I’ve got four great romances here, in all shapes and sizes, so something is sure to tempt you 🙂
The Worthingtons series
by Ella Quinn
In the first book of her dazzling new series, bestselling author Ella Quinn introduces the soon-to-be Earl and Countess of Worthington—lovers who have more in common than they yet know. The future promises to be far from boring…
Lady Grace Carpenter is ready to seize the day—or rather, the night—with the most compelling man she’s ever known. Marriage would mean losing guardianship of her beloved siblings, and surely no sane gentleman will take on seven children not his own. But if she can have one anonymous tryst with Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, Grace will be content to live out the rest of her life as a spinster.
Matt had almost given up hope of finding a wife who could engage his mind as well as his body. And now this sensual, intelligent woman is offering herself to him. What could be more perfect? Except that after one wanton night, the mysterious Grace refuses to have anything to do with him. Amid the distractions of the Season he must convince her, one delicious encounter at a time, that no obstacle—or family—is too much for a man who’s discovered his heart’s desire…
“Oh, the tangled webs we weave…especially when our hearts are involved. Three Weeks to Wed is a delightfully heartwarming escape into the sparkling world of the Regency. Ella Quinn weaves magic.” —Cathy Maxwell, New York Times bestselling author
Kensington Books: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/32225
Tears started in Grace’s eyes, and her voice trembled. “I am not sure I should tell anyone. I—I don’t know what you will think of me. In fact, I wouldn’t blame you if you cut my acquaintance. Oh, Phoebe, I’ve done something so stupid and incredibly wrongheaded. It wouldn’t surprise me if you cut my acquaintance.”
Phoebe tightened her grip on Grace’s hands, holding them firmly. “My dear, dear friend, we’ve known each other since we were children. Even if it turns out that I do not agree with what you’ve done, I’d not turn from you.”
Grace regarded her friend. She really didn’t have anyone else she would even consider telling. “I am in love.”
Phoebe’s laugh was a musical tinkle. “Grace, falling in love isn’t the end of the world. It complicates things for you, to be sure. Yet there must be something that could be worked out.”
Removing her hands from Phoebe’s, Grace hid her face in them for a moment, before finally meeting Phoebe’s steady gaze. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t know who I am.”
Phoebe tilted her head, puzzled. “I think you’d best start at the beginning.”
Grace nodded. If nothing else, maybe she’d feel better if she could talk about it. She told her friend about the night at the inn, and when she burst into tears, Phoebe held Grace until she was calm enough to continue. “I thought, if I could have just the one night, I’d know what it was all about, and never being able to marry wouldn’t bother me so much.”
“Grace, are you—?”
That was the only blessing. She wasn’t breeding. “No.”
Phoebe let out a sigh of relief. “Well that is something at least.” She rubbed her forehead. “All of this makes much more sense now. My dear, there is no easy way to tell you what I’m about to say . . . Worthington is searching for you.”
Grace sat up with a start. Why would he do that and what if it got out? “Oh no. He can’t be. This is terrible. Phoebe, how do you know?”
She handed Grace another cup of tea. “He came to see Marcus when I was on morning visits and described you. Marcus, of course, has never seen you, so he was unable to help him. Later he gave me Worthington’s description. I knew who it was immediately. Worthington is a very good artist and has an eye for detail. I just couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why he wanted to find you.”
Bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She has just finished her first series, The Marriage Game, and her new series will start in April 2016.
She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and granddaughter, one cat and a dog. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat cruising the Caribbean and North America.
She loves having readers connect with her.
5 signed print ARCs of Three Weeks to Wed
As both a history nerd and a romance fan, I have a soft spot for historical romance. I adore Regency historicals, but when it came to writing my own book, I wanted to try something different.
The Gilded Age (another name for the late-Victorian period in America, when wealth was conspicuous—think of an Edith Wharton novel) turned out to be pretty similar to the Regency in a lot of ways. The New York City of the 1890s was pretty similar to London in the 1810s in a few surprising ways. For example, society was ruled by an elite group of aristocrats. London had the ton, New York had Mrs. Astor’s 400, so called because it was said society queen Caroline Astor’s ballroom could fit exactly 400 people. Londoners had their country estates to retreat to during the summer; the wealthiest New Yorkers had mansions in Newport. Both periods featured elaborate balls, expensive fashion, liveried servants, conspicuous spending.
I liked the Gilded Age as a setting for a lot of these reasons. Ten Days in August features a ballroom scene that I think a lot of Regency fans will find somewhat familiar. My hero Hank has a childhood friend named Amelia who has married a steel magnate and been sucked into the upper echelon of New York society. She’s adapted nicely, though hasn’t been completely embraced by the elite. (Not to mention, she throws her ball in the off-season, so most other society members are out of town.) Of course, I put kind of a different spin on the ballroom scene, but you’ll have to read the book to find out more about that.
Both settings had another significant thing in common, though, and it’s something that doesn’t often find its way into romance novels: both London and New York had people living in extreme poverty mere blocks from the shiny uptown mansions. Specifically, New York had a large immigrant population that was mostly confined to neighborhoods like the Lower East Side, where large families were crammed into two-room apartments in ramshackle apartment buildings. Ten Days includes some of that, too, since it’s where my other here, Nicky, comes from. Nicky comes from a big Irish family, and he’s moved away from his family—but not far. As a writer, I find that juxtaposition interesting. Nicky straddles the line in some ways between the crowded tenements and the uptown wealth by virtue of his job at a dance hall sometimes frequented by wealthy men.
In other words, I chose a setting that, even if you know very little about it, you may still find recognizable elements.
by Kate McMurray
From the Lower East Side to uptown Manhattan, a curious detective searches for clues on the sidewalks of New York—and finds a secret world of forbidden love that’s too hot to handle…
New York City, 1896. As the temperatures rise, so does the crime rate. At the peak of this sizzling heat wave, police inspector Hank Brandt is called to investigate the scandalous murder of a male prostitute. His colleagues think he should drop the case, but Hank’s interest is piqued, especially when he meets the intriguing key witness: a beautiful female impersonator named Nicholas Sharp.
As a nightclub performer living on the fringes of society, Nicky is reluctant to place his trust in a cop—even one as handsome as Hank. With Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt cracking down on vice in the city, Nicky’s afraid that getting involved could end his career. But when he realizes his life is in danger—and Hank is his strongest ally—the two men hit the streets together to solve the crime. From the tawdry tenements of the Lower East Side to the moneyed mansions of Fifth Avenue, Nicky and Hank are determined to uncover the truth. But when things start heating up between them, it’s not just their lives on the line. It’s their love…
Apple iBooks: http://apple.co/252HUz0
Kate McMurray is an award-winning author romance author and an unabashed romance fan. When she’s not writing, she works as a nonfiction editor, dabbles in various crafts, and is maybe a tiny bit obsessed with baseball. She is currently president of the New York City chapter of Romance Writers of America. She lives in Brooklyn, NY.
Ebook copy of Ten Days in August
by Kathryn Jordan
Set in the dynamic years leading up to the Roaring Twenties, Flickers turns its lens on California’s glamorous silent film era, as Victorian civilities are swept away by a bold new century . . .
Violet Winters is the daughter of one of California’s wealthy robber barons. Jack Sutter is the gardener’s son. In their youth, the two were inseparable. But in 1913 everything is changing, and despite their feelings for each other, adulthood has come between them. Their vastly different social positions leads Violet to marry the aloof but socially perfect Maury Rediston. Jack vows to win Violet back while carving out a new life for himself in the burgeoning motion picture industry. Tip Rediston, Violet’s brother-in-law, also gets drawn into the bohemian world of the flickers. As handsome as he is troubled, Tip starts his climb to stardom despite his family’s disapproval. But as social changes, political upheaval, and war change the world around them, Violet, Jack, and Tip learn that things are never as easy as they seem on the silver screen. . .
As Shakespeare remarked, the course of true love never does run smooth, especially when the woman in question has been pressured into marrying someone else. Violet Winters and Jack Sutter have loved each other since childhood, but his stern Evangelical family disapproves of her world, and her wealthy family refuses to let her marry a man poor by their standards. Yet even after her marriage, Jack and Violet keep up a chaste, sentimental romance, mostly through letters and what occasional meetings they can manage.
Until, as usually was the case before birth control became legal, the inevitable result of being married happens to Violet: she’s pregnant.
It took Violet several weeks before she could bear to tell Jack. Although she would have preferred to write him a letter, it seemed too cowardly. She waited until her husband was out of town on business, then invited Jack over for a Sunday afternoon. Even though she told herself that she should be glad that her dangerous romance would end, by the time that he arrived, she was so upset that she could barely say hello to him. She took him into her household office, where they could shut the door and have some privacy.
As they sat down together on the little settee across from her desk, Jack caught her by the shoulders and kissed her. Violet pulled away. “I really do love you. Do you believe me?”
“Of course I do, but what’s so wrong?”
“I’m going to have a baby. That’s what.”
Jack stared at her, unmoving, as if he’d been turned to stone like a sorcerer’s victim in an old fairy-tale.
“I’m sorry,” Violet stammered out. “I’m really really sorry.”
“No call for you to apologize to me.” Jack stood up, hesitated, then strode across the room. At the door, he turned back to study her face with cold eyes. Violet could hardly breathe.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she said. “I knew you’d hate me, but I really do love you.”
“Well, I love you, too. Why do you think I’m so damn mad?”
“There’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. “You didn’t think Maury would never want to — ”
“Just shut up about it.”
“Don’t you talk to me that way, Jack Sutter!”
“I’ll talk to you any damn way I want to.”
Violet crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He strode for the door. He threw it open, stepped out into the hall, then paused and looked back.
“Well?” Violet grabbed a book from her desk.
Jack slammed the door shut just as she flung the book straight at him. It bounced off the door and lay, pages flapping, on the carpet.
“I wish I’d hit him,” she said. “I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad it’s over.”
But she knew she lied.
Kathryn Jordan lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, two cats, and a vagrant skunk. Although she spent her childhood in a Great Lakes industrial city, she became a confirmed Californian at age nine, when her family relocated to Santa Barbara, the “Santa Luisa” of the novel. All it took was one winter without five feet of snow turning into black urban slush to convince her that the move had been worthwhile. FLICKERS, her first historical novel, is a new departure for her career. Under the name of Katharine Kerr, she’s also the author of the Nola O’Grady series of light-hearted urban fantasy novels.
Ebook copy of Flickers
The Lost Heiresses series
by Jane Goodger
Run though they might, love will find them…
Lady Rose Dunford is shocked–and titillated–by the number of female visitors coming and going from her mysterious new neighbor’s Manhattan brownstone. Recently widowed by the death of her very sweet, but not very exciting husband, Rose finds it difficult to imagine just what the attraction could be.
And then she meets the bachelor in question. Not only is Charlie Avery dashing and outrageously good looking–she knows him! He is none other than the man who once helped her escape the dreary matchmaking plans of her father, the man she once dreamed she could love. Can Charlie’s presence next door be an accident? Or has he come to show her everything he has learned about…
Kensington Books http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/32163
“It would mean nothing, you see. Probably a very bad suggestion.” He held his breath, his entire body taut, not knowing what he wanted her to say. Of course, he wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to kiss her, not pretend it was some sort of lesson. Then again, he really wanted to kiss her no matter what the reason.
“Yes. Very bad.” She didn’t sound at all certain. “But if we did kiss, at least I could honestly say I’d been kissed. Should anyone ask.”
The relief that Charlie felt was nearly dizzying. “Very true. And I’ll let you kiss me, so there will be no doubt about who is kissing whom.”
“Oh, Charlie,” she said, almost sounding weepy. “You are the kindest man I know.”
Guilt gnawed at him, but not enough to change his mind. For nearly two years he’d imagined what it would be like to kiss Rose, and now he finally had his chance. He turned, his left arm resting on her mattress, the other straight by his side, right hand pressed flat against the rough wood floor. Then he felt her hand, just one, spanning his cheek, her fingertips at his jaw so that she might pull him toward her if she wanted to. Instead, she moved forward, keeping him still, until her nose butted up against his, making her laugh.
“You have to tilt your head just a bit,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He closed his eyes, even though it was black as pitch in the room.
“Tilt,” she whispered, her mouth so close to his, it was all he could do to keep that hand planted firmly on the floor and not drag her to him. And then, heaven on earth found him when her lips touched his, soft, hardly felt, but by God the most glorious thing that had happened to him in his adult life. She withdrew and he could almost picture her face, with her brow likely furrowed. It had not been much of a kiss. “There, we’ve kissed,” she said, but she was still so close he could feel her soft breath against his face.
“We’ve touched lips. We have not kissed.”
“Isn’t that the same?”
Charlie chuckled. “Let’s try again. I’ll show you, just a bit, and you can stop anytime you’d like.” But please, please don’t stop, at least not too soon.
This time, she pulled him toward her and planted her lips against his. “Now what?” she asked against his mouth, her voice slightly muffled, and he smiled.
“You’re smiling. Don’t laugh at me, Charlie.”
“No. I wasn’t.”
He moved his mouth, just a bit, just enough to show her how it was done, this kissing stuff. He pulled at her lower lip and he thought he heard her gasp, but the engine noise was too loud and he couldn’t be certain. He teased her, first her bottom lip, then her top, then slanted his head a bit more, deepening the kiss just a bit, just enough to show her but not enough to frighten her.
When she moved her lips against his, finally, finally, he fisted his hands to keep them where they were, for his body was screaming to pull her close. She sighed–he felt it more than heard it–and he pulled back more for self-preservation than anything else.
“There. See? It’s not awful.” He knew his voice sounded hoarse, his tone gruff, but he couldn’t utter a gentler sound at the moment.
“No, not awful,” she said, sounding far less affected by the kiss than he. “Thank you, Charlie.”
Thank you, Charlie. It felt like a punch to his gut, those words. Because they were uttered precisely the way she would have thanked him for saddling her horse or handing her up. Thank you, Charlie.
He had to leave, had to get out of this room where his stupid desires, his foolish dreams seemed to be laughing at him. What the hell had he been thinking? That he could trick her into kissing him and then she’d fall head over heels in love with him and want to marry him instead of some wealthy American stranger?
He stood and climbed up on his bunk, staring blindly at the ceiling, and waited perhaps five minutes before saying, “I’m going to get some air, my lady. I’ll be right back.” He jumped down from his bunk and walked out of the tiny cabin, not aware that he’d called her my lady until the door was shut. How quickly he reverted to the servant when he was treated like one. In that moment, as he pressed the back of his head painfully against the stateroom door, he hated himself. He hated what he represented, he hated his lust and love for Rose, he hated the fact he was poor, that his hands were rough, that his boots were dull and worn. Charlie stalked around the common room, finally settling at a table, alone in the dark, unwilling to return to the stateroom where he would have to listen to her lilting voice, breathe in her perfect scent, wish he could lie next to her.
Thank you, Charlie.
Bloody hell, if he wasn’t the biggest fool on the face of the earth.
Jane Goodger lives in Rhode Island with her husband, three children, Chihuahua, one-eyed cat, and a ferret. She works full-time, and operates an editing service in between writing Victorian-set historical romances. In her free time (hahahaha), Jane watches HGTV and dreams of fixing up her 1940s colonial. A former journalist, Jane has lived in Virginia, Washington, D.C., and Pozzuoli, Italy.
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