprived too long. And yes, the whiskey was swimming in his blood, not intoxicating him, but giving him the courage to shed his reputation for politeness and solicitude, and give free rein to the darker need and passion that were festering inside him--needs that had always been there, the one’s he had been forced to hid from the world.

“Does he murmur all those naughty, highly improper things he had dreamt about? Does he tell, you in a most ungentle manly fashion of all the things he wants to do to you, wicked, wicked things involving beds, and settee’s and darkened corners?” she gasped, color infused her cheeks, “how he wants to give you the greatest pleasure of your life, to feel you squeeze around him as he merges his body with yours?”

Tilting her chin up, he cradled her cheek, allowing his gaze to roam freely over her flushed face.

“Tell me, Lucy,” he asked as his mouth descended in a slow slide, “does his kiss feel like this?”

The feel of her satiny lips against his made him moan. She did not pinch them together, but left them soft, pliable, and he deepened the kiss, mouth opening, tongue aching to reach deep inside, to loose himself to a place he thought never to go, a place to return to, where he had felt solace and warmth and love…

Lucy was caught in a sensual haze. She had never before been spoken to in a such a brazen manner as the duke had just spoken to her. It caused a strange tingling in her belly. His mouth on hers only heightened the feeling, and she tipped her chin up, brushing her mouth against his, as he slowly widened his lips across hers. She wanted more of it, a deeper intimacy, and she pressed forward, her breasts thrusting upward, which made him growl deeply, an answering echo in her own body.

“Yes,” his hand left the arm of her chair, only to wrap gently around her throat, his thumb placed directly over the pulse that beat hard and fast. “Reach for me,” he murmured wickedly, as his palm smoothed down the column of her neck, to the expanse of skin above her bodice. Her body jolted and she pressed in, her hands bound behind her back, making her back arch, and her modest bosom thrust forward. His moan was deep, guttural, making her own body answer to it, while his lips caressing, teasing, his tongue making decadent little sweeps across her lips.

His control was rigid, and she felt….so out of control, especially with the tied cravat around her hands. She mewled, tried to inch to the edge of the chair, to feel his tongue surge within her mouth, and his hand press deeper into skin. But he was patient, making her wait, teasing her, and she would not cry out, not plead with him.

“Tell me,” he murmured against her mouth as palm slowly descended to the front of her bodice, leaving his fingers to trail lightly over her breast bone. “Does he inflame you like this? I’ve barely kissed you and I can feel you panting for more.”

Oooh, she wanted to hate him for that! Wanted to tell him to go the devil, and if she wasn’t a lady, she would spit in his face for that. But strangely, bound like this, with him looming over her, large, and masculine, and utterly controlled, the quip only aroused her more. He was dominant, she the supplicant, and it felt….strangely compelling, and sensual, and unbearably erotic. She, Lucy Ashton, cool, aloof, and always in control, giving up her control, and…aroused by it.

“I will keep you here all night until you say it, Lucy.” His voice dropped to a seductive purr, and the cool of his gray eyes were replaced with a molten silver that made his eyes glitter, and the scar in his dark brow all the more alluring for the danger it represented. His hand, so big and strong slipped down until he brushed his palm over the small rise of her breast. Closing her eyes, her head tipped to the side, and she did nothing but enjoy his touch. The soft, but seductive way he flattened then plumped her small breast.

Nudging her head back, his mouth sought the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear. His tongue trailed out and she jumped as he made little circles with the tip. She was aware suddenly, that he had hooked his fingers beneath the sleeve of her gown and was baring her shoulder as his mouth descended in a series of kisses and licks, a pattern that was making her writhe in the chair.

When his mouth arrived at her shoulder, he licked, then sucked the rounded curve, making her moan out loud, while the entire time he palmmed her breast.

She couldn’t remember what they had been talking of. She was supposed to be answering something--a very improper, smug question, but she couldn’t think clearly enough to remember it exactly. She was caught up in a swirl of emotions that ranged from weakness to strength, to longing to fear.

She had never been this exposed--not even naked. Thomas had excited her, had aroused her passion, but never like this. This….what the duke was making her feel was quite terrifying--and addicting, for she wanted more, and more, to never stop feeling the heady sensations.

His lips were making slow progress to the center of her chest, his palm still a heavy, insistence presence. Despite the fact he was so much taller than her, he did not drop down to his knees, but loomed over her, his head between her breasts, the silken stands of his onyx colored hair sliding against her chin and cheeks. She could feel the movement of his head--could watch but could not touch or clasp him to her. She was immobile, a supplicant for his pleasure. He would claim, take, press upon her kisses and touches and she could do nothing to stop him. And it excited her to know it. To sit as still and quiet as a statue and watch him, study his face, how his eyes were closed, how his lips looked against the paleness of her shoulder and chest. And then suddenly--and she couldn’t understand how or when he had done it, the bodice of her gown slipped down, leaving her in her chemise. She had not bothered with a corset this evening--the gown, and her modest breasts had not required it. She was left sitting there helpless as the duke pulled back slightly and stared at the dark shadows beneath the fine lawn. Puzzled, he glanced up at her, then with a wicked smile, he lowered his head to her breast, turning his face to the side, so she could watch his every torment, and licked the straining tip until the lawn was more than damp--it was wet, and it was clinging to her ruched nipples.

“How interesting,” he whispered, as his thumb circled the small tip. Her body answered, her core clenching and dampening. His gaze had flickered to hers, and she knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. Thomas had been disappointed when he had seen her. He hadn’t said the words, per se, but she had seen it in his eyes. She wondered if Sussex would feel the same.

“Beautiful and dark,” he murmured as he watched his thumb touch her nipple, “such a lovely surprise when I have always imagined your nipples to be a pale pink or a lovely coral. But this…dark and mysterious, a dichotomy for one so fair.”

She had always hated her breasts, small and insignificant with dark nipples that stood out against her flesh. “Please, don’t,” she whimpered when she saw him reach for the strap. His gaze flew to hers, she saw something there, he looked….stricken.

“I cannot leave tonight without seeing them. Touching them.”

Cool air kissed her skin, and Lucy was mortified to discover her breast bared, a small little apple cupped in his hand, with a dark berry for a nipple.

“Cherries,” he murmured, as his thumb and forefinger gently pinched and pulled, making the nipple less rounded, and longer. Then his mouth lowered and she watched with shock and fascination as his tongue caressed the tip, circling around, making her hips move. Arched as she was, it appeared that she was offering herself to him, and he growled, noticing her position, too. He was still bent over her, she could still watch him pleasure her with his mouth, still unable to touch him--to only endure what he would give her. And he was taking his sweet time about too!

Finally he kissed the tip, brought it into his mouth to suckle, and she watched, wicked creature that she was, she watched as her dark nipple was pulled into his mouth, and escaped with a little pop, only to be drawn back, and in the process repeated until she was moving her hips to the rhythm of his mouth. He was playing with her, and he seemed fascinated by it all. His eyes had stayed focused on her breast, and that one dark nipple he had made plump and big, which he toyed with unmerciessly.

It was not enough. She needed more, and with her hands tied, she had little room, so she began to rock, the hardness of the chair, the slide of her linen chemise creeping between thighs eased, yet heightened some of the unbearable ache that was building as he worked his way to torment her other breast.

And before she knew it, her vision dimmed, and she cried out, terrified of what was happening. This had never happened with Thomas.

“What have you done to me!” she cried, and then began to shake. From a distance she heard the duke’s voice, ‘yes, yes, just like that,’ she was practically incoherent, but still she was aware when he told her to move her bottom closer to the edge of the chair--how she was cognizant enough to follow his direction, she had no clue. She felt his arm around her waist, pulling her forward, his knee nudging between her thighs, widening them, the hardness of his thigh riding against her sex--the chemise rubbing between her folds. His mouth was raining havoc on her nipple, his thigh creating release--and ecstasy between her legs.

“Yes, like that,” he was encouraging her in a deep whisper. “Shatter for me. Let me watch.”

Her back was arching more, her rhythm--no rhythm at all, just fast, furious jerks of her hips that were uncoordinated movements, until his hand firmly planted on her waist, his fingers biting into her waist as he took over the task for her, moving her forward and back, onto his thigh as he commanded the rhythm.

“Damn, you are hotter than hell itself like this,” he murmured over her breast. “Come for me, little Lucy, show me the fire that burns in you.”

And then it happened, a feeling of utter euphoria, of floating weightlessly--not a care in the world. She was aware of Sussex there, holding her, keeping her safe, and then she was falling over a sort of precipice, shaking and trembling, and he was there, whispering in her ear, encouraging her to risk the leap. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to give that up, afraid of the unknown after allowing herself to fall over that cliff where the future was unseen and unknown.

“Lucy,” the duke whispered hotly in her ear, a beckoning voice that her body wanted to obey. “Come for me.” he flicked, thumbed her nipple, the wetness of her tongue against her lips, the ride of his thigh brought her up once more to the point she couldn’t think or see, only feel. “yes,” he whispered, “give this to me--your first climax.”

She didn’t want him to know that, that Thomas had never brought her to this point. She hadn’t know that this point even existed back then, but now that she did, she could not bear the shame of having Sussex know that what she and Thomas shared had actually lacked something so dark and complex, so elemental--so passionate. And then, she could no longer think, or dissect, could only allow him to coax her into taking that step over the cliff. She was alone in this, and she was afraid.

“Trust me,” he whispered again. “I’ll catch you when you come down.”

Seduction and Scandal winner!!!

2011-07-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

Ok, I know it is Monday, not Sunday, but I have a good excuse for being late in announcing the winners of Seduction and Scandal...I really do....

You see, I had to work 12hr nights on Friday and Saturday, and then come home Sunday morning to host a bridal shower. Not sure where the error in that occured, but let me just say, that by the time 7 pm rolled around and everything tidied up, I had gone thirty hours without sleep! So, here I am, half dead, and definitely bleary eyed to announce the winners!

congrats to.............................................elaing 8 and dahlia.
If you could, email me at charlotte@charlottefeatherstone.net with your snail mail addy.
Tomorrow, expect the male cast in the Brethren Series to make an introduction!
Till then...to bed!

Win it! Seduction and Scandal

2011-07-05T07:59:00.000-07:00

Well, the dark and mysterious Lord Black (hero from Seduction and Scandal) has been out (officially) for four days now, and I've been hearing from readers that the're loving Lord Black and the book! Thank you for that!

Now, I would normally have given away a few signed copies before the release date, but Canada Post was on strike for a little over three weeks, so there was no point in holding giveaways, because we didn't know how long the strike would last, and that would just really annoy readers to have won a book and not receive it in the mail!

Ok, so here goes....three copies of Seduction and Scandal to be given away. Nothing hard, just reply to this post, or any upcoming posts, and I'll randomly choose the winners Sunday evening, July 10th

Super easy!

As I mentioned in an earlier post, this is the first summer in which I haven't been buried and suffocating beneath deadlines and I'm taking adantage of it--restocking the creative well, reconnecting with my house, back yard and all the housework I've neglected for months! Spending time with the kidlet, the hubby and the puppies, as well as getting back to two of my passions, cooking and reading! It's been a great couple of weeks, and I hope the rest of the summer stays just as tranquil.

Temptation and Twilight is coming along, and I should have the book reading for my editor by the middle of August. Hard to believe that then the last of the Brethren Guardians will be turned in and my eye will be turned to something else!

Hope you're enjoying your summer, and don't forget to drop by this week for a chance to win Seduction and Scandal!
Be Well!

Summer Haze

2011-06-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

That's what I'm in! And man does it feel good! This is the first summer in nearly five years that isn't totally choked full of writing and deadlines, and it feels great!

I've been away from the blog for weeks now, and I apologize, but I had quite a few things to get off my plate, because I knew I needed to have this summer be calm and pleasant and serene. I really need to rejuvenate the creative muse. So now, I only have 2500 words to write four days a week for the next seven weeks in order to complete the third Brethren Guardian book--Temptation and Twilight! That might sound like a lot, but for me, it's Heaven! I've actually been able to do a bit of promo for Seduction and Scandal, as well as really take my time on edits for Pride and Passion (which I loved how it turned out) as well as taking my time to write some really hot and emotional love scenes for Temptation and Twilight. Beyond writing, I've got my summer reading list all ready and I cannot wait to dive in and indulge. Reading for pleasure has been non existent for me this year and I had hundreds of books to choose from, but the books I'm going to share with you made it to my top!

In the next few weeks I'll be doing give aways for Seduction and Scandal (and yeah, the Canada Post strike is over so I can actually mail out stuff) as well as posting a brand new scene for Wallingford and Jane. Readers voted, and they wanted to see more of that couple. So, once it's done, I'll post it for a little extra summer treat.

Along wtih reading for pleasure, I'll be doing some reserach reading--I can't say on what, because that would ruin the surprise, but suffice it to say that I have new historical proposal for HQN in the works. I'm REALLY in love with it, and all the characters, and I hope readers--and my editors, will be, too!

Hope you are all enjoying summer, and that you'll come back often to win a book, or read a new excerpt for Pride and Passion--and maybe a little glimpse of Temptation and Twilight, or just to see Jane and Wallingford again!

So, without further adieu, here is my summer list. I've been especially dying for Jennifer Ashley's and Mary Balogh's books! And aren't the covers stunning! Just beautiful.

Jennifer Ashley's writing just speaks to me. I love her writing, her dialogue and her sensual love scenes. She totally won me over with the Mackenzie clan, and I've been salivating for every book! I wish her the best, but man, I wish she could write this series faster!

Mary Balogh is an absolute fav of mine! I love her historical details, her inner monologue and rambling thoughts while in the character's head. I love the way she writes angst and emotions, and I have been DYING for this story since I first read More Than A Mistress!

I'm new to Meredith's books. I've only read one of her books, Duke of Shadows and loved it. This cover is just so stunning and the back cover copy so compelling, how can I resist reading it? I like to try new to me authors, and I really think that Meredith's books will be the kind that I like to read. Anyone have a favorite of hers?

I'm new to Lorraine, as well, but I have read the two books in this series that lead up to this one. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward this, especially after Barbara reviewed it. We have the same reading tastes, and I know how excited she was about this read, so it only fueled my need to read even more! I love angst and deep emotion in my reads, and I know this will fit the bill! I will be reading this one first!

So, what are you reading? Any good recommendations for me when I'm done these?
Be Well!

Winner!!!!!!!!!!!!! The Wedding of the Century

2011-05-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

Hi all! Hope your week went well. I won't be on the blog much for the remainder of the month! Those pesky deadlines! But I will be giving away three-four more copies of Wedding of The Century. And it's easy peasy to win. Just add a comment and you're entered.

Next week I'll be showing you my inspiration for Jase and Blossom, plus giving a bit more background into the story. Abd maybe a little snipped of a scene....

So now, without further adieu, the winner of this week's copy of The Wedding of the Century is.....

joeyjhg2!
Congrats! Just email me at charlotte@charlottefeatherstone.net with your addy and I will get this shipped otu to you.

Now....if the deadlines go well, and the muse is with me, what you like a little to see me write...a little sexy scene wth Lindsay and Anais, or Jane Wallingford. Most votes wins!!!
See ya next week!

Promo~The Wedding of the Century

2011-05-09T07:12:00.000-07:00

Happy Monday, I hope all the Mother's out there hada lovely day yesterday, and whether you're the mother of a child, or a special little fur baby, I'd like to extend my wishes (although belatedly) for a happy Mother's Day.

Which, incidently, brings me to today's post. Mothers. So many people have written to me requesting more from the 'Addicted world'. And I thank them for it I was surprised, and honored that they asked. So, when my editor presented me with the opportunity to be included in an anthology that included Mary Jo Putney I was thrilled, yet flummoxed. What would I write about? At about the time I was asked to write the novella, Sinful was just released, and the epilogue I had written to complete the book was floating around the internet. In it, Jane and Wallingford are married, and Jane is carrying his baby. The epilogue was a warm, feel good piece, which was what the publisher wanted for the novella. So, immediately, I began to think. And think. I re-read the epilogue again, and it was then that it hit me. Jase. The little scoundrel who thought girls were yucky would be the perfect hero!

Jase is Lindsay and Anais son (Addicted) and I began to muse about the idea of bringing him together with Jane and Wallingford's daughter Blossom. When I approached my editor with the idea, I was afraid of the reeption. I was already working on the Sins and the Virtues, and the world of Addicted and Sinful seemed far away. But she loved it. And the rest, is the cliched, history.

While writing it, I had to think of Jane and Wallingford, and Lindsay and Anais, not the way they were in their books, but twenty-five years down the road, when they've matured into fifty somethings. I also had to think on what sort of mothers they were to their children. It was surprisingly easy to imagine both Jane and Anais as mothers--but they both have very different mothering styles.

Anais is a very maternal, affectionate woman. Her mothering style is warm, close to smothering, but not cloying. She has the gift of caring deeply, of comforting with embraces and the sharing of secrets. She is the type of mother who would have cried at the door while you tottered off to school. The one most likely to welcome you home from school with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. In essence, she's the Norman Rockwell mother.

Jane on the other hand is a far different woman. Caring and loving, most certainly, openly affectionate, absolutely. But her style of mothering is far ahead of the average Victorian female. Jane could be considered today's woman. Teaching her daughter to rely on herself, to forge her way in the world so as not to have to rely on a man--a very radical way of thinking in the Victorian era. Janeecourages Blossom to find herself, to be what, and who she is. Despite being a duchess now, Jane is still that down to earth working girl who had
towork and scrape for everything she had.

I like the prevailing differences between Anais and Jane because their ideas and personality have shaped their children. And it was a real delight to see them both interact with their children.

I hope readers will enjoy the novella, and the glimpses of Jane and Anais as they strive to bring their children together, in an union of love of which both have been so blessed to experience.

So, to celebrate the release of The Wedding of the Century, I will be giving away a copy of the book, each week until the beginning of June. Nothing to terribly difficult, just leave a comment thorought the week, and I'll randomly pick a name out of a hat.Winners will be announced on Fridays.

Stay tuned, though, more to come on Lindsay, and that naughty Wallingford as well as Blossom and Jase, and a little surprise for readers about Sarah, and finding her own true love.....

Be Well!

Yummy Inspiration

2011-05-06T07:27:00.000-07:00

Sorry to be gone so long. Deadlines, I'm afraid. I'm busy, busy writing Pride and Passion, as well as beginning the last book in the Brethren Guardian series--Temptation and Twilight. If you can believe it, it's actually time to start pondering future proposals. And I know I've already hinted a bit about that on the blog. But, thought I'd share my inspiration for a component of it.

So, just for all my readers, here's a little Friday mojo to put a smile on our faces....the inspiration for two future heroes. Names aren't fully fixed, but personalities are, and here we go...

Say hello to Mr. Born Common and Ruthless. This guy is determined to rise to the top of the Victorian Society, and he's not afraid to get his hands dirty! I'm quite certain he'll make many a ladies swoon with his skills! I love this guy! I can see him as very bad boy hero. You know how I love me a bad boy, especially when he falls hard for the heroine! This guy is going to look fantastic, especially in a cravat and shiny boots! I was thinking of the name Jake, or Nathan for him. What do you think? He needs a more 'common' less stuffy aristocratic name. Any thoughts or ideas?

And here is Mr. Dark and Brooding. Oh, how I love how masculine this guy is. He's perfect for the character I'm thinking of. He's kind of the quiet, skulking, itense type, maybe a bit ruthless, too, and definitely sexually intense! He looks like he could seduce the knickers off a nun!

So, what do you think? Inspiring?
Happy Mother's Day to everyone!

Favourite Things, and Writing Ways

2011-04-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

This is just an occasional blog post to let readers know me on a bit more personal level. I'm not out and about much on the net, mostly because of my writing and home committments, but also because I'm rather shy. I absolutely loathe talking about myself, and the limelight is certaintly nothing I've ever aspired to. Writing for me is something as necessary as breathing. I MUST get these stories and characters down and out of my head. I write books, not for fame but because I must. I think that is the way with most writers. It's a compulsion, and one that must be heeded, or we become miserable and unfocused. Funny, how hearing strange voices, and seeing strange scenes unfold in our mind keep us author's sane!

Lately, I've thinking about story telling, and writing, and I've realized that authors are not the only group of people that make people feel. To make them think, laugh and cry. A good songwriter can do the very same thing. And in fact, I have always responded to music with good lyrics, and a haunting voice in a much more visceral way than iwhile reading. Certainly, many books have touched me and changed me--shaping me, as it were. But when I compare those to music, I realize that music on the whole has inspired me much more. So many times when I'm reaching deeply inside--me--or a character, I can turn to music to get the physical feel. So many readers have asked how I connect to my characters and bring out their feelings until they bleed onto the page. Well, I think the way I do it is to dig deep. To think of some tragic, painful thing in my past and endure the physical manifestations the memory and emotions invoke. And I write them down. To be a character writer you cannot be afraid of what you might find, or what you might write. The same I think must go for songwriters who are writing a song of love, or pain, or longing. They, too must look deep, and face their life experiences to bring forth the words that they will sing. It's almost more intimate, singing those words, I think, then having others read them. For me, there's the connection of voice, and sound, along with the words. YOu can close your eyes and still hear and feel, but when you close your eyes with your book, you're left with only the remants of feelings the writer's words left with you. And let me tell you, this girl will blow your mind with her songwriting ability. She has certainly blown mine!

For a couple of years now I have been a devoted follower of the Brit phenom Adele. Never have I been so profoundly affected by a songer writer's lyrics, emotion, and voice as I have hers. For just being 21yrs of age, Adele packs a lifetime of pain, longing, love and heartache into her songs. This is the type of songwriter who can make people feel. Make them think, and damn it. make them cry.

To me she feels so real, so raw, and she's one of my most 'favourite things' in the world. Someone Like You is the song I go to when I need to dig deep. When I need to connect with a character who is feeling raw and exposed, one who is aching for the other. One listen (usually) has me crying, and feeling, and after I stop the iPod, I can immerse myself in my world--Victorian England, while still feeling part of her world.

So, without further adieu, have a listen to this song (might want to keep a kleenex handy). Watch her performance, her passion, and remember how young she is. She must be an old soul to be able to convey the power of this song so effectively.
Enjoy! And for everyone who celebrates Easter, Happy Easter!

Ssssh....I'm not supposed to be here....

2011-04-19T10:04:00.000-07:00

Yeah...bad me. I'm supposed to be writing. You know, the muse standing over me with a whip, flogging me every time my mind wanders...and it's been wandering A LOT today.

My favorite part of writing, is daydreaming about a new project. In a month or two it will be time to put said 'new project idea' into a formal proposal. This new idea of mine is like a bad weed, taking over, sucking out all light and thought, until all I can think of is it!!!

So, to break the spell, I went trolling through the net, persumably under the guise of searching for intimate bedroom attire for the newly married Victorian woman.....I came up with zero, but I found this picture, which of course, got me thinking again about that 'I cannot think of this' project.

Anyhoo, doesn't it look fun and fluffy? I don't have any sisters, and with my hectic schedule of writing and working and trying to be a wife and mother, I admittedly have lost contact with most of my friends. But when I look at this picture, it tugs at my heartstrings. It makes me think of female relationships and how wonderful and cozy they can be. I always wanted a sister....and I know my new heroine has LOTS of sisters....hey, maybe this is them, along with an eccentric aunt and her companion....

Just saying...ok, the muse is telling me playing time is over!
Not sure when she'll let me back out to play!
Be Well!

Award Winner...Who Me?

2011-04-12T07:07:00.000-07:00

Ah, yeah....wow! I can't believe it, I won something, and it's involving Sinful, and that baaaad boy Lord Wallingford! See, I knew that somewhere in the world, someone would see and love the dark beauty that is Matthew, the Earl of Wallingford! And if you ever wondered about that gorgeous hunk of man on the cover, well, he's very much in keeping with the hero of the book, right down to that slightly defiant stance!

I'm very proud of all my books, but I'll admit that Addicted and in particular Sinful have a special place in my heart. I don't think I'll ever forget Wallingford, and really, he still owns a piece of my heart!

So, thank you so much to The Romance Reviews, and their readers and followers who voted Sinful as the 2010 Best Erotic Historical Romance! Thank you, gracie, merci beau coup...and if anyone knows of any other languages I could say thank you in, please let me know!!!!

As an aside, Wallingford, and Lindsay from Addicted can be found once more in the novella Seduced By Starlight. It is the love story involving their children. This anthology releases at the end of May, and I'll be having lots of promo stuff running for it! Be sure to check back in the coming weeks!

So, I'm rejuventated and revitalized, knowing that something is going right with my writing!!! Back to Sussex, aka The Duke of Delicousness.... :)

Be well....it's Tuesday, and there's only three more sleeps till the weekend! (I never count Friday night in there, because that's the beginning of the w/e, it's also beer and burgers and homemade mac and cheese night at Castle Featherstone!)

Muse and Man Candy Monday!

2011-04-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

Well remember how I was bitching on Friday about how I had NO paranormal muse on my side? Well, hell, she found me. And it was soooo weird how she did, through chocolate and music!

So, Saturday night I was driving to work, miserable that I was working 12hr nights when I remembered that McDonalds was carrying for a limited time, my all time fav treat--Creme Egg McFlurry! OMG, if you haven't had one of these before you have go to try them. Like now! Sooooo good! And a total Weight Watchers point buster, but heck, they only come around every year at Easter, and for the last two years at least they haven't carried them, so I needed my fix!

So, I pull out of the drive thru and turn up the tunes. About ten seconds later, Katy Perry's song ET comes on, and boy do I love that song. So, I'm at a red light, sipping away at my McFlurry, and listening to the song when an image of my bad boy angel Suriel comes into sharp focus.

Suddenly, I'm this woman who is totally smitten with him, and his mystical, not to mention bad boy ways. Black leathers, long swirling coat, army boots....oh, I could see him soooo well, and the lyrics to the song work sooo damn well, too. And the woman who I'm thinking of is coming in picture pefect clear in my mind. Which is always a bonus for me because I find the men so much easier to write.

Here's how I've always imagined Suriel (sans wings), he has the perfect F-you look that Suriel loves to sneer.
...sigh...I think he's so beautiful, and he has the perfect balance of what could be construed as angelic beauty, and fallen darkness.....

Well, after that, I was jotting down images and scenes for the latest Annwyn Book--Velvet Moon. It's not Suriel's book, but those few moments in the care helped me to flesh out some of the plot points. Not to ention this artwork by Barbara totally injected some much needed imagination for a VERY important plot point in the subplot of The Destroyer....just saying. And yeah, that's a breadcrumb! lol!

And that my friends is how the writer's muse comes a calling! Strange what sort of randomness can inspire a writer's imagination and creative muse. And man, am I relieved. I really needed to throw myself into this book! So, to celebrate with me, here is Katy's song, programmed to a little man candy, and one of my fav hotties, Richard Armitage!

And strangely enough, the historical muse is still with me, and she's working in weird ways, too! This weekend, I have been inspired by two songs from my very early teen years. And because I promised Barbara I'd leave a few little breadcrumbs about the Duke of Sussex,here we go. So, have a listen to Waiting for a Girl Like You by Foreigner, and Dreamweaver by Gary Wright. Strangely, I always think of Sussex, and how some of these lyrics are what he thinks/feels about Lucy! (and OMG, can you believe I used to on Friday nights to the Roller Rama and roller skate to songs like this, and Journey, and Billy Squire....ack! lol!)

Hope this kicks off your week to a good start!
Be Well!

This Is Me.....

2011-04-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

Aren't I a sight! LOL! Seriously, I don't quite look that manic --yet, at least not on the outside, but on the inside.....yes, I'm in a hole heap of stress!

Two books to write, and a little over two weeks to get it done. Should be okay, right? Trouble is, the historical is totally taking over. I mean, the Duke of Sussex just won't leave me alone, he's always nattering in my head, and he's telling me some good stuff. Some good SEXY stuff. BUT, the duke should be quiet now, because I really have to get the the paranormal under the Sophie Renwick umbrella done. I mean, I've got Selkie's and Nymphs and Shadow Wraiths and a bad boy, pain in the arse Fallen Angel to write--and write them fast--and well! But no....Sussex, who would never say anything when I first sat down to write his book now suddenly can't shut the-you-know-what-up!

Sigh...this is the muse talking. And a writer knows that when the muse visits, you invite her in, and give her whatever she wants-ANTHING she wants, just as long as she'll stay with you and give you the words and inspiration you need. Trouble is, this isn't what I need. This is the historical muse visiting, and I need the paranormal one. Anyone seen one?

I swear, I will be certifiable before May rolls around! By the time Sunday afternoon comes by, I WILL look like this!

TGIF....what's everyone doing? Anyone reading anything good? Or planning on starting a book this weekend?

Be Well

The Story Behind The Story....The Pleasure Garden

2011-03-31T06:58:00.000-07:00

Ok, it's the last day of March, and my god, let us hope that Spring is right around the corner! I'm dead sick of winter, and have been chomping at the bit for a little spring action. Spring fever is actually a real thing, you know! The ancient Celts knew that! I happen to love the Celts. They're a really ingenous ancient people, and they loved festivals and sex! What could be better?

When Amanda McIntyre, Kristi Cook and I started thinking of an anthology idea, we all kind of hit on the Celtic people and their calendar of festivals. It all started with Winter's Desire. Spice wanted a Christmasy/Wintery type tale, but didn't want the proverbial Christmas tree and mistletoe type of thing. They wanted outside the box. So we thought about doing something kind of mystical, and non-religious, but in the spirit of the holidays and the season. The Winter Solstice came into being, and A Winter's Desire was born.

I think we had so much fun brainstorming this idea, that it naturally flowed into ideas for other anthologies. Which brings me to todays blog post--The Pleasure Garden, or affectionately known between us three as--The Beltane Anthology.

The Pleasure Garden does celebrate the rites of spring which was known to the Celts as Beltane. We might know it more today as May Day. It's the time of death to winter, and the birth of spring. It's about fertiility and liveliness and the frivolity of spring. It's about the flowering of plants and trees, and the growth of fruit and vegetables. It's the birth of animals, bunnies and rabbits, and calves, and those adorable spring lambs! The world is green and warm, and everything seems to hum with life! We knew we wanted to convey this feel, to make each story brim with passion and life, and the gift of a warm spring day.

Upon researching Beltane, and the ancient celebrations, we hit upon an old fable involving the May Queen and the Oak King. We liked how we could encorporate the image of the Green Man which is so rich in Beltane lore. So, we took the story of the Oak King and May Queen and tailored it to suit our premise. In the end. we have a cursed garden, and the Green Man sorrowfully looking out upon it. To make this garden grow, lovers need to visit, and make it flourish with their passion and love.

This idea is integral to Beltane. Villagers would run out into the woods, and chase one another. Lots of hanky panky out in the woods, and lo and behold flowers and plants and all kinds of other things start sprouting out fromt he ground. A bit basic in my outline, but essentially, that's the spirit of Beltane, and that's what we wanted to capture when we set out to write what we have dubbed, The Celtic Spice anthologies.

So, in hopes that spring comes soon, I decided to give you a little glimpse into the background of the book. Now, I'm off to see if my garden is perhaps hiding a man in the foilage!!

Be Well!

Reader Questions--Inspiration!

2011-03-25T08:02:00.000-07:00

I thought I might add this feature, either weekly or biweekly for the readers who email me, and don't always get a pompt, or indepth answer from me. I hope followers will like it! I'm planning on combining reader questions, and a behind the book series for readers.

One of the most popular questions that come my way are 'what inspires you', or more succintly 'how the heck did you ever come up with an opium addicted hero,' and in regards to poor old Wallingford, 'how come he can be such an ass?'

Well, the answer to these questions are; the character. They come to me as they come, an that's really a very fascinating part of the whole writing experience. But more on Addicted and Sinful, and the upcoming related novella to those books will be creeping into this blog in the coming weeks.

So, today, I'm gong to address inspiration. In one word, I'm inspired by 'everything'. Normally, for me, it's snippets of things. Perhaps one line in a song (music is probably the number one most inspiring thing for me; and I always make playlists for each of my books) and artwork. It can either be classical, photo's, or landscapes. Generally, it's something moody, desolate but romantic. That tends to be my formula for writing, and by now I've learned not to try my hand at light and fluffy, because it's just not me as a writer. I'm darker, I guess. I enjoy finding beauty in the stark and bleak, the humble, and the tortured soul. So, my inspiration naturally springs from this.

Take for instance, this gorgeous piece of artwork.

The subject-Fallen Angels is a favorite of mine. GAWDS, I love me a bad boy angel, but it's not only the subject itself that inspires me, but the tone, dark, smoky, moody, the way the fog and mist curl around the lamposts like a lover snaking around a woman's body. It's the brilliant, sensual color of the woman's dress and the romantic, fluffy layers interspersed with lace. It's the way he's carrying her, and how her head is tossed back and her throat, so pale and luminous is exposed. It's the feeling of danger and security, sensuality, and a deep, palpable passion that exists in his expression, which is mysteriously, and inticingly partial covered.
I've already written a scene that very much resembles this couple's pose. I've made it my own, through setting, thoughts and the character's own traits, but there is no denying that this exact picture inspired a new picture in my mind. (Thanks, Barbara)
And that's usually the way it works for me, with art. My eyes see one thing, and it immediately turns to something different, but along the same vein in my mind.

Next is music. Any kind of music can inspire me. In classical it's a feel. I think because I like to dvelve deep into the human condition I find that classical music, especially piano and violen help me to capture the tone and feel, and emotional depth that I desire in my books. Sometimes I can be listening to the music, and barely conscious of the words I'm typing. That's just a stream of conscious writing, and at that moment, I AM the character. For me, I have three--now four go to music selections that I ALWAYS write every book to. They are the Kingdom of Heaven movie sountract, the 2005 Pride and Prejudice soundtrack (Sinful was written exclusively to this soundtrack) and Loreena McKennit's The Mask and the Mirror.

Last week, I added the new Jane Eyre soundtrack, composed by the same man who brilliantly composed the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack. Let me tell you, it's just stunning. You can almost hear the violen weep. Just gorgeous. And this soundtrack has been instrumental in the writing of Pide and Passion while helping to achieve the emotional arc of this intense story.
The songs Wandering Jane and The End of Childhood are in heavy replay rotation on my iPod. I've written what think is a beautiful and passionate love scene between Lucy and Sussex; they're stripped raw and naked, and emotionally they're both at the lenth of their tether. It's been passion denied too long, and hearts that have been bleeding too long. It's two souls desiring each other, but who are afraid to reach out; it's the mask of politeness dropping so that pain and sorrow, fear and a very great longing can be seen. I have to say, that the emotional connection between them is poignant, which makes the physical touching, and the act of making love all the more powerful. It's probably one of my favorite love scenes I've written thus far!
Have a listen on Amazon, and you'll know what sort of love scene, and emotional itensity there is between these two! (Definitely listen to Wandering Jane and The End of Childhood, because those are the only songs I listened to while writng that scene!)

Occasionally I will listen to words with lyrics, but only to get me in the mood. I never write to lyrics because I'm afraid of inadvertingly typing out something I'm listening to.
And finally, another important inspiration for me, is words. Geesh, I love the power of words. They can hurt, tear us apart, but they can soothe and make us happy, or aroused. I love finding just the right context, and fit, and the perfect word to make a sentence or thought sing. It's not surprising then, that I love quotes. I'm especially fond of Shakespearean quotes, and one's from Anais Nin.
Here are a few favorites about writing, which I happen to think are sooo true....

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein--Walter Wellesley

The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say--Anais Nin

Words so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them--Nathaniel Hawthorne

And that is it, readers. The inspiration behind my books, and imagination!
If you listen to the Jane Eyre soundtrack, let me know what you think. As well, if you're eager for more of the Addicted world, stay tuned, lots of stuff coming up for Seduced By Starlight in the anthology, The Wedding of the Century!

And a question, if you wouldn't mind answering...does an author's musical playlist enhance your reading experience, or do you prefer to listen to your own musical choices? Or perhaps, you enjoy nothing but the sound of the character's voices in your mind?
Would a playlist for my books be of interest to anyone?
Be Well!

This and That

2011-03-18T06:40:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Friday, and we can all breathe a sigh of relief that the weekend is upon us. For me, I'm still nose down, fingers flying over the keyboard. Pride and Passion is coming along. So is spring. Right now I am sitting in my study, with the window slighly open! The birds are singing, and the promise of a sixty degree day is whispering in the air. (of course, the weather forecastors are calling for snow on Sunday, but I'm choosing to live in ignornant bliss).

For me, spring is all about renewal and rebirth. Shedding the old and tired, and making a fresh start. I often make little resolutions in the spring. You know the ones, stop and smell the flowers. Take a few minutes to enjoy the fresh air and the solitude, feel the cool grass beneath my feet. And with this sense of new beginnings, it's no surprise that the spring is the time of year that new proposals and book ideas seems to pop into my head. I've been thinking of this new proposal quite a bit lately (although I should be completely lost in Pride and Passion)I cannot help but allow my mind to wander to Yorkshire, and the dynamic family that has so captured my imagination.

As I do every year, I stop at the local nursery and pick up two potted Hyacinths. I love the smells, and I bring one into my study to enjoy. Today I'm heading out to buy one. I think it's the perfect day for it, and it's my own small, personal indulgence.

I'll be going to my favorite local nursery, I love their selection, but what I love most is the the huge thick limbed Wisteria they have! It's just gorgeous, and the blooms hang in big bunches, just like grapes. It won't be blooming yet, but there will be signs of life, and it'll make me think that spring isn't too far off!
When I return with my plants, I will then start on my next two spring rituals, they are another form of comfort--buttermilk dill biscuits, and lemon squares. To me dill says fresh and spring. I always associate it with Easter because my mum always made these biscuits. However, my mum never cooks with a recipes-it's always a bit of this, and a bit of that-so I found a recipe that tastes almost as good as mum's. Ad the lemon squares taste fresh, and lemony, and for me, nothing says springs more than lemon. Once I get my squares and biscuits made, I'll post the recipes here in the extra section for you to enjoy, if you've got that mad spring
fever like I have.
And while we're talking fever, heree are two things that have inspred me today for my new series...

I see this quaint little walk on the outskirts of my fictional village. What a lovely stroll it would be for a duchess when she goes out to call on villageers, and hand out her gift baskets? What do you think?

This charming cottage, with the bunches of wisteria. I KNOW I will have to find a use for it!
It would be quite heady to be kissed beneath the wisteria, wouldn't it?

And this quote, by William Shakespeare. I love it, the imagery, and the sensuality of it..

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. ~William Shakespeare

I think it sounds like the perfect quote for love in the spring.

So, what's your spring indulgence?
Be Well!

Frisky Friday Winners!

2011-03-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

Wow, thanks for the great respononses for your ultimate Pleasure Garden! Some of the responses just made me long for my own little oasis, and of course, for spring to hit full force.

So, this is how I picked the winners. I wrote the names on separate pieces of paper and my 12 y/o daughter grabbed her old easter basket and randomly drew three names.

The responses were waaay too good, and toooo many to only pick two.

So here we go. The winners of The Pleasure Garden are....
                                                                 Booklover1335
                                                                     Virigina C
                                                                      Chris S
Congrats to all the winners, and a huge thank you to everyone who entered. Not to despair, lots more giveaways coming up! If you could, could the winners please respond to charlotte (@)charlottefeatherstone(.) net and let me know your snail mail addy!

Be well, and thanks again!

Frisky Friday Giveaway

2011-03-11T02:19:00.000-08:00

OMG, March is soooo roaring in like a lion around my parts. ANOTHER snow storm blew in last night, and is still whirling around! I'm SO sick of winter, and it doesn't help that I'm writing Pride and Passion which is set in November, and there's a blizzard going on. Fine and dandy when you're lying in bed with the Duke of Sussex, but in reality...nah, I'm sick of it.

So, let's get our spring on......March 25th, The Pleasure Garden releases, and if that isn't a cover that says spring, I don't know what is!
So, I'm giving away two copies. All you have to do is tell me what your ideal pleasure garden would be. I'll randomly pick the answers on Monday morning!
So, put on your thinking caps, and think SPRING...hell, think this man in spring!!!!!!
If you want to know about The Pleasure Garden go Here
Good luck, and be well!

Tuesday Tidbits

2011-03-08T07:07:00.000-08:00

Apologies for the shoddy housekeeping around here! I'm in deep deadline do-do and have been blazing my way across the keyboard. The good news is Pride and Passion is coming along nicely, and even better, it's turned out to be deep and dark, and emotionally wrangling, and sexy as heck, too! So, I'm feeling good about that. I am NOT feeling good though about getting four hours of sleep a night and living on coffee!

So, I got an exciting email a few days ago. Some more nominations for Sinful, and the first one for LUST! Yeah! So, over at The Romance Reviews Sinful has been nominated for best Erotic Historical Romance for 2010, and Lust has been nominted for best Erotic Paranormal/Fantasy Romance! I'm tickled pink! And if you're interested, you can click this link The Romance Reviews and vote for one of them, or both. No pressure! lol!

So, on to the next tidbit. Has anyone heard that there is a new version of Jane Eyre in the offing next week? OMG, I love Jane Eyre--I don't care how many versions come out, I'll watch every one of them. Jane is probably my most favorite character in all the world, and Jane Eyre is right up there in for one of my all time favorite books. The Bronte's are definitely my favorite literary authors--I love the bleakness, the drama, the melancholy, the over-the top depths of despair, and the bosom heaving romance! When we go to England this year, I'll definitely be visiting the Bronte Parsonage. I feel such a deep connection with Charlotte Bronte, and I can't wait to tred the floors that she did!

Jane..what can I say about her, she's a perfect mix of strength and vulnerability, of feminism and steel core. i love that she is plain, and unassuming, and that Rochester is completely smitten by her. I love the ugly duck trope, and the one in Jane Eyre is in my estimation perfect. I cannot wait for it to come out, and only hope that it will make it a theatre close to me!

In case you haven't heard of this new version, then feast on these treats!
All the best, and be well!

And my favorite dialogue in the whole book!

Clip

Seduction and Scandal-Chapter One!

2011-03-01T08:58:00.000-08:00

At long last, here is Chapter One of Seduction and Scandal. Please note, if you come across any typos, they are formatting issues between galleyes and word docs, into blogger, and will not appear in the book Enjoy!

Chapter One

London, 1875

The first time I met death, it was at a ball and we danced a waltz. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, and amidst the swirls of ball gowns, their silk trains decorated with pearls and lace, Death guided me in sweeping circles until I was dizzy and breathless and all the other dancers had seemed to melt away, leaving only Death and myself whirling on the dance floor.

I should have feared him, and his steely embrace, but I did not. Death had been by my side for so many years that I felt a kindred spirit with him. I have seen Death. He is beautiful in his severity, heartrending in his coldness. A dark, shadowy specter whose web draped like an ethereal veil over the humans he would one day lay claim to.

A man, in every appearance, whose isolation and loneliness he could not hide. It shone in his eyes, which were a mesmerizing dichotomy of coldness and warmth.

His irises were a light shade of blue with the faintest chips of pale green, reminding me of the turbulent, chilly waters of the North Sea. But his lashes, thick and luxurious, and black as a raven’s feathers, put me in mind of a sable wrap, warm and comforting, and soft—so supple and inviting. His hair was just as dark, inky and shining as it hung to his shoulders. Like a pelt of fur, I yearned to run my fingers through the long strands, burying them in the thick suppleness and warmth.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked me, his voice deep and velvety. It slithered along my pores, awakening a deep feeling inside me—not fear, but something else. Something that made me warm and languorous, and as though my will were no longer my own.

“Lord Death,” I replied in a breathless whisper.

“And do you not fear me?”

I looked up, held his icy blue gaze steady. “No. I do not.”

He pulled me closer, till our chests meshed and our bodies danced, pressing and moving as if as one. It was indecent. Hedonistic. Exhilarating. My pulse raced, heating my skin. He found the frantic beating in my throat, his gaze lingered there, and I knew then that he could snuff the warmth that was climbing steadily inside me.

“Have you come to claim me, Lord Death?”

His gaze slowly lifted to mine, and the thick, onyx lashes lowered, casting a hood over his ice colored eyes. “I have. Will you come with me now?”

We finished the turn and he took me by the hand, threading his fingers through mine, guiding me toward the French doors, and the velvet blackness beyond.

I followed him willingly, his beauty beckoning me, and like a sleep walker, I trailed beside him, compelled by something I could not name.

“Am I to die?” I asked, and he stopped, raised our joined hands to his mouth, and gently kissed my knuckles.

“You are, my love, and in your sleep, you will become Death’s Bride.”

“And that is it?” cried Lucy as she threw a pillow at Isabella. “You fiend!”

Lucy rushed to the dressing table where Isabella sat and pulled the black leather journal from her hand. Flipping through the pages, Lucy searched frantically for more.

“I told you, Luce, that I had only just begun the story.”

Lucy looked up from the book, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I was just about to swoon when you ended it. I vow I am in love with Death!”

A tremor of pride curled within Isabella as she accepted the volume back from her cousin. “Do you think it’s that good?” she asked, feeling nervous as she gazed down at the words she had written. “I will admit it is a rather strange concept.”

“Good? Gracious, Issy, you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not even Mr. Rochestor is as gloriously brooding as your Lord Death.”

Smiling, Isabella, tucked her journal and pencil into the seed pearl reticule she was using for the night. “I could not outdo Mr. Rochestor, Lucy. Charlotte Bronte has penned an unsurpassable hero with him.”

“Death, with his black hair and pale blue eyes…” Lucy murmured, closing her eyelids as she began to dance around the room, as though she were waltzing. “He is every maiden’s dream. To be swept up into the arms of a man focused solely on you… Issy,” she said, stopping before her. “It’s perfection.”

“I must confess, I do rather like the opening.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Lucy ordered as she glanced in the mirror and replaced a few wayward auburn ringlets, “it’s only me. You can say you think it’s a smashing opening, and I will whole heartedly agree.”

Hiding her grin, Isabella turned on the little stool and straightened the amethyst and diamond necklace that adorned her throat. It had been a gift from her uncle, and she wore it whenever possible. Never could she have imagined wearing something so beautiful—and expensive.

Her hair could use a fixing, she noticed, but there wasn’t much that could be done with the riotous flaxen curls that enjoyed springing from their pins. She had been able to cover up most of her past, to bury her common roots, and essentially make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but her hair, it seemed, had other plans. It would not obey, and she hid her smile, realizing that bit of tough Yorkshire stubbornness would not be stretched, ironed, or pulled out of her. At least not yet.

“Tell me about your heroine, Issy, the woman who is to capture Death’s heart.”

Isabella frowned. That was the strange part. She hadn’t really put much thought into the woman who was to be Death’s bride. The opening had come from some place deep inside her, the words spilling out from her soul. She did not want to look too deeply there, afraid of what she might see of her past—or perhaps it was the future she feared?

Lucy caught her scowl, and lowered her head, so their temples were touching as they looked at their reflections. “Or are you Death’s heroine, Issy?”

Isabella’s mouth fell open and Lucy laughed as Isabella flushed furiously. “Don’t be silly, Lucy.”

Her cousin gave her a dubious look. “You naughty little girl, penning such a thing.”

Had it been her in that opening? Had it been herself she envisioned, had written about dancing indecently with Death?

She was no stranger to him, that was for certain. But to write him as a hero? As someone who could lure and seduce…someone to be desired, and not reviled…

“You know I’m just jesting,” Lucy grunted. “For Heaven sakes, Issy, do not be so temperamental. I can’t abide that in artists. That’s why I broke off my flirtation with Eduardo. He was too moody for my tastes.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Isabella mumbled, finally recovering from her shock that she might possibly be the heroine in her story. “You met him at a séance.”

Lucy’s emerald colored eyes flashed with excitement. “And there’s going to be another one in a few days. Say you’ll come, Issy.”

It wasn’t as though she didn’t have loved ones she’d dearly love to connect with in the spirit realm. Her mother, grandmother, and now her aunt. They had all been taken from her, and each time she had felt Death’s shadow, standing quietly in the corner, waiting to take them.

Perhaps it was just her active imagination, but each time she had fancied that she had seen Death with her own eyes. Of course, she had never dared to admit such a thing. For who would believe her? Still, a part of her feared she really could see death, and that part absolutely refused to attend a séance with Lucy, for fear the Grim Reaper would present himself.

“Well?” Lucy prodded. “If nothing else, it’s a good night away from balls and soirees. You might even think of it as research for your book. Bring Mr. Knighton if you wish.”

“I don’t think the curator of Medieval studies at the British Museum would be very interested in a séance, or chair tipping, or communicating with dead spirits while using a talking board.”

Lucy huffed as she pulled on her long leather gloves. “What you see in that stuffed shirt, I’ll never understand.”

“He’s very kind. And…and I think him handsome.”

“I’ll give you those two, but I would like to remind you that he’s rather boring in his conversation, and that he’s probably not going to look upon your dream of being a lady novelist with a kind eye. The academic sort never do,” she reminded her. “Knighton is a scholarly fellow in a science, hard facts sort of way. Novels are made up stories, after all. I doubt Knighton could wrap his rather well formed brain around that fact to grasp the delight to be found in them.”

“What is it you are trying to say, exactly, cousin?”

Lucy’s gaze softened. “That he is likely not going to be able to understand your brilliant mind, Isabella. He deals in facts, and you delight in fantasy. You’re opposite in every respect.”

Isabella dropped her gaze to her hands, where they folded primly in her lap. The black jet bracelet which held the key to her journal caught her eye, and she brushed her thumb over the shining black stones. “It would do me well, to give up this fantasy I so enjoy. Perhaps that is what I need, Lucy, a man who keeps me planted on earth, not in the ethers of some magical realm.” Shrugging, she glanced up to see her cousin watching her with what Isabella could only think of as sympathy. “It hardly matters. The chance I will be published is very slim, Lucy. It’s really only a hobby.”

Lucy lifted Isabella’s chin with her slim fingers and gazed down upon her with her brilliant green eyes. “Repeat after me. I, Isabella Fairmont, will finish this book and submit it to every publisher in London-”

“And New York,” Isabella reminded her.

“And New York,” Lucy added, “And I will not rest until I see it published. I will not give up on my dreams.”

Isabella stood and hugged Lucy, who although was her cousin, was more like her best friend. They were sisters of a sort, now that Isabella had come to live with Lucy and her father. “I promise you, Luce. I will finish it, and it will find a home. And I will make Mr. Knighton a devotee of the fictional world if it’s the last thing I do.”

“And you must promise to read to me, every night when you’ve written something new.”

Isabella flushed. “You only want the parts that speak of breathlessness and heaving bosoms.”

“Well, of course,” Lucy drawled. “Why else does one read a novel? Now then,” Lucy groaned. “Let us go downstairs. We’re already late and Papa will be snorting with indignation. We must not keep the Marquis of Stonebrook waiting.” Lucy shook her head, although she was grinning. “Papa is such a pompous aristocrat.”

Yes, the old Marquis was rather self important, but he was a good man. He had taken her in, his niece by marriage, despite the scandal of her parent’s nuptials. He had clothed her, protected her, and Isabella loved him like the father she never knew. He had saved her from an unknown future and from herself. She owed her uncle more than she could ever repay. Still, she missed the comfort of her mother’s stories, and her grandmother’s arms. She missed Whitby with its dark and forbidding abbey, and the mist that rolled in from the sea. She missed the heather covered moors, and the rocky cliffs that stood tall and proud against the foamy, turbulent waves of the North Sea. She missed home, and everything about it.

She missed them.

How dearly she longed to see her mother and grandmother again, and Isabella felt her eyes begin to well with tears. Thankfully Lucy’s voice drew Isabella out of her thoughts. “My feet ache already just thinking of the night ahead of us. Dear me, Issy, I’m tired of the social whirl.”

Whitby forgotten for now, Isabella strived for composure. “I am as well, Luce. I would pay a very high price for a chance to stay in my room and sit at my desk and write until my fingers are blackened with ink.”

“As much as I’d like more of Death, Issy, it’s pertinent we make an appearance at my father’s ball.”

“You know when I was a young girl, I envied you your life, the gowns, the balls, the suitors…Now, I’m not so certain you had it better than I.”

Lucy tossed her a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “I always envied you your cozy cottage and the meadow and woods where you and the other children from the village ran and played without any concern for deportment. You had a childhood, Issy. Something I never did.” Lucy tipped her head and smiled. “I’ve always been envious of that. And here we were all this time, feeling resentful of the other. It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed for I’m sitting here loathe to go to a ball, something I’ve always dreamed about.”

“Chin, up,” Lucy ordered, “there could still be light at the end of the tunnel for this night. Perhaps you can write more of your book. Our ballroom has many private corners, you know.”

“And of course that will have the suitors flocking to my side,” Isabella muttered ungraciously. “Men adore lady novelists.”

“I bet Lord Black does.”

Isabella sent her cousin a glare, before she reached for the ivory gloves that sat atop her dressing table. “How could you suppose such a thing, Luce? Lord Black never comes out of that mausoleum he calls a townhouse.”

Lucy stopped at the threshold, and slowly turned, the salmon pink silk of her gown’s elaborate train wrapping around her legs. “I saw him last night.”

“Fibber! You did not!” Isabella challenged.

“I did, I swear it. I couldn’t sleep after the Anstruther soiree. I was sitting on my window box, gazing out at the stars when I saw those massive iron gates swing open. A carriage, black and shining and led by four black horses came clattering out of the drive. The conveyance lingered for a moment, and then I saw it, a shadow that was illuminated by the lanterns. It engulfed the interior, like spilt ink, and then I saw him, his pale face appeared in the window, and he was looking up, and I swear his gaze lingered on the window beside mine—your bedroom window, Issy.”

“Nonsense,” Isabella scoffed.

“It’s the truth.”

“I think, Luce that you should take up novel writing with me. You’ve the imagination for it.”

“Think what you like, Isabella, but I know what I saw. And you mark my words, our neighbor will be here tonight. The Marquis of Stonebrook will have it no other way, I assure you.”

* * * *

There was one thing that had surprised Isabella after coming to live with her uncle, the Marquis of Stonebrook, and that was the strange fact that she rather despised balls.

For most of her girlhood, she had sat on the weathered window bench of the small cottage her mother rented, thinking of her beautiful cousin, laughing and flirting and dancing around the Stonebrook’s glorious ballroom, wearing an outrageously expensive and beautiful gown. Her young heart had ached with longing. She had wanted to attend a ball. To wear a stunning gown. To have a handsome suitor.

It was rather satirical, that now, after she possessed all three, she had no taste for it. She would have much preferred curling up before the large hearth in her room, wearing her old flannel nightrail, writing her stories—just as she had before Stonebrook and Lucy had come to Whitby to bring her back to London.

The wonder and novelty of Town life had soon worn thin. There had been so many balls this past week, despite it being October. It seemed that the aristocracy no longer found it necessary to depart for their country estates at the end of the Season as they did in the past. Perhaps it was because the noveau riche rarely ever left London. An aristocrat could hardly marry off his titled daughter to a wealthy businessman if he was up in Yorkshire with sheep and trees.

No, the Marriage Mart had extended well beyond the traditional Season. And this Season, it was no secret that the Marquis not only wanted to marry off his daughter, but his niece, as well.

Isabella had been taken with the idea at first. The romance of a courtship, rides in the park, the soirees, the balls, the musicales. It had not taken long before she realized that the thought of going out yet another night provoked her to distemper. Not even Lucy who had been born and raised in this way of life enjoyed the endless parties.

They were a fine pair, Isabella thought as she slipped the delicate silver strap of her reticule higher onto her wrist, Lucy was content to pursue her knowledge of the occult, and Isabella was happy writing the stories that constantly filled her head. Both of them were Originals, and nothing like a young lady of good breeding should be. Perhaps both of them had inherited Isabella’s mother’s taste for shunning the ideals of what made a woman a proper lady. Lord knew her mother had been nothing like her sister. Aunt Mildred had always been frightfully proper—haughty even. So unlike Isabella’s mother who shunned society’s ideals. Lucy, Isabella thought, very much reminded Isabella of her mother—both in looks and temperament. She wasn’t the only who had thought that, either. Aunt Mildred had despaired of Lucy becoming just like her ‘fallen unfortunate sister’. That fear had been so great that upon Lucy’s tenth birthday, Aunt Mildred had refused to come to Yorkshire to visit them. They had been kept separate after that, lest Lucy catch the wanton, wild streak Isabella’s mother had never outgrown.

There hadn’t ever been any fear that Isabella would end up like her mother. She had learned a hard lesson, from a very young age. She would not follow her mother’s footsteps.

“My toes are already pinched,” Lucy hissed into her ear as they stood and watched the swell of dancers waltzing around the overly hot room. “And I fear my forehead is glistening.”

Isabella studied Lucy. “Only a titch. Can you discreetly wipe it?”

“Not likely. I feel like all eyes are on us.”

“Not us, you, sweetie,” Isabella murmured. “I think they’re waiting to see if the Duke of Sussex will come up to scratch tonight.”

“Good Lord, let us hope not,” Lucy moaned as she furiously beat the air with her fan. “I cannot for the life of me imagine His Grace at a séance.”

Hiding her laugh behind her hand, Isabella stood on tip toes, searching for the Duke who had become increasingly more ardent in his pursuit of her cousin. He glanced their way, and immediately his expression changed from feigned politeness to brooding. Sussex certainly could brood, and he looked immensely handsome while doing so. Why her cousin could not see this, Isabella had no idea. The way he stared at Lucy was positively worthy of a dramatic swoon.

“Do you like him, Luce?”

“He’s handsome. Rich. Titled. He has at least four estates spread throughout the kingdom and I hear he’s a bit of philanthropist to boot—belongs to all sorts of charities and committees to better the ordinary man and those less fortunate. A virtual paragon,” Lucy muttered as she glanced away from Sussex’s prolonged stare. “Of course I should like him, but I confess that I do not feel much more than friendliness toward him. He’s too shiny,” she said, her tone turning thoughtful. “Rather like an immaculate archangel. I admit—but only to you—that I have a taste for more of the fallen angel. With those black curls and his beautiful face, you would think him one of the fallen, but no, he’s not the least bit dangerous, but one hundred percent glowing and pure.”

“Dangerous men prove only useful in selling books,” Isabella muttered as she watched Sussex conversing with his friends. “In real life they serve to be more of a handful than what they’re worth. Trust me, I am the product of a dangerous rakehell and a naïve, overly passionate woman.”

Lucy let out a most unrefined snort. “Issy, there is no woman on earth who can pen a more compelling, delicious rakehell than you. Pray do not pretend that you do not also covet a bit of danger in your life. Your writing is an extension of your soul. A glimpse deep inside. No,” she said, slapping the tip of her fan over Isabella’s hand, “do not deny it. Admit it,” Lucy whispered, “there is someplace inside that wishes for a dangerous man to come and sweep you off your careful, proper feet.”

“No. I do not. Of that I can safely say you’re wrong, Lucy. If I were ever to encounter a dangerous man I would run screaming in the opposite direction.”

Lucy laughed, and Isabella scanned the dark haired man from across the room. Sussex was tall, well formed, extremely well dressed, and possessed a light, jovial personality. He enjoyed a laugh, as did her cousin. Isabella had thought it a perfect match when the duke had sought an introduction to her cousin, by way of Isabella’s suitor, Wendell Knighton. Unfortunately, her cousin remained utterly obtuse to the duke’s merits.

At the thought of her suitor, Mr. Knighton suddenly appeared beside the duke. She felt the slight lurch of her heart at the sight of him. Her pulse definitely leapt when his dark brown gaze found hers from across the room. He smiled, and Isabella returned it, along with the delicate beginnings of a flush. “Your Mr. Knighton is obviously smitten, Issy.”

Her flush grew to a full out blush. “I like him very much.”

Lucy tipped her head and studied her. “And yet I still feel, as I always did, that he’s not the right man for you. You need someone different. Deeper. More complex. Someone who understands who you really are, Issy.”

“Nonsense,” Isabella scoffed as she watched the dancers. “You make me out to be a mystery when I am nothing but a simple Yorkshire country girl.”

But that wasn’t true. After the Unfortunate Event of last spring, everyone knew she was different. Neither she nor her family talked of it, but it was there, always lurking, threatening to come out.

“Oh, look,” Lucy murmured. “He’s come.”

“Who’s come?” Isabella tried to peer over two ornate feathered headdresses, but could see nothing.

“To the left, on the balcony.”

The crowd quieted, sensing something was about to happen. All heads turned in the direction of the balcony where the butler stood and pronounced, “The Earl of Black.”

The cacophony of music and laughter faded into stillness as the guests pressed forward, waiting for a glimpse of the man whose name had just been announced.

The room went perfectly quiet as all interest was now focused on the crab-shaped staircase. Like a magi arising from a cloud of smoke he appeared, looking down upon the faces that peered curiously up at him.

Hair as black as night fell in loose waves to his shoulders. Skin, pale and smooth, glinted beneath the blazing chandeliers. Eyes, a haunting shade of turquoise, scanned the crowd with unconcealed interest. Black brows, perfectly arched, enhanced his eyes which had a slight upward slant.

His fingers, long and elegant, ever so slightly rapped against the balustrade as he surveyed the scene below him. He was very tall and immensely broad in the chest and shoulders. His black dress clothes and white cravat were impeccably tailored. Bow ties were the fashion now, but the elegance of the old fashioned cravat suited him, giving him an aristocratic allure. So, too, did his black velvet jacket which was styled in the Eastern fashion—mandarin collar with two rows of gold buttons in the military style.

He looked liked an ancient Romany prince—a warrior boyar—as his head moved slowly from right to left, his gaze spanning the entire room and its occupants.

Here was a man of the world, Isabella thought, as she perused him from head to toe. A man who was mysterious and experienced, and utterly captivating. There was an air of danger about the man, a thought that was supported by the fact that a few matrons to her right were quietly, but rapidly speaking behind their fans. More than one gentleman stiffened, their eyes wary as they watched the commanding earl. Everyone seemed to move in the smallest of increments—as if they were in slow motion. Was it out of fear that their movements might catch the infamous earl’s attention?

Warmth spread through Isabella’s body as she watched the Earl of Black stroll with negligent ease down the stairs. He was all arrogance and predator-like grace. Tall and sleek, he resembled the Bengal tiger Wendell had shown her on display in the British Museum. He had the same rapacious look in his eye as she had seen in the tiger’s green eyes. He was on the hunt, that was for certain, but for what, or who, she feared to guess.

Lord Black never emerged from his townhouse which was across the street from her uncle’s townhouse. She had only ever caught the odd glimpse of him. His reclusiveness only fueled her imagination, and Isabella felt her breathing grow rapid and shallow, her writer’s mind taking over. Her skin had grown taut, itchy beneath the lilac satin of her tight fitting bodice as she watched him cut a swath through the guests who parted for him as though he were as powerful as Moses, parting the sea. Suddenly he stopped, turned his head and found her amidst the crowd. Isabella felt strangely lightheaded as their gazes collided from across the ballroom.

He was all mystery and exoticness and more than a touch hazardous to a lady’s wellbeing as he held her gaze. Needing to break the hypnotizing spell of Lord Black’s aqua colored eyes that were holding her captive, she blinked and forced her body, which now felt overheated and lethargic, to move.

“It’s grown rather warm, don’t you think?” she asked her cousin in what sounded like a strangled voice. “I do believe I could use some air.”

Before Lucy could protest, Isabella backed away and turned in the direction of the French doors that led to the terrace. Reaching for the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Black was still in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by hordes of London’s elite. He paid his admirers no heed, but instead stared at her with his piercing eyes. There was a promise in those eyes—a very dark, forbidden promise.

“My dear,” her uncle said behind her. She felt his hand pull hers from the handle, then the feel of his arm threading with hers. “Someone wishes an introduction with you.”

She tried to refuse as her uncle steered her to where Lord Black held court in the middle of the ballroom. His gaze was focused solely on her, and she shivered.

“Here now, there’s nothing true about what you’ve heard about Black. It’s only rumors.”

She hadn’t heard anything about the earl, other than his appearance at tonnish events was much sought after, and that he was generally considered a recluse. What rumors could her uncle be referring to?

When she stood before him, when their gazes met, she gasped, unable to disguise the sound. Black did not possess turquoise eyes, but pale blue, with flecks of light green. Tempest tossed eyes, she thought, like the churning seas in Whitby.

“Your servant, Miss Fairmont,” he murmured in a dark, husky voice that was as velvety as a starless night.

“Shall we?” he asked, accepting her hand from her uncle. “I believe a Viennese Waltz is next on the program.”

As he pulled her to him, she was shocked by the tingle she felt beneath her glove. When the music started and he pulled her close, his hand resting low on her back, the words she had written whispered to her.

‘The first time I met Death, it was at a ball, and we danced a waltz.’

Black looked down at her, his gaze lingering over her in a far too familiar way. “And you were not afraid,” he murmured, then swept her up into a graceful turn that stole her breath.

Monday Meanderings

2011-02-28T07:02:00.000-08:00

Well, I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend. My weekend started with a blizzard on Friday, and while I'm completely sick of winter here in the Great White North, the nasty weather afforded me some much needed downtime. I got caught up on editing, and did some more writing on Pride and Passion as well, I was able to sit and read through a research book I bought back months ago.

For writers in the Victorian era, or just lovers of the era, I cannot recommend Life in the Victorian Country House by Pamela Horn enough. Fantastic resource, with numerous little kernels of information and lots of photographs, many of which are black and white originals of real-live Victorian aristocrats! I was especially enaormed of the section that spoke of the 'belowstairs' parties and dances that the master of the house allowed his servants. I had no idea that this happened, but apparently, it did, and in many households. So, now I am of course thinking of all the possibilities for future books!

As well as editing and writing--and researching, I spent the weekend working on a new idea for a series. Originally, I thought perhaps that it would be about a group of very close knit friends. I tend to write alot about friends, but suddenly, the friends aspect seemed to melt away, replaced by a very tight knit family, led by the man of the house--a duke. I've never written a series centered around a family. I don't know why, perhaps it's because I really don't have that sort of relationship with my own family. Don't get me wrong, we're all friends, and care for each other, but there is not that emotional closeness that many friends have. But this family...well, this one just feels right. The Westlake's seem so real to me, and jotting them down, and etching out their stories has been alot of fun. I've had numerous inspiring things, from pictures, to music to help this process along. But nothing has been more inspiring than my planned research trip to England.

The North of England has long fascinated me, with it's rugged scenery, it's sometimes bleak sky, and it's hearty people. There's a definite romantic feel for that part of the country, and I've always longed to write about that part of the country. I've been through many times on the train from London to Edinburgh, but I've never stayed. So, this time, I'm spending a few days in London, but then the rest of the time, I'll be staying in North Yorkshire, in a little cottage that is a couple of hundred years old! I can't wait. And I know the scenery is going to be so inspiring for my new series idea. I'm thinking of placing it in early fall, in a country house, with lots of angst and emotion, set amongst the romantic and dramatic moors. Think Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, with lots of smexy parts! lol!

One place I'm determined to go to is Harewood House. I know that this place shall be the starting point for me, because it's the inspiration for the Westlake's country house. From the pictures on the website it looks like the perfect place for the duke and his siblings--along with a feisty, match making aunt!
Imagine being mistress of a such a place!

The 'musing' part of planning a book and or a series, is one of my most favorite aspects of writing. I love to just sit and daydream about the characters, their lovers, the locale, and maybe hear a quote or two that I'll jot down in my 'idea' book. This new idea is particularly exciting becomes it's coming together at the same time that we're planning our trip to England.

There will be more about the trip, as well as the new idea as the months move along. But for now, let me share some of the inspiring pictures of North Yorkshire and its moody moors.

And our gorgeous, historic cottage.......

Curious minds...what part of England, or the UK for that matter, are you just dying to get to? For me, after North Yorkshire, it's the Lake District.

Wednesday Roundup

2011-02-23T07:37:00.000-08:00

It's midweek, and I'm musing about all that I have to do. And boy, I don't look anywhere near as glamorous as the lovely lady in the picture above while I'm doing it!

So, I'm heading into that time that I like to refer to as deadline hell. Basically, I will be nose down, and fingers blistering across the keyboard as I finish writing Pride and Passion, then embark upon Vanity, and then Temptation and Twilight--all due by July. But today, I'll be doing the final touches on Seduction and Scandal, and then sending off the galley's to my editor. I like this stage. It's the last chance I have to make the book shine. And I usually do little tweaks, and shuffle words around to get the right effect I am looking for. So, I'm planning on having a warm cuppa, and sitting in my comfy chair and whiling away the afternoon with Lord Black and Isabella.

But first, I need to do a bit of housekeeping here on the blog. And that is to announce February's contest winner, and announce March's contest. You can go HERE to learn about the contest for March. And...drumroll please....the winner of Februrary's contest is......

LAURA T!
Congratulations, Laura! Please leave a comment to this post, with your email addy, and I will be in contact with you. To all others, stay stuned, and keep following the blog. Lots of good stuff coming up, and some good contests, too. I'm all about the swag!

So, now I go...off to the land of London in Autumn, with it's fog, and chilly autumnal winds, and the heat from Lord Black's intense gaze, which smolders with a deep sensuality....I can hardly wait!

What are you musing about today?

Passion Thursday!

2011-02-17T08:36:00.000-08:00

Well, some of you might have seen this floating around the cybersphere, but I thought I'd post this with a little something extra for readers! I haven't talked too much about this series, mostly because I've been busy writing and promoting releases that come before it. But, when I received this from my editor a few days ago, I just couldn't resist showing it off.

Well, without further adieu, here is the GORGEOUS, not to mention STUNNING cover for book 2 of The Brethren Guardian's...Pride and Passion!

OOh, isn't it gorgeous! I just love it, and it's so fitting for the sensuality of the book! Just can't stop staring at it! In fact, I think it's my favourite cover, and that's saying something because I've been totally blessed by the cover gods!

Here's the back cover copy!
They each have their secrets. But what they share is Passion

Lucy Ashton had long ago given up her quest for true love. In the rarified society of Victorian England, Lucy plays the game--flirting, dancing and dabbling in the newly fashionable spiritualism. Even marrying when--and who--she's supposed to. If the stuffy Duke of Sussex cannot spark the passion she craves, he can at least give her a family, a home of her own,and a place to belong. But when her polite marriage reveals a caring and sensual man, Lucy begins to wonder if she can indeed have it all.

But Lord Sussex is not the man the London ton has come to admire. And Lucy has some ghosts of her own, as well. Thus, when a blackmail scheme turns to threats of danger, the newfound peace of the Sussex marriage is cast upon the rocks. Passion has a price, Lucy learns. And not all ghosts stay buried.

Phew! I'm loving the back blurb, too! lol! So, this is the second book of The Brethren Guardian series, and will release December 2011. The first book, Seduction and Scandal will release in July. Lots more to come about this series, but for now, I thought I'd tease you with the cover, the blurb, and this little snippet from the book (the book is being written now, so please remember that this is undedited, and may change or be deleted during the editorial/revision stage)

“When have you ever done anything against the grain, your grace?” she demanded. “When have you ever broken mould, or gone outside your unbearably proper and stuffy organized little world to risk anything?”

Oh, how she felt like railing at him, and the world and the future that loomed heavy and lonely before her. She was filled with anger--and rage. The injustice of it all, the pain of having her life managed for her as if she were too weak and feeble minded to manage it for herself. And while the anger she felt seethed and grew and all but consumed her thoughts and body, the duke stood there, towering over her with his implacable granite-like countenance that betrayed nothing of what he felt--if indeed he even felt at all.

“What do you know what it is to live, to take a risk? You can have no understanding, no comprehension because you live your life ordered and distant and controlled. You’re nothing but a title,” she taunted, baiting him, waiting for some flicker of something from those glacial eyes of his. When he would not rise and meet her challenge, she jumped from the settee and took a step toward him, the anger inside now a living, breathing thing, making her restless and destructive. But she must obey it. From childhood, she had ignored the pain, the heartache, hoping it would go away, but it hadn’t, and now…now her heart was shattering into a million little shards while her new husband looked on--remote, unfeeling. Not giving a damn, only caring that he had secured himself a rich, blue blooded bride.

“You can have no idea what it is to risk all for happiness.” She took another step, and then another, heedless of the fact her body was trembling, and her bottom lip quivering, and her eyes--how they misted with the scalding heat of tears. One slipped down her cheek and she tasted it, the

bitterness of betrayal and pain, and the engulfing melancholy and despair that filled every fibre of her being. Another fell, unchecked, a testament to her sorrow, the pain of having every last one of her hopes and dreams dashed by one negligent, selfish wave of both her father and the duke’s hand.

"What,” she demanded, taking another step toward him, until her burnished golden bustled gown brushed over his trousers, and shoes, and she was forced to tilt her head back to glare up at him. “Damn you, Sussex, what do you know of risking all for the one thing you want most?”

The seconds ticked by, marked by the delicate clicking of the mantle clock. Between them, the air which had been settled, seemed to change. It was a subtle thing at first, but then it seemed to crackle, to take on new life, to hum between them as Sussex lowered his gaze to her face, letting it travel over her tear stained cheeks, then to her mouth, where it lingered, robbing Lucy of breath.

“What do I know of risk?” he murmured, his voice deep and velvety, as luring as the nap of expensive velvet against her fingertips. “What do I know,” he repeated, this time his voice was darker, more compelling, and when he stepped closer, and the heat from his body, and the scent of his cologne washed over her, he seemed to take the air straight out of her lungs--the room--possibly the very Earth.

“I know risk,” he said, and she heard the rustle of her gown swishing around his legs as he moved closer. “I’ve tasted it. Felt its heady call.”

“You’ve never heeded the call,” she accused.

“Oh, but I have. I know what it is to take the greatest risk of my life, for the one thing I want most.”

He had backed her up against the wall, and the marble pillar that stood on either side of the salon door pressed cool and unyielding against her shoulders.

“The greatest risk of my life, was today, when I made you my wife. When I vowed to love and protect, and stay faithful to you. When I vowed to worship you with my body.”

As to remind her of that, he brushed against her, his body melding and pressing against hers in an erotic reminder of what would happen between them. Another brush, another waft of his skin, and hair, and everything that made a man a man told her that he would use this body against her--to subdue her, break her--worship her. The whispered reminder--in his voice--made her skin grow warm and taut, her breasts swell as her body seemed to grow weak and willing beneath the subtle erotic pressure of his.

He was crowding her, his tall, big body encompassing her short one. Surely that was the reason she had suddenly reached out and grabbed the lapels of his jacket; why his hand was wrapped around her waist, his strong fingers squeezing, pressing into the bodice of her gown.

“Today, I tasted that risk when I made you my wife, knowing that you might never feel the way about me as I feel about you.”

His hand, so hot and strong was sliding up her midriff, his fingers, gliding over her ribs, the tip of his index finger lingering beneath her breast. Their gazes were locked, and she felt some inexplicable force pull her to him. But she would not give in to that power.

“I am but a pawn in the game of powerful men. A possession to be bought and placed on the shelf for your friends to admire.”

“No.” The word was a masculine whisper against her flesh as he lowered his head to hers.

“A duchess to play hostess for you. A wife to see to the running of your household, and your social and political ambitions.”

“No.”

“A..a..” she floundered, trying to find another analogy for his purpose in marrying her but he stopped her when she felt the delicate brush of his mouth above her jaw.

“A friend. A companion. A beautiful, passionate lover to spend the day and nights with. A woman to carry my children, a life partner to share the ups and downs of life. A woman I can share my dreams with, and who will share hers with me. A woman who I can comfort and hold in times of need, and who will hold me when I am weak, and sorrowful, and in need of the sort of succour only a woman can give to her husband. A woman who I want so desperately to make love to. You, Lucy, you are that woman.”

Their gazes met, and she could not resist asking him the question that burned in her mind. “H..How,” she wet her lips, tried to speak again. “How do you feel about me?”

His eyes, those cold, mysterious eyes stared down at her, haunting her with their ghosts and mysteries. But they were not the eyes of the duke, she thought in wonder as they grew warmer--almost silver. These were the haunted, troubled eyes of Adrian York, the man behind the title, the man who had known pain and coldness. The man who was her husband and who held troubling secrets deep within.

“How do I feel for you?” he asked, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I would die for you.”

I am seriously lovin me some Duke of Sussex! In the series, he's known throughout the ton as The Duke of Delicousness. I cannot take credit for that exquisite nick name. But have to give kudos to my friend Aly who provided the gem! Thanks Aly! And boy, does the name for work him--perfectly. He's very kind, very sensual, but he has that sexual intensity that most of my heroes have. And he's patient. Oh, boy he could be a virtue, he has so much patience. And he uses it, making Lucy wait to taste the passion he's kept hidden for her. So, stay tuned. More little bread crumbs to come about this book, and all the other books releasing, too!

As well, I have another friend who has a fantastic blog (well, two friends, but that blog is for another post) who has an exclusive excerpt of Seduction and Scandal on her blog. Lord Black, the hero of the book is dark and brooding and myterious. I love him. Just go to to Lovin Me Some Romance to read the excerpt!

Okay, well, I'm back to writing.
Till next time...
Be Well!

Tidbit Tuesday

2011-02-15T07:09:00.000-08:00

Well, the sun is shining here--brilliantly--for the first time in weeks. We still have numerous feet of snow, but the weather forcast is calling for a bit of a warm up by the end of the week. I always get so antsy this time of year for spring. Winter where I live comes, sometimes by the end of October. This year it was early November. And while it's nice for holidays, four months of the white stuff and the frigid temps has me a little...well...blue. I'm ready for spring, the sounds of the birds, the feel of the warm sun, and at last, the ability to open my windows!

All this waiting on spring leads me to today's post. Just a bunch of tidbits, really. So, first in the queue is Foreign Covers. As an author, I'm always so excited to get my foreign covers. First, because I'm SUCH a cover monger. I literally drive my editor insane, asking when my covers will be ready. So, not only do I get one cover, I can get several, if the countries who purchase the rights to the book decide to change it. And the other reason I love foreign covers is to see what sells in their country, what readers are looking for in their covers. The covers I'm going to show you now tie in nicely with that spring-like feel. Strange, since the first one is the cover for Winter's Desire.

The French cover for Winter's Desire! OMG, I cannot tell you how much I am in love with this cover. The colors, the sensuality, her red hair and that stunning white lily! I just love it. And I think the French are very sensual and romantic people, and this cover really conveys that. I just love it! What do you think?

The Italian cover for Sinful! So different from the original, which featured Wallingford looking alone and rough, and very masculine. I see this as more from Jane's perspective. It has a softer, feminine feel, with just a hint of the sexiness. I really like it, and I can't believe how very different it is from the original.

This is the Italian edition of Lust. It's not a completely different cover, but they've cropped it closer, and cut out some stuff, so it does have a different feel. There's very definitely more of a focus on the female model. I do, however, love the title. Sigh...Lussuria....sounds perfect!

I do wish I was able to read in other languages. I have a very rudimentary understanding of French and Italian, so I'm able to pick out words here and there, but really, I can't read them. I do sometimes fear that maybe all of the book is not there, considering these foreign copies are usually a little thinner!

In other news, I have some bragging to do. I'm not the bragging sort, but this important to me--maybe it's because the book was so important to me. The news....Sinful has been nominated for the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice award, as well, as these....

Woo Hoo, I'm so happy that someone other me fell for poor old Lord Wallingford! How I loved him and Lindsay! Thanks so much to everyone who nominated Sinful! Now, let's keep everything crossed that I might win of one of them!
And speaking of Lindsay and Wallingford, we'll be seeing more of them, and their ladies in May, when the anthology The Wedding of the Century releases from HQN. My novella Seduced By Starlight features Jase Markham, the son of Linday and Anais, and Blossom, the daughter of Wallingford and Jane.
Starting in mid April, I'm going to have some fun on the blog, introducing it, and bringing Lindsay and Wallingford back, as well as putting up deleted scenes from the anthology, and a sexy teaser of Jase and Blossome! And maybe even a little snippet or two of Lindsay and Wallingford, down the road! There will also be chances to win some early copies of the anthology!

Until next time, be well!

Historicals--Dressing Up The Part

2011-02-11T08:46:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing I love about writing historicals, beyond those brooding dukes and earl's, and ravishment scenes in carriages, it's dressing my heroine's up! I think part of the reason I'm so drawn to writing in the Victorian Era is the clothing. Geesh, I just love corsets and ballgowns, and jewellry and all that feminine fru fru stuff that exemplifies the Victorian way of life. And the Victorian era lasted so many decades, that you can really get quite a bit of different design choices--and research is so plentiful, along with design plates, and glossy books.

One of my favorite things is the corset, and all the satin ribbon and bows that go with it. Really, I think it's just so pretty and romantic, and I can imagine how a lady of leisure must have felt, knowing what was under those bustled gowns. How could one not feel pretty in feminine in such garments? How could men not go utterly mad when that ballgown is stripped away, and his heroine, whom he's been longing for is finally revealed to him wearing a corset and silk stockings? I mean, how could he not be provoked to an instant, sexual frenzy when presented with his virginal heroine wearing any of the above corsets, or the picture below?

For a writer who enjoys writing the more sensual, and base side of Victorian relationships, these images hold alot of inspiration. I jcan ust imagine some dark haired rogue bending down to play with, and sensually untie those creme and ribbons on the ivory corset. It's so pretty and romantic, but at the same time, an erotic writer's fuel for a tantalyzing scene!

Virtual shopping is for me, research. It's also inspiration. When I'm writing, I'll frequently go trolling through sites for pretty things, and ideas for dress up. Today, I found these lovely corsets, but I also found some really neat things for Vanity, the next book in my Sins and Virtues series. Now, that's more an erotic fantasy fairytale type of book, and the pictures I've found really convey that feel, plus they've inspired a few scenes! As well, I needed to fill out the cover art fact sheet, and I sent these pictures along, to aide the cover art department with what I'm seeing in my mind for Vanity, and his virtue Humility.

What do you think of these? I think they have that airy quality that I always associate with the Fey, plus there's just enough drama and sensuality to suit those bad boy Unseelie Fey of mine!

I can tell you, I'm DEFINITELY using that throat corset! It's just too gorgeous and tempting too pass up!
In Pride and Passion, book 2 of The Brethren Guardians, which I'm currently writing, Lucy, the heroine is unconvential in the fact that she makes her own clothes and corsets. Despite the fact I'm challenged with even sewing on buttons, I'm enjoying creating all Lucy's elaborate dresses, and trousseau. But, I'm having a hard time finding the right kind of lingerie for Lucy to use to seduce the Duke of Sussex into committing unspeakable acts on the parlor floor--and the leather settee--and of course the ducal bed. Please, if you come across any fine looking examples, email them to me, or leave links here. I'd love the help! If you're at all interested here's a fabulous, and most inspiring link!

So, when reading your historical's, what's your favorite part of the clothing? Or maybe it's the design and decorating? Or, maybe it's those white billowy shirts the heroes wear....oooh, don't even get me started on those shirts. I like them with sleeves rolled up and some thick, corded forearms sticking out!

Happy Friday, and to all who might be celebrating Valentine's day this weekend, have fun!
Be Well!

Favourite Things...

2011-02-09T10:53:00.000-08:00

Geesh, sounds like a Martha Stewart thing, doesn't it? Alas, i am NO Martha, but, during the past few years as a published author, I've been asked lots of questions about things that are important to me, as well what kind of things I like. So, I decided to add this feature to my blog. I'll vary it up with my fav things, but thought I'd start off with this...

There's no denying one of my fav things in the world is food--and cooking. And one of my most favourite things in the world is good chocolate.So, because it's February, and Valentine's Day is just a few days away, I decided to share one of my favourite things...

Nearly No Fat Fudge Brownies
I found this recipe on the tin lining of my fat free vanilla yogurt tub, and I've been sold ever since. This recipe is soooo easy, and so chocolately and decadent--and guiltless. You can make it for your sweetie, or just yourself. Or, pick up your favourite romance novel, a cup of something warm, and dive into the brownies for a truly decadent afternoon treat! For those who are weight conscious (I'm on Weight Watchers, but that's another story for another time) I've figured out the Points Plus value of each ieto be 3pts, for one generously sized ooey gooey brownie. Enjoy!!!

Nearly No Fat Fudge Brownies
1/2 cup chocolate melted. (I've been known to mix chocolate chips, and peanut butter chips. YUMMY!)

1 cup Astro Original vanilla yogurt (fat free)

1/2 Cup sugar

3/4 Cup flour

1/2 Cup cocoa powder

1/4 tsp baking soda

1/2 Cup water

1. Preheat oven to 350
2. Mix chocolate, yogourt and sugar
3. Sift flour, cocoa powder and baking soda into chocolate mixture and stir until just combined. Add water and stir until mixture comes together.
4. Pour into a parchment lined 8X8 pan
5. Bake 20-25 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean
6. Cool completely and cut into squares
Makes 12 brownies.

Enjoy!!!!
I just made a batch, and I'm going to turn on the tellie, sit down with my coffee and brownie and indulge in my next favourite thing...Jamie Olivier!

Calling All Paranormal Junkies

2011-02-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

Today I'm over at Harlequin's Paranormal Blog chatting about Lust and building ideal 'faery men'! Join me for a chance to win Lust, and also to see the fantabulous offering of Paranormal authors and stories from Harlequin.

So, okay, I know this hot image is of an angel, but hey, let's not be too picky! BTW, did you know that not only do I have a thing for dark, hot as hell Fey, I'm also insane for bad boy fallen angels! And this bad boy was just tooooo good to resist!

See you there!

Dear Diary...

2011-02-03T15:50:00.000-08:00

With a new year, comes resolutions, and this year, I have sworn to do a better job at keeping readers informed about what's going on with my books. For any of you who come by my website, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about--I'm really, really, REALLY bad at keeping it all current!

So, I decided to do it this way, to take my blog, and make it into a mini-site. Weekly updates, chit chat, character visits, contests, and of course, up to the minute information about books--covers, pre-order information, reviews, and of course, sexy excerpts! I do have some extra features planned to keep you entertained and coming back, and of course contests!

So, for all my old friends who did stop by back when I was being faithful to blogging--welcome back! And to all the new readers, welcome!

So far, I've got my contest up and running for February, and it's REALLY easy to enter. Just click the contest button for more information. The Books pages are all up to date, with past releases, and excerpts, and the Coming Soon is up to date, with some excerpts, and a few more to come--just a little teaser to whet your appetite!

I'd like to give a special thanks to Barbara for this glorious blog design. I just love it. It's etheral but romantic, sensual and sophtistcated, and rather calming, I think. Frankly, I can't stop staring at it! I think it's a really wonderful reflection of my writing. It also brings to mind a line from Keats, whom poems, and letters I adore. The quote is...

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. ~John Keats

Beautiful words to go along with a beautiful design!
Please come back from time to time, to keep up with all the goings on...and there is a lot going on in the next coming months!

Be Well!

Feeling Sinful???

2009-10-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

How about a little indulgence? Head on over to The Scribe's Scroll for a brand new LONG excerpt of Sinful!!!!

Enjoy!

Winter's Desire winner and news about Lord Wallingford

2009-10-11T08:33:00.000-07:00

Hi there, check out The Scribes Scroll for the Winter's Desire winner, and some Sophie updates, as well as news about a brand new Sinful excerpt!

Be well!!! (and enjoy the excerpts)

Bright Star, Watery Eyes

2009-10-09T06:35:00.000-07:00

I love words. The profoundness of them intrigues me. I like to use them to best effect, for language, as much as a touch or caress has the ability to strike fear, rage, pain, sadness, euphoria, arousal, happiness into our souls. We remember touch, or our first kiss, the memories may fade over time, but words...words never fade. They are tucked away in our memories, still as loud as when we first heard them.

I am not a poet. I prefer novels, always have. But in high school, I discovered two poets, whose ability to use words to convey so many emotions, thoughts and feelings drove me to read everything they had ever penned. I have a fascination with them, and am proud to say own two antique copies of their entire works. Those two poets were Byron and Keats.

I adore them both for different reasons. Keats, I love his passion, the vulnerability he conveys and his gorgeous, lush descriptions. I chose him for the poet that Lindsay and Anais read, mostly because of Keats impassioned, hopeless love for his neighbor, Fanny.

On page 197 in Addicted, Lindsay quotes part of a love letter written by John Keats to Fanny. I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.

"I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion-- I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more-- I could be martyred for my religion-- love is my religion. I could die for that. I could die for you."

Ugh, just so impassioned and if you knew his whole story, that he did indeed, die a young man, the words only become more profound.

And just the other day, I discovered this gorgeous movie about John and Fanny's love affair. The movie is called Bright Star, and let me tell you, if you can see it, you should. At the very least, watch the trailer. I needed Kleenex, just as a warning!

Happy Friday, everyone. Let me know what you think of the movie, or trailer.
And, don't forget to enter to win a copy of Winter's Desire.

Win A Copy of Winter's Desire

2009-10-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

I've got a copy of Winter's Desire to give away. Just go to The Scribe Scroll and leave a comment to win!

Good luck!

I've Got ARC's!!!!

2009-09-22T12:50:00.001-07:00

GAWD I love our FedEx man! He's young and cute and always grins when he hefts up those heavy boxes (and I ALWAYS admire his biceps which have tattoos). Today he had two of those precious boxes and inside was the LIT ladies first Celtic Spice anthology, Winter's Desire.

My novella is Midnight Whispers. It's 1850's Northern England, and it's the eve of the Winter Solstice. My heroine is a widow who is caught between the memories of her husband, and her desire for the life and blood younger solider who came to break the news of her husband's death.

I really love this novella. I'm proud of it.
And I'll be thinking of creative ways to give away a few copies!! Keep checking
back.

And let me tell you, the wintery forest is just stunning when you see it in person. And the boobs...well, in hubby's words....'what forest'. Yeah, Mr. All Eyeballs and Teeth, oogling the the surgically enhanced Celtic Goddess....gesh, nothing is sacred!

Sinful Crumbs

2009-09-20T16:35:00.000-07:00

Well, long time no Wallingford! I know you guys like the occassional taste of this bad boy,so here's a little excerpt that did not even make into the final draft of the book. My editor, in fact, has not even seen it. I decided to leave it out,due to a number of factors, the least of which was word count.

But I really liked it,and saved it, thinking that Wallingford's fans might be interested. In this scene, Jane has followed him after seeing that he's received a mysterious missive from a woman. In a fit of pique and curiosity, Jane impetuously goes after him.

Jane crouched to her knees and steadied herself by holding on to a thick branch. It had been mere child’s play to follow him to this spot in the meadow that bordered the Wyre Forest.
A male voice, rumbling a short distance away, caught her attention. Jane swayed gently on the balls of her feet, moving from side to side in an attempt to see Wallingford and his mystery woman from between the rustling leaves.
“You told me you would come back soon,” a small quiet voice said from beyond the leaves. “You lied to me.”
“Is it not soon?” he drawled in that exasperating laughing way of his. She could almost see him standing with his arms folded across his chest and his black brows arched in mocking hauteur.
“Don’t tease.”
“Never you, love,” he drawled, his voice deepening. “You know I never tease you.”
“I was afraid that maybe…maybe you no longer l…l..liked me.”
“Silly pet,” he murmured as a twig snapped beneath his boot. “You know how very fond of you I am.”
“I am your favourite woman,” she replied then promptly giggled.
“My very favourite.”
Unable to stem her curiosity, Jane knelt to her knees and parted the leaves that hung profusely from the branches. She saw Wallingford from the knees down as well as a flicker of lemon yellow muslin that wrapped around the leg of his blue wool trousers whenever the breeze picked up.
Damnation! She wished she could see more. She was certain this creature was not Lady Burroughs. The countess was brazen and worldly; this creature sounded innocent and frighteningly naïve, which made her question what the devil Wallingford was doing in the middle of the forest meeting an innocent.
“I made you angry last time when I refused to do what you wanted.” A male grunt followed that statement, but he did not speak. “That’s why you left. Because I didn’t please you. I didn’t like being left like that.”
“And that is why we are meeting here, is that not right, so you can make amends?”
Jane felt her lips firm in indignation. What blatant manipulation on his part. Why, he was turning the woman’s obvious guilt to his advantage. He was actually going to coerce this poor innocent into a sordid affair in the middle of a meadow.
“I want to please you,” the voice whispered in the quiet. “I do not like it when you are cross with me.”
“Come then, let us try again,” he said in a deep drawl.
“I’m afraid,” the voice suddenly cried, and Jane pressed forward in order to see them, but her bonnet caught on a branch and pitched forward obstructing her view.
“There is nothing to be afraid of, pet.”
“It’s…It’s awfully big.”
Tearing the bonnet from her head, Jane smothered a gasp of shock. Bloody hell, the libertine! Was he taking this woman’s hand and pressing it against his trousers as he had done with her?
Wallingford’s sudden chuckle sent an unsavoury ripple down Jane’s spine. She assumed it was a shudder of disgust, but then she felt warmth seep into her blood as she recalled just how large he was beneath his trousers. She was scandalized to discover that it was not completely disgust, but a small measure of jealousy she was experiencing.
“You wouldn’t want a small one. Trust me, love.”
“I might want it to be small,” came the frightened reply.
“After you get the knack of it you will not want a small one. Trust me.”
“I’m not sure what to do.”
“Why do we not start by touching him, hmmm?”
“No, I don’t want to.”
There was a brief rustle of starched muslin and the faintest of feminine whimpers that made Jane think they were tussling.
“He’s hard.”
“Mmm,” came a low murmur.
“It’s moving!” shrieked the woman.
“Well of course it’s moving!” he said through what Jane could tell were gritted teeth. “He finds your touch pleasurable. He’s moving in for more of your hand. Give him what he wants, pet.”
Bloody hell! What disgusting act was he forcing on this…this innocent?
“It’s wet.”
“Happens. It’s been a bit since he’s been ridden hard. He can’t quite hide the fact he’s been neglected.”
“I…I’m afraid,” came the voice again, but this time it sounded more like a child than a woman. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me show you, pet. You’re doing so well. Can’t you see how much he is enjoying your touch? ”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Sit astride him.”
“No!” the woman gasped. “I can’t. He’s too big.”
“Sssh,” Wallingford soothed. “Now you promised me, and we cannot go back on our promises now, can we?”
A little whimper escaped the woman’s lips and Jane felt her stomach contents churn uncomfortably. What would he do if the woman refused--would he rape her? She had heard rumblings about him before, his seductions that leaned toward forced.
Jane’s breath caught in her throat. No, she would not let him! No woman would suffer such a fate if she was nearby to prevent it. God above, she’d scratch his eyes out before she let him hurt any woman.
“How long must I sit on him?”
“As long as it takes.” Wallingford replied silkily. “Who knows, perhaps you won’t want it to come to an end.”
She heard the woman make a sound, but Jane could not see her, nor decipher it was a noise that stemmed from doubt or excitement.
“Come, pet, I will buy you some sweets if you do this.”
“I want a doll. You promised to buy me a doll if I sat on him. ”
Jane’s spine straightened and she sat up, gagging at what she heard. This was a child. And a young one at that.
“Very well, you shall have a new dolly. A pretty china one. As pretty as you. Now then,” he said with a slight grunt. “Climb on and lets have a go. You’ve teased long enough.”
“You bloody bastard,” Jane roared, charging from her hiding spot in the bushes. Her bonnet was swinging in the air and her reticule shot out in a wide arc as she flailed her arms like a mad woman, hoping her weapons would connect with something, preferably his head.
“Leave that child alone, you bloody lecher!” She hissed as her reticule connected with his shoulders. “Damn you, Wallingford, you bloody leech, you debauched…” she panted as she brought her bonnet atop his head, preparing to crown him with it. “How could you? How could do this to an innocent? What pleasure is there to be had in a child-”
Choking on her panting breaths, Jane paused to catch her breath and bring her bonnet smashing one more time atop Wallingford’s head. A strong hand manacled her wrist and her gaze immediately shot to his dark hand gripping hers, then to his eyes which looked murderous. Blinking widely Jane darted her gaze to the right and nearly fainted dead away at the sight before her.
“Good day,” the woman said as she smiled brightly.
Her gaze volleyed back to Wallingford who arched one questioning brow. Mortified, she pushed away from him and took a step back.
“Miss Rankin,” he snapped, and Jane saw how his gaze lowered to her skirts, which she knew were damp and dirty about the knees. “I see you’ve been spying on me. How very awkward.”
“I…I…” she swallowed hard and looked up at him. He was dressed in only his shirtsleeves and trousers. His jacket and waistcoat lay in a heap in the long grass. Her gaze swung to the child—or what she had thought was a child.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she started to back away. The girl, a young lady, really, was sitting atop a huge chestnut horse, her yellow gloved hand busily brushing the beast’s glistening wet nose.
“My sister,” he snapped as he waved his hand in the direction of the young lady atop the horse. “Lady Sarah Astbury. Sarah, pet, this is Miss Jane Rankin.”
Oh God, what had she done? He must think her mad.
“How do you do,” the woman replied and Jane saw that she had straightened her posture and was slowly rocking back and forth in the saddle as her hands nervously began to wring in a ball, the reins becoming tangled between her fingers.
“Come, pet,” Wallingford said softly as he reached for her. “You’re becoming agitated and the horse can sense that. There’s a girl,” he murmured, steadying her as her feet landed on the ground.
“I am sorry, Matthew that I did not ride him as I promised you.”
“Sssh,” he said with an affectionate smile. “You did your best. Next time, hmm?”
She smiled brilliantly and turned her gaze from her brother and settled it on Jane. “I’m afraid of horses,” she said simply. “My brother says I must learn to ride, but I do not want to. He says I can have a doll, though, if I learn. I like dollies.”
The body of a young woman, the mind of a child. Sarah Astbury was a good head taller than Jane and as slender as a reed. From beneath Sarah’s bonnet brim, Jane could see that she shared the same colored eyes as her brother.
“I’m seventeen,” Sarah said proudly. “My brother says that maybe I can come to London and go to a ball. I can dance. Matthew taught me. I love to dance. Do you dance, Miss Rankin?”
“Ah, no,” she said, glancing at Matthew.
“My brother will you teach you, won’t you, Matthew? Matthew loves to dance.”
Jane felt herself flushing, but Wallingford took it in stride as he smiled benevolently down at his sister.
“Matthew says that if I learn to ride, he will take me riding in Hyde Park. I’ve never been to Hyde Park. Have you?”
“Pet,” Wallingford said on a laugh. “It’s best for a lady to keep an air of mystery about her. You’ll have told Miss Rankin your life story in the first five minutes of your acquaintance, then what would you have to talk about over tea?”
“Gossip,” Sarah replied bluntly. “Father says women have nothing better to do over tea than gossip. And I am a woman, and women gossip. Is that not right?” Lady Sarah asked her pointedly.
Wallingford laughed and wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulders. With an affectionate squeeze he looked down at her and smiled. Jane was quite stunned by that show of affection.
“Do you think she knows?” Sarah asked in what was meant to be a whisper.
Wallingford’s eyes softened and his smile melted away. “Do not concern yourself, pet.”
“Pray forgive me,” Jane choked out as she took an awkward step back. “I mis.. that is to say…”
“You thought I was ravishing a child and you came to save the day, is that it?”
“What does ravishing mean?” Sarah asked.
“I thought perhaps…well, that is to say you could hardly blame me for thinking…”
“Oh I can blame you,” he snapped. “I’m sure it all sounded very debauched and sordid with you hidden and crouched on your knees listening to everything.” His black brow arched as he pointedly looked at her. “Hard and big and sitting astride obviously took on a different meaning to you than from what I had intended.” Jane blushed red to her roots and looked away. “No doubt you were recalling those few moments back in Raeburn’s salon, when hard and big was undoubtedly the truth.
She glared at him. Wicked, wicked man!
“I hear something,” Sarah said, her voice suddenly guarded. “Father,” Sarah cried, pressing against Wallingford. “I know the sound of his boots.”
“Sssh, pet.” Wallingford soothed, but the gentleness of his voice was lost beneath the roar coming from the brush.
“Damn you, girl, where the devil have you got to?”
Jane watched as Wallingford whispered something in her ear as a middle aged man with white mutton chop sideburns and unruly hair came barging out from between two large bushes.
“Well, well,” the man said, looking between the three of them. “What have we here?”
“N…N…Nothing,” Sarah cried.
The man gave Sarah a withering glare. “Simple, useless girl,” he snapped. “Get over here.”
Jane felt her spine go rigid as the man pointed to a spot by his boots as though he were demanding a dog to come to heel.
“Stay,” Wallingford commanded the girl in a soft voice.
“You will release her to me,” the man roared. “Sarah, damn you, come here at once. You know you are not to leave the estate. Lord, the last thing I want is the villagers seeing you.”
“Return to the estate, you Grace,” Wallingford replied through snarling lips, “and I will bring Sarah back in an hour.”
“Don’t meddle in my affairs, sirrah,” the man hissed, then promptly snatched Sarah from Wallingford’s hold. “The chit is none of your concern. I’m embarrassed enough by you, why should I add to my mortification with this bumbling creature as she goes about, humiliating me with her stupidity? Get going, girl,” the man ordered, shoving Sarah along.
Jane watched as Matthew’s gaze turned murderous. “If you harm her you will answer to me.”
The man laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “And what will you do?” he said with a cruel laugh. “You can’t even rouse yourself out of bed, let alone get up the nerve to confront me.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“Who is this?” the man asked, suddenly turning his gaze to Jane.
“None of your concern.”
“No, eh?” the man said, looking her over with his bright eyes. “Everything concerns me. I hold the land, the title and the purse strings, if you will but remember.”
“Miss Jane Rankin,” Jane said with a curtsey as she ignored Wallingford’s narrowed gaze.
“Another lightskirt,” the man grumbled. Jane gasped at the insult and took a step forward preparing to give the man a scathing set down. Wallingford stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You will come by the estate before you leave the county,” the man addressed Wallingford. “We have business. Business that can’t wait.”
Jane watched as the man cupped his hand around Sarah’s slender neck and ushered her toward the bush. Wallingford let out a choked growl from deep in his chest and took a step forward. “I will kill him if he hurts her.”
Jane glanced at Wallingford and saw the promise shining in his eyes. “Your father, I presume?”
He turned his gaze to her and slowly nodded. “Charming, isn’t he?”
Jane swallowed hard and tilted her head to the side so that she could watch as the duke and Lady Sarah disappeared amongst the trees. “And Lady Sarah, she will be safe with him?”
“For now,” he muttered, looking away.
The silence that ensued was awkward between them and the humiliation soon began to reawaken. Lord, she had made such a muck of things. If only she had tamped down her jealousy she would not have followed him out here and behaved so abominably. But then you would have never seen him like this, considerate of the feelings of another. Loving and caring a woman who was imperfect.
“Shall we?” he asked, motioning to the horse. “I’m certain our whereabouts are being questioned.”
“Perhaps then, we should not be seen arriving back at the house together,” she murmured, conscious how it would look if she were seen with him, riding atop his horse.
“I trust you can find your way safely back, then?”
“Indeed.”
With a shrug, he bent and picked up her bonnet that had fallen to the ground and handed it to her. “Good day, Miss Rankin.”
“Good day, my lord.”
He was vulnerable, a little voice inside her whispered as she watched Wallingford ride away. It had been there, shining in his eyes. She had seen something kind and loving in a man she thought incapable of love or kindness.
She had wanted to reach out and place a hand on his arm and touch him, ground him. God help her, she still wanted to. But what she wanted more was to peel back the pieces of this man and learn what truly resided deep within him. Like an onion, Wallingford had many layers, most of which would make a woman cry.

Happy eating!!! :)

A New Season

2009-09-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

So now that Sinful is done and gone into production, as well as Velvet Haven, I'm finding myself at loose ends. Always dangerous for me, because my mind gets going and I get into trouble! :)

I've already blogged that I love the fall, and see this season as a new beginning. Strange since everything starts becoming dormant at this time of year. I don't know why it is, I just feel that the year is renewing for me. Traditionally, the fall is the time of year that I begin putting together proposals for future contracts. That's already done. I've sold the Sins and Virtues series to Spice, and Trey's partial is out with a few new houses. I probably will, in the coming weeks, begin thinking of book 2 in the Immortals of Annwyn series. I already know who I'd like to have as the next hero, and his heroine is already formed in my mind. I'd like to spend more time in Annwyn in this next book. Probably what will happen is my editor and I will chat via the phone about the next book, my ideas etc...and we'll discuss it, and reader expectations. I think, though, she'll like what I'm thinking of for book 2.

So, I've been using the time off to catch up on reading, although, I'm having a REALLY hard time finding something I'm falling in love with. I've also been gathering information for website updates which are sadly behind. I've toyed with the idea of combining my blogs into one Sophie/Charlotte blog. Most of you know that I write under two names, and maintaining two blogs gets a little difficult at deadline time. So, I've been thinking of that, thinking of promo for Velvet Haven and Sinful, and getting the MAJOR itch to begin designing the Sins and Virtues web page. It's a bit early for that, but I can't help myself. Currently, I'm surfing for men to be the 'sins'. I want a character gallery like I have for the Immortals of Annwyn. I've found three of the four sins. I've also found a couple cool quotes regarding sins from William Shakespeare--and you know I gotta use them in the book!!!
They are, 'Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall' which is so great for the whole premise of the series. And then this next quotes I think is perfect for Lust to whisper in his virute's ear... 'Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways' I think Chastity might swoon to hear that murmured huskily, and seductively in her ear!

The picture above is my newest find. Isn't it cool? It's given me some inspiration for the Unseelie Court that my Dark Fae princes belong to.

What else....hmmm, nothing really. I'm really a rather boring person, I guess.
What about you guys? Read anything really fabuous you think I might like? Any good movies?

I Feel a Little Sin Comin' On!

2009-09-03T16:40:00.000-07:00

My last post talk of The Muse and the weird path she takes me on sometimes. I usually follow her, anxious to see where she leads. I followed her this time, and she got me a new series with Harlequin Spice! I'm so happy to share my good news with you guys. I think you're really going to like this series.

It was inspired by many things, mostly my love of dark, gothic things...and sin! :)
This series will release in Feb, 2011. I know it sounds like forever away, but I'm already writing the first book. It will be the next book to release after Sinful, and kind of follows the Sin theme!

The series takes place in Georgian England, approximately around the 1790's. There was a surgence of the Gothic in that era, so my series will definitely have a dark, gothic tone. It's also combined with fantasy elements.

I'd like to attach part of the proposal that I sent to my editor to give you an idea of what the series is about.

In Georgian England, the court of King George III is full of amusements, ranging from the innocent to the most depraved. London in 1790 is a dichotomy of wealth and poverty, the West End—home to families of ancient titles, palatial townhouses and elegant courtesans, and the East End—a maze of tumbledown rookeries, gin taverns and bawdy houses.

It is the height of the Season where days are spent shopping, making calls and riding in Hyde Park. The nights are filled with concerts, the opera, and balls where marriage minded young ladies parade themselves before the available gentlemen. In the East End, Covent Garden attracts both sides of the city, and the Dark Walk is an avenue for both moral and immoral pleasure seekers.

Absorbed in their own dazzlingly world of privilege and leisure, or struggling to survive the hell of their miserable existence, the residents of London have no idea that they are living—and sleeping—with those that are not human…

It is said that the Fey have always lived amongst the mortals, their world lying parallel to ours. They live in two courts, the ‘good’ faeries, belong to the Seelie Court, where gaiety and happiness reign. And then there are the Dark Fey, those who live in the Unseelie Court, or the unholy court as it is known. These dark faeries are mysterious and sensual, well versed in pleasures of the flesh. It is said that to look upon them and their beauty is to be drawn into their erotic, voluptuous world, and once there, your fate is sealed, your body and will, no longer your own.

And that is precisely what happened, once, long, long ago to a beautiful queen of the Seelie Court who caught the attention of the king of the Unseelie Court.

The king found the queen stunning, and he desired her. Soon the queen was all the king could think about; he was consumed with yearning for the beautiful queen and wanted her more than anything, but the queen spurned him. So, the king stole her from her bed while she slept and brought her to his court where he used his erotic skills to win her over. The king was certain he could win the queen’s love, but the queen despised the king, and once she delivered twin boys, she found a way to leave his dark court.

One night, she stole away, taking one son with her, the golden haired child who was the image of her Seelie self, leaving behind his dark-haired brother who bore his father’s resemblance. As she fled she placed a spell on the Unseelie Court, that it whither away, never to thrive again until the king of the Unseelie’s could make a woman give herself to him of her own free will and love her deeply in return. As well, she cursed the sons of the king’s siblings, and any future male children of the king with each cardinal sin, further destroying the princes’ chances of finding a woman who would give herself willingly.

To this day, the Queen’s spell holds strong. The Unseelie Court is dying.
Abandoned as an infant, the son, named Aragos, is left to be raised in the cold darkness of the Unseelie Court. He knows nothing of love or affection, just the warmth of plotting revenge against his Seelie brother, and the queen who left him to be raised in misery. As the eldest of the Unseelie princes, he assumes the rule of the dark court when his father dies. Aragos is forced to watch its splendor continue to dwindle beneath the spell.

Despite trying for years, Aragos has never been able to find a way to break the spell. Until he discovers an obscure myth in the scrolls which says that to keep the courts thriving, a mortal female must mate with a fae prince. The scrolls further say that every one hundred years, seven women are born into the mortal realm who represent the virtuous aspects of humanity. Chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness and humility. The Seelie Fey, whose court is flourishing has always been able to tempt those virtuous mortals to their court, thereby mixing mortal and Fey blood together, ensuring longevity of their people.
It has been more than a century since the birth of the last virtues, and the seven mortal virtues are not only born, but of a marriageable age. These women, Aragos knows, are the only way to save the Dark Fey. He must find a way to entice the virtues to his court, but the trick is to ensure that they give themselves freely.
He spends much time thinking of a way, and finally comes upon a plan to ensure the virtues are unable to resist the Unseelie Court. He will use the Fey princes who represent the sins—lust, gluttony, greed, envy, sloth, wrath.

The King knows that the power of the dark court and its sensual mysteries are a lure to most mortals, and he can only hope that the virtues will feel the same. Could their resolve be softened? Could they, in fact, be tempted by sin?
Their task will not be easy, but nevertheless the king does set his plan in motion. Each sin will corrupt, through erotic pleasure and sinful offerings, their opposing virtues. But there is one caveat, the virtues must be enticed, never forced against their wills, and they must follow the sins back to the Unseelie Court of their own volition to live there and become the mates of the sins.
If the virtues give themselves freely, and mix their blood with that of the Fey, the court will once again flourish. Not only that, one union between a sin and virtue will produce a daughter that will grow up to be either the Seelie or Unseelie king’s bride.

Aragos is prepared to do battle with his twin brother, the Seelie King, for the right to claim the mortal as his. And only then, when his bride gives herself, and her soul to the Dark King will the spell be broken and the Unseelie court left to regain its glory of the past—a battle he knows will be bloody and fierce—but one he must win if he, and his court are to survive.

The future of the Dark Fey rests with the seven sins, and their ability to beguile their opposing virtues. But virtues being virtuous will not be easy to corrupt, and it will take very creative thinking on the part of the Sins to make the virtues fall into their dark, sensual embrace. But who is to save the Sins from falling for the charms of their virtues, especially when said virtues are ready for a taste of sin?

So, we've got some dark and sensual Unseelie Fey princes, and some maidenly mortal women who embody the virtues! I'm definitely looking forward to seeing what the sins have instore for their virtues!

The first book in the Sins and Virtues series will be.....LUST

To be followed by Vanity.

I'm looking forward to sharing these books with you. They're be historical, erotic, and full of romance, just like any other Charlotte book. My webmistress will be designing a new page for this series, and I'm already planning content for it.

Already, I'm fantasizing about the cover for LUST!

Thanks for letting me share!

Winter's Desire

2009-08-25T15:51:00.000-07:00

I've had a couple people email me about Winter's Desire, so I thought I'd post a bit about it. It's our take on a holiday tale--the Winter Solstice and it's steeped in Celtic folklore. (Beltane and Samhain will follow in other collections)

My novella, Midnight Whisper's takes place during the Crimean War. It's about a young wife whose husband is an officer and killed during the battle as well as the younger soldier who comes to break the news.

Sinead is the heroine, and Kieran is the young soldier. The Gaelic name Kieran means Black and he's very much like his name's meaning--dark, brooding, dangerous and deeply in touch with his masculinity. Her husband, David was blond, a gentleman, and very careful with Sinead. Sinead loved and adored him. But Kieran brings out those deep womanly needs she never expressed or showed to David. Sinead thinks of Kieran as her dark, and David her light.

Months go by and Sinead is trying to convince herself that she cannot allow Kieran's attentions, while Kieran believes he needs to step up his game. lol!

What insues is a romantic, passionate and very sexy tale of finding oneself and growing in life. I love Kieran, and my editor, says 'Kieran fairly smolders on the page'! It's the first time Lara and I worked together and it was really rewarding. It made this novella, which was really hard to get out, much, much easier.

I will tell you, though, that I found this novella excrucinatingly difficult to write. When I was 24, I was widowed. When I came up with the story (inspired by Dido's Christmas tune, On Christmas Day) I figured I was well past those feelings. after all, it's been fourteen years and I have re-married and become a mother. But I was wrong. It brought back feelings I thought I had long ago buried and moved past. My love story was not quite as beautiful as Sinead's with David, and at times I found it hard to write her widowhood in positive light. Now when I go back to it, I like what I've done with Sinead's story. And I like Kieran. Oh, boy do I like him.

Here's a little snippet from the story. I'll post a more formal excerpt in the next week or so on my website. Winter's Desire releases Nov 09 from Harlequin Spice.

Enjoy!

It was warm in the cottage, despite the open window above the porcelain sink. The late December wind was cold, biting, as it blew in through the lace curtains. It should have cooled her, but Sinead felt so very warm, cocooned in the small cottage that sat at the edge of the village and a heavily wooded forest.

The sun was setting, streaking in dark pinks and purples across the sky, the vivid colors disappearing behind the tops of the naked tree branches. Snow, white and fluffy fell gently, like cotton fluff, from the heavy grey clouds, to cover the earth in a blanket of white—as soft and beckoning as the finest goose down.

Glancing away from the falling snow, a flash of gold caught her eye as she picked up the dough and set it into a bowl to rise. Her wedding band. Her fingers dusted white with flour and dough, Sinead held her hand up, studying the simple gold ring in the light cast by the fire. It was a reminder of a past, the mark of a new life that had never had a chance to grow, the visual of a commitment and love that defied even the grave.

A haunting reminder. A source of guilt. Always the shame came whenever she saw the gold band David had slipped onto her finger when he had spoken his vows to her. Vows that were never intended to be broken. Vows she had clutched steadfastly to. Yet the words, with my body, I thee worship had taken on new meaning whenever she heard them in her thoughts.

Dunking her hands in the bowl of warm water, Sinead wiped them on her apron, and turned to the little brick oven where a loaf of bread, golden brown and steaming hot, was waiting to be pulled out with the long handled paddle.

“Let me get that.”

The deep resonant drawl skated along her skin, and she glanced once more at the band on her finger, fighting the flicker of awakening that rippled along her body.

She did not turn to greet him. She did not want to see him, did not want to feel his hand brush against hers as he took the paddle from her. She did not want to smell him, the scent of clean male sweat and freshly laundered cambric. She did not want to know the sensation of his broad chest engulfing her back; his hands, beautiful and strong snaking around her middle. She did not want to see that sinful mouth and imagine the kind of pleasure it could bring her.

She had thought too many times of those things, dreamt them too many times. In her mind she had tasted his mouth, his tongue against hers. She knew what she would taste—man. She knew how his hands would feel on her naked body, strong, weathered, masculine.

With her back to him, she composed herself, willing her body under control, her mind from envisioning him overtop her, dominating her with his strength and a muscled body she knew would sexually master hers.

She had dreamed of that body, tall and thick and so warm. She had fantasized about succumbing to him, allowing him to have her. She craved his strength, his masculinity. She yearned to be a woman with him—his woman, in every sense of the word.

He was the opposite of David, yet no less intriguing. Perhaps, if she were being honest with herself, he was the most captivating and arousing man she had ever met. And every moment spent in his company was a lesson in torture, for she could not allow herself to discover the pleasures of his body loving hers.

The wood which he had just cut, fell with a thud to the stone floor. The noise was followed by the tread of his boots across the small space between the hearth and the kitchen. Their fingers touched, brushing skin against skin. His so cold and roughened by the elements; hers warm, soft, slipping supplely between his like his body would slip inside hers, then out, only to slide deep within once again with a powerful thrust that would at once inflame, yet soothe.

Her core clenched in memory, her body trembling with the need to feel passion once again. She hungered for it, this physical intimacy with another human being. The warmth of being touched, held, whispered to. The heavy feel of a man on top of her, her hair wrapped around his hand, her chin tilted to receive the thrust of his tongue as he filled her with his phallus.

She had not been touched by a man in three years. So long…

Sweat trickled down her neck, sneaking beneath the ribbed bodice of her serviceable work gown until she felt it captured between her breasts. He would know her thoughts. He always knew. He would hear her labored breathing, recognize the flush in her cheeks, see her nipples hardened beneath her worn corset and thin cotton gown.
He would discover her wicked thoughts, the vision of the two of them naked, mating like animals. He would know because he watched her. He always watched her with those black, mysterious eyes that were fathomless in their depths.

Finally, Sinead allowed her held breath to escape when he did not linger as he usually did when they touched. Even the barest brush of their skin had been cause for him to stop and look at her. Sometimes he had reached out, to touch her cheek, but always he would check himself, drawing his hand away and replacing it at his side. Sometimes she was relieved when he remembered himself. Other times she was left aching, her body crying out for one simple touch of a man’s hand against her skin.

Kieran’s touch. For it had been this way for months now, her wanting Kieran—needing him—as more than a protector and helper.
Ignoring her suffering, he slipped the paddle beneath the round loaf, pulling the fresh baked bread from the oven onto a wooden platter before replacing the paddle beside the brick hearth.

“Thank you,” she said, busying herself with a coarse brush and a little dish of melted butter. “Will you not take it home for your dinner tonight?”

There was a pause, where only breaths, ragged and fevered could be heard. Won’t you invite me to stay? She heard his silent question, but did not look up from the golden butter that trickled over the top of the freshly baked loaf.

“I made some stew that would go well with it. Tis cold today, and you’ve worked all day long outside. It’s the least I could do in payment for all your hard work.”

Swallowing hard, she evaded his gaze, which she knew would be narrowed at her. He did not want her charity. He would not take a pence from her, even though he had repaired the neglected cottage and seen to the winter preparations. Her root cellar was full of potatoes, and turnips, carrots and onions. The larder full of flour, butter and eggs. The woodshed was stocked with thick dry logs that would see her warm the winter through.

He had seen to her home, her safety, her comfort. But she daren’t pay him in anything other than a full belly and conversation.

As she suspected, he said nothing as he walked past her and started stacking the logs in a pile beside the hearth. On the glowing embers, he tossed two thick logs and stirred the coals, the dry wood catching, the flames crackling, licking their way up the chimney.

From beneath her lashes, Sinead watched him, bent on his haunches, his muscular back rolling beneath the thin long sleeved cambric shirt. His black hair, long and untamed grazed his broad shoulders as they moved fluidly with his movements.

Kieran Thompson was as wild and black as the meaning behind his Gaelic name. Dark and quiet. Mysterious and dangerous. He was the first man since David that made her burn. The only man who had awakened the darker sexual needs inside her.
With David she had been a curious virgin, an inexperienced but eager lover. With Kieran, she would be a woman, not afraid to ask for what she wanted, nor afraid to take it when offered. She would not blush at the sharing of her body with another, but indulge in the passion and pleasure to be found.

And there would be passion, and much pleasure with Kieran, she was certain.

Except to take what he offered would be a betrayal to David. To the vows she had said with such fervor. And yet, she knew her David was not coming back to her.
Thinking to free her mind, Sinead reached around her waist and untied her apron then laid it on the worn work table. Crossing the small kitchen, she stood before the window that faced the forest. The trees were heavy with snow, the sun now below the horizon, casting grey and black shadows over the earth. The windowpanes were ice-covered, streaked with fern like lines of frosted snowflakes. Reaching out, she traced the path of one line, only to have a dark hand placed overtop hers. Slowly, his forefinger traced her fingers, one by one, then slipped down to her hand, where he traced the delicate blue veins beneath her pale skin.

For long seconds, she closed her eyes, savoring the gentle, erotic play of his hand on hers. His finger was calloused, rough, yet masculine and strong. She thought of those hands touching her more intimately, and she whimpered when she felt his finger slip to her wrist where he drew tiny circles over her bounding pulse.
Greedily, she accepted his touch, absorbed it, clutching the memory for safekeeping where she could relive this moment night after night.

“You grow more lovely day after day. You intoxicate me until I cannot think of anything other than you.”

“Please don’t-”

“I see it in your eyes. You want this. You’ve wanted it to happen since that first day I came to the cottage.”

She shook her head, denying what was the truth.

“I’ve wanted it, Sinead, your body, your warmth. I’ve dreamt of having you, dominating you, making you mine.”

“Do you know what they say about me in the village?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless.

His head dropped down beside hers. She heard him inhale deeply of her hair, then felt his chin brush her unbound hair. “Aye, I know what they call you. Witch. You enticed your husband, the second son of a noble family, with little more than a wicked spell and the promise of your luscious body. You made him give up everything for you, his family, his fortune, his friends, in order to have you as his wife.” Lips, warm and strong caressed the column of her throat in the softest of invitations. “Black widow,” he continued, “for they believe that after lying with you, you cast another spell to kill him. They say it was not the battle in the Crimean that saw to your husband’s demise but the spell of your body and your cursed love. They say you draw unsuspecting men into your sensual web where you seduce them, break them…fuck them,” he whispered darkly.

She shivered. He was coarse, yet her body responded as never before. Between her thighs she was wet, with just the sound of his voice whispered huskily in her ear. What if he were to touch her? What havoc he would cause inside her body, her soul.

“They say that while in the glimmer of ecstasy you enchant these men, you take their lives—the cost of sampling your abundant charms, and sensual mystery.”

“And are you not worried that you may turn out to be my next prey?”

“I do not believe in idle village gossip, nor the hurtful words of women who are filled with jealousy and intent on ruining the reputation of a good woman. And if it were indeed, true, that you are a merciless Black Widow who can cast spells and enchantments, I would risk it, just for a chance to share one night inside your body.”

“You would give up your life, to…to,”

“Take you?” he asked. “What other kind of death could a man wish for, Sinead, then to die between the thighs of the woman he has waited so patiently to come to him? Do you want that, Sinead,” he asked in a dark whisper that caressed her neck, “me between your thighs fucking you?”

Creativity Breeds Creativity

2009-08-19T13:14:00.000-07:00

So, I'm plotting. Sophie has ideas, and naturally, Charlotte is following suit. It's very strange to be a writer with two different personas. I consider myself a storyteller really, and currently, my muse is showing me a couple of different scenarios for both personalities.

I've verbally pitched an idea to my editor at Spice who was immediately intrigued and wants the proposal ASAP. No pressure there! So, I've currently been walking around the house with my iPod on while brainstorming ideas. I've come up with a solid basis for an erotic fanstasy historical series. I won't give any details yet owing to karma and all that stuff. While I would hope Spice would snap it up, it's not a given in this ecoconmy. I'm in a believer in karma!

However, I'm bursting at the seams to share something of it. My husband might choke me if I begin to prattle on yet again about the idea. He's listened to it for days now, trying to be supportive, but he's just not a book reader. Nor is gushing at my brilliance (said tongue in cheek) he only usually wants to know what is for supper, and when will it be ready! :)

So, I'll come to you and share my inspirations for this series. First, the series is inspired by a fairy tale my Gran used to tell me. It's actually an ancient Scottish folk song about a mortal man named Tam Lin who fell off his horse and was abducted by the Faery Queen. I loved that story and like I said, I've been inspired by elements of it for this series.

Next, is Byron's poem, She Walks in Beauty. I adore Byron and I have used this poem in Mistress of The Night. However, it's this version, done in a beautiful voice from the movie Vanity Fair that has inspired certain scenes.

And lastly, I wrote a poem that sums up the hero perfectly. I'm not good at poetry, and I haven't the foggiest why I even attempted it, but there it is....I'll share it with the world and you can see what you think...

I am the fog, mist and rain, the shadows that creep across your window pane.
I am darkness and disease, the entity whom no one cares to see.
I am hate, fear, rage, all humans pray to keep me at bay.

I am sorrow and loneliness. Emptiness and despair.
I am, and will be your last breath of air.
In the end it is you and me, and our walk of darkness where I will set you free.

Side by side we will go, we’ll touch hands, mine will be cold.
You will look at me, and plead, “Please Lord Death, don’t take me.” And I will reply, as I always do, “nothing can sway me, pray do not try, for I have seen millions cry. Their tears, while soft, cannot break through this iron heart.”

I am Lord Death, bound by command, to steal life from those souls who have reached their end. I am Lord Death, a shadow of fear, a man say some, a demon cry most.
I am Lord Death, and I will attest, I am cold and emotionless, and most certainly heartless.
I am Lord Death, and this I will say, one day you and I shall walk the path of darkness

The Pictures are of Highgate Cemetery (London) which some of you may recall that I used in my Spice Brief, Improper Pleasures. I adore the staturary in this place, and while I'm not likely going to use it again, I find it it very inspiring and atmospheric. The Muse...I always love when she visits!

Be Well!!!

And for those of you still hungering for Wallingford, I've heard 'officially' from my editor who had this to say upon completetion of reading it. "It's everything I imagined and more!"

yeah!!! Oh, will May not come sooner!!

Ooh, La La!

2009-08-13T05:05:00.000-07:00

Well it's me again, giddy with the thought of one of my stories being translated into French. This is my novellette, Forever Yours (Spice)in an anthology with some really great authors, for the French market. I like it, especially the title. Goes well with my novella, which is about a Duke and his Duchess and the sexy letters they send to each other! Fun stuff! It's really neat to me, to think that someone could be sitting in a little cafe reading my stories!

Sorry I've not much to report, or any insightful posts. I've got my head buried deep in Velvet Haven revisions. They're coming along nicely, and hopefully I'll be done them and have the book sent to my editor by Friday afternoon. Then, I plan on doing a whole lot of nothing all weekend long. I haven't done much reading for pleasure this summer, and I'm feeling the withdrawl effects. I can't wait to dive in. Only trouble is, I can't choose what to read first from all the great books waiting for me in my TBR pile!!!

As well, Adrienne from the UK has posted on the blog about Sinful, and about how she lives quite near to the village that inspired Matthew's estate locale. She also mentioned how she might think of visiting Stourhead (the garden that is Matthew's garden) to coincide with the release of Sinful. What do we think, shall we rip her eyes out now for having the luxury of being so close to beauty! lol! I suppose we can't. It wouldn't be at all lady like, would it?! I suppose all we can do is prevail upon her to post photos for us, if she does make the trek! We can visit vicariously through her, and imagine what Jane sees when she first arrives at Wallingford's estate.

I do envy her. I wish I was rich, I'd fly all of us over, meet up with Adrienne and we could go to Evesham and follow the blossom trail and read Sinful. Or we could picnic at Stourhead and lay out on a blanket! Ah....it's good to dream!!!

I really need to get back to England. There's so much I haven't seen. I need more research!

Have a wonderful weekened, and thank you all for your continued support and for everyone who has written to me, telling me of their love for Addicted's Lindsay's, and Matthew! I do appreciate you all. And to everyone who has posted reviews, thoughts, and cover art, my humblest thanks for getting the word out!

Oblio E Passione~Addicted in Italian

2009-08-05T09:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I got a little a surprise in the mailbox today. Three copies of Addicted, translated into the language of love~Italian! And it got a new cover, too! I like it. Very different from the original cover, but the smoke is there, I see. My only concern is that this book is MUCH thinner than the original Addicted, so I'm kind of angsting as whether or not the entire story is here. Not sure. I assume so. But who knows! I've had fun skimming it, picking out a few words here and there that I know in Italian. I'm able to decipher scenes and where I'm at in the book.

I love the opening. The opening lines of Addicted are: Slave. Minion. Fiend. In this one it's Schiavo. Servo. Demonio. LOVE it!!!

And for you Wallingford fans, there's this: Wallingford...modo perverso...yep, sounds like him! :)

Now I'm wondering what our Italian counterparts think of Lindsay and Wallingford?

So, what do think of the cover? Which one do you like best?

Some Sinful Crumbs

2009-07-28T09:24:00.000-07:00

What can I say? What can I write that would be as powerful as this visual??? Here it is, Sinful's long awaited cover!

I literally just received this (about 10 mins ago!) and knew I had to share it with all you Wallingford lovers!

I hope it satisfies!

If you click the picture, it englarges if you want a closer view!
oh, I can hardly wait for the release, and for Wallingford's secret to be shown to the world!

Addicted-So You Think You Can Dance

2009-07-09T05:49:00.001-07:00

We're big So You Think You Can Dance junkies at our house. Even hubby watches it (mostly for the sake of myself and the kidlet!). Last night, Mia Michels choreographed a stunning piece of art for Kayla and Kupono. Kayla is one of my fav dancers, and Kupono was utterly mercenary and breathtaking in this piece.

It's about an addict, and her addiction and it made me think of Anais and Lindsay.

Anyway, thought I'd share in case you don't watch the show, or if you saw it and wanted to watch it again!

Here's the link. Let me know what you think!

A Sprinkling of Crumbs

2009-06-11T14:09:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone! Sorry to be so late dishing out the crumbs!!! I do have a few things for you. Not too much, but a few…
Here’s an email I received from my editor today…she’s such a damn tease!!!!

Oh, and BTW, I did see some shots of just the model
they used for the cover. He is bee-yoo-ti-ful! All the shots are from the back and he
has amazing musculature! (And he looks really good in his breeches :-))

I seriously cannot wait to see his cover!

This next little excerpt if from a scene which is a turning point not only in the book, but in Jane and Wallingford’s relationship. I really like this scene, how he opens up, and Jane, who is a tough nut to crack begins to weakens.

Jane looked up. His breathing seemed harsh to her ears. His gaze, she noticed, was focused intently upon her. Jane struggled to not look away from that intense, almost passionate gaze.
“We have done what we promised never to do,” he said, his voice husky in the dark quiet of the hall. “We—both of us—thought never to expose ourselves to the prying eyes of others. And yet we have done the unthinkable, we have sold ourselves to each other.”
She could not help but stiffen at his words. Indeed, they had agreed to complete honesty, to shed the mantle of secrets they both wore, and yet, the reminder of it did little to settle her nerves. She had known what she was getting into the minute she stepped into the carriage for Evesham. She had known that her secrets would now belong to him, yet that had not prevented her from coming to him.
“We are both damaged souls, Jane, marred by darkness and sin. We’re both scarred,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against the uneven skin of her top lip. “You wear your scars on the outside, while mine are hidden deep. But they’re there, Jane. You just have to look hard.”
“And will you let me, my lord, look deep?”
He swallowed hard, but nodded, even though it was only a slight incline of his head.
“You’ve made it clear that this is the only way I can have you, Jane.”
“Honesty will set you free.”
He smiled, a soft sound of amusement passed between his lips. “The truth enslaves, Jane. It will chain us, bind us in a way that the two of us will fight to get free from.”
“I can bear the burden.”
“I wonder if you can? Because beyond this door we will cease to be the people we show to the world. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“I will be only Matthew here in this room with you, Jane. Tell me, who, am I to expect? Who are you really?”
“I do not know,” she said, her voice trembling despite her attempts to appear as though she were firmly in control of her feelings. “I always thought I knew myself so well. But then…” The words froze in her throat and she looked away, but he caught her chin with the edge of his fingers and turned her face to his.
“Only honesty, Jane. We promised. We will not go beyond this door until I have your word that you will be completely honest with me, as I have vowed with you.”
“I thought I knew what I wanted—who I was—that is, until that day I first saw you in the carriage. You…you awakened feelings in me that were strange, terrifying yet exhilarating. These feelings were all things I forbid myself—feelings I’ve never wanted to have. I was quit satisfied with never having felt pleasure or passion, and then when I met you, I questioned everything I have ever believed in. You ask me who I truly am? The truth is, I do not know.”
“Do you wish to know?”
“I fear the answer I may uncover.”
His expression seemed to soften. She saw the flicker of something in his eye, before he shielded it with his thick lashes as he watched his thumb glide along her mouth, parting her lips. “I, too, am afraid, Jane. I fear what I will find inside me as well. I fear the things you will ask, and the answers I shall have to give you. Shall we forget this bargain of ours, then? Shall we pretend that we never agreed to bare our souls to one another? Should we forget that we have never met, never touched. Never kissed?”
Suddenly she felt breathless, anxious. “Is that what you want?” she asked, fearing the answer.
“No,” he said in a hard, almost choking voice. “It is not what I want. I want to know you, Jane. I want to understand what makes you different from the women I have known. I want to understand these feelings I had, that I still have.”
“Then we will go forward. And we shall never tell a soul what happens in this room. We will never speak of each other’s secrets or use them to hurt one another once this week is over.”
“Agreed,” he murmured brushing his thumb along her mouth. “Our secret.”
Together they released the latch on the door and stepped into the room. With a quiet click the door closed behind Matthew. They were now completely alone. While clothed, Jane knew that Matthew would strip her utterly naked, and he would not have to remove one stitch of her clothes to do so.

This is for Barbara who coerced a bit of sexy scene out of me….

Matthew’s arms felt strong beneath her as he carried her to his bed. He wore a linen shirt that was unbuttoned, allowing her to feel the hot skin of his corded neck beneath her lips. Aware of the steely strength in his shoulders, Jane slid her fingers beneath the opening of his shirt and caressed his chest. His flesh was taut over the thick muscle, warm and scented with the smell of eastern spices and man.
Feeling brave, knowing that she only had but a week to indulge herself with him, Jane threw caution to the wind and allowed her hand to slide further into his shirt. Cupping his breast, she discovered his chest was nothing but chiselled muscle that felt as unyielding as rock and as contoured as a sculpture. She ran her finger along his nipple and felt it grow taut and erect, pressing urgently beneath her finger.
She wanted nothing more than to discover what his hard body would feel like beneath her hand and what he would look like naked to her gaze. Tilting her head back, she looked up into his face and saw that he watched her with unblinking eyes. His irises had turned to a brilliant, glistening shade of India ink and she could not help but think once more how beautiful and mysterious his eyes were.
He reached the bed and instead of tossing her on it, he gently placed her atop the blankets which were folded back and followed her down until his body half covered hers. Pressing against her, his weight sank them both deep into the mattress. She should have felt smothered by his strength and the strong, large bulge of his arousal that pressed eagerly at her pubes, but she felt only desire and comfort and a strange sense of safety and rightness.
“I was too anxious the last time. I did not take my time to explore you as I should have—as I wanted.”
She covered his sculpted mouth with her finger, stopping his words of regret. “You gave me what I needed, Matthew. And I needed you so fiercely, and somehow you knew that. My body has not stopped crying out for more of it.”
His eyes darkened further and his lashes lowered. She followed the path of his gaze and saw that he was busy untying the strings of her petticoat and she became mesmerized by the beauty and elegance of his long, dark fingers pulling and tugging and freeing the perfectly tied bow. Her breathing became rapid and she felt the light brush of his knuckles along her belly as he parted the cotton over her hip.
“I want to give you more, Jane. I want to savor you, to kiss and lick every inch of you.”
Her womb clenched, the muscles of her core tightened in yearning.
“I want to tongue you,” he said in a deep, provocative voice. Then he flicked the tip of his tongue between the seam of her lips. “Everywhere. Your lips, your neck, your breasts, your rounded belly. Your quim,” he growled, sending a wicked, forbidden tremor throughout her limbs. “I want you to tell me your desires. I want to know what you want me to do to you. And I want to do them, Jane. I want to give you what you need.”
Her corset was off and he tossed it to the side of the bed where it fell to the floor in a heap with her petticoats. She lay partially beneath him in only her chemise and she felt his wide palm slide up her calf, then thigh, nearly engulfing her flesh in his hand. He caressed her to her hip, running his hand appreciatively up and down the rounded contour.
He reached up, above her head, and she froze, stiffening beneath him. It was a silly response, but she could not hide it nor could she look away from his gaze that studied her so quizzically. But he would not allow it, and tipped her chin up so that she could not avoid his gaze.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, seeing how his hand was against the bed curtains. “I don’t want it to be dark, not with you. I...I want to see you—us.”
“I would never want you in the dark, Jane. You were made to be seen beneath a man.”
“I want see you, too,” she said, slipping her hands beneath his shirt. He helped her tug the linen over his shoulders and when his head pulled free, his hair was mussed and she ran her fingers through it, thinking how rakish he looked peering down at her with his dishevelled hair.
Sliding his hand beneath her pillow, he raised himself slightly above her. It was then that she saw how beautiful he was—how strong—how wonderfully muscled beneath skin that was a rich tawny brown. Her gaze skimmed down to his belly that was fashioned out of the same hard muscle and resembled a washerwoman’s washboard.
Black silky hair ran in a straight line from his navel, disappearing below the waistband of his black trousers. Her gaze slipped lower and she noticed that his trousers were tented with a formidable erection. Her stomach curled in a knot, knowing she was going to have him covering her with this hot, hard, very male body.
“You’re beautiful,” she said on a sigh, sounding awed even to her own ears. “You feel like steel beneath this soft skin.”
His fingers sought and found the silk tie holding her chemise and he tugged the ends of the bow taut, freeing it and allowing her chemise to gape open. She barely registered the fact that he was parting her shift, preparing to bare her breast to his gaze.
She let out a deep satisfied sigh as their skin brushed together when he pulled her chemise from beneath her.
Matthew looked down between their meshed chests and studied Jane’s lush body. She was naked now and he watched how the rain drops on the cottage window dappled shadows on her skin. He saw the reflection of a crystal shaped drop snake over the roundness of her hip. He traced it with his fingertip until it ran down her thigh, racing to the shadow of her apex, until another drop followed, then another, reminding him of tears.
Brushing his cheek against her thigh, he closed his eyes, smelling Jane’s skin, relishing her fingers running through his hair, absorbing the feel of her naked body against his. His heart hurt, despite knowing what they would share. It ached at the loss he knew was coming closer, day after day.
They would go their separate ways soon. The secrets and pleasures they shared would forever be kept within the confines of his cottage. Every time he gaze out this window, he would see rain, and the shadowy droplets on Jane’s flesh. He would think of tears and forever wonder if Jane would shed any for him.
“Matty?” she whispered, and he pressed his eyes shut, willing the pain to subside. “What is it?”
She lifted his head from her lap and he smiled, a sad smile, mixed with joy and desire, loss and loneliness. “I want to make you weep with pleasure, Jane,” he murmured, sliding up the length of her luscious body. “I want to take your tears away on my lips and keep them with me forever. And after, I want to paint you like this, with the shadows on your body and the remnants of pleasure casting a glow over your body.”

This next scene was the first scene that came to me for Sinful. I actually wrote it while writing Addicted. I knew then, that Wallingford was going to be really tortured, really passionate and really possessive. Here’s a little snippet.

The door opened and Jane’s gaze darted to the door, only to see him shouldering his way through and pressing his back against the door until it clicked firmly shut. His gaze met hers and then suddenly he was on his knees before her, his face pressed into her skirts as he rubbed his cheeks against her thighs.
“I am in hell,” he groaned, and his fingers fisted into the silk of her skirt. “Seeing you tonight has been my salvation and my agony.”
Lifting her face from the arm of the lounge, she bent over him, kissing the top of his head and running her hands through his tousled hair.
“When, Jane,” he asked, his voice gruff and full of emotion, “when will I look at you and think of you as a friend? When will I see you and not feel my body harden and ache to be inside you?”
His hot hands slid down her calves and snaked their way beneath her skirt so that he could wrap his fingers along her ankles and slide them up along her stocking clad leg.
“When will I stop dreaming of you wearing nothing but crème stockings and lace garters? When will I ever be able to dress you and kiss you and think of you as mine?”
He bent to kiss her ankle then slowly he raised her skirts, pushing the silk and the petticoats up so that her stockings were revealed to him. His mouth was everywhere, nipping at her calves, her knees, and the inside of her thighs. He hesitated for a moment then ran his lips along her mound that she had not been able to bring herself to cover with drawers.
“I dream of this naked, wet flesh. I crave it,” he whispered and dropped a kiss amongst her curls before wrapping his arms around her hips and clutching her close to him so that his face rested on her bare thighs, and his breath caressed her apex.
“When I saw you tonight without your spectacles, I nearly went mad.” He raised his head and looked at her, and she had never seen him more handsome than he was peering up at her from behind the crinkled blue silk. “I’m supposed to be the only man to see behind the glass.” Her lips trembled and she smothered a soft sob of longing. “It is only me that should be removing them. Only me you should see atop you.”
“Matthew,” she whispered shakily, raking an unsteady hand through his hair.
“God help me, Jane,” he cried, grasping her to him as buried his face in her lap. “I cannot do this! I cannot let you be. I swear I need you—need the little piece of Heaven you can give me. I need it so much.” When he looked up at her, his expression shattered her heart. “Please tell me that you’re lonely too, Jane.”

Till next time, guys!!! Hope this satisfies!!!

Sinful Breadcrumbs

2009-05-01T07:49:00.000-07:00

Hi guys! Well, as promised, I'm here with a few details about Lord Wallingford and his book, Sinful. I'll try to drop a few juicy tidbits at the beginning of each of month. I hope you'll enjoy them and they'll tide you over until May 2010!

So, I thought I'd start by telling you a bit about the book. It takes place a few months after Addicted leaves off. It's Spring, and most of the book takes place in the north of England, where Lindsay and Wallingford have their estates. Near Bewdley is a village called Evesham, a delightful, quaint, little village with a lot of fruit trees. Evesham inspired me. We have lots of blossoms in Sinful. Orange blossoms, quince and cherry. Wallingford is very, very creative with them. It must be the artist in him!

Years ago, when I was in England, I had the opportunity to travel to Wiltshire, to Stourhead. Stourhead's gardens are world renknowned. My day was just gorgeous, and I came away knowing that one day I would use the gardens on a grand estate, for just the right hero. Wallingford is that hero. He appreciates beauty in all forms. I've included a few pictures of Stourhead, especially the temple. Wallingford's garden has a temple, and there is much misbehaving in those gardens! lol!

The bridge in the mist was most inspiring, and I wrote a scene with Wallingford standing on the bridge in the drizzle, looking down into the water contemplating his life, and Jane. I think it's very atmospheric that picture, and it really set the tone perfectly for that scene.

CindyW asked in the last update if Wallingford dances in his book. He does, Cindy, a few times in fact. But only one special one with Jane, and it takes place in his studio cottage.

This is a picture of the cottage that sits in the gardens at Stourhead. I loved the romantic, gothic look of it and knew I had to have it in Sinful. So, this cottage is Wallingford's art studio. It's his oasis, and the only place he can truly be himself. NO ONE has ever stepped foot inside it, but this is where he brings Jane, time after time. Some of the best scenes (I feel)take place in that cottage. Wallingford is just a man here, and this is where Jane truly falls in love with him.

Music is always a big inspiration for me when I write. The first draft was written to the Pride and Prejudice movie soundtrack. The soft piano pieces are just so haunting, and I was able to really connect Wallingford's emotions with those pieces. However, there is one song, and in particular one part of it that really worked for him, and a scene where he is lying in bed, smoking, trying to pretend that he's not hurting over something that has happened between he and Jane. That song is Outside by Staind, and the lyrics are:

All the times that I've cried. All that's wasted. It's all inside.
And I feel all this pain, stuffed it down, it's back again,
And I lie here in bed, all alone. I can't mend

I heard from my editor a little bit ago, and she says they've already briefed Sinful's cover. She told me that she's very excited about the idea, and that she could tell me that "the cover will have a lone man on it, barechested and shot from the back' WOO HOO!!!! I'm so excited. I do believe that this will be the first lone male cover that Spice has ever produced! I can't wait to share it with you when it's done.

And now for a little excerpt. Keep in my that these teasers are first draft, unedited and may nor may not make into the final book. This is just for fun.

Hope you enjoy a little bit of Wallingford!
Have a great weekend, guys!

Mathew followed his friend’s gaze and saw that it was focused intently on Jane. He didn’t care for the amused glint in Raeburn’s eye, nor did he care for the smug smile that parted his lips.

“My God,” Raeburn drawled as his smile widened, “you’ve gone and done it. You’ve fallen for the little pea-hen.”

Matthew stiffened. “Don’t call her that,” he snapped, his gaze lingering on Jane and the curve of her graceful neck and the whisps of red hair that caressed her skin.

“Why not? You do,” Raeburn taunted. “I specifically recall hearing you say she was nothing but an unremarkable and dower spinster.”

“Well perhaps I might have been wrong,” he snapped.

Raeburn placed a hand over his heart and took a mocking step backward. “Wrong? The Earl of Wallingford mistaken about a woman? Impossible, my friend. You are never wrong where women are concerned.”

Glaring at his friend, Matthew fumbled inside his jacket pocket searching for a cheroot. After locating the wooden box of matches, he irritably swiped a sulphar match against the stone railing and lit the cheroot, inhaling deep breaths of smoke before waving the flame out and tossing the match to the ground.

“Admit it, Wallingford, the pea hen has somehow managed to catch your eye.”

He caught Jane laughing as she sat down beside Anais. Even through the French doors he was aware of her, aware of the way the lamplight would reflect in the glass lenses of her spectacles—aware of the way the firelight would dance along the deep auburn highlight in the hair that was pulled so severely back. Despite the distance between them, his body was as aware of her as if she were standing beside him. He saw her laugh again, then clasp Anais’ hands in hers. Her face turned pink and he was drawn in by the simple pleasure of watching her unguarded and laughing. She was full of life and exuberance, and her skin fairly glowed as she smiled and laughed with Anais.

“She is no colorless bird,” he murmured, not knowing if had intended to say the words aloud.

“Is that so?” Raeburn asked as his gaze narrowed on Jane.

“Indeed,” he murmured, secretly smiling as he remembered her flailing about in the water that afternoon. Grinning, he recalled the colorful epitaphs that had fallen so easily from her lips as she clung madly to his shoulders. “There is something about her,” he said, unable to keep his gaze from her. “Something I cannot describe or understand. She is not the least bit beautiful by Society’s standards, and yet I have not looked at another woman since I met her at your wedding. There is something about her face that draws me in.”

“You find her beautiful?” Raeburn choked.

“Is that so damn hard to believe?” Matthew growled, tensing as his body filled with anger and a fierce protectiveness he had never felt towards a woman.

“Aye, it is,” Raeburn said with a grin. “It is almost unbelievable. I’ve never known you to look at woman with more than a passing glance. Your gaze strays to the most superficial trappings. But it seems you have looked deeper where Miss Rankin is concerned. You’ve seen beyond the spectacles and her severe manner of dress and seen the beauty within.”

“You’re talking rubbish, Raeburn,” he grunted, as he took a long, calming drag on his cheroot. “Obviously your honeymoon has made you into a romantic halfwit. You’re romanticising whatever this...this attraction is I hold for Miss Rankin. An attraction, I fear that is fuelled not by lust or affection, but by pride. She won’t have me, you see, and I am afraid that my ego cannot bear it.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew them for a lie. Knew that at first when he had pursued her at Raeburn’s wedding it might have been a case of bruised pride. However, he had to admit that those were not his feelings now. He had looked deeply—today most especially—and had seen the loveliness in Jane. And what was more, he felt strangely possessive of that rare beauty. He knew he must be the first man to really notice Jane’s beauty, and that realization made him selfish, made him want to hide her from all men. He wanted her to be his, yet he didn’t want her to think that he could be hers—that there could be anything lasting between them. But when he thought of her with another…

“I don’t believe you, you know,” Raeburn said beside him. “You see, I’ve known you too long, and I’ve seen you with too many women—women I may add that you have never looked at quite the way you look at Jane.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Raeburn, nor do I care.”

“You don’t have to pretend, my friend. I understand how damnably confusing the whole thing can be.”

“What whole thing?” He asked as he studied the blunt end of his cheroot.

“Giving your heart to another.”

He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound from deep in his chest. “I have no heart to give, surely you know that.”

Raeburn looked at him with a strange intent gaze. “You have one, I’m sure of it, you just have to find it. However, I’ll wager it’s locked up tighter than the crown jewels.”

Matthew grunted and looked away. Raeburn knew nothing. He had no heart. He was heartless. He was not kind, he was selfish and merciless. He had not given anything—most importantly his heart—to Jane Rankin. And what was more, he didn’t have it in to offer anything meaningful to any woman.

“Night, old boy,” Raeburn muttered. “I’ll see you in the morning for a few hours of fishing?”

Nodding, Matthew turned his back on the French doors and the glittering lamplight pouring out from the salon and looked up at the black velvet sky. Christ, his mind was a mess. He was thinking things he had never once thought of—never once cared about.

“Matthew?”

He stiffened, like he’d been hit with a lash. Jane’s voice, low, husky, tore into his flesh and he curled his fingers around the stone balustrade. How the intimacy of hearing her call his name in the dark made his blood grow hot. How he hated the weakening of his resolve. He was not the man Raeburn was, he reminded himself. He did not love women, or care for their feelings. He did not think of them as wives and mothers and lovers. He thought of them of sexual beings—beings to be fucked and discarded. He was callous and cruel, and he was only deluding himself into believing that he was something other than a libertine.
He doubted that whatever transpired between him and Jane this week would mean a damn to him once they returned to London. He doubted he would even care, or remember all her sordid little secrets. He was damn certain he would not remember the feel of her wet body clinging to him, or recall the way he had felt strong and masculine, protecting her and whispering away her fears with soft words. He would not allow himself to remember the way she had looked up with admiration as he carried her to the river. No, damn it. He was no God damned knight in shining armor. His past a cesspool of debacles and debauches. He could not change what he was, and what was more he didn’t think he could bear to. Because caring who he was would mean that he would have to care about Jane and her opinion of him; and caring about Jane Rankin was something that would only cause him pain.

“Matthew?” she whispered, but this time she rested her hand on his forearm. It was the first time she had ever willingly touched him, and the image of her small hand on his coat sleeve played havoc with his mind. He felt himself begin to soften, begin to believe in this that could not be.

As he looked down at her hand, anger began to rage inside him. And as irrational as it was to feel angry with himself, it was even more irrational to wish to lash out at Jane.

“Do you wish for me to meet you in your studio?” she asked, her voice quiet and unsure. “Or perhaps-”

“It is our bargain, after all, isn’t it Jane,” he snapped, hating the venom he heard in his words, and sound of her startled gasp. Christ he despised the fact that he was lashing out at Jane because he was confused by what he was feeling. He felt utterly worthless and deserving. “As you’ve been attempting to tell me we have struck a bargain, and as we have both given our word, we cannot go back. So, yes, I want you in the studio. You are here for me to paint, and I am here to tell you whatever it is you want to know about me.”

“I think I learned all there is this afternoon,” she whispered, and he saw a fleeting glimmer of what he thought might be hope in her eyes. Hope that perhaps his reputation might be overblown, hope that he was really a gentleman who carried ladies safely from danger. Hope that he was anything other than the notorious, sinful earl.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, lowering his head so that he was glaring at her.

“I think I know you better than you think I do.”

He smiled cruelly. “My dear, you haven’t even begun to know the worst of me.”

Tomorrow's Treat

2009-04-30T13:24:00.001-07:00

Join me here tomorrow, 'cause that bad boy Lord Wallingford will be out and center! As promised, I promised bread crumbs.....

See ya then!

visit me at The Scribe Scroll

2009-04-14T09:24:00.000-07:00

Hey there, I'm posting at my Sophie Renwick blog and would love for you to come on over and put your two cents in about what readers are looking for when they're searching for new books, new authors or new releases.

See you there!

I'm On the Prowl...

2009-04-10T06:44:00.000-07:00

for readers/reviewers to read my erotic contemporary romance, Hot In Here and post their review for pimpage. The book is written under my other name Sophie Renwick. I'm debuting that name this June with Hot In Here and I'm looking for ways to bring reader attention to the book. So, if you're interested in an ARC of Hot in Here, just email me at charlotte@charlottefeatherstone.net or sophie@sophierenwick.com and let me know. I have an electronic format, or I will print it out and mail it to you, within North America. If you want more information, you can visit Sophie Renwick for more information on the book!

Okay, so now that I promised VampFanGirl that I would occasionally dole out some dirt and stuff on Lord Wallingford, I thought I'd give her, and you a few treats. It's not like I can send a chocolate bunny, but I'm sure these visuals will be worth a pound of chocolate! lol!

So, we all know that Lord Wallingford is a prickly fellow. He's closed and aloof, and really doesn't have a good opinion of women, although that does not prevent him from being a promiscuous rake!

One of the inspirations for Lord Wallingford was Richard Armitage's portrayal of John Thornton in the BBC's production of Elizabeth Gaskell's awesome book North and South. I read this book in grade 10, the same year I read Pride apnd Prejudice for my English lit class. I have to tell you that I loved N&S more than P&P! Thorton made me weak kneed, even at the age of 15. I hated Darcy at that time in my life, but Thornton...I don't know what it was, I adored him. That set me up, I think, for loving, and writing the brooding, misunderstood hero.

Richard Armitage's brooding sensuality made me fall instantly in love with him. I have adored this man for years, and it's only natural that I put some of that brooding longing into a hero that is probably, my most favorite character. I loved Lindsday, but there is something about Wallingford that reaches in and takes hold of me. He's so broken, that I want to hug him but he's the type that would bite back and shove you away. Which of course, makes me want to reach out even harder!

I am done with his first draft, but I keep being drawn back to it. Probably because I am writing Bran, the hero of my (Sophie's) contemporary paranormal, Velvet Haven. In many ways, these men are similiar. Both are honorable in their own right, and have a hidden vulnverability that only one woman has ever seen. They can be fiercely loyal,yet surely and closed off. Both carry burdens, and secrets that could destroy them. So, I think it's a natural extension, to be writing Bran and thinking of Wallingford.

So, here's a few facts about Wallingford and his book, as well as some very fine pictures of Richard Armitage portraying John Thornton. In these pictures, the 'looks' remind me so much of of Wallingford.

for two more blog
Facts:
Jane, his heroine is seen briefly in Addicted. She is Anais' aunt's companion.(One savvy reader emailed to ask this question. I was suprised she put two and two together! lol!)

Wallingford is an artist, sculptor and piano player, as well as boxing for release of 'excess desires, pent up feelings, and generalized emotions that make me crazed'

Jane compares Wallingford to an onion, 'you must peel away the layers, and every one of them would you make you cry.'

There is a scene where Jane tells Wallingford that he is 'uninvited' in her life. It was inspired by the song Uninvited by Alanis Morrisette. The words in that song have profound meaning in regards to Jane's speech to Wallingford.

The premise of the book was based on one of my favorite quotes from Anais Nin, it is 'and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.' It is relevant for both Jane and Wallingford.

The song Broken by Seether and Amy Lee is exactly how Wallinford sees himself. Almost word for word. (You can glean alot about the book from that song!) lol! I wrote a scene to it, where Wallingford is trying to pen a letter to Jane, describing his feelings.

Wallingford's name is Matthew, but Jane, when in the throes of passion whispers 'Matty' in his ear, he becomes completely undone by her honesty.

One of my favorite parts is when Wallingford is monologuing about his life, and his fears. In a very brave moment he realizes that what he longs for the most is a deep human connection. 'He was starved for it, parched, thirsting for a connection with
someone-- no-- with Jane. Greedily he wanted to horde her, to hungrily devour every little word, look, soft inhalation of desire, and selfishly keep it, never to return it her, for it was for him-- his alone. Never to be shared, never to leave the confines of his memories. But there was more, so much more that he wanted from her. Touch, he shuddered at the word, the very thought. Yes. He wanted to be touched by Jane. Outside and deep within his body he wanted Jane's fingers imprinted on him, branding and binding him. He yearned for the feel of her body, her touch, her breath against his skin. He wanted it embedded in his mind, his pores. He wanted her entwined with his body and soul, both which hungered and hurt. Both which were empty and so...' he swallowed and closed his eyes, finding the strength to go on. Both which had never known softness or kindness. Both which were so frighteningly alone and...afraid. What he wanted was the sort of elemental connection that would bind Jane to him for eternity, a connection that would see him well fed and safe, forever. Body and soul. His already belonged to her, and he shook, unnerved by the truth, and the feeling that perhaps, the dawn would for once, be a welcome sight.'

So,there you have it. A Wallingford teaser! I hope you enjoyed it, and it whets your appetite for more of Sinful which be released in May 2010 from Harlequin Spice. (oh, and if you're still loving Lindsay and Anais, you'll get to see them as well!)

What I'm Craving...

2009-04-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

Even us authors get a hankering for a good read, and I'm no exception. I've had this book on my wishlist for months now, and today, it arrived in the mail! The cover is gorgeous and the blurb enticing. Emma Wildes is new to me author, and already, just by flipping through the pages, I know I'm going to love her.
Sophie (my contemporary persona) is currently reading Joey Hill, and when she's done, Charlotte will start on this luscious historical. Can't wait to share my thoughts.
The blurb is below....

It’s the talk of the town. In a less than sober moment, London’s two most notorious rakes—the Earl of Manderville and the Duke of Rothay—placed a very public wager on which of them is the superior lover. Now it’s too late to retract the foolish bet, but what woman of beauty, intelligence, and discernment, would consent to bed both men—and declare which is more skilled in satisfying her deepest desires?

Lady Carolyn Wynn is the last woman anyone would expect to step forward. She’s a respectable young widow with an icy reputation, which has kept her firmly off the marriage market. She may not desire another husband, but her brief marriage has left her with some scandalous questions about the act of love.

If the men will keep her identity a secret, she’ll decide who has the most finesse between the sheets. But to everyone’s surprise, what begins as an indelicate proposition turns into a most astonishing lesson in everlasting love…

So Sinful...

2009-03-26T19:25:00.001-07:00

Well, I'm so happy to announced that two days ago I completed the first draft of Sinful (Spice May 2010) This is Lord Wallingford's book, and let me tell you, he lived up to his name. He was totally, unremorsefully SINFUL! He took me on a wild ride, and let me glimpse some really vulnerable aspects of his nature. He had one or two surprises in store for me. I love that when characters do that, give you something totally new and surprising to work with. His heroine, Jane was great fun to write. I readily identified with her, and I love how she made him work for her. I also love how she was able to see beyond his aloof and cold facade.

So, I've gotten lots of reader email about Addicted (Thanks!) and many of you are asking about Wallingford. What does he look like, tell us about him. Well, I went on the prowl, so to speak, searching for him. I couldn't find him, at least not in one whole 'package'. The pic above is about as close to Wallingford as I could find. He has the dark hair and the aristocratic nose. He's built. Where Lindsay was muscular and lean, Wallingford his thick, bulky. He's big, and I like that dichotomy because Wallingford has an artist's soul. He paints and sculpts. It's where his heart and dreams lay, and some of my favorite scenes where of him working with his big hands holding a brush! I think what this guy has is the look. That inpenetrable gaze that says 'stay the F$%*k away'. That's Wallingford. But if you look closer, there's a sensuality there. A yearning for more.

So, this is Wallingford now. At least for creative inspiration. Hope you guys like him!
In other Sinful news, Spice is talking about Sinful's cover this month. I have NO idea how they will outdo Addicted's cover, but I'm dying to see what they come up with.

Have a good weekend!

Catching Up!

2009-03-05T06:46:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone! Thanks to all of the wonderful readers who purchased Addicted and put it on some bestseller lists! Thanks so much!!! I'm humbled and so appreciative that you chose to part with your hard earned money to buy my book! A thousand times, thank you!

As the release month is over, and the deadline for Sinful calls, I'll be a bit scarce on this blog as well, I probably won't have a newsletter out till about May. However, there's still two chances to win a copy of Addicted. Tomorrow, March 6th, I'll be doing two blogs and giving away a copy at each. The blogs are historical/contemporary author Karin Tabke and the Romance Reader At Heart blog. Tomorrow I'll post the links!

Again, thanks so much for being part of the success of Addicted!

Guest Blogger

2009-02-10T07:28:00.000-08:00

Hi all, just wanted to drop by and let you know that I'll be chatting up Addicted with my pal, Tracy Wolff and the other gals over at Sizzling Pens today. c'mon over and make a comment or two. I'm giving away a signed copy of Addicted!

Good luck!

Lust In Time: Addicted

2009-02-09T08:18:00.000-08:00

Hi all!
Today I'm over at the lust in time blog, chatting about Addicted. I'm giving out my fav lines and scenes, and a bit behind the creation of the book. I'm also giving away a signed copy of Addicted. So, if you haven't picked up your copy yet, and you're feeling lucky, come on over to the Lust In Time blog for your chance to win a copy of Addicted.

On another note, thanks to everyone who helped put Addicted on the Barnes and Noble romance bestseller list. It's been there for two weeks and is now at #28. Not too bad for a debut author! Also, thanks for the emails and kind words about Addicted. It gives a writer hope and keeps her going, especially when the hero of her next book is kicking her butt!!!

For anyone who has read Addicted they know what Lord Wallingford is like. Let me tell you, what you see in Addicted is only the tip of the iceburg! I thought writing Lindsay was hard...

Have a great Monday and see over at Lust In Time!

Free Copies of Addicted

2009-02-05T03:13:00.000-08:00

Addicted has been nominated as Feb's book club pick over at All Romance e-books. If you sign up for the book club, you have a chance to win one of 50 free downloads (once you sign up, they give you a code to download. Or, if you miss out on the freebies, you can purchase the book for 25% off the cover price. Then on March 16th, ARe will host a chat, and I'll be there answering questions, talking about the book etc with other readers from the club.

So, if you like book clubs, and free books, this is your chance!
And thanks for all the wonderful reader mail about Addicted. I'm so happy that everyone seems to be loving the book!

ADDICTED: Meet Lindsay, Viscount Raeburn

2009-01-23T06:42:00.000-08:00

I believe that every writer has an opus, and Addicted is mine. For as long as I can remember, I have been lured by the dark side in me. I've always been fascinated by the submersive, and as a consequence, I always wanted to write about the mysterious, and exotic opium dens that littered London in the 1800's.

On a whim, and after a good solid push by my cp (Kristina) I decided to write the book of my heart. The thing with writing the 'book of your heart' is that it can cause you a tremendous deal of angst and fear. Will it sell? Will I get an agent with it? Will readers want to read it? Will readers like him? Will I be trashed for writing such a book?

When one writes such a book, the first and foremost rule is that one cannot be afraid of the book. It is made that much easier when the editor involved sees your vision and supports it. I was most lucky when my editor, Susan Swinwood emailed me to say, 'please bring the opium use to the forefront. Show readers just how messed up Lindsay really is'. That email was most freeing as a writer. The further edits were liberating, and really allowed me to write not only the book, but Lindsay as I saw him.

Lindsay is, the most complicated, and complex character I have written to date. Upon reflection, it is not the opium use that makes him thus (although that's a significant part) but because he is, well...human. He is beautiful and sensual, and sexy as anything, but he is also at times stubborn, short sighted, easily tempered and self-righteous. Everyone is wrong, and he is right. Everyone is against him, and he is alone in the world. In essence, he is everything that we ourselves have been at times in our lives. This made him most difficult to write as a romance hero. And Addicted is a romance. Yes, it is erotic, and the characters are not something you'll find in mainstream romance, but their story is, first and foremost a romance, as well as a journey in betrayal, loss, growth and love.

In my writing, I have grinned, chuckled, laughed, become aroused by characters and situations. I have never cried-- until Addicted. There are three separate places where I balled like the proverbial baby. This sense of emotion really stretched my writing skills. While blubbering like a watering pot, I visualized him so clearly, and felt his and Anais' pain so acutely.

I always saw Lindsay very clearly. And like my LIT ladies, I like to have visual inspiration for my characters. In Eric Bana, I saw Lindsay. The curly hair, the mainly physique, the brooding, the mysteriousness, the ability to laugh. In essence, complex, manly, sexy. Lindsay's hair is darker, his eyes green, but the rest of him is very much like the pictures in this post. (I hope the visuals don't disappoint!)

Addicted is now shipping from Barnes and Noble and Amazon. I'm so excited about this release and hope readers fall as much in love with Lindsay as I did.

Karin Tabke at Lust in Time

2008-12-15T18:36:00.000-08:00

Anyone like hot historicals? What about hot Medieval knights who have been referenced being like JR Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood, but in armor???
Got your attention? Well, Karin Tabke certainly got my attention with the first two books of her Blood Sword series.
Visit Lust In Time blog this week where Karin will be visiting. There's a contest to win some books, and an surprise on Thursday when Lord Craven Moore, the resident rake of the Lust In Time blog brings a guest.

c'mon over and have some fun. I'll be there all week, interviewing Karin and forcing her to give up some deets on the third books in her series, Master of Craving!
www.lustintime.blogspot.com

Holiday Open House~Come See Me!

2008-12-11T03:45:00.000-08:00

So Harlequin is having their annual Christmas open house. This year will my first year attending, and I'm really excited about it. The boards will be open from 12am-10pm ET, and I'll be chatting live from 8pm-9pm ET about my upcoming Spice release Addicted. Lots of giveaways, too, books, gifts, all kinds of stuff. So, join in the merry making! I'd love to see you there!
http://community.eharlequin.com/forums/cafe-social/2008-eharlequincom-open-house-author-list"
*Image is the copyright of Harlequin Enterprises.*

A Wing and a Prayer

2008-11-04T07:12:00.000-08:00

I blogged today over at Lust In Time, and put this guy up for inspiration. I though I'd post him here 'cause ya know, he's cute, and I like his wings. I'm also putting him up as a talisman so to speak. I'm waiting on a project at acquisitions at Harlequin. It's been there for a while, and I'm dying to write it. So, I thought I might put him up as symbolism, and hope that maybe my karma and chakras and all that stuff might align and I might hear word. Plus, he's just well...cute.

If you haven't been to eharlequin, or Lust In Time, I posted a contest. Sign up for my newsletter (where it's announcement only, and naughty excerpts) and I'll enter your name to win an advanced reader copy of Addicted. They should be coming any time now.

Good luck, everyone!

A Whole New World!

2008-10-31T07:48:00.000-07:00

Well, finally! I've got a fabulous new website and updates! I love the new look, and feel. Sensual, yet still erotic and tasteful. And romantic, too! My books, while erotic are all romance. Even though Spice runs the gamut on the erotic scale, as well as the HEA's (happily ever afters) you can always bet on my books being romance.

In the coming days you'll have a blurb for my sexy Victorian set release ADDICTED, coming out in Feb from Harlequin Spice.

If you like really spicy excerpts, join my newsletter (announcement and excerpt only) to read the naughty parts!

Addicted has been quoted as..darkly sensual, tearful, sexy.....

C'mon, what are you waiting for, you know you want to read something naughty!

And thanks for stopping by my beautiful new home! Rae Monet from Rae Monet Inc has done a stellar job. Professional, imaginative and so very easy to work with, Rae is the best!

Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain, friends!