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Snowed in with a Rogue Release Day!
It’s release day for Snowed in with a Rogue, the multi-author Regency romance holiday anthology which includes an all-new Code Breakers holiday novella. Read Chapter One from A CODE OF WONDER and then download the box set.
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA
Chapter One
December,1803
Rural England
Nicholas Balthasar Trentham, Earl of Wessex, sprawled in the rickety chair, propped his feet on the table, and took another swig of ale, the best the Dragon and Cock had to offer. Peering through the soiled window, he watched the clouds blowing across the sky. A winter storm was brewing. If he didn’t leave immediately, he’d be forced to spend the night. He had stayed in worse places, but, at those times, he had always been deep in his cups.
Anger and resentment swirled in his gut like the beginning snow flurries outside. The ale wasn’t dimming the memories. It had been over a year since his father, the old earl died, and he still hadn’t gone home, if you could call Wemberly Abbey a home. It hadn’t been home since his mother had died in childbirth, trying to bear a spare heir for his father.
He had impulsively decided to return to his estate after becoming thoroughly bored with the holiday parties. Bored with his last mistress, bored with his drunken friends, bored with society; he didn’t need to affect ennui to be fashionable. None of his usual pursuits piqued his interest.
What half-witted reason drove him to want to be at the estate for the holidays? Refusing any form of introspection, he sat upright, yearning for action. If any of his disreputable friends got wind that the rogue Nash longed for the holiday spirit of his childhood he’d be ridiculed out of his clubs.
Disgusted by his self-pitying thoughts, he resolved to return to town. He’d spend the holidays staggering from party to party. It was better than being alone during the holidays with no siblings, no family but distant cousins. Lady Stafford had been hinting for months, and perhaps he’d succumb to her advances since it had been a month since he ended his affair with Genevieve.
As he scanned the darkening sky, motion from a window at the adjacent inn caught his attention.
Someone was trying to escape without paying his bill.
An arse molded into tight riding breeches backed out of the open window. His rake’s eyes rapidly recognized the shape, firmness, and the perfect size for a man’s hands. If his tastes were anything to be trusted, this was not a man’s arse.
He watched her slow, slithering descent down the building, her blond curls swirling around her shoulders. His blood stirred, and his mind raced with possibilities.
This trip had just got interesting. Why was this sweet thing in breeches attempting an escape? He stood and reached for his box coat.
Despite his debauched ways, he remained a gentleman. And the little vixen needed further exploration. He needed to uncover the reasons for the lady’s hasty departure…not a lady by her costume, though. Ladies were so boring, whereas…
Swinging his coat over his shoulders, he watched her as she cautiously lowered her feet to the ground. His blood heated with the arousing sway of her hips. The vision of him peeling her out of the breeches and anything she might be wearing underneath, had him hardening.
Loud shouts shocked him out of his carnal daydream as two men rushed from the back of the inn. Like a trapped animal, she froze with her hands on the first-floor windowsill. A burly bearded man grabbed her, jerking her from the sill before backhanding her. His short wiry companion smiled as she staggered from the force of his impact.
Nash dropped his coat and ran to intervene. His need to bloody the brute who touched her beat through him in a deadly rhythm. They were dragging her by her arms toward the stable as he rounded the corner. Her head hung between her slumped shoulders. Every muscle tightened into killing mode. They would pay a painful price for hurting her.
“Stop!” His voice echoed in the narrow alley between the two buildings.
The men turned toward him, dropping their victim. She pushed herself upright, giving him a view of her pale, heart-shaped face bruised by the violence. Corkscrew curls hung over one eye. She and the men stared at him, creating a strange tableau in the whirling flurries. And his protective instinct roared in defense of this beautiful, fragile creature.
Her attacker spat French out of the side of his mouth as he slowly moved forward. The skinny one reached into his boot for his dagger. A little knife play with two against one. Now the fun would begin. Too bad none of his cronies were here to bet on who would be the victor. Watching the men spread out to attack from both sides, Nash rolled onto his toes and waited. This was child’s play. His fighting skills were well-honed from boxing at Oxford to brawling in the alleys of the East End.
Pea-brain sans front teeth waited, knife in hand, while his heavy-breathing partner stepped within striking distance, his ham-sized fists clenching and unclenching as he swore in French. Nash smiled to hear himself called an English “putain.” He had been called a lot worse than an “English whore.”
Nash’s wide grin stopped the man momentarily. In the thug’s brief hesitation, Nash punched him in the face, shattering his broad nose. The man raised his hands to stop the spurting blood, giving Nash the perfect opening. Nash delivered the full strength of his fourteen stone behind his fist to the soft gut. With the idiot bent over, Nash raised his knee to finish him off. Screaming, the bastard dropped to the ground, grabbing his balls as he fell into a curled heap.
The partner lurched forward, his blade raised high to reach Nash. In one quick swirl, Nash twisted to confront him, but not quick enough to stop the fast slash across his arm. The sight of blood and a long tear in his linen shirt infuriated Nash. He charged the smaller man, wrenched his arm and twisted it with all his force to hear the brittle sound of the break.
Nash raised an eyebrow and asked in French, “Do you wish to end up like your friend?”
Cradling his broken forearm, the man shook his head.
Nash, maintaining his focus on the man, bent and picked up the knife.
Blood lust roared through him. He knew the perfect solution for this manly ailment, and it involved a sweet derriere and blond curls. He scanned the alley for the damsel in distress.
He strode toward the stable, ignoring the pain in his arm, and envisioned her ministering to all his pressing needs.
The sound of beating hooves echoed in the narrow lane behind the inn.
Skirting around the corner, Nash froze.
The woman was on his mount, racing toward the road. The bloody woman had stolen his horse.
Too impatient to wait for the stablemaster, Nash jumped on an unsaddled gray-speckled gelding and gave chase. No one was able to handle the skittish Ace of Spades except for him. She wouldn’t make it out of the village without Ace shaking her off. And he’d be there to rescue her. Again.
She was racing east on the road out of the town, bent over Ace’s neck, with no saddle or bridle, clinging to his mane. He wasn’t sure what was more shocking—that she had remained on the stallion as long as she had, or that Ace was tolerating her on his back.
What trouble had this tiny woman gotten herself into that forced her to steal his horse with no cloak or jacket, in the middle of an approaching storm? There was nothing ahead for miles except his estate and the small village of Wemberly. His friends would never let him forget that he had to chase a woman, weighing less than seven stone, to retrieve his horse.
The absurdity that she had the nerve to steal the Earl of Wessex’s stallion would be entertaining if not for her desperation.
Nash spurred his mount needing answers to the riddle of the woman who rode furiously ahead of him. He couldn’t close the distance. The gelding was no match for Ace’s strength and power and endurance. It was time to end this farce. And get answers he demanded.
Ace would halt with Nash’s whistle.
Get Snowed in with a Rogue to keep reading!
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA
Lancelot to the Rescue ~ Excerpt from 'A Code of Wonder'
Miss Elizabeth Louise Lyon, Eliza to her friends, needing a horse to escape, scanned the stable. A gigantic black stallion, standing at least sixteen hands, occupied the first stall—the obvious prize, flaunting his proud stance and giving an insolent flick of his magnificent tail.
She opened the gate to his stall and scrambled up the stacked hay bales to reach him. She didn’t have a lot of time to calm him if she were to make her getaway. Now that she had three men after her, her chance of evading capture had lessened.
She whispered to him, sensing his heroic but persnickety personality, before she swung her leg over his enormous back. The handsome fellow didn’t bolt but turned to stare at her. Whispering how beautiful and brave he was, she ran her hand along his silky, sleek neck.
He pawed at the ground, shook his head, and gave a loud snort. She felt his strong muscles ripple in defiance, but it was all for show. “You’re a sensitive and courageous fellow, and you’ll save me. Your name should be ‘Lancelot.'” Eliza swallowed the unexpected sob in her throat. Abbie, her older sister, always teased Eliza about her need to rename horses to suit their personalities.
This wasn’t the time to have a crying fit, despite her harrowing day. She had to warn Abbie of the danger. If she hadn’t worn Abbie’s cape for her imprudent ride this morning, none of this would be happening to her. But then her sister might have been kidnapped. Although, unlike her younger sister, Abbie wasn’t so headstrong or defiant that she’d risk riding alone.
“You have to help me. Evil men are after me. Not me, but my sister Abbie, whom I strongly resemble.” She hadn’t told the Frenchmen that she wasn’t Abbie. The fear that they might kill her and return to kidnap Abbie kept her silent.
“The only explanation must be for ransom from Abbie’s rich husband. Or could it be her secret work? Why else would wicked men want my sweet and studious sister?” She rubbed Lancelot’s thick, muscular neck, needing comfort from the gentle beast.
The family’s Irish stablemaster always said she had the “touch.” A high compliment that she held to her heart since her mother and her father always found her, their third daughter, wanting. As a gently bred lady, she was supposed to prefer the drawing room and sketching and sewing over spending her time in the stables filled with men and horses. She couldn’t think of her mother right now or how worried Abbie would be when she didn’t return.
She gripped Lancelot’s mane and squeezed her thighs and knees into his giant flank to back him out of the stall. “We must be off.”
A Code of Wonder premieres 10.07.19 as part of the multi-author Regency romance holiday anthology, Snowed in with a Rogue.
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA
Preview: A Code of the Heart
Please enjoy this excerpt from A CODE OF THE HEART, Book 3 in the Code Breakers series, which releases tomorrow. Don’t miss the special $2.99 introductory price, good through Feb. 19.
Edworth’s Christmas Ball
December, 1803
Amelia Bonnington braced herself as the crowd bumped and pushed, straining to get close to His Highness. The crème of society shoved and elbowed, politely of course, since one would never want to be accused of bad manners.
The Prince Regent stood on a small platform at the front of the ballroom, elaborately decorated for Christmas. Heavy bows of greenery and bells hung on red velvet throughout the room. Hundreds of beeswax candles burned. No expense had been spared for the house party celebrating His Royalty’s visit.
Amelia had no desire to be part of the Prince’s retinue, a ghastly group who were only interested in themselves and their own pleasure.
She sucked in the little air left in the room and pushed, politely, of course, toward the door. The crowd and the heat were unbearable. She never swooned, but with the strong smell of perfume and the hot pressing bodies, she felt tonight might be her first. A maelstrom of sensations and emotions enveloped her. The last days of upheaval must have had a greater effect on her than she had wanted to believe.
Her whole world had been turned upside down and twisted sideways at this house party. In the last two days, her friends had been poisoned and kidnapped, and she had been ensnared in the French villain’s trap.
She needed to escape from this crowded room. She needed fresh air and open space. A gentleman used the chaos in crowded room to take liberties with her person. After spending years in congested ballrooms, she fully recognized the scoundrel’s ploy to press against her. His heavy eyelids didn’t conceal his roving eyes, focused down her décolletage. As his eyes remained fixated on her breasts, he grabbed her elbow pretending to help her when, in fact, he intended to pull her closer against his heavy, malodorous body.
A sick sensation started in her stomach and crawled to her throat. She pulled her arm away from his grasp, repulsive with sweat seeping through his gloves. “Sir, release me this instant.”
She was about to dig her heel into the supposed gentleman’s fat toe when suddenly a space opened around her and a smell of fresh air and lime soap surrounded her.
The perspiring man stared behind her. His slack mouth and the look of fear on his face were priceless.
She recognized Derrick Brinsley’s scent and heat—the impossible, difficult, yet appealing man. His deep, dark voice flitted down her skin like a caress. “Miss Amelia, may I escort you away from this crowd?”
Relief and something much more potent tingled along her skin. She turned quickly and found herself pressed against the broad chest of the man she had been forced to conspire with to save her friend.
“I’ve never thought I’d be happy to see you.” She refused to be like all the other women who’d be grateful to have his attention.
His lifted one eyebrow in a sardonic way that she always found irritating. He was too big, too handsome, and too confident that she’d find him irresistible. She’d never let him have the satisfaction that she did find him…almost irresistible.
A CODE OF THE HEART coming February12, 2015!
