Reviews!

To any authors/publishers/ tour companies that are looking for the reviews that I signed up for please know this is very hard to do. I will be stopping reviews temporarily. My husband passed away February 1st and my new normal is a bit scary right now and I am unable to concentrate on a book to do justice to the book and authors. I will still do spotlight posts if you wish it is just the reviews at this time. I apologize for this, but it isn't fair to you if I signed up to do a review and haven't been able to because I can't concentrate on any books. Thank you for your understanding during this difficult time. I appreciate all of you. Kathleen Kelly April 2nd 2024

05 December 2016

Remember When by Judith McNaught Book Excerpt and Giveaway!

Judith McNaught Historical Romances:
Let New York Times bestselling author Judith McNaught who “is in a class by herself” (USA TODAY) sweep you off your feet and into another time with her sensual, passionate, and spellbinding historical romance classics, featuring her “unique magic” (RT Book Reviews)!

Promo Code Giveaway:
For McNaught-E Cyber Monday (11/28) we will announce the winner(s) of 14 promo codes, one promo code for each title. Enter to win today! You can enter on all blogs on the tour listed below, but you can only win once. Open Intl. Leave me a comment below and tell me you want to win! My giveaway is for 1 (one) winner for all 14 codes for the ebooks!

FOSTER SAGA

Remember When

9781439140802
$7.99
When multinational tycoon Cole Harrison approaches her on a moonlit balcony at the White Orchid Charity Ball, Diana Foster has no idea how life-changing the night ahead will be. The most lavish social event of the Houston season had brought out Texas aristocracy in glittering array but Diana only agreed to attend to save face after reading about her fiancĂ© leaving her for an Italian heiress in a sleazy gossip magazine. Her Beautiful Living magazine is her family’s success story, and Diana knows that as a single, childless, and suddenly unengaged woman, she is not living up to its lucrative image of upscale domestic tranquility. But when she spots the pride of Dallas billionaires, Cole Harrison, closing in on her with two crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne, she has no idea that he has ulterior motives for seducing her tonight. And he certainly has no idea that a match made in what he considers logic’s heaven might be headed straight for an unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime love. “Judith McNaught once again works her unique magic in this charming, sparkling romance” (RT Book Reviews, 4 stars).


Chapter 1

DIANA, ARE YOU STILL AWAKE? I’d like to talk to you.”
Diana stopped in the act of turning off the lamp beside her bed and leaned back against the pillows. “Okay,” she called.
“How’s the jet lag, honey?” her father asked as he walked toward her bed. “Are you exhausted?” At forty-three, Robert Foster was a tall, broad-shouldered Houston oilman with prematurely gray hair who normally exuded self-assurance, but not tonight. Tonight, he looked distinctly uneasy, and Diana knew why. Although she was only fourteen, she wasn’t silly enough to think he’d come there to talk about whether she had jet lag. He wanted to talk to her about her new stepmother and stepsister, whom she’d met for the first time this afternoon when she arrived home from a vacation in Europe with school friends. “I’m okay,” she said.
“Diana—” he began; then he hesitated, sat down on the bed beside her, and took her hand in his. After a moment, he began again. “I know how strange it must have seemed to you to come home today and find out I’d remarried. Please believe that I would never have married Mary without giving you a chance to get to know each other if I hadn’t been positive, absolutely positive, that the two of you will learn to love each other. You do like her, don’t you?” he asked anxiously, searching her face. “You said you did—”
Diana nodded, but she didn’t understand why he’d married someone he hardly knew and she’d never met until today. During the years since her mother died, he’d dated some really beautiful and very nice Houston women, but before things got too serious, he’d always introduced them to Diana and insisted the three of them spend time together. Now he’d actually married someone, but it was a lady she’d never set eyes on before. “Mary seems really nice,” she said after a moment. “I just don’t understand why you were in such a hurry.”
He looked sheepish, but his answer was unquestionably heartfelt. “There will be a few times in your life when all your instincts will tell you to do something, something that defies logic, upsets your plans, and may even seem crazy to others. When that happens, you do it. Listen to your instincts and ignore everything else. Ignore logic, ignore the odds, ignore the complications, and just go for it.”
“And that’s what you did?”
He nodded. “I knew within hours of meeting Mary that she was just what I wanted for myself, and for you, and I knew when I met Corey that the four of us were going to be an exceptionally happy family. However, all my instincts warned me that if I gave Mary more than a little time to decide, she’d start thinking about all the obstacles and agonizing over them, and that in the end she’d turn me down.”
Loyalty and common sense made that possibility seem entirely unlikely to Diana. Previous women had gone to absurd lengths to attract and hold her father’s interest. “It seems to me that practically every woman you’ve taken out has wanted you.”
“No, honey, most of them wanted what I could give them in the form of financial security and social acceptance. Only a few have truly wanted me.”
“But are you sure that Mary truly wanted you?” Diana asked, thinking of his statement that Mary would have turned him down.
Her father grinned, his eyes warming with affection. “I’m completely sure she did, and she does.”
“Then why would she have turned you down?”
His smile widened. “Because she’s the opposite of mercenary and status conscious. Mary is very intelligent, but she and Corey have led a simple life in a tiny little town where no one is wealthy, not by Houston standards. She fell in love with me as quickly and deeply as I fell in love with her, and she agreed to marry me within a week, but when she realized what sort of life we live here, she started trying to back out.
“She was worried that Corey and she wouldn’t fit in, that they’d make some sort of inexcusable social blunder and embarrass us. The longer she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she’d fail us.”
He reached out and gently smoothed a lock of shining chestnut hair from Diana’s cheek. “Just imagine—Mary was willing to toss away all the material things I can give her, all the things everyone else was so anxious to grab, because she didn’t want to fail me as a wife or you as a mother. Those are the things that are important to her.”
Diana had liked her new stepmother well enough when she met her today, but the tenderness in her father’s eyes and the love in his voice when he talked of Mary carried an enormous amount of additional weight with Diana. “I like her a lot,” she confessed.
A smile of relief dawned across his face. “I knew you would. She likes you, too. She said you’re very sweet and very poised. She said you’d have had every right to get hysterical this afternoon when you walked in the front door and met a stepmother you’d never heard about before. And wait till you meet your new grandparents,” he added enthusiastically.
“Corey said they’re really neat,” Diana replied, thinking back over all the information her thirteen-year-old stepsister had provided during their first day together.
“They are. They’re good, honest, hardworking people who laugh a lot and love each other a lot. Corey’s grandfather is an excellent gardener, an amateur inventor, and a skillful carpenter. Her grandmother is very artistic and very talented at handcrafts. Now,” he said, looking a little tense again, “tell me what you think about Corey.”
Diana was quiet for a moment, trying to put her feelings about her new stepsister into words; then she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her knees, and smiled. “Well, she’s different from the other girls I know. She’s  . . . friendly and honest, and she says what’s on her mind. She hasn’t been anywhere but Texas, and she doesn’t try to act cool and sophisticated, but she’s done lots of things I never have. Oh, and she thinks you’re practically a king,” Diana added with a grin.
“What a clever, discerning young lady!”
“Her own father ran out on her mom and her when Corey was just a baby,” Diana said, sobered by the thought of such an unspeakable act by a parent.
“His stupidity and irresponsibility are my good luck, and I intend to make certain Mary and Corey feel lucky, too. Want to help me pull that off?” he asked, standing up and smiling at her.
Diana nodded. “You bet,” she said.
“Just remember, Corey hasn’t had a lot of the advantages you’ve had, so take it slow and teach her the ropes.”
“Okay, I will.”
“That’s my girl.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You and Mary are going to be wonderful friends.”
He started away, but Diana’s quiet announcement made him turn back and stop. “Corey would like to call you Dad.”
“I didn’t know that,” Robert Foster said, his voice turning gruff with emotion. “Mary and I hoped she might want to someday, but I thought it might take a long, long time before she came around to that.” He studied Diana for a long moment, and then hesitantly asked, “How do you feel—about Corey calling me Dad—I mean?”
Diana grinned. “It was my idea.”
*  *  *
Across the hall, Mary Britton Foster was seated on her thirteen-year-old daughter’s bed and running out of small talk. “So you had a nice time with Diana today?” she asked Corey for the third time.
“Yep.”
“And you enjoyed going over to the Hayward children’s house and riding their horses when Diana took you there this afternoon?”
“Mom, we’re all teenagers; you aren’t supposed to call us children.”
“Sorry,” Mary said, idly rubbing Corey’s leg beneath the blankets.
“And it wasn’t what you’d call a house; it’s so big, it’s practically a motel!”
“That big?” Mary teased.
Corey nodded. “It’s about the size of our house.”
The fact that she’d referred to Diana and Robert’s house as “our house” was very revealing and immensely reassuring to Mary. “And do the Haywards have a barn at their house?”
“They call it a stable, but it’s the same as a barn, only it looks like a beautiful stone house from the outside, and it’s as clean as one on the inside. They even have a guy who lives down at the stable and looks after the horses. They call him a groom, and his name is Cole, and the girls think he’s a complete hunk. He’s just gotten out of college at—I forget where—but I think he said it’s here in Houston.”
“Imagine that,” Mary said, shaking her head in amazement. “Now it takes a college degree just to get a job looking after horses in a barn—er—stable.”
Corey suppressed a laugh. “No, I meant he’s just finished the semester, and pretty soon he starts another one. The horses are just awesome!” Corey added, switching to the topic of primary interest to her. “I get to ride again at Barb Hayward’s birthday party next week. Barb invited me, but I think Diana asked her to do it. I met a bunch of Barb and Diana’s friends today. I didn’t think they liked me very much, but Diana said I was just imagining it.”
“I see. And what do you think of Diana?”
“Diana’s  . . .” Corey hesitated, thinking. “Diana’s cool. She told me she’s always wanted a sister, and maybe that’s why she’s being so nice to me. She’s not a snob at all. She even told me I could borrow any of her clothes that I want.”
“That’s very nice of her.”
Corey nodded. “And when I told her I liked the way she wears her hair, she said we could practice different styles on each other.”
“And  . . . um  . . . did she say anything about anyone else?”
“Like who?” Corey asked with sham confusion.
“Like me, and you know it.”
“Let me think. Oh, yeah, I remember now! She said you looked mean and sneaky, and she said you’ll probably make her stay home and scrub floors while I get to go to balls and dance with princes. I told her she was probably right, but that I’d ask you to let her wear the glass slipper as long as she didn’t leave the house.”
“Corey!—”
Laughing, Corey leaned forward and hugged her mother as she finally told the truth. “Diana said you seemed very nice and she likes you. She asked if you were strict, and I said you were sometimes, but then you feel guilty and bake up batches of cookies to make up for it.”
“Did she really say she likes me?”
Sobering, Corey nodded emphatically. “Diana’s mother died when she was only five. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I didn’t have you, Mom—”
Mary hugged her daughter close and laid her cheek on Corey’s blond hair. “Diana hasn’t had a lot of the advantages you have. Try to remember that. Having lots of clothes to wear and a big bedroom isn’t the same as having Grandpa and Grandma to love you and teach you all the things you learned when we lived with them.”
Corey’s smile faded a little. “I’m going to miss them something terrible.”
“Me, too.”
“I told Diana about them, and she was really interested. Could I take her to Long Valley sometime soon so she can meet them?”
“Yes, of course. Or maybe we could ask Robert to let them come for a visit.”
Mary stood up and started to leave, but Corey’s hesitant voice stopped her. “Mom, Diana said I could call Robert, Dad. Do you think he’d mind?”
“I think he’d love it!” She looked a little sad then and added, “Maybe someday Diana might want to call me Mom.”
“Tomorrow,” Corey said with a knowing smile.
“Tomorrow, what?”
“She’s going to call you Mom, starting tomorrow.”
“Oh, Corey, isn’t she wonderful?” Mary said, her eyes filling with tears.
Corey rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. “It was my idea that she call you Mom. All she did was say she wanted to do it.”
“You’re wonderful, too,” Mrs. Foster said with a laugh as she kissed her daughter. She turned out the light and closed the door when she left. Corey lay there, thinking about the conversation and wondering if Diana was asleep. After several moments, she scrambled out of bed and pulled on an old plaid flannel robe over her nightshirt emblazoned with “SAVE THE TURTLES” across the front.
The hallway was dark as pitch as she groped her way across the hall toward the door of Diana’s room. Her fingertips finally encountered the doorframe, and she raised her hand to knock just as the door flew open, startling a muffled squeal from her. “I was just coming over to see if you were awake,” Diana whispered, backing up and beckoning Corey into her room.
“Did your dad have a talk with you tonight?” Corey asked, perching on the edge of Diana’s bed and admiring the cream lace ruffles at the throat and wrists of Diana’s high-waisted, pale rose robe and the delicate lace trim on her matching quilted slippers.
Diana nodded and sat down beside her. “Yes. Did your mom have one with you?”
“Yep.”
“I think they were afraid we weren’t going to like each other.”
Corey bit her bottom lip and then blurted, “Did you happen to ask your dad about me calling him Dad?”
“I did, and he loved the idea,” Diana said, keeping her voice low so that this cozy pajama party for two wouldn’t be ended by parental decree.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. In fact, he got all choked up.” Diana looked down at her lap and drew a long breath, then lifted her eyes to Corey’s. “Did you mention to your mom about me calling her Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She said you’re wonderful,” Corey replied, rolling her eyes in feigned disagreement.
“Did she say anything else?”
“She couldn’t,” Corey replied. “She was crying.”
The two girls eyed one another in smiling silence, then, as if by mutual agreement, flopped onto their backs. “I think,” Diana said after a moment’s contemplation, “this could turn out to be really, really cool!”
Corey nodded with absolute conviction. “Totally cool,” she proclaimed.
Yet later that night, as she lay in her own bed, Corey found it hard to believe that things had turned out so well with Diana.
Earlier that day, she would never have believed it was possible. When Diana’s father had married Corey’s mother after a two-week courtship and brought his new wife and daughter to his Houston home, Corey had dreaded meeting her stepsister. Based on what little she’d already discovered about Diana, Corey figured they were so different they were probably going to hate each other. Besides being born rich and growing up in this huge mansion, Diana was a year older than Corey and a straight-A student; and when Corey took a peek into Diana’s feminine bedroom, everything was so neat it gave her the creeps. Based on what she’d heard and seen, she felt sure that Diana was going to be disgustingly perfect and a complete snob. She was even more sure Diana was going to think Corey was a dumb hick and a slob.
Her first glimpse of Diana when she walked into the foyer this morning had confirmed Corey’s worst fears. Diana was petite, with a narrow waist, slim hips, and real breasts, which made Corey feel like a deformed, flat-chested giant by contrast. Diana was dressed like a model from Seventeen. magazine, in a short tan skirt, cream-colored tights, and a tan-and-blue plaid vest topped off by a jaunty tan blazer with an emblem on the front. Corey was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
And yet, despite Corey’s absolute conviction that Diana would be a conceited snob, Diana had been the one who broke the ice. It was Diana who had admired Corey’s hand-painted sweatshirt with the horse on the front, and Diana who’d first admitted that she’d always wanted a sister. Later that afternoon, Diana had taken Corey over to the Haywards’ house so Corey could take pictures of the Haywards’ horses with the new camera Diana’s father had given her.
Diana didn’t seem to resent the fancy camera her father had bought for Corey or hate the idea of sharing him with Corey. And if she thought Corey was a dumb hick, she definitely hadn’t shown it. Next week, Diana was taking her to Barb Hayward’s birthday party, where everyone was going to ride horses. Diana said her friends would become Corey’s friends, too, and Corey hoped she was right.
That last part didn’t matter nearly as much as having a sister so close to her own age to spend time with and talk to—and Corey wouldn’t be doing all the taking either—she had some things to give Diana. For one thing, Diana had led an awfully sheltered life, in Corey’s opinion. Earlier that day, she’d admitted she’d never climbed a really big tree, never eaten berries right off the vine, and never skipped rocks across a pond.
Closing her eyes, Corey sighed with relief.

About Judith McNaught:
Judith McNaught is the New York Times bestselling author who first soared to stardom with her stunning bestseller Whitney, My Love, and went on to win the hearts of millions of readers with Once and AlwaysSomething WonderfulA Kingdom of Dreams, Almost Heaven, ParadisePerfectUntil YouRemember WhenSomeone to Watch Over Me, the #1 bestseller Night Whispers, and other novels. There are more than thirty million copies of her books in print. She lives in Houston. Please visit her at JudithMcNaught.comand on Facebook at AuthorJudithMcNaught.

The Gateway by Cas Pence Cover Reveal and Giveaway!




Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website: www.caspeace.com
See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here:
Find out more at her website: www.caspeace.com

Connect with the Author here: 
Author Facebook ~ Facebook ~ Website ~
 ~ Blog ~ Amazon ~ Reverbnation ~




The scarecrow’s evil knows no bounds ...
Having failed to save her friends from the scarecrow’s malevolence, Sullyan plunges into despair. Reen holds all the aces and nothing now, it seems, can prevent him from wreaking utter destruction. Nevertheless, she must try one last time, cast her life away if necessary, to avenge her loved ones. She marshals her forces and marches on Bordenn.
Yet Reen has usurped the power of a Master Artesan, and knows everything Robin once knew. Luring Sullyan to Bordenn is his only desire. The scarecrow squats in his lair, avid for Sullyan’s power, holding one final bargaining chip to force her into surrender. Her only glimmer of hope lies in a vague reference contained in the ancient diary of a long-dead Supreme Master—that, and a whispered message from a familiar spirit.
Yet even hope has its price, and life demands life in return.   




First lets take a look inside the book with this excerpt:

As they penetrated deeper into Lerric’s palace, Sullyan grew more and more uneasy. A strange feeling she could not name gnawed at her senses. Partly it was fury, for this was where her life mate had breathed his last under unspeakable torture, and somewhere in this deadly place lurked the monster who had devoured his soul. Her heart clamored for vengeance; her spirit cried for mercy.
Yet she could not locate her enemy, and this gave rise to frustration. Shielded as she was, still she sent forth probes; slim, delicate slivers of power, just enough to touch a wary mind, just enough to give her that edge. Failing continually, her fury grew.
She also felt dread, fear, reluctance. The more empty rooms they searched, the fewer remained. Their quarry was running to ground, and soon they would unearth him. Except he wasn’t running and they were the quarry.
This aspect of her growing unease affected her the most. The palace was a trap and she had entered it willingly. She was dancing to another’s tune, and her choices were limited. Nevertheless, she advanced, caught in this master’s game, compelled by love and justice. Her wounded soul bled with every step she took.
They remained unchallenged and unhindered throughout the length of their search. Nothing moved to dismay them, nothing sounded to alert them. The rooms were all silent, the hallways deserted, no signs of life even in the private rooms Elias had so recently visited. The men of Sullyan’s company strode at her back, eyes alert, swords at the ready, muscles tensed for action. Action they were denied until, at the very last, they came to a large iron-bound door proudly displaying the hunting dog emblem of client-king Lerric.
Limp standards hung on either side of the door, luxurious fabrics worked with gold thread suspended from poles of silver. A horn rested in a niche in the wall, just waiting for the herald to sound it. But the herald was absent and the standards hung still, cold air whispering about them.
“Lerric’s throne room.” Elias’s body quivered with tension. He had caught Sullyan’s frustration and the futility of their search so far was jangling his overstretched nerves. “Anteroom first and then the main hall. It’s large, even by Loxton standards.”
Sullyan didn’t reply and the King cast her a glance, unwilling to intrude on her thoughts. Her men stood behind her in silence.
Finally, she spoke, her voice sounding distant and ragged. “They await us in the anteroom.”
Elias’s head came up eagerly, like a hound scenting prey. “The Baron?”
She shook her head, her expression fixed and grim. She brought up her sword. “His guard.” She turned to Elias and spoke curtly. “Stay by me. Remember your oath.”
It was an unmistakable order and he nodded before turning his attention back to the door. The others shifted behind him, eager for action; anything to end this uncertainty. Those carrying torches left them in sconces or extinguished them. The hallway faded around them.
Wil came abreast of Sullyan and laid one hand on the door, weapon held ready in the other. Sullyan took a deep breath, held it, let it out. On the next inhalation, she nodded to Wil, who took hold of the latch and pushed open the door.
The anteroom was large, as large as Elias’s dining hall. Like the rest of the palace, it was in darkness, but torchlight from the hallway flickered faintly on steel deep within the room. The stirring of feet could be heard, the intake of breath. But no one came to challenge them, no one came to fight. Sullyan let her fury build. It would seem she would have to carry the fighting to them.
So be it.
“Gentlemen. Let us make an end.”


Now lets get a look at this cover!

**************************************
*****************************
****************
**********
****
**
*
*
*
*



Find All of Author Cas Peace Books on;

~ Amazon Amazon UK


To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page 



Until You by Judith McNaught Excerpt plus 14 ebook Giveaway!


Until You

9781501145490
$7.99
In this unforgettable romantic adventure, a teacher of wealthy young ladies finds her life changed forever when she travels from the wilds of America to elegant London. Sheridan Bromleigh is hired to accompany one of her students, heiress Charise Lancaster, to England to meet her fiancĂ©. But when her charge elopes with a stranger, Sheridan wonders how she will ever explain it to Charise’s intended, Lord Burleton. Standing on the pier, Stephen Westmoreland, the Earl of Langford, assumes the young woman coming toward him is Charise Lancaster and reluctantly informs her of his inadvertent role in a fatal accident involving Lord Burleton the night before. And just as the young woman is about to speak, she steps into the path of a cargo net loaded with crates. Sheridan awakens in Westmoreland’s mansion with no memory of who she is; the only hint of her past is the puzzling fact that everyone calls her Miss Lancaster. All she truly knows is that she is falling in love with a handsome English earl, and that the life unfolding before her seems full of wondrous possibilities.


…Chapter 1

Propped upon a mountain of satin pillows amid rumpled bed linens, Helene Devernay surveyed his bronzed, muscular torso with an appreciative smile as Stephen David Elliott Westmoreland, Earl of Langford, Baron of Ellingwood, Fifth Viscount Hargrove, Viscount Ashbourne, shrugged into the frilled shirt he’d tossed over the foot of the bed last night. “Are we still attending the theatre next week?” she asked.
Stephen glanced at her in surprise as he picked up his neck cloth. “Of course.” Turning to the mirror above the fireplace, he met her gaze in it while he deftly wrapped the fine white silk into intricate folds around his neck. “Why did you need to ask?”
“Because the Season begins next week, and Monica Fitzwaring is coming to town. I heard it from my dressmaker, who is also hers.”
“And?” he said, looking steadily at her in the mirror, his expression betraying not even a flicker of reaction.
With a sigh, Helene rolled onto her side and leaned on an elbow, her tone regretful but frank. “And gossip has it that you’re finally going to make her the offer she and her father have been waiting for these three years past.”
“Is that what the gossips are saying?” he asked casually, but he lifted his brows slightly, in a gesture that silently, and very effectively, managed to convey his displeasure with Helene for introducing a topic that he clearly felt was none of her concern.
Helene noted the unspoken reprimand and the warning it carried, but she took advantage of what had been a remarkably open—and highly pleasurable—affair for both of them for several years. “In the past, there have been dozens of rumors that you were on the verge of offering for one aspiring female or another,” she pointed out quietly, “and, until now, I have never asked you to verify or deny any of them.”
Without answering, Stephen turned from the mirror and picked up his evening jacket from the flowered chaise longue. He shoved his arms into the sleeves, then he walked over to the side of the bed and finally directed all his attention to the woman in it. Standing there, looking down at her, he felt his annoyance diminish considerably. Propped up on her elbow, with her golden hair spilling over her naked back and breasts, Helene Devernay was a delectable sight. She was also intelligent, direct, and sophisticated, all of which made her a thoroughly delightful mistress both in and out of bed. He knew she was too practical to nurture any secret hopes of a marriage offer from him, which was absolutely out of the question for a woman in her circumstances, and she was too independent to have any real desire to tie herself to someone for life—traits that further solidified their relationship. Or so he had thought. “But now you are asking me to confirm or deny that I intend to offer for Monica Fitzwaring?” he asked quietly.
Helene gave him a warm, seductive smile that normally made his body respond. “I am.”
Brushing back the sides of his jacket, Stephen put his hands on his hips and regarded her coolly. “And if I said yes?”
“Then, my lord, I would say that you are making a great mistake. You have a fondness for her, but not a great love nor even a great passion. All she has to offer you is her beauty, her bloodlines, and the prospect of an heir. She hasn’t your strength of will, nor your intelligence, and although she may care for you, she will never understand you. She will bore you in bed and out of it, and you will intimidate, hurt, and anger her.”
“Thank you, Helene. I must count myself fortunate that you take such an interest in my personal life and that you are so willing to share your expertise on how I ought to live it.”
The stinging set down caused her smile to fade a little but not disappear. “There, you see?” she asked softly. “I am duly chastened and forewarned by that tone of yours, but Monica Fitzwaring would be either completely crushed or mortally offended.”
She watched his expression harden at the same time his voice became extremely polite, chillingly so. “My apologies, madame,” he said, inclining his head in a mockery of a bow, “if I have ever addressed you in a tone that is less than civil.”
Reaching up, Helene tugged on his jacket in an attempt to make him sit down on the bed beside her. When this failed, she dropped her hand, but not the issue, and widened her smile to soothe his temper. “You never speak to anyone in an uncivil tone, Stephen. In fact, the more annoyed you are, the more ‘civil’ you become—until you are so very civil, so very precise and correct, that the effect is actually quite alarming. One might even say . . . terrifying!”
She shivered to illustrate, and Stephen grinned in spite of himself.
“That is what I meant,” she said, smiling back at him. “When you grow cold and angry, I know how—” Her breath caught as his large hand slipped down beneath the sheet and covered her breast, his fingers tantalizing her.
“I merely wish to warm you,” he said, as she reached her arms around his neck and drew him down on the bed.
“And distract me.”
“I think a fur would do a far better job of that.”
“Of warming me?”
“Of distracting you,” he said as his mouth covered hers, and then he went about the pleasurable business of warming, and distracting, both of them.
It was nearly five o’clock in the morning when he was dressed again.
“Stephen?” she whispered sleepily as he bent and pressed a farewell kiss upon her smooth brow.
“Mmmm?”
“I have a confession.”
“No confessions,” he reminded her. “We agreed on that from the beginning. No confessions, no recriminations, no promises. That was the way we both wanted it.”
Helene didn’t deny it, but this morning she couldn’t make herself comply. “My confession is that I find myself rather annoyingly jealous of Monica Fitzwaring.”
Stephen straightened with an impatient sigh, and waited, knowing she was determined to have her say, but he did not help her do it. He simply regarded her with raised brows.
“I realize you need an heir,” she began, her full lips curving into an embarrassed smile, “but could you not wed a female whose looks pale a little in comparison with mine? Someone shrewish too. A shrew with a slightly crooked nose or small eyes would suit me very well.”
Stephen chuckled at her humor, but he wanted the subject closed permanently, and so he said, “Monica Fitzwaring is no threat to you, Helene. I’ve no doubt she knows of our relationship and she would not try to interfere, even if she thought she could.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“She volunteered the information,” he said flatly, and when Helene still looked unconvinced, he added, “In the interest of putting an end to your concern and to this entire topic, I’ll add that I already have a perfectly acceptable heir in my brother’s son. Furthermore, I have no intention of adhering to custom, now or in future, by shackling myself to a wife for the sole purpose of begetting a legal heir of my own body.”
As Stephen came to the end of that blunt speech, he watched her expression change from surprise to amused bafflement. Her next remark clarified the reason for her obvious quandary: “If not to beget an heir, what other possible reason could there be for a man such as you to wed at all?”
Stephen’s disinterested shrug and brief smile dismissed all the other usual reasons for marriage as trivial, absurd, or imaginary. “For a man such as I,” he replied with a mild amusement that failed to disguise his genuine contempt for the twin farces of wedded bliss and the sanctity of marriage—two illusions that flourished even in the brittle, sophisticated social world he inhabited, “there does not seem to be a single compelling reason to commit matrimony.”
Helene studied him intently, her face alight with curiosity, caution, and the dawning of understanding. “I always wondered why you didn’t marry Emily Lathrop. In addition to her acclaimed face and figure, she is also one of the few women in England who actually possesses the requirements of birth and breeding in enough abundance to make her worthy of marrying into the Westmoreland family and of producing your heir. Everyone knows you fought a duel with her husband because of her, yet you didn’t kill him, nor did you marry her a year later, after old Lord Lathrop finally keeled over and cocked up his toes.”
His brows rose in amusement at her use of irreverent slang for Lathrop’s death, but his attitude toward the duel was as casual and matter-of-fact as her own. “Lathrop got some maggot into his head about defending Emily’s honor and putting a stop to all the rumors about her, by challenging one of her alleged lovers to a duel. I will never understand why the poor old man chose me from amongst a legion of viable candidates.”
“Whatever method he used, it’s obvious age had addled his mind.”
Stephen eyed her curiously. “Why do you say that?”
“Because your skill with pistols, and your skill on the dueling field, are both rather legendary.”
“Any child of ten could have won a duel with Lathrop,” Stephen said, ignoring her praise of his abilities. “He was so old and frail he couldn’t steady his own pistol or hold it level. He had to use both hands.”
“And so you let him leave Rockham Green unscathed?”
Stephen nodded. “I felt it would be impolite of me to kill him, under the circumstances.”
“Considering that he forced the duel on you in the first place, by calling you out in front of witnesses, it was very kind of you to pretend to miss your shot, in order to spare his pride.”
“I did not pretend to miss my shot, Helene,” he informed her, and then he pointedly added, “I deloped.”
To delope constituted an apology and therefore implied an admission of guilt. Thinking he might have some other explanation for standing twenty paces from his opponent and deliberately firing high into the air instead of at Lord Lathrop, she said slowly, “Are you saying you really were Emily Lathrop’s lover? You were actually guilty?”
“As sin,” Stephen averred flatly.
“May I ask you one more question, my lord?”
“You can ask it,” he specified, struggling to hide his mounting impatience with her unprecedented and unwelcome preoccupation with his private life.
In a rare show of feminine uncertainty, she glanced away as if to gather her courage, then she looked up at him with an embarrassed, seductive smile that he might have found irresistible had it not been immediately followed by a line of questioning so outrageous that it violated even his own lax standards of acceptable decorum between the sexes. “What was it about Emily Lathrop that drew you to her bed?”
His instant aversion to that question was completely eclipsed by his negative reaction to her next. “I mean, was there anything she did with you—or for you—or to you, that I do not do when we’re in bed together?”
“As a matter of fact,” he replied in a lazy drawl, “there was one thing Emily did that I particularly liked.”
In her eagerness to discover another woman’s secret, Helene overlooked the sarcasm edging his voice. “What did she do that you particularly liked?”
His gaze dropped suggestively to her mouth. “Shall I show you?” he asked, and when she nodded, he bent over her, bracing his hands on either side of her pillow so that his waist and hips were only inches above her head. “You’re absolutely certain you wish to take part in a demonstration?” he asked in a deliberately seductive whisper.
Her emphatic nod was playful and inviting enough to take the edge off his annoyance, leaving him caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Show me what she did that you particularly liked,” she whispered, sliding her hands up his forearms.
Stephen showed her by putting his right hand firmly over her mouth, startling her with a “demonstration” that matched his smiling explanation: “She refrained from asking me questions like yours about you or anyone else, and that is what I particularly liked.”
She gazed back at him, her blue eyes wide with frustrated chagrin, but this time she did not fail to notice the implacable warning in his deceptively mild voice.
“Do we have an understanding, my inquisitive beauty?”
She nodded, then boldly attempted to tip the balance of power into her favor by delicately running her tongue across his palm.
Stephen chuckled at her ploy and moved his hand, but he was no longer in the mood for sexual play or for conversation, and so he pressed a brief kiss on her forehead and left.
Outside, a wet gray fog blanketed the night, broken only by the faint eerie glow of lamplights along the street. Stephen took the reins from the relieved footman and spoke soothingly to the young pair of matched chestnuts who were stamping their hooves and tossing their manes. It was the first time they had been driven in the city, and as Stephen loosened the reins to let them move into a trot, he noted that the curb horse was extremely skittish in the fog. Everything unnerved the animal, from the sound of his own hooves clattering on the cobbled streets to the shadows beneath the streetlamps. When a door slammed off to the left, he shied, then tried to break into a run. Stephen automatically tightened the reins, and turned the carriage down Middleberry Street. The horses were moving at a fast trot and seemed to be settling down a bit. Suddenly an alley cat screamed and bolted off a fruit cart, sending an avalanche of apples rumbling into the street. At the same time the door of a pub was flung open, splashing light into the street. Pandemonium broke loose: dogs howled, the horses slipped and bolted frantically, and a dark figure staggered out of the pub, disappeared between two carriages drawn up at the curb . . . and then materialized directly in front of Stephen’s carriage.
Stephen’s warning shout came too late.


About Judith McNaught:
Judith McNaught is the New York Times bestselling author who first
soared to stardom with her stunning bestseller Whitney, My Love, and went on to win the hearts of millions of readers with Once and AlwaysSomething WonderfulA Kingdom of Dreams, Almost Heaven, ParadisePerfectUntil YouRemember WhenSomeone to Watch Over Me, the #1 bestseller Night Whispers, and other novels. There are more than thirty million copies of her books in print. She lives in Houston. Please visit her at JudithMcNaught.comand on Facebook at AuthorJudithMcNaught.

Judith McNaught Historical Romances:
Let New York Times bestselling author Judith McNaught who “is in a class by herself” (USA TODAY) sweep you off your feet and into another time with her sensual, passionate, and spellbinding historical romance classics, featuring her “unique magic” (RT Book Reviews)!

Promo Code Giveaway:
For McNaught-E Cyber Monday (11/28) we will announce the winner(s) of 14 promo codes, one promo code for each title. Enter to win today! You can enter on all blogs on the tour listed below, but you can only win once. Open Intl. Leave me a comment below and tell me you want to win! My giveaway is for 1 (one) winner for all 14 codes for the ebooks!

AddToAny

View My Stats!

View My Stats

Pageviews past week

SNIPPET_HTML_V2.TXT
Tweet