RELEASE DAY: Sofia Diana Gabel "Charity's Heart"

Blurb:

1888, London- Charity Llewellyn, 19, looks forward to marrying one day, but upon learning that her intended groom is Mathias Baptiste, the immoral son of a wealthy banker, she runs away from home to avoid the betrothal. Angry at her attempt, her father appoints a handsome and mysterious man, Alexander Sutton, as her constant chaperone. Furious, Charity plots an escape with help from her friend Lillian, although that leads to involvement in an unsolved 20-year old murder and a shallow burial of human bones. As she tries to unravel the secrets of the old murder, she meets a frightening man who could be Jack the Ripper. But that’s not her only obstacle. As she and Alexander grow closer and fall in love, she learns a dark secret he’s been keeping and when Mathias finds them together, he is overcome with rage and will stop at nothing to get her back, not even murder.

 

Author:

Born in Sydney, Australia, Ms. Gabel now lives in the United States with her family. She has dabbled in several careers, including archaeology and wildlife biology, but writing is her true passion. She is a multi-genre writer and has obtained two Bachelor degrees and will get a Masters in archaeology soon. Like writing, learning is a part of her life. Her favorite quote paraphrased from Sir Francis Bacon: Knowledge is Power.

 

 

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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

London, 1888

Charity’s bedroom windowpane was chilled and wet from the cold evening air, yet she could still see her faint, almost ghost-like reflection in the glass. With a twist of her long, tawny hair, she made an elegant chignon and secured it with an ivory hairpin. She sighed and wiped the water from the window with her bare hand. She’d rather be outside where the fresh air would fill her lungs and she could run free through the damp grass, but instead, she was locked inside the house like a prisoner.

Her position was to marry well and provide an heir to the Llewellyns. It was her only task: to have children. She was nineteen now and knew her father would soon insist she marry. He’d been hinting, so the day was nearing when he’d bring up the subject. But she’d never been allowed out on her own to meet potential suitors, which meant her father would find her a husband to his liking, not hers. And his idea of a husband certainly wouldn’t be the same as hers. She wanted a man who was strong, intelligent, kind, generous, and most of all, not bogged down with following social convention. The exact opposite of who would be chosen for her.

Her whole life she’d been sheltered and kept safe like a bird in a cage. She’d never experienced life, never had the opportunity to travel or even learn an occupation. Marrying a man she didn’t love would be like having her heart locked away where it could never be free.

She turned from the window and slipped on her soft-soled house shoes, the worn ones her mother had thrown out several times and Charity had retrieved from the rubbish bin every time. Just because they were worn didn’t mean they were unusable. She found them to be comfortable and would undoubtedly last for some time longer. So many people in London didn’t have shoes at all, or so she’d heard. Of course she’d never gone into London without an escort, and then it was only to the dressmaker’s or to some other well-to-do section of the city.

She looked back at her reflection again. It was a façade. It didn’t show what was in her heart. It was a cold portrayal of what everyone wanted to see. She plucked out the hairpin, gave her head a shake, and let her hair tumble loosely over her shoulders. That’s how she preferred to wear her hair, free and untamed. Now the young woman reflected in the window pane was smiling.

When the dinner bell rang, Charity dashed from her bedroom on the third floor and hurried down the stairs, purposely holding her skirt above her ankles so her shoes were visible, and walked along the hand-woven Persian carpet leading to the dining room. As expected, her mother was waiting at the doorway of the dining room.

“Oh, heavens, Charity. Not those ugly old shoes again. How many times have I had Flora put them out with the rubbish?” Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “You do these things to annoy me.”

Charity dropped her skirt. “I like these shoes. If you throw them out again, I shall go around in stocking feet. These shoes are perfectly good.” Charity passed into the dining room without giving her mother the required kiss on the cheek, the kiss that said she was a dutiful daughter who would obey her mother no matter what.

“Incorrigible,” her mother muttered, stepping into the dining room herself.

Charity took her seat next to her father, who was already sitting stiffly at the head of the table, open newspaper in hand. He didn’t look up. His throne-like Indian rosewood chair had a procession of small elephants carved along the top of the backrest. When she was young, she used to dream of where the elephants were going, each one holding the other’s tail in its trunk, forming a chain of beasts heading off the edge of the backrest. She’d wonder if they were going into the hot and sticky jungles of the Indian continent or perhaps to a river where they’d drink the sweet, cool water. Imagining their adventures captivated her at the time. But now she saw those elephants for what they were: wooden, immovable prisoners trapped on the back of a chair, unable to escape to freedom. She was just like them, stuck in one place with no chance of getting away.

RELEASE DAY: Lindsay Downs "A Bluestocking's Christmas"

 

Blurb:

Lady Brittany Sexton loves her newest book on Africa but she quickly learns keeping it in her possession is difficult. For her, the problem lies with Lord Samuel Palmer, who believes ladies should not read inappropriate tomes. Part of Lord Palmer’s fascination is the cryptic messages found in the margins. What quickly develops between Lady Brittany and Lord Palmer is even more confusing.

As Christmas draws nearer and with the book still in her possession, Lord Palmer follows her to her parents country estate.  It’s there they, along with some friends, slowly make sense of the notes.

During all of this, Lady Brittany learns a fact about Lord Palmer that disturbs her greatly—why he desired the book. To clear her mind and think about her answer to Lord Palmer’s sudden proposal, she goes for a horseback ride, only for disaster to strike.

Once well, she returns home. Lady Brittany now has to make a life changing decision. Can she… will she marry Lord Palmer ?

 

 

Author:

What does it take to be a bestselling author? Determination, skill, talent, luck or taking a risk with a venture into a totally new genre. For me it was a little of some and a lot of the others.

In 2008 when I got two books published I thought it was due to skill; little did I know it was more luck than anything. Over the next three years I wrote, submitted, got rejected. I then did what I tell everyone who asks; I wrote some more. I didn’t give up.

More on a dare than anything I tried my hand at a regency, one of the most difficult genres because of the rules, which I might add I broke almost every one. Within two days of its release the book was on a best seller list and stayed there for two months.

Turns out it is all of the aforementioned.

After two failed marriages, one from divorce while with the other died unexpectedly I decided upon retirement to move. That opportunity came in September 2012 when I migrated to Texas.

For me, as a multipublished author, it was one of the best things I’ve done to date. Now, every day I can write, creating stories to take my readers to places they can only dream about.

I’m also a member of the Published Authors Network (PAN) by the Romance Writers of America (RWA).

 

 

 

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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

Bundled against the unseasonably cold wind that wipped up the loose snow around her feet, Lady Brittany Sexton marched down the street, closing on her destination—her favourite lending library. Following and trying to keep up her lady’s maid, Aggie, mumbled to herself.

“Oh, stop with the complaining,” Brittany called out.

“I wonder why you insisted on venturing out on such a horrid day?”

“Mr. Winterbottom sent me a note saying the new book on Africa arrived today. If I want to be the first I should hurry down as several others enquired on it,” she told her maid after slowing her forward march so she wouldn’t need to speak so loudly.

“The one written by that horrid Lord Hersey you heard speak a few years back?”

Brittany nodded as a gust of wind whipped up, taking her breath away.

As they progressed down Braxton Street, she kept her head down while drawing her pelisse closer about her. With the chill, Brittany started to wonder if being the first to read this tome was worth the effort. Then she remembered the comment from that horrid Lord Samuel Palmer, the previous evening, at one of several balls her parents had insisted she attend.

At one point during that terrible event which had bored her close to tears, as she preferred to be home reading of far off lands, Lord Palmer had pointedly told several gentleman within earshot that ladies should be seen and not heard.

“All they can talk about is the weather or which colours will be fashionable during the spring season. All we gentlemen need do is look outside to see if it’s raining or the sun is shining,” Brittany had heard him say to the approval of several other gentlemen, if she could even call them that for their attitude.

It had taken all her willpower not to put aside the book she’d secreted with her and tell him he was full of hot air. She later learned from her bosom bow, Miss Sally Crocker, this appeared to be his typical attitude toward the current ladies in search of husbands.

“Lord Palmer will be lucky if some on-the-shelf lady might consent to marry him considering his arrogance. Doesn’t he realize we, at least a few of us such as you and I, have brains? We can and are willing to discuss topics of interest to him,” she had told her friend.

Brittany was so focused on the events of last eve, in particular that one pompous gentleman, she barely heard Aggie call out to her.

“M’ lady, you marched right past the lending library. Is everything all right?”

She halted and glanced around, only to feel her face warm from embarrassment at having lost track of where she was.

“Um, yes. I was pondering about last night and this gentleman who didn’t think we ladies should think. Now, let’s collect the book on Africa and peruse what else Mr. Winterbottom might have of interest,” Brittany said as she turned back and climbed the brick steps leading to an oak door with glass set in its upper half.

The gentle tinkling of the bell over the door brought a smile to her lips as the purveyor glanced toward her.

“My dear Lady Brittany, it’s always wonderful when you visit my humble establishment. It’s also a good thing you were the first to alert me that you wished to read Lord Hersey’s book, as several gentlemen have expressed an interest in it.”

Somehow that titbit of news didn’t come as much of a shock, as he was supposed to be the authority on deepest, darkest Africa. She wondered what the men would say on learning she’d been able to obtain the copy before any of them. With this book Brittany would have the most extensive collection on the subject, which pleased her. Now she would be able to compose a compilation which would make referencing different areas of Africa easy for future explorers.

 

RELEASE DAY: Heather Gray "Queen"

Blurb:

You can't hide from the past.

Queen's world was shattered, and she was banished to a foreign land. Years pass before she dares to return, but what she finds is of little comfort. Greed and dishonesty have festered and grown in her absence. Embittered and cynical, Queen trusts few people.

Owen pursues a clandestine investigation and finds himself working side-by-side with a veritable ghost, an agent few have seen, a master of disguise known simply as Queen.  He craves her trust…but then uncovers a secret from his family's past that could destroy her.

Queen once sought refuge in America and now seeks it in disguise. Owen has always found his refuge in God, but will his faith be strong enough for the challenges ahead? Can he convince her to stop hiding, or is he doomed to become her most hated enemy?

 

Author:

Heather Gray authors the Ladies of Larkspur inspirational western romance series, including Mail Order Man, Just Dessert, and Redemption.  She also writes the Regency Refuge series: His Saving Grace, Jackal, and Queen - plus contemporary titles Ten Million Reasons and Nowhere for Christmas.  Aside from a long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather’s greatest joys are her relationships with her Savior and family.  She also enjoys laughter.  This theme is prevalent in Heather's writing where, through the highs and lows, her characters find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.

You can find Heather online at http://www.facebook.com/heathergraywriting, http://www.twitter.com/laughdreamwrite, and http://www.heathergraywriting.com.  She can also be found most days at The Inspired Inkpot, a street team, prayer group, and all around awesome place to hang out - http://www.facebook.com/groups/theinspiredinkpot.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Prologue

Christmas Eve 1817

Owen crouched low and looked around him. At least four hale and strong men had given chase. He was nursing a bullet wound to his side and a knee expressing reluctance to cooperate.

The alley's darkness provided the illusion of safety. He might yet get out of this alive, if the clouds cooperated and kept the moon concealed.

Leather scraped on cobblestones to his right, and he pivoted, knife at the ready. An old man stumbled down the alley. His stringy grey hair was greasy and his coarse woven clothes tattered. He reeked of liquor, vomit, and… Owen wrinkled his nose as he fought the urge to gag.

The ruffians who'd been chasing him must have heard the old man, too. Or, worse, they'd heard Owen. They stopped their pursuit down the street and began backtracking to the mouth of the alley.

Drat. Owen slipped back behind some crates. He wanted to call a warning to the old beggar but couldn't risk giving away his position. Instead, he tucked his body as tightly together as his wounds would allow while he prayed.

"Did you hear that?"

"Someone's down there."

"Who's there?"

The old man shuffled his way, with a dragging hitch to his step, toward the street.

Come on, old man. Get out of the way. They're not looking for you!

"Never mind. It's a drunkard. Let's keep searching."

From his vantage point, Owen watched as one of the thugs shoved the beggar down onto the ground and then kicked him full in the ribs. He winced in sympathetic pain but dared not leave his hiding place yet. To reveal himself at this juncture would ensure a far worse outcome for both him and the old man.

The echo of footsteps faded and silence once again fell over the alley, broken only by the yowling of a tom cat. A few minutes ticked by with no indication the group would return. Owen eased himself out from his position, relieved to no longer be wedged between a slimy moss-covered wall and the dilapidated, rotting crates. Pain radiated up and down his side from where he'd been shot, and his knee burned with each step.

The old man hadn't moved since landing on the cobblestones. Stooping, Owen glanced at the man's hair-covered face. Age was kinder to some than to others. Between the faded moonlight and the excessive facial hair, Owen couldn't distinguish any features beyond the large bulbous nose. The poor gent could have used a little more kindness.

A slight movement of the chest caught Owen's eye, and he sighed with relief. Now to figure out how to move him…

The old man was bulky, and Owen was wounded. Could he rouse him? Would he be able to walk? Owen shook the man by the shoulders. His efforts elicited nothing but a high-pitched groan. Seeing no hope for it, he pulled the man over his shoulder and stood, keeping most of his weight on his uninjured knee.

No longer radiating, the pain in his side now pulsed with each beat of his heart, its intensity growing with his exertion. Getting the old man settled across his shoulder as best he could, Owen took a step toward the street. Dizziness swept through him, and he knew his knee was in worse shape than he wanted to admit. Three blocks would still be manageable. Wouldn't it? A back room in the apothecary's shop housed a clandestine meeting place for agents.

The apothecary was barely three blocks away…

Blast it, what had he been thinking?

RELEASE DAY: Tracy Blalock "Courting Misfortune"

 

Blurb:

Madeline Haversham wanted to gain the attention of a certain gentleman, but tumbling into an ornamental pond is not how she had envisioned achieving her aim.  Snaring a husband is proving more difficult than she had imagined, as she cannot seem to make it through a Season without countless mishaps.  No sane man would willingly wed her, when she has already broken the nose of one would-be suitor.  Unfortunately, Jonathan Danforth is honor-bound to offer for her hand.

 

Author:

Tracy Blalock lives in Southern California with her family and assorted pets.  In her free time she is most likely to be found with a book in her hands.  She has always had a passion for history, earning a Bachelor of Arts in History, which she has put to good use penning historical romances.  When she is not reading or writing, she enjoys traveling to historic sites off the beaten path, which she uses as inspiration to dream up new characters and stories.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

London, April 1815

 

Madeline Haversham wanted to gain the attention of a certain gentleman.

But not like this.

Sitting in an ornamental pond with slimy green water dripping from her person was not how she had envisioned this scene playing out.

A short time before, while in her bedchamber, she was passing the time staring out the window, weaving pretty fairy tales. Her true love would spot her across a crowded ballroom and finally see she was a woman grown—no longer a clumsy, foolish child. Stunned by her beauty and poise, he would fall madly in love and beg her to be his bride.

Her head filled with romantic musings, she had believed it must surely be part of her daydream when through her leaded glass window she chanced to see the object of her imaginings, walking in the garden with her brother, Morgan.

For a moment, she considered the possibility her hero had been conjured by her fanciful thoughts, as Mr. Jonathan Danforth was generally kept busy with estate matters and rarely made it up to London during the Season.

With severely limited opportunities where he might take notice of her, Maddie was determined to make the most of the unexpected chance she had been granted. After hastily changing into her best walking gown and taking special care to ensure she looked as fetching as possible, she hurried outside to the garden.

Tracking the movements of the two men on the other side of a hedge, she paused out of sight, carefully calculating the exact moment when she would step out and greet them. She imagined Jonathan’s admiration of her ladylike deportment and appearance during the ‘coincidental’ meeting.

But focused on her mission to make a perfectly timed entrance, she did not pay close attention to where she was placing her feet, and she tripped over a stone. Stumbling, she pitched sideways into the pond, which was the focal point of her father’s manicured grounds.

In the comfort of her bedchamber, it had appeared to be the most extraordinary luck that she had spied her elusive gentleman taking a turn around the gardens in the company of her brother. But now, with her torso and knees poking from a few feet of murky water, it seemed a cruel jest played by fate. It was unlikely the men would not have been alerted to her presence.

Wet hunks of hair hung over her eyes, preventing her seeing their approach, but she knew the moment the pair rounded the hedge and caught sight of her, as Morgan started braying like a donkey.

She must look an absolute fright! She could feel her once sophisticated coiffure was now completely askew, sliding down the side of her head. She had the mortifying feeling she was wearing a lily pad for a hat, and her favorite gown was ruined beyond repair.

Pushing her waterlogged blonde tresses out of her eyes, she wiped dirty water from her face. With her vision clear, she viewed two pairs of immaculate glossy black boots—and her horrifying countenance reflected in them, times four! Though distorted, she could see her appearance was even worse than she had feared and a far cry from the ladylike image she had intended to portray.

She looked like a troll!

Tearing her gaze from the dismaying sight, she raised her eyes.

Her brother was bent over double, holding his sides, and laughing so hard he was in danger of toppling over. He clearly found her present misfortune enjoyable, but she doubted he would think the situation as humorous if their positions were reversed.

All that was needed was a bit of a nudge, and he would be sent tumbling into the water. She was sorely tempted to climb out of the pond and do just that, as it seemed the only way guaranteed to squelch his mirth.

 

RELEASE DAY: Kristin Burchell "The Witches of Proposal Rock"

 

Blurb:

In New England of 1660, magic is something to be feared and avoided. No one but the most desperate dares to climb Proposal Rock, where the Devil himself is said to wander. Only the guilt sixteen year old Anne feels over a kiss she shared with her best friend’s husband could persuade her to venture there.

While searching the forest, Anne meets the dreaded witch, Amabel, who guides her to discover that she possesses mysterious powers of her own. Anne tries to turn her back on this talent and immerse herself in the mundane life of her village, vowing never to return to Proposal Rock. But neither the Devil, nor the dark magic of the forest, will let her go that easily. She discovers that her fate is entwined with forest in ways she never could have imagined.

Anne falls in love with a mysterious young man she meets in the forest, but begins to suspect his intentions are deadly. Still, she can’t stay away from him.

Anne is forced to use her gift when the dark forces of Proposal Rock threaten her family. But her neighbors turn on her, and she is forced to make a choice: reveal her power and face a death sentence, or deny it, and lose everyone she loves. Either decision will change her world forever.

In New England of 1660, magic is something to be feared and avoided. No one but the most desperate dares to climb Proposal Rock, where the Devil himself is said to wander. Only the guilt sixteen year old Anne feels over a kiss she shared with her best friend’s husband could persuade her to venture there.

While searching the forest, Anne meets the dreaded witch, Amabel, who helps her discover that she possesses mysterious powers of her own. Anne tries to turn her back on this talent and immerse herself in the mundane life of her village, vowing never to return to Proposal Rock. But neither the Devil, nor the dark magic of the forest, will let her go that easily. Anne falls in love with a mysterious young man she meets in the forest, but begins to suspect his intentions are deadly. Powers Anne never suspected she had surface when a vicious beast terrorizes her, and the lives of her family are threatened.

 

 

Author:

Kristin Burchell loves the Oregon Coast and the legends that abound there, especially the legend of Proposal Rock. As an elementary school teacher, she loves writing and teaching the art of writing. She lives in Vancouver, Washington with her husband and two children. She writes whenever she can.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Anne

 

The sky was clear and bright the morning we climbed the steep path into the forest to find the witch of Proposal Rock.

My best friend, Sarah, and I had hiked for two hours. As soon as we’d reached the trees, thick mist unfurled, coiling around us and darkening the day.

The cold, wet air clung to my skin. I shivered, wondering if I’d ever be warm again. But the chill was not just due to the cold. Even in our remote village, we’d heard the stories of the women in Salem tried as witches, not far from here. If anyone discovered what we were doing, who we were seeking, we could face the same fate as those women. But I owed a debt to Sarah.

The pines emitted a bitter scent, and beneath it I smelled something decaying and sweet, making me think of regret. Sharp pointed leaves edged in scarlet lined the path. Beneath them the mournful croaks of frogs sounded like unheeded warnings. No wonder, for more than one person had been lost in this forest, including my own father.

I stopped for a moment to slow my breath. Behind us, the path was a narrow ribbon woven among the trees. Overhead the twisted branches were bare, save a few brown leaves clinging desperately.

“Anne!” Sarah shouted from further up the path.

A damp wind gusted. A low groan rose from the limbs as they swayed. Over the sound, I heard a voice, calling. Anne. I froze. This voice was not Sarah’s.

“Anne!” Sarah called again, and I gave myself a shake.

“Coming!” No one in this forest knew my name. No one from the village knew we were here. If anyone in Newton discovered the reason for our climb, we’d be doomed, even Sarah, who was accepted by our neighbors. They thought of her as part of their family. Though I’d been born in Newton, just as Sarah had, my mother had come from a place outside the village. She, my sister, and I had never fully belonged in the village, as far as our neighbors were concerned. Their condemnation of me would be swift and painful.

“Hurry up!” Sarah called.

On either side of the path, the branches seemed to reach for us like desperate arms. I hurried after her, holding a hand to the stitch in my side. I couldn’t lose her the way I’d lost my father. She was my truest friend, my only friend, the one person in the village who did not shy away from me thanks to the peculiarity of my family. And, besides, I owed Sarah. Never had I regretted anything so much as the kiss I’d shared with her betrothed, the night before her wedding…

“Do we even know the witch exists?” I wheezed.

“You know she does.”

Shivering, I remembered as a child—the gleam of silver through the trees, of the face of the lady, all alight, whom I’d seen as if in a dream. I thought of her as the Silver Lady. For years I’d hidden the secret deep in my heart, but here in this forest it rose swift and hot to my throat.

“Do you truly believe she’d give you a potion?” I asked Sarah.

“I can pay her.”

“But do you think it would be real? That it would work?”

“I can’t lose John,” she answered.

My stomach twisted with guilt. Once I’d hoped she would lose him to me. “He’s been in love with you since we were children.” My voice sounded hollow, even to myself.

 “He’s not anymore.” Her eyes held mine until my skin prickled uncomfortably. Without another word, she turned and strode up the path.

I drew my cloak closer as the mist began to thicken, gripping our ankles.