Saturday, October 27, 2012

Renwick House Release Party!

Surprise!
Both the latest additions to the Renwick House series released early and are available now! To celebrate the occasion Rachel Van Dyken and I threw together a little giveaway to thank you for helping us ring in the new releases.

The Devil Duke Takes a Bride 
by Rachel Van Dyken

Benedict Devlyn, Duke of Banbury, has one thing on his mind and it isn't marriage. But things take a turn for the worse when his menacing and aunt throws a hitch in his plans to remain the most sinful and talked about man in the ton. After all, a man cannot keep the reputation of being The Devil Duke when he is leg-shackled to some simpering spinster.

But his aunt, bless her heart, thinks she's dying, and believes her nephew’s behavior is the only thing standing in the way between her entrance to heaven or hell. So she very lovingly and selflessly sets him up. With his childhood nemesis.

A young woman who, though she claims it was an accident, has nearly killed him thrice through her lack of grace and manners. It matters not that the minute he sets eyes on her at the Christmas ball, his blood boils with lust. He refuses to allow himself to fall prey to his aunt’s ministrations.

That is, until he is compromised and stuck in an engagement to a girl who claims she'd rather jump from a moving carriage than marry him. Funny thing that, for the very minute she says no, he finds his heart very much wants to say yes. When she doesn't leap at the chance to marry him, he sets about to not only prove that he's worthy of her favor, but also worthy of her heart.


Two Turtledoves
by Leah Sanders

Baldwyn Sinclair, the Duke of Paisley, returns to London in the dead of winter at the request of his overbearing grandmother to find she has made a betrothal contract on his behalf... without his knowledge. Now he is to be married to none other than the girl who used to throw mud at him in order to gain his attention.
He is not happy about the prospect, but he is nothing if not devoted to duty.
Anastasia Trent has been in love with the Duke of Paisley since she was seven years old and has spent her life pining for him, fantasizing about the moment they would see each other again. But when he makes it clear that her imaginings are in vain, her disappointment drives her into the arms of a dangerous man.
It is up to Baldwyn to rescue her once again, to save her from herself, and to find perhaps, along the way, exactly what his own heart was looking for.



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, October 26, 2012

Sweet Saturday: Familiar Faces


He handed one to Baldwyn and raised his own in toast. “To your engagement, Paisley. May she be everything you need.” Montmouth gulped the contents of his glass and laughed once more. Baldwyn eyed the amber liquid in his glass before tossing down his whiskey drink as well then lifted his glass to request another.

His host shook his head with a smirk and took the glass from Baldwyn’s grasp. “I think not, Paisley. After all, a gentleman should be altogether alert when meeting his future wife.

“I’d rather be foxed when the assault ensues.” Baldwyn scanned the room once more looking for some worthy place to hide.

As if reading his intent, Montmouth said, “There’s no good place to hide in here, Paisley. Your grandmother will find you if she has to bring in the dogs.” He stepped toward the door. “I have to see to my newly-arriving guests. Feel at liberty to search out a more worthy concealment… but do stay out of my whiskey.” With that, the Duke of Montmouth disappeared through the doorway, leaving Baldwyn to wallow in his apprehension.

He didn’t linger. Eventually, his grandmother would come looking for him. It would be far wiser to keep moving, throw the bloodhounds off his scent. As he entered the corridor the music from the ballroom drifted into the hall. Baldwyn cringed. He would have to dance with her. She would probably trip him.

How he longed for the serenity of his estate in Scotland. Of course, in that moment, he longed for the serenity the war on the Continent could provide.

Baldwyn stepped into the ballroom and glanced around the room. More guests were arriving by the minute. The dowager duchess was nowhere to be seen. His eyes fell on the balcony doors on the far side of the room. A perfect place to hide. No one would yet be there so early in the evening, not with the weather so bitterly cold.

He began his trek through the room, nodding and offering brief polite pleasantries to the few guests he encountered in his path. He could hide there, wait for Lord Marks and his daughter to be announced, and get a good look at the girl before being forced into her company… for life. If nothing else, it would give him an illusion of some control in the arrangement.

“Paisley!” A familiar voice drew his attention from his destination. Baldwyn turned to find himself face to face with an old family friend. One with whom he had spent many a night carousing about the town back in those old days past.

“Rawlings!” The sight of his old chum comforted him somewhat, making him think of simpler times. No responsibilities. No demands. No betrothals.

“You just missed a fair bit of excitement!” Rawlings appeared to be entertained still. Amusement danced behind his dark eyes.

“Oh? What did I miss?” There were hardly enough guests here for a mouse in the kitchen to cause a rumpus. At any rate, there seemed to be no evidence of anything out of the ordinary now.

“The dowager duchess discovered Banbury on the balcony with Lady Katherine. The look on his face! I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live.”

It took a moment to fully absorb the information. Surely not even his grandmother would be capable of two forced betrothals in one evening. A knot formed in his stomach. Even if he had entertained thoughts of escaping her schemes, the old woman would find a way to trap him. Just as she had apparently done to Benedict, his cousin. Perhaps he had shown signs of less than full cooperation.

Baldwyn would have to step prudently. Avoid balconies, dark corners, and above all, Lord Marks’ daughter. If Benedict Devlyn, the Devil Duke himself, could be ensnared — a man of legendary prowess, who was always rumored but never seen to be ruining some girl, could find himself caught in a woman’s trap — what hope was there for mankind?

“Where is he now?” Baldwyn scrutinized the growing crowd. If what Rawlings said was true, Benedict would need a shot of that whiskey.

“Somewhere collecting the remaining fragments of his dignity, no doubt,” Rawlings answered with laugh.

“I suppose I had better seek him out and see to his wounded pride.”

“Right. And I must dance with Lady Rawlings before she becomes entrenched in gossip with her sister. It’s good to see you, Paisley.” He bowed slightly and sauntered toward the refreshments where his wife stood conversing with the Duchess of Tempest.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Two New Releases -- Coming November 1st!



Two Turtledoves


Baldwyn Sinclair, the Duke of Paisley, returns to London in the dead of winter at the request of his overbearing grandmother to find she has made a betrothal contract on his behalf... without his knowledge. Now he is to be married to none other than the girl who used to throw mud at him in order to gain his attention.

He is not happy about the prospect, but he is nothing if not devoted to duty.

Anastasia Trent has been in love with the Duke of Paisley since she was seven years old and has spent her life pining for him, fantasizing about the moment they would see each other again. But when he makes it clear that her imaginings are in vain, her disappointment drives her into the arms of a dangerous man.

It is up to Baldwyn to rescue her once again, to save her from herself, and to find perhaps, along the way, exactly what his own heart was looking for.

~Leah Sanders

The Devil Duke Takes a Bride

Benedict Devlyn, Duke of Banbury, has one thing on his mind and it isn't marriage. But things take a turn for the worse when his menacing and aunt throws a hitch in his plans to remain the most sinful and talked about man in the ton. After all, a man cannot keep the reputation of being The Devil Duke when he is leg-shackled to some simpering spinster.

But his aunt, bless her heart, thinks she's dying, and believes her nephew’s behavior is the only thing standing in the way between her entrance to heaven or hell. So she very lovingly and selflessly sets him up. With his childhood nemesis.

A young woman who, though she claims it was an accident, has nearly killed him thrice through her lack of grace and manners. It matters not that the minute he sets eyes on her at the Christmas ball, his blood boils with lust. He refuses to allow himself to fall prey to his aunt’s ministrations.

That is, until he is compromised and stuck in an engagement to a girl who claims she'd rather jump from a moving carriage than marry him. Funny thing that, for the very minute she says no, he finds his heart very much wants to say yes. When she doesn't leap at the chance to marry him, he sets about to not only prove that he's worthy of her favor, but also worthy of her heart.

~Rachel Van Dyken

Friday, October 19, 2012

Sweet Saturday: Return to Me


Christopher Brandon stood in the stern of the clipper and stared at the empty horizon left in its wake. The past few weeks had taken his life by storm, and he was still spinning in the aftermath… and still further to go… away from the only life he had known and toward a world he knew nothing of, a foreign grandfather he had never met.

The fabric tied at his neck strangled him, and he tugged at it with a sun-bronzed finger. He had long since tossed the confining gloves into the churning sea below, and the cravat was next. How a man could reconcile himself to wearing such things was beyond his understanding. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel, and worst of all, he felt all semblance of his control slipping away from his grasp as rapidly as the declining sight of land behind them.

His heart yearned to go home.

Back to the place where he was simply Grinning Badger.

But he had seen the destruction with his own eyes. The entire village slaughtered, and he was helpless to stop it. The image of White Bird lying face down in front of her lodge—unarmed, unprotected—seared his brain. The soldiers cut her down on the way out to cook the morning meal. The only mother he had known for fifteen years.

He was spared. His pale skin marked him, and he was captured, tethered, and dragged back to the soldiers’ fortress, while the screams of the women, children and young braves echoed in his ears.

And he had fought—anyone who came near him tasted his wrath—until they had beaten him unconscious and deposited him in a stone cell with an armed guard.

They left him there for three days with no food or water. Their efforts to break his spirit, force him into submission. But he had no intention of breaking. Somehow he would escape, find the remnants of his clan, gather reinforcements, and attack the soldiers with a force they had never before seen.

After three days, however, his tongue had swollen in his mouth, he was seeing spirits wander in and out through the walls of the cell, and he had a vision of his mother, calling him in for dinner when he was only a boy.

It wasn’t White Bird.

It was another woman. One he had long forgotten. The white woman who had given birth to him, who had sung to him as she tucked him into bed at night, read to him by the lantern light, and held him when he woke up crying in the night.

“Mama,” he had whispered through his parched lips. The first English word he had heard or spoken in fifteen years. The apparition turned to him and smiled, opening her arms wide to beckon him to her.

As he reached out for her, darkness closed around him, claiming him completely.

When he regained consciousness, he was in a soft bed. Someone held up his head and ladled cool water down his dry throat. It stung all the way down, but never had anything felt better to him.

The fog gradually lifted from his eyes, and a man dressed in the red coat of a British uniform hovered over him.

“Are you Christopher Brandon? The son of Major Marcus Brandon?” The words fell on his ears like a tomahawk splitting into the trunk of a tree. The faint wisp of memory sent tendrils of understanding. The names were familiar, striking a chord deeply buried in his mind.

But Grinning Badger didn’t want to understand.

So he just stared at the pale ghost-like face and waited in silence.

The man’s frown creased his pasty white face, and he turned angrily on the people around him, yelling unintelligible gibberish, then he disappeared.

Sweet darkness found him again, and he slept.

When the light began to filter through again, another ladle of water was poured down his throat, which he gulped greedily. Beside the bed stood a man he recognized as a Cheyenne scout. The soldiers had often used him as a translator in their interactions with the Creek.

The British officer stood next to him speaking louder than necessary. As if the problem was that his captive was deaf rather than simply not understanding the harsh sounds exploding from his tongue.

The Cheyenne gazed at Grinning Badger with indifference and translated into the soothing, sweet words his ears longed for.

“The soldier thinks you are the son of a white chief from across the sea.”

Grinning Badger stared at him a long moment, trying to recover the fleeting memory that eluded him.

“I am the son of Leaping Elk and White Bird. My family was slaughtered and my village burned by these soldiers.”

“You are a white man.”

“I am Creek.”

“The Creek are no more.”

Grinning Badger tensed and allowed his gaze to fall on the British officer who was staring at him intently as though he was growing impatient for the answers he wanted. His fists were clenched at his sides.

“The Creek will rise again.” He spat out the words, glaring into the soldier’s dull green eyes—shallow, murky pools of deceit and murder. Nothing like the depth of pride and nobility in Leaping Elk’s dark eyes.

The soldier was pink and fleshy. His nose was red and round, and his cheeks jiggled when he spoke, like ripples from dropping a stone in a pool of thick mud.

“What did he say? Is he the duke’s grandson?”

“Yes,” the Cheyenne scout answered.

Monday, October 15, 2012

HEA Hop Recipient

I'm happy to announce the winner of my Happily Ever After Blog Hop giveaway!

Congratulations to Ruth Hill!

Thank you to everyone for participating. Enjoy your new book, Ruth!

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Meet & Greet: Teo

Teo
Stem 7217A

Teo spends a lot of time with Aria, the EROMI plant assigned to his social group. When Aria leaves to fulfill Dr. Admatha's mission, Teo has a difficult time understanding the difference between her mission and the orders stems usually receive, which mean they won't be coming back.

He doesn't have long to fret over her absence though. When his human counterpart is convicted of a capital crime, Teo's purpose is questioned by EROMI's powers that be. Who will Aria find in Teo's place when she returns to Endfield?

Monday, October 8, 2012

Happily Ever After


Thank you for stopping by to enter the giveaway!
The winner from this blog hop will receive a choice between an electronic copy of the newly released 
Whispered Music by Rachel Van Dyken
OR
an electronic copy of
The Whispered Kiss by Marcia Lynn McClure
Both are amazing, yet completely different, re-tellings of the fairy tale "Beauty and the Beast".


He wasn’t looking for a savior…
Scarred at a young age, Dominique Maksylov, Royal Prince of Russia, has lived a reclusive life. As a musical prodigy, his music has wide reach into the world, but few ever see his face. He never ventures into polite society, but when he dis-covers he is the only heir to the Earldom of Harriss, he goes to one ball. And that one ball, was enough to change the direction of his life forever.
But how could he possibly have known that other person— the other half of his whole—would not only need his help but threaten his very existence?

She didn’t know how hard it would be to love the broken.
Isabelle Hartwell’s mother just sold her to the Beast of Russia. He’s mean, tem-peramental, and the most virile, handsome man she has ever encountered. But he has a secret, one he’s willing to die for and he refuses to let anyone in. Will she be able to reach his heart before it’s too late?



With the sea at its side, the beautiful township of Bostchelan was home to man—including the lovely Coquette de Bellamont, her three sisters, and her beloved father. In Bostchelan, Coquette knew happiness and as much contentment as a young woman whose heart had been broken years before could know. Thus, Coquette dwelt in gladness until the day her father returned from his travels with an astonishing tale to tell.

Antoine de Bellamont returned from his travels by way of Roanan bearing a tale of such great adventure to hardly be believed. Further, at the center of Antoine's story loomed a man—the dark Lord of Roanan.Known for his cruel nature, heartlessness, and tendency to violence, the Lord of Roanan had accused Antoine de Bellamont of wrongdoing and demanded recompense. Antoine had promised recompense would be paidwith the hand of his youngest daughter in marriage.

Thus, Coquette found herself lost, thrust onto a dark journey of her own. This journey would find her carried away to Roanan Manor—delivered into the hands of the dark and mysterious Lord of Roanan who dominated it.

What is your favorite "happily ever after" story of all time?
To qualify for the drawing in this giveaway, leave your comment with your name and email below.
Thanks again for stopping by!

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Meet & Greet: Aria

Aria Markus
#8936

Aria has lived and worked at the Endfield compound for the past several years. She lives among the stems and interacts with them on a daily basis. As far as they are concerned, she is one of them. She's been there long enough, she is starting to think she is too.

The powers that be never let her forget who she really is -- what her role at Endfield is.

But no one knows the real reason Aria came to Endfield in the first place. The one memory that haunts her and makes it impossible to trust another human being.

~ All We See or Seem (available now) and One Lonely Rose (work in progress)~

Friday, October 5, 2012

Sweet Saturday: Unwanted Attention

Senor Tenorio

Lord Marks made lively conversation during the short trip to Holly Hall. No doubt an effort to bolster Anastasia’s spirits. She tried to humor him, to laugh along with his jests, but inside she was in turmoil.

She would know her fate in a matter of minutes, but in the mean time there was nothing she could do but hope.

As the footman announced them, Anastasia scrutinized every face in the ballroom one by one.

Her heart sank when her search returned empty.

Her father offered his arm, whispering in her ear, “It’s early yet, my sweet. Chin up. He’ll come.”

Anastasia braved a weak smile. “Of course, Papa. He’ll come.” Her throat clenched around the words she desperately wished were true.

Safely deposited among the ladies on the side of the great hall, Anastasia continued her search for Baldwyn’s auburn hair and clear blue eyes.

When Lord and Lady Kringle were announced, the music began. There was still no sign of Baldwyn. Anastasia clung to her father’s words. It’s early yet. Her gaze made its fourth desperate sweep of the ballroom.

Behind her, a familiar masculine voice drifted to her ears, sending waves of chill dancing down her spine all the way to her toes.

“So lovely to see you again, señorita.”

Mr. Tenorio. Anastasia cringed as though with his words and his smooth exotic accent he had touched her. And then he stepped even with her, standing far too close. She retreated a step, but found herself against Tristan Markham on the other side, who had closed in without her notice.

“Mr. Markham. Mr. Tenorio.” Anastasia offered a shallow curtsy.

“Please.” Mr. Tenorio grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, pulling her toward him in the same motion. “Allow me to be the first to offer my sympathy, my dear.”

“Sympathy, sir?” she asked, regarding him with contempt.

“On the dissolution of your engagement, of course. It must have been a frightful experience, your entanglement with the Scottish duke. I hear he has a terrifying temper,” Tenorio crooned.

Had it not been for his possessive grip on her hand and the unsettling words about her betrothal, Anastasia would have laughed out loud then, for the proof of Baldwyn’s terrifying temper was still fading from Tenorio’s cheekbone, though he had apparently tried to cover it with powder.

“Pardon me?” Anastasia stared at him. On her other side, Tristan bumped her elbow, pushing her into Tenorio’s chest.

“Yes, yes, señorita. There is no need to pretend all is well. We are friends, no?  ” His grasp slid to her elbow and he held her firmly to him, as his other hand reached to caress her cheek. He smoothed her lips with his thumb.

“No,” she countered and closed her lips into a stern line, glaring into his soul-less black eyes.

“Aww, you wound me, my lady… and after all we’ve shared together.” He clicked his tongue as if to shame her.

“Let go of me.”

~ from Two Turtledoves (coming in November)