Authors and Books

Culloden Spirit by Anita Davison

2011-09-21T21:03:00.000+10:00

Culloden Spirit by Anita Davison.

Blurb:

Carrie Gordon's season in her native York was an unqualified success, until the young man who paid her so much attention married someone else.

When her family takes a summer trip to her father’s ancestral home in the Scottish Highlands, her handsome Scottish cousin, Duncan McRae, takes an immediate dislike to Carrie, mainly due to her father’s plans to refurbish Cair Innes castle which is in need of extensive repair beyond the means of its present owner and resident, Iain McRae.

Carrie feels the vacation will be a disaster until she discovers a strange young man while exploring the derelict castle, However, she soon learns Ruairi McRae is not what he seems, and the battle he intends to fight was lost by his clan a hundred and fifty years before.

Will Carrie be able to accept that she cannot be part of Ruairi’s world? And when the Roma arrive to camp on Bucks Meadow as they do every summer, who is the beautiful gypsy girl Duncan won't talk about?

Released in ebook at the end of September 2011!

The Right Man by Anne Whitfield

2011-08-04T09:09:00.000+10:00

The Right Man by Anne Whitfield

Blurb:

Molly Daniels is on summer holiday in a small town in the country to recover from a broken marriage. She’s hurt, disillusioned, and unsure of her future. The last thing she is looking for is a man.

Sebastian Lord is the town’s most eligible bachelor, a title he hates. Having given up a successful career in the city, he now owns a small farm and is content to hide away there, away from the real world that has hurt him in the past. Since his fiancé was killed four years ago, he’s refused to enter the dating game again.

An unlikely pair, Seb’s newly adopted and wayward dog has an uncanny habit of bringing the two together. Though each has their own doubts, they give into the call of a strong, mutual attraction and share a hot summer together, but can they shed past hurts to embrace future happiness together?

Excerpt

As the tractor jerked forward, Molly quickly clung to his shoulders. The firm feel of them beneath her fingers sent a delicious tingle throughout her body. If she leant forward, she could see straight down his bare chest and the glistening sweat that beaded there. Her insides clenched, and she grew hot and moist at the very core of her body. She closed her eyes in acute pleasure and pain of being near him and wanting him, yet unable to have him.

Again the reaction to him knocked her for six. Of course, there had been attraction between her and Mike, but never like this, never these mind-numbing, nerve-tingling sensations from a mere glance. Being close to Sebastian made her a little crazy. She wanted to do things that would never normally enter her mind. Thoughts of running her tongue down his taut stomach or—

“Hold on, there’s a bit of a bump here.” His call brought her back to the present, and her face grew hotter at what she had been thinking.

Molly swayed as the tractor rumbled down a shallow water rut and up again. She’d never ridden on a tractor before, and the bumping experience made her chuckle. Adrenalin sizzled through her, bringing everything into sharper focus—the smell of the tractor’s engine, the scent of crushed grass, the musky deodorant he wore.

The heat of the day paled, the problems of her failed marriage seemed no longer important as Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and winked at her. Who would have thought that the simple act of riding a tractor with a handsome guy would give her such joy?

He drove into the yard and around the back of the old farmhouse into the large barn. Once inside he cut the engine, and the calm, lazy noises of summer regained control again. He climbed down and then held out his hand to help her.

Stepping down beside him, she looked up into his eyes and grinned. “I enjoyed that.”

“I’m glad.” His gaze dropped to her lips and Molly could only stare and wonder if he could read the desire in her eyes. Surely he could?

Her whole body came alive, clamoring for his attention, his touch. His hand still held hers, and she didn’t want to break the contact. They stood close, only inches apart. His bare chest so tantalisingly near, and she wanted to feel it beneath her fingertips, to lick, and kiss the bronzed skin. He was like a sickness and she had no cure. Perhaps she should have wild sex with him to get him out of her system. Mike had done it all through their marriage. It was just sex, he would say. Just sex, it meant nothing…

Buy for .99 cents in varying formats at Smashwords or on Amazon Kindle

Surrender To Destiny by Maggi Andersen

2011-07-27T14:23:00.000+10:00

Surrender To Destiny by Maggi Andersen.

Two actor’s lives begin to parallel the characters in Surrender to Destiny, the movie they are making of a Victorian murder story. Astrid Leclair and Dylan Shaw are irresistibly drawn to one another and their passionate scenes steam up the screen.

In Victorian London, Giovanna Russo finds herself penniless on the streets, fighting for independence in a city where a woman’s choices are few. London with its smoggy, dark alleyways is a dangerous place for a girl to be, but now it’s got more personal, someone wants her dead.

When Blair Dunleavy, a wealthy, Irish gentleman sees Gina Russo in her stepfather’s painting, he includes her in his plans for the perfect life. A wife in Ireland and a mistress in London. But the best laid plans...

Buy from Amazon.com

Twin Flames by Debbie Christiana

2011-07-19T16:59:00.001+10:00

Twin Flame by Debbie Christiana

She’d never met him before…or had she?

The last thing forty-year old Natalia Santagario expected was to be sitting on a Manhattan barstool ogling a man she’s never met, but swears she knows.

He didn’t know her at all…or did he?

The mysterious dark-haired woman at the end of the bar stops twenty-eight year old Marc Tremonti in his tracks. His head assures him she’s a stranger, but his heart tells him otherwise.

Together they embark on an adventure that will change their lives forever.

Their attraction instant and enigmatic, they undergo past life regression and discover that, not only have they spent hundreds of lives together as lovers, Natalia holds the secret to Marc’s puzzling birthmark.

But what should have been a joyful reunion is complicated by a kind, albeit confused, almost ex-wife, an unfortunate accident in a taxicab, and a bout of temporary amnesia that threatens to ruin everything. On top of all that, they must contend with a mischievious ghost from their past.

What else could possibly go wrong?

Excerpt:

“Nat, are you almost ready?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah, and I’m hungry.”

“Should we take Nat to that Italian restaurant we found last time?” Christine asked.

“Sure,” Ellie said. “Want to try it, Nat?”

“Do you both think with a name like Natalia Santagario I don’t get enough Italian food? I was hoping for a big juicy steak and bottle of red wine.”

“I guess we could have steak, but this place is really good. Plus all the waiters are cute.”

“You’re both married,” said Natalia.

“But you’re not,” Christine said, pointing a finger at her.

“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m starving. Let’s go.”

A crowded subway ride later, they arrived at Tremonti’s restaurant on West Fifty-Fourth Street.

Before they went inside, Natalia stopped her two friends. “Thank you,” she said. “I really needed this. I’m glad you kept harassing me about coming with you.”

“We told you so,” said Ellie with a smile.

As they entered the restaurant, they were swallowed by a crowd of shoppers, tourists, and people reveling in the holiday season. Sandwiched between her friends and the other hungry inhabitants of the restaurant, Natalia couldn’t help but notice the wonderful aromas swirling around the room. For a moment, she was a little girl in her grandmother’s Brooklyn apartment, having Sunday dinner.

As she inhaled once more, a strange sensation took hold of her. Her body temperature seemed to shoot to a hundred degrees. Sweat formed on her brow. Light headed, she could feel the color drain from her face.

“Nat, what’s wrong?” Christine asked, resting her hand on Natalia’s shoulder. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

No, I’m used to seeing ghosts. “I’m fine. It’s hot in here, that’s all. Let’s try to work our way to the bar so I can get some water.”

They started to push their way through the crowd when Natalia felt Ellie take her hand. “Hurry, those people are getting up,” she said, dragging Natalia behind her.

No sooner had they hopped up on their barstools than a young waiter appeared.

“What can I get you ladies this evening?”

“Hi,” said Natalia. “I would love a glass of wa—” She sat completely still, staring past the waiter.

“We’ll have three glasses of Merlot, please,” Christine chimed in. “Could you bring my friend some water? She isn’t feeling well.”

“Sure,” the young man said and left.

“Nat, what are you looking at?” Christine asked.

“The man over there making drinks,” she said, pointing to the side of the bar.

“Looking? Ogling is more like it,” scoffed Ellie. “She’s practically drooling.”

“I know him from somewhere,” Natalia said.

“His back is to us. You can’t see his face.”

“I don’t need to see his face.”

Having no logical answers to give them, Natalia ignored the rest of her friend’s questions and continued to watch the fascinating man behind the bar. He was tall with broad shoulders and dark curly hair. His sleeves were rolled up, his strong arms and hands visible. He was good at his job. Quickly dipping his hand in the ice and dropping the cubes into the glasses, he had three drinks made in a just few moments.

Then something changed.

Website is www.debbiechristiana.com

Blood Fest Chasing Destiny by Pepper O'Neal

2011-07-11T10:00:00.001+10:00

Blood Fest Chasing Destiny by Pepper O'Neal

Blurb:

She didn’t know what she was—or that what she was could get her killed...

A struggling private detective in Los Angeles, Chase Alcott has no idea about her unique genetic makeup. So when she takes on a new client—an old man with ulterior motives—she’s unaware of the danger she’ll soon face. Traveling to England to solve a mysterious murder at the request of her new client, Chase encounters terrifying creatures she thought only existed in her nightmares—only to find out she’s one of them. Caught in a web of evil and deception after learning some terrifying truths about her long dead parents, Chase doesn’t know who to believe. Does she dare trust the enigmatic Roman, a man with dark secrets of his own?

He knew what she was—he just had no idea what to do about her…

English nobleman, Roman Fernwood, half-werewolf/half-vampire, doesn’t want a mate, especially not a half human/half-weretiger with no knowledge of what she is. But there’s something about Chase, Roman can’t resist in spite of his determination not to fall in love. Is it her fascinating American spunk and courage or her stunning cinnamon eyes? Or could it be the passion he senses just beneath her calm, unruffled demeanor? Whatever it is, Roman must keep her safe from those who want to kill her—and find a way to show her what she is without driving her into the arms of the other Weres who also want her for a mate.

Excerpt:

Radlett, England

April 15^th:

Rain dripped down the back of Roman’s neck and trailed along his spine like cold, wet fingers. Forcing himself to ignore the disturbing sensations, he focused instead on the preacher’s droning voice and the coffin being lowered into Melinda’s grave.

“This wasn’t an accident, Andy,” he whispered to his solicitor. “I tried to tell Chief Inspector Clayton that, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Stepping closer to Roman, Andrew Wright shifted his umbrella to shelter the both of them. “Have you considered going to his superiors?”

“Yes. But I doubt it would do any good. They’d be as stumped by the lack of motive as Clayton.”

The parish priest closed the graveside service with a prayer. Finally. Breathing a communal sigh of relief, the two dozen mourners headed out of the dismal little cemetery.

Roman slowed his pace until he and Andy fell behind the others. “I’m also afraid this may have been done by one of my kind.”

Andy stopped walking and stared at him. “A Lycan or a Vampire?”

“Vampire.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t there be marks on her—” Breaking off when Roman made shushing gestures, Andy shot a quick, darting glance around the graveyard. “Sorry,” he said in a lowered voice. “But wouldn’t there be some evidence of that?”

“Only if the killer was feeding.”

“Oh. Right. Would you like me to hire a private investigator for you? There must be someone we can trust to look into this.”

“Not until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” Roman started walking again. “Besides, my father will be home soon. And I’d like to discuss the matter with him first.”

“Er, ah—” Andy cleared his throat. “Lord Fernwood’s stay across the pond has been extended. He was involved in a motor vehicle accident yesterday.”

“Oh, Christ!” Roman cringed at the images flooding his mind. “Not him, too.”

“Re—relax. He’s not bad—not seriously injured, I mean.” Andy’s words rushed out, tumbling over one another. “I—I’m sorry. I should have told you that first. He has a broken leg, two broken ribs, and a fair-sized collection of bruises. But that’s all.”

“Thank God.” Overwhelmed by relief, Roman stumbled on legs that didn’t feel attached to his body. He grabbed Andy’s shoulder to steady himself. “How did it happen?”

“From what he told me when he called from the hospital, he was crossing a street in Los Angeles—apparently against the light and in the middle of the road—when he was hit by a car.”

Roman sighed. “That sounds like Father.” Then the implication of Andy’s words hit him. “Wait a minute. Father’s supposed to be in New York. What the hell’s he doing in Los Angeles?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” Andy paused as they neared Roman’s Rolls Royce. He waited until they were seated inside the limo before continuing. “All I know is what he told me on the phone. He said he’d postponed his meeting in New York and had gone to California to check out something. Or someone. It wasn’t the best connection, so I’m really not sure.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, knowing him, whatever it is, it’s bound to make my life more complicated.”

A chill skittered through him—one that had nothing to do with the weather.

Buy from Amazon.com

My Killer, My Love by Mona Karel

2011-07-08T15:19:00.000+10:00

She came to the woods to heal and found evil lurking among the trees....

Upon her grandmother’s death, Kendra inherits a cottage deep within the sequoia forest, along with the powers given only to certain women in her family—powers she doesn’t know she has. Recovering from a vicious attack in Phoenix, Kendra returns home to the remote cabin determined to heal both her body and her spirit. But the forest is ailing, too. Evil lurks in its dark places, turning its quiet glades into a battlefield. When a strangely beautiful man appears at her cabin intent on punishing her for a crime she didn’t commit, Kendra needs all her strength to protect her forest, her life... and her heart. Can she learn to use her powers and to trust Mykhael in time to save the ancient forest?

He came to the woods to redeem himself and found innocence that would be his undoing....

Throughout his long life, Mykhael has struggled, often in vain, to please the Atrahasis, immortal overlords of the sacred places in the universe. Now they have given him one last chance to redeem himself. He must punish the person they think desecrated an ancient forest in Northern California. But when he meets Kendra, he realizes he’s doomed to disappoint them yet again. Not only is she innocent of the crime the Atrahasis have accused her of, Kendra is the missing part of the soul he didn’t know he still possessed. Can he defy the Atrahasis yet again and live long enough to save the only thing in his life that matters?

EXCERPT:

“Alastor..." she mused, searching for an elusive nugget of information. Then the book opened in her mind’s eye, and the answer appeared. "It was the duty of Alastor to ensure that the sins of the father were visited upon the son."

“Not precisely. It is the duty of the clan of Alastor to ensure that the sanctity of the places and balance of power is maintained at all times. When violations occur, a member of my clan is called, and we are given an image of the person responsible for the violation."

His eyes were even more remote, with that far away, almost sad, look she’d seen so many times before. A chilling premonition came to her and she lifted her chin, seeking the strength to ask the next question.

“Quit the games, Mykhael. Why exactly are you here now, in this place, at this time?"

He looked at her directly, and she saw the agony he had to be feeling.

“Darling, I’ve been sent here to kill you."

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The Blighted Troth by Mirella Patzer

2011-06-30T11:02:00.000+10:00

Blurb: A compelling story of love and treachery, faith and loss, forgiveness and triumph in the turbulent world of 18th century New France. In 1702, Emilie Basseaux lives with her widowed mother in New France. On the eve of her wedding to Robert Lanzille, she catches the eye of the settlement’s unscrupulous overlord, Seigneur Richard Tonnacour who threatens to kill the parish priest if he performs their marriage. This sets off a catastrophic chain of events that turns her life, and that of her betrothed, into a desperate flight for their lives, separating them, and sending them straight into the arms of peril. Emilie and Robert’s plight sweeps them into the convents and taverns, the riots and small-pox epidemics of New France where they face death and discover the true meaning of love and forgiveness. The Blighted Troth is a retelling of the classic novel, The Betrothed (I Promessi Sposi) by Alessandro Manzoni. Inspired by this epic Italian classic novel; a new and captivating tale in a new setting, a new century, and with new plot twists while remaining faithful to key story elements.

Buy from Amazon

What He Taught Her by Anne Whitfield

2011-06-25T13:22:00.001+10:00

Blurb:
Rob Healy has everything he wants, or will have once he’s built his new resort on a small island in the Pacific. A woman in his life isn’t planned at the moment, but when he sees Cassandra Kearns in the foyer looking stiff and out of place amongst the holiday makers his interest is spiked. What is a beautiful woman doing wearing a business suit and holding a laptop doing on an island resort, especially when there are no conferences booked that week?
Cassandra Kearns is fleeing New York and all that makes her comfortable for two idyllic weeks in the tropics. She’s stressed, overtired and close to breaking point. Her divorce is finalised, her daughter is grown and she’s realising that she’s on her own and dare she say it - lonely.
She needs to take some time and recharge her batteries. But how is she to do that? She’s worked 24/7 for years. Does she know how to have fun?
When Cassandra meets Rob she rejects the spark of attraction she feels. A man in her life, after the betrayal of Oliver? She’d rather eat broken glass!
Yet Rob is persistent, he’s funny and he’s gorgeous, but what exactly does he want?

Excerpt:
The music changed to a faster tempo and some of the couples got up to dance. Rob got them another bottle of wine and refilled her glass. Cassandra studied him as he secured the bottle back in the sand. Had she ever met such a man as him before? Yes, he was attractive, but he had something else that drew not only her attention, but the stares of other women around him.
There was magnetic quality about Rob, a mixture of a devil-may-care attitude and an inner strength of purpose which fascinated her. Desire grew inside her, igniting, and she felt a delicious heat in the pit of her stomach. It had been so long since she'd throbbed in need for a man’s body.
Reggae thumped out of the speakers. Rob stood and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”
“Really?” She stared, as he helped her to her feet. “You dance?”
“Don’t you?” He led her closer to the fire.
“I haven’t for a long time, and the men I know never dance, at least not to this type of music.”
He didn’t answer her as the music was turned up, and the Jamaican rhythm of steel drums and a Caribbean voice urged them to let themselves go.
Fired by the wine, the heat of the fire, and the music filling her senses, Cassandra was transported to another world, one full of sensual stimulus, of earthy primal urges: to eat, to frolic, to cavort. Nature’s way was very powerful, and she didn’t fight against it.
She raised her arms and swung her hips, dancing as she hadn’t done for a very long time. Laughing, Rob twirled her under his arm. The flames reflected off her gold shimmering dress. All the guests were dancing now, the music infectious, the atmosphere festive. Everyone seemed to just want to have fun, forget their problems and dance.
Cassandra squealed as Rob lifted her off her feet and spun her around. He stepped aside, grinning as a guy in his twenties came up to her and did a bit of dirty dancing with her, grinding his pelvis against hers, and she threw her head back and laughed. She felt young and completely alive. Within moments, he’d gone on to another woman, a young twenty something wearing hardly anything at all. The people around her were happy, and it had been forever since she'd felt this way.
The music changed to Salsa, and Rob took her in his arms and pulled her against him. Sexual need lit his blue eyes. He hungered for her. Her skin heated, longing for his touch.
Her smile melted away as the length of his body moved as one with hers, their steps not perfect, but instinctive, powerful. His shoulders muscles bunched beneath her hands. She ran her fingers down his back, and he tightened his hold even further.
They were locked in a dance as sexy and sensual as actually making love. Rob’s eyes never left hers, his mouth only inches from her touch. His hands cupped her hips, guiding them against his own. She shimmied, turned and, with her back to him, danced in a way she’d never done before. Every provocative movement was a gesture of intimacy, of want, of promise. Through music, their bodies touched, sending silent messages to one another. Rob flipped her around to face him again and slipped his thigh between hers. His hands slid down over her bottom, and she gasped at the ache throbbing inside her.
The music changed again, back to a pumping beat. Rob slowly released her, and she regained some of her sense and took a step back. Shocked at her wanton behaviour, her smile was perfunctory.
God, she hoped she hadn’t humiliated herself. She desperately wanted to sit down. What had gotten into her? She turned away from the bonfire and wandered away from the other dancers. Rob kept pace with her.
“Would you like to go for a walk up the beach?”
“No!” She jumped at the harshness of her refusal. “I mean no, sorry, thank you. I think it is time I went back to the beach house.” She gathered up her purse and shoes from the blanket, refusing to make eye contact.
“Cassie...”
“Please, Rob. I must go. Thank you for tonight. I had a great time.” She flashed him a tortured look, silently begging him not to say or do anything else. “Good night.”
As fast as she could run in the soft sand, she left the beach and headed up to the steps to the path. “What a mess,” she cried. Not bothering to put her heels back on, she ran along the shadowy path, away from Rob—wishing she could run away from the feeling he brought out in her, too.

Order ebook from MuseIt Up Publishing

The Breadwinners by Jan Hurst-Nicholson

2011-06-20T14:36:00.000+10:00

THE BREADWINNERS

Jan Hurst-Nicholson

When an ambitious young immigrant opens a bakery incompetition with his vengeful former employer it is the beginning of a bitterrivalry that spans three generations of hatred, jealousy, passion and betrayalas the bakeries grow from small family businesses into large corporations.

It is New Year’s Eve 1924 and the fiery and volatileCharles McGill is devastated when Addy Brody, the woman he loves, announces herengagement to Lucas Connelly, his friend and co-worker. Charles drownshis sorrow in drink and seduces Hilde Richter, the unattractive daughter of awealthy Durban businessman. When Hilde finds she is pregnant her father offersto set up the penniless Charles with his own bakery if he will marry her.Charles readily agrees and, unknown to Hilde, the two men draw up a contract.It is the beginning of a battle for supremacy between Charles, Lucas, and MilesDavenport, their former employer.

As the bakeries grow and prosper, acrimony begins within thefamilies, pitting brother against brother, and Charles becomes increasinglydissatisfied, realising that success means nothing if he cannot have the womanhe loves.

The story covers a period of sixty years and leads usthrough the fortunes, joys and sorrows, successes and failures of the threefamilies as they survive the great depression, the war years and the isolationof South Africa.

At 118, 000 words, THE BREADWINNERS is an epic family sagathat explores the adage, ‘from clogs to clogs in threegenerations’. It is based on the baking industry where the author workedfor several years, and gives revealing insights into the growth of Durban andthe baking industry. It will appeal to readers who enjoy historical fiction setin exotic locations, and those who read authors such as Barbara TaylorBradford, Catherine Gaskin and Belva Plain.

The Breadwinners kindle. Amazon.com http://amzn.to/9JK0zo $0.99

The Breadwinners kindle. AmazonUK http://amzn.to/ahQ2Sk 70p

Regency Buck Antholgy

2011-06-16T17:29:00.000+10:00

REGENCY BUCK ANTHOLOGY
Three novellas
* HOW TO TAME A RAKE
*STIRRING PASSIONS
*LOVE AND WAR
Buy link: http://www.newconceptspublishing.com/books/RegencyBuck.html

Available individually in e-book form

How To Tame A Rake
It was plain to see from the moment Wilhelmina arrived at his country estate that the devastatingly handsome Blake, Viscount Dangerfield, disapproved of most everything about her.

The codicil to his father’s will came as an unpleasant shock to Blake, Viscount Dangerfield. He had no desire to tie himself down at all, let alone to Wilhelmina--a skinny urchin, barely out of the schoolroom, with mousy hair, no bosom, and a hoydenish disposition.

Stirring Passions:
Lord Laurence, Katherine Kilgarth’s childhood companion, has certainly grown up into a stuffy young man! Time was when he would’ve been as intrigued by the strange going’s on at Broughton Hall as she was, but she had no intention, whatever he said, of simply ignoring the intriguing mystery.

Love And War:
She couldn’t accuse him of paying her Spanish coin! Gyles Devereux made it clear he had no wish to marry at all but was constrained by his circumstances. She could not be expected to keep refusing Lord Devereux, she thought crossly. She was only flesh and blood after all. What woman on earth could resist the pleas of a man such as Devereux?

Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison

2011-06-11T13:16:00.001+10:00

Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison

Isabel Hart is afraid of two things, the maze at Trencarrow where she got lost as a young child, and the lake where her brother David saved her from drowning in a boating accident.

With her twenty-first birthday and the announcement of her engagement imminent, Isabel decides it is time for her to face her demons and ventures into the maze. There she sees something which will alter her perceptions of herself and her family forever.

Isabel’s widowed aunt joins the house party, where her cousin confides she is in love with an enigmatic young man who surely cannot be what he pretends, for he is too dashing for homely Laura.

When Henry, Viscount Strachan and his mother arrives, ostensibly to use her ball as an arena for finding a wife, Isabel is determined not to like him.

As more secrets are revealed, Isabel doubts she has chosen the right man, although her future fiancé has more vested in this marriage than Isabel realizes and has no intention of letting her go easily.

Will Isabel be able to put her preconceptions of marriage behind her and take charge of her own life, or is she destined to be controlled by others forever?

Order from MuseIt Up Publishing

The House of Women by Anne Whitfield

2011-06-09T12:06:00.002+10:00

The House of Women by Anne Whitfield

Blurb

Leeds. 1870. Lonely and brokenhearted, Grace Woodruff fights for her sisters’ rights to happiness while sacrificing any chance for her own.

The eldest of seven daughters, Grace is the core of strength around which the unhappy members of the Woodruff family revolve. As her disenchanted mother withdraws to her rooms, Grace must act as a buffer between her violent, ambitious father and the sisters who depend upon her. Rejected by her first love and facing a spinster’s future, she struggles to hold the broken family together through her father’s infidelity, one sister’s alcoholism, and another’s out-of-wedlock pregnancy by an unsuitable match.

Caring for an illegitimate half-brother affords Grace an escape, though short-lived. Forced home by illness and burdened with dwindling finances, Grace faces fresh anguish –and murder– when her first love returns to wreck havoc in her life. All is not lost, however. In the midst of tragedy, the fires of her heart are rekindled by another. Will the possibility of true love lead Grace to relinquish her responsibilities in the house of women and embrace her own right to happiness?

Excerpt

Grace blinked to clear her frozen mind as her mother and Verity climbed the staircase. If Verity was here then was William here too? Movement at the door caused Grace to close her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to open them and see the one man she’d longed for since she was sixteen.

‘Miss Woodruff?’ Doyle inquired at her shoulder.

Startled, she spun to face him, but she was blind to him, blind to everything but the sensation of having William here. Crazily, she wondered if she would swoon like a maiden aunt.

Doyle’s hand reached out, but he quickly tucked it behind his back. ‘What is it, Miss Woodruff?’

Grace swallowed, feeling the fine hairs on her arms and nape prickle. He is here.

‘Good evening, Grace.’

At the sound of William’s deep velvety voice, her heart stopped beating, only to start again at a rapid pace. Her stomach clenched and her legs felt unable to support her anymore. Slowly, she swivelled to gaze into William’s blue-green eyes and knew she was lost again. William smiled his captivating smile. He had aged, no, matured since their last meeting. He looked leaner, but broader in the shoulders. There was an aura about him, something that females of any age wanted. He made all other men around him seem insignificant. A magnetism, a mystical air surrounded him, catching Grace in its clutches once more.

Order The House of Women from Amazon.com, or The Book Depository, which has free postage.

For more information about Anne Whitfield, please visit her website.

http://www.annewhitfield.com

Shadows by Jen Black

2011-06-08T13:05:00.000+10:00

Shadows by Jen Black

Genre: Contemporary romance with ghosts

Blurb:

Melissa thinks she’s taking a huge risk in going on holiday with Rory Hepburn. He may be gorgeous, but she only met him three days ago. But when she sees the old watermill in rural France, she is delighted. Within ten minutes of her arrival, she sees the man in black, but thinks nothing of it. Concentrating more on keeping her secrets and sleeping alone, she is shocked when ghosts disturb her first night at the mill. Not just one ghost, but two. When Christope arrives at the mill, the chic Frenchman regards Melissa as his soul mate, and Melissa knows she’s in real trouble.

A chilling tale, written with humour and drenched in the sights and perfumes of the rural Dordogne, this is a must-read tale for those who like a romance with a ghostly twist.

Amazon UK link:http://www.amazon.co.uk/Shadows-ebook/dp/B0052O4CZ8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1306610637&sr=1-1
Released 24^th May 2011 by Sapphire Blue:
http://www.sapphirebluepublishing.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=118&osCsid=a20ceebd00e8092d01a8a771526ddf5b

This Jen’s fifth published book, and her first contemporary tale. In many ways writing about character in this century is easier than writing about people in the sixteenth or eleventh centuries. Things like brand names, distances, food and fashion are more important for today’s readers because a contemporary hairstyle speaks volumes about a character’s personality now, but much less so in the previous centuries.

Get er Done by Michael Martel

2011-06-07T12:05:00.000+10:00

There's just too much to do!!!

There is a lot to do. There is a lot to do at home or at work. Sometimes it just feels overwhelming. Don't you wish you could be more productive?

The Special Forces Green Berets are known as masters at getting things done. By normal standards, some of their missions would be deemed impossible. Often times they are expected to operate far behind enemy lines with limited resources. Their training gives them principles and techniques in being extremely effective and doing more with less. By using some of their principles you will be able to:

● Plan and use your time more effectively
● Increase your confidence
● Reduce distractions
● Train for success
● Improve commitment
● and much more

Michael Martel uses his real experiences as a Green Beret to illustrate how you can use these techniques in your life to “get er done.” It is a great, interesting read that will make you much more effective in your daily activities.

http://mikemartel.com/get-er-done/

Better Than 8 by Erin Jamison

2011-06-01T09:48:00.000+10:00

Better Than 8 by Erin Jamison

blurb

Amara Simmons has always fantasized about having two lovers but believes it is just that: a fantasy. She likes her men “gifted”, if you know what I mean. At the suggestion of a friend she registers for an online dating website for well-endowed men called betterthan8.com. She believes nothing will come of her site membership but after months of flirting online via email and instant messaging, she’s shocked to discover that she’s fallen for a gorgeous Latin man that has the potential to be her everything – except he never calls and she has no idea why. Nursing a broken heart she is totally unprepared to meet her would-be Latin lover in person much less at the negotiation table of a multi million-dollar real estate deal. In Puerto Rico, passion ignites. Promises are finally fulfilled and the lines of reality blur when her fantasy finally blooms to life. Can Amara have it all: the deal, the man, and the fantasy?

Nettie Parker’s Backyard by CV Smith

2011-05-14T21:07:00.000+10:00

Nettie Parker’s Backyard by CV Smith

Book Blurb:

Nettie Parker’s Backyard is a WWII historical-fiction novel for 4^th-7^th graders. The book tackles important lessons against bullying and intolerance toward race, religion, and the physically challenged. The title character has experienced prejudice as an African-American growing up in the 1920’s American South. Later, while studying nursing in London, a blitzkrieg bombing forces Nettie to spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. But Nettie Parker is strong and never gives up. The values of dedication, commitment, and love come across clearly to the reader as she cares for eight Jewish refugee children. Nettie has inherited some special gifts, one of them supernatural signs which always lead her in the right direction toward helping others. To keep the audience captivated, the story’s values and ethics are woven into the plot with ribbons of mystery and mysticism. When statues suddenly begin appearing in Nettie’s backyard, she is driven to find the reason why, and in the process discovers that love truly is the greatest force of all in a surprise, twist ending.

Excerpt (Introduction):

   I'll never forget the first time the statues started appearing in Aunt Nettie's backyard, and I don't think anyone else in town will ever forget, either. In a small place like Greengrow, South Carolina, everybody knows Aunt Nettie and how special she is. But nobody, not even Nettie Parker herself, realized how powerful her gift really was.
   Of all the citizens in Greengrow I like to think that I know Mrs. Nettie Whitman Parker best. After all, I practically live right next door to her and for the past two years she's been helping me read and write better. Just recently, Aunt Nettie has started tutoring me three times a week in other subjects like beginning algebra and French. I'd much rather speak Gullah with her which is one of her African ancestors' languages. But you can't get school credit for that so we just speak it when we don't want anyone else to know what we're talking about. At the end of each tutoring lesson Aunt Nettie always says, “Halley iz smaat gal an troot ma-wt, haa'kee!” In Gullah that means, “Halley is a smart girl and a truthful person, so listen to her!”
   Everybody who knows Aunt Nettie loves and respects her. I think she's the most wonderful and interesting person I've ever met. She's even a war hero and loves talking about her life as a nurse in London during World War II. Some of my favorite stories are the ones she tells about her African ancestors, and how they were kidnapped from an area called the Rice Coast and made into slaves hundreds of years ago.
   Now, you'd think someone who's lived a life as full as she has and is in their nineties might have to slow down a little, but not Aunt Nettie! In fact, after Jonas, her husband, died last summer it seemed to me that she got busier than ever. I guess it was her way of trying to fill up the hole that Jonas had left in her life. We were all pretty worried about her when he passed away; she loved Jonas so much and for a long time she just wasn’t herself.   Little by little, I think Aunt Nettie’s getting better but I’m not sure she’ll ever really be herself again. She’s trying hard, and every week she visits sick people in the hospital and helps others learn to read at the library. When the weather's good she's usually outside puttering in her garden, and when it isn't she always finds some project indoors to keep herself busy. Aunt Nettie’s home is open to everyone and neighborhood kids often stop by to say "hello". She loves writing letters and considering all the friends and family she has, that could be a full-time job by itself. Don't be fooled into thinking that because she's in a wheelchair she takes her sweet time getting around, either. She’ll whiz down the sidewalks of Greengrow almost daily greeting everybody she passes along the way.
   Although Nettie and Jonas were married a long time and loved children, they never could have any of their own. That's why she insists all the kids in town call her "Aunt" Nettie. To her, all children are her children. It doesn't matter what race or religion they are or if they have physical challenges like she has. Tall or short, boy or girl, every child is special to her.
   Oh, no! I didn't think it was this late! I'm supposed to be at her house right now for my tutoring lesson. Why don't you meet me there? Aunt Nettie won't mind and she always makes plenty of lemonade and cookies. Come on! I'll race you over there!

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

   "Aunt Nettie!" I called through the screen door out of breath. "Are you home? I came so you can help me with my history today."
   "Yes, Halley, I'm here, I'm coming,” Aunt Nettie called as she pushed the screen door open for me.
   "What's that statue doing over there in the corner of the porch?" I asked as I went into the house.
   "What statue? Where?" asked Aunt Nettie.
    "Over there!" I said as I pointed around to the left. "See it? It's just behind the swing," I added. Aunt Nettie wheeled herself through the open screen door onto the wooden porch. Looking in the direction I had pointed Aunt Nettie could just make out the top of a light-gray stone figure. She wheeled herself closer to get a better look. And since I wanted a better look, too, I followed right behind her.
    "Why, it's a sculpture of a young boy," said Aunt Nettie. "He looks like he's about your age, don't you think, Halley? He seems awfully content just sitting there, reading his book with both legs stretched out in front of him. I wonder what he's reading that he's enjoying so much," Aunt Nettie said.
    "Sure, I guess he looks about twelve years old…maybe even thirteen. Why is he here on your front porch?" I asked.
    "I have no idea, Halley. I didn't buy it. There's no card on it so I doubt anyone sent it to me as a gift. The only store around here that sells anything like this is Mr. Peterson's garden shop. Hmmm…this is strange, all right. Well, let's get you some lemonade and cookies and start your lesson. It's probably just been delivered to the wrong address. Bob Peterson and I are old friends. I'll call him when we're finished and ask him if he knows anything about it."
    But later when Aunt Nettie called Mr. Peterson about the statue he didn't know anything about it, either.
    "The only thing I can think of is that my new driver delivered it to you by mistake," said Mr. Peterson. "A statue of a boy was supposed to be delivered to someone who lives way on the other side of town. He must have gotten confused because both your street names and numbers are similar. I'm sorry for the mix-up, Nettie. Say, I'm going to be in your neighborhood tomorrow on business. Is it okay if I come by and pick it up then?"
    "That'll be fine, Bob," said Aunt Nettie. "It's not that it isn't a nice statue but I know somebody will be missing it soon."
    "Of course, Nettie. Sorry for any trouble this caused you," Mr. Peterson said as he ended the call.
   "No trouble at all, Bob. See you tomorrow," replied Aunt Nettie.
    When Mr. Peterson came by the next day to pick up the statue all he could do was rub his whiskered chin and look very puzzled.
    "This isn't my statue, Nettie. I've been examining it and what's even more surprising is that it has no markings on it at all. You see, these types of statues come from a mold. Even though statues can be made by the thousands each one has certain letters and numbers stamped into it. Those letters and numbers match up with production lists, styles, manufacturers and so on. But this one has no markings of any kind! I have no idea at all who made it or where it came from."
   "How can that be?" Aunt Nettie questioned. "If somebody had sent it to me as a gift they would have included a card with their name on it. Otherwise, how would I know who it came from?"
    "Nettie, this statue is much bigger than the one I thought had been delivered by mistake and I didn't drive my truck today. If you leave it on the front porch somebody might try to take it or it could get damaged. Let me use your wheelbarrow and move it around to the backyard for the time being. I'll do some checking to see who might have made or sold it. Until then let's just leave it in your flower garden, all right?" Mr. Peterson asked.
    "All right, Bob, but please try to find out who it belongs to," said Aunt Nettie.
    "I promise I will. Now, don't worry about it…enjoy it for a while!" called Mr. Peterson as he went to get the wheelbarrow.
                                                * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
    Several weeks went by but Mr. Peterson still couldn't find out anything about the statue. He had no idea who had bought it, where it belonged or where it came from. He knew Aunt Nettie liked it and began thinking that maybe she should just keep it. But when a second statue appeared in the backyard next to the first one Aunt Nettie got really upset! She called Mr. Peterson right away:
    "…yes, Bob, I just saw the second statue this afternoon when I went out to water my tomatoes. No, I'm sure it wasn't there this morning or I would have seen it. I know you've done all you could to find out about the first statue. But now that there's a second one I don't think either was delivered by mistake. Somebody is deliberately sending these statues to me--but who, and why? None of it makes any sense at all. If this keeps up I'll have an entire classroom of children out there in no time! What? Oh, the second statue is also of a little boy. He has on an old-fashioned…an old-fashioned…oh, my God!" Aunt Nettie screamed as she dropped the phone on the table. She wheeled herself down the rear ramp and into the backyard faster than I’d ever seen her go before.
    "…Nettie?" yelled Bob Peterson into the phone. "Are you all right? Nettie, are you there?..."
    Whew! You know, the appearance of these mysterious statues really happens later on in the book. The story actually begins with Aunt Nettie's ancestors in Africa hundreds of years ago. She's going to talk all about them in my history class tomorrow because she's the guest teacher. I'm really excited about it and I hope you'll be there to listen, too!

Available as an eBook on both Amazon Kindle and B&N Nook

Author’s website, http://mysite.verizon.net/ressbmks/

Tweet! By Ritch Gaiti

2011-04-13T15:47:00.000+10:00

“Tweet”: one quirky guy takes on big business in a very funny novel
“Tweet” relates a witty and sometimes absurd look into one man’s quest to fight back against big business. The entertaining book is a funny romp through the modern world that engulfs us: the powerless consumer, over-saturated advertising, incessant marketing and big business that has become deaf to the individual. “Tweet” mocks the overwhelming presence of commercialism into the average individual’s life--and his inability to avoid it.

Benhamish Allen’s review on Amazon: “Tweet seeks to answer our questions about change and does so on the border of being fantastically absurd while also humorous, one of my favorite combinations.”

Did you ever feel like you didn't count with big business or the government? Glebe, the driving force in “Tweet”, just wanted to make a difference and he stumbled on a simple answer to a very pervasive problem. A midlife Jewish ex-adman, Glebe partners with Hartwick, a black homeless guy living in a refrigerator box in midtown Manhattan. Together, they embark on a journey that is totally plausible, definitely relevant, and very funny, as they become the voice of the people and take on everything that irks us.

They just asked people ‘if you could change one thing, what would that be?’ and the world opened up. And their target included everything from dumb advertising, to incessant telephone calls, the economy, and being lost in the automated phone jungle. They even take on the vestigial penny. It could have stopped there but, through the power of today's weapons, Twitter and the web, it grew into the first worldwide boycott. Glebe just wanted to make a difference - and he wound up changing the world.

“Tweet” is available as an ebook (ISBN 978-0-615-43704-0) and paperback (ISBN 978-0-983-38370-3).
Published by Sedona Editions, (www.SedonaEditions.com)

About the Author

Ritch Gaiti (www.RitchGaiti.com) writes about of the world that we touch everyday--- making the things that frustrate us the most, suddenly understandable, fixable and funny. He has also written “Points: Women have them, men need them,” a tongue-in-cheek relationship book which can help you ‘be successful in this marriage and all of your future marriages’.

Gaiti has written screenplays and many articles for national magazines and has been featured on national radio and TV, including the Today Show. He is also a recognized artist of western art, exhibiting in several galleries and museums throughout the country. His portfolio can be viewed on www.gaiti.com <http://www.gaiti.com> .

The Reluctant Queen by Freda Lightfoot

2011-04-09T08:06:00.000+10:00

Reluctant Queen

History tells us that when Gabrielle de Estrées was sixteen years old she was so pretty and already in possession of a good figure, that at her mother’s instigation she was sold as mistress, to Henri III. The deal was negotiated through a third party, Montigny, and a sum of six thousand crowns agreed as payment to compensate her for the loss of her daughter. A most unnatural mother if ever there was one. Montigny, however, only remitted her two-thirds of that amount, retaining the balance for himself, and when this came to the king’s ears he lost all favour.

Gabrielle, however, got the worst of the deal as she was passed on from lover to lover, including the Cardinal de Guise. He was her lover for more than a year, until May 1588 when he left for Paris to support his nephew, the Duke de Guise, in what became known as the Day of the Barricades.

For a time Gabrielle felt free, was passionately in love with the Duke de Bellegarde, Grand Equerry of France, Master of the King's Wardrobe and First Gentleman of his Chamber. Henri III, with whom Bellegarde was in high favour, is said to have supported his suit. Unfortunately, Gabrielle was a sprightly, spoiled little miss at this time and was also in love with the Duke de Longueville. Playing one off against the other she couldn’t quite make up her mind which would make the better husband.

She was considered to be a perfect beauty, and the courtiers waxed lyrical on the subject.

‘Blue eyes so brilliant as to dazzle one; a complexion of the composition of the Graces but in which the lilies surpassed the roses unless it were animated by some deep feeling… a mouth on which gaiety and love reposed, and which was perfectly furnished.’…‘fair hair like fine gold, caught up in a mass, or slightly crisped above the forehead.’… ‘the nose straight and regular, the mouth small, smiling and purplish, the cast of physiognomy engaging and tender. A charm was spread over every outline. Her eyes were blue, quick, soft and clear. She was wholly feminine in her tastes, her ambitions, and even her defects.’

Bellegarde was so besotted he foolishly boasted about her to his master, Henry of Navarre, who later became Henry IV of France. And the rest, as they say, is history…

Blurb

The story of Gabrielle d’Estrées is one of love, betrayal, intrigue and tragedy. All she wants is to marry for love, and enjoy the respectability of a happy marriage. But in the court of sixteenth century France this is almost impossible to achieve. She was sold by her own mother to three different lovers before catching the eye of a king.

Henry has a weakness for beautiful women with fair hair and blue eyes, and once he sees Gabrielle, he knows he must have her. She bears him children and he promises to marry her, despite still being married to the exiled Queen Marguerite de Valois.

Is the love of a king enough to secure Gabrielle the happiness and respectability she craves, and a crown for her son as the next dauphin of France?

Here is a short extract from the opening pages of Reluctant Queen.

Part One

Margot

1578

‘My sweet one, I love you more than I can say. I do understand your concern, but no other woman is prettier or more charming than you. I cherish the day Madame de Tignonville, your dear mother, was chosen as companion and governess for my sister when she returned recently from Paris. Otherwise I might never have met you.’

Jeanne cast a sideways glance up at him from beneath her lashes, carefully studying his expression for evidence of his sincerity. This was the King of Navarre she was refusing, after all, not some young courtier with no manners or money to his name. Was that wise? Her caution lay not simply with regard to her virtue, virgin though she undoubtedly was, but with the sad fact that the King was not free as he possessed a wife already. But then Queen Margot remained in Paris, held captive by her brother Henri III and her mother Catherine de Medici. Even as Jeanne heeded her own mother’s wise advice not to yield too easily, she felt giddy with the possibilities of what heights she might reach by capturing the King’s heart. ‘Sire, I must guard my reputation. I am an innocent.’

‘Your innocence enchants me. I adore you.’

‘But how can you say that when you hardly know me?’

‘Your modesty does you great credit, but you are not so innocent as to fail to see how the very sight of you sets my pulses racing. I must have you. I need you by my side, day and night.’

Jeanne was instantly alarmed, a flush of pink flooding her soft cheeks. ‘Sire, you speak wild. I am a maiden. My mother would never consent.’

‘I am not asking your mother. Besides, how could she deny a King?’ he teased. ‘Ah, but I see I am rushing you, my little one. Will you grant me a kiss at least?’

Henry gazed into her blue eyes, entranced. He was all too aware that falling in love was as natural to him as eating the pigeon pie he loved so much, or drinking his favourite Gascon wine. He was quite unable to resist a beautiful woman, particularly one as young and delightful as this one. Her dark hair was so soft that he ached to stroke it, her childlike form so delicate his fingers itched to caress her budding young breasts. He had been pursuing the girl for some weeks now, ever since his sister Catherine had come home, yet she resisted him still.

Capturing her in his arms he attempted to steal a kiss, but at the last moment Jeanne averted her face. ‘What is it my lovely, do I repulse you?’

‘Of course not, Your Grace.’ She looked appalled by the very idea, which soothed his bruised ego somewhat. Nevertheless, Henry very reluctantly let her go.

‘Why then do you deny me? I am not an unkind man, a most generous one in fact, known for my good humour and equable temper. Nor would I ever force myself upon a woman. Ah, could it be that you have never been kissed before?’

The flush deepened and Henry laughed out loud. ‘That is the way of it, eh? An innocent indeed.’ The prospect of teaching this delightful child all about love making excited him more than he could express. What a diligent teacher he would be! ‘Perhaps, as our friendship develops, and if I am very good, you will permit me a little license?’

Soft lips pouted as she considered the matter, blue eyes bright with wounded pride. Jeanne felt confused and untutored in these matters, uncertain how to protect herself and yet not lose his interest completely. ‘I do not see how a maid of honour could dare to refuse a king anything, so I beg of you, Sire, not to presume upon me by asking.’ So saying, she sank into a curtsey and begged leave to depart. Chuckling with delight Henry granted her wish. Oh, but he would enjoy wooing this little one, and one way or another, he would win her.

East End Angel by Carol Rivers

2011-04-06T10:01:00.000+10:00

EAST END ANGEL

Blurb

June 1941, Isle of Dogs, London. In the dark days following the Blitz, happiness visits young Pearl Jenkins as she celebrates her marriage to Jim Nesbitt. But what should be a joyful occasion is marred when a fight breaks out between Jim and Ricky Winters, an unwelcome visitor from Pearl's past. And to Pearl's horror, the new beau of her wayward younger sister Ruby. Increasingly uneasy at staying at home when other men are off fighting for their country, Jim enlists, leaving Pearl at home - alone, pregnant, and at Ricky's mercy...Together, Pearl and Ruby must bring up baby Cynthia while struggling to make ends meet and dodge the doodlebugs. And all the time, Pearl must hide the dark secret she harbours, one which would tear the two sisters apart as well as her marriage. Then tragedy strikes both on the home front and in the trenches and Pearl is forced to fight like never before to keep her family safe.

Excerpt

Pearl glanced at her husband and searched his face. She knew that the two men had always competed fiercely at sport and there had been no love lost between them. Jim had been a popular member amongst his team mates but not so Ricky, a loner. Jim had never possessed any of Ricky’s smooth charm that seemed to set him apart from the others and had turned all the female heads.

‘You could say we were acquaintances, yes,’ Jim muttered coldly.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Ricky nodded. ‘Congratulations.’ His eloquent tone had Pearl’s heart banging against her ribs as his gaze travelled slowly towards her.

‘You two was much older than us,’ Ruby burst out, seemingly unaware of the tension. ‘I was only just left school when you rowed for the club, Ricky. Pearl, you must’ve been what - sixteen?’

Pearl nodded. ‘Yes, about that.’

‘We used to watch the boys in the gym, remember?’ Ruby giggled, nudging Pearl’s arm. ‘ Those other two girls liked a good gander through the window too. That Stella Burns and her mate. They was always throwing themselves at anything in trousers. Dunno what happened to her. Someone said she got - ’ Ruby looked embarrassed. ‘Anyway, that was a long time ago now, but how strange that me and Ricky met up at the pictures again? Remember that film Captain Fury we saw last year, Pearl? Well it was showing again a few weeks ago and Ricky was on a weekend’s leave with one of his mates. I was with Irene Naylor from work. Don’t know how he recognized me but it was that flashy gold band on his arm that caught my eye.’

Pearl had already noted the sub-lieutenant’s gold braid and it was clear that Jim had too.

‘So you’ve joined the reserves?’ Jim said icily.

‘The Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve,’ Ricky corrected in the same tone.

‘Yeah, the wavy navy,’ sneered Jim and Pearl cringed at the derogatory expression. She was not surprised when Ricky retorted, ‘And you, Jim? No uniform?’

‘You’d better help yourselves to something to eat before it’s all gone,’ Pearl suggested quickly, giving Ruby a little nudge.

‘Good idea,’ Ruby nodded as she slid her hand through Ricky’s arm. ‘And I want to introduce Ricky to Mum and Dad. Dunno if they’d remember him, but they might.’

But when they were alone, Jim turned on Pearl. ‘What did you do that for? I can speak up for meself.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’ Pearl was shaken. ‘And don’t bite me head off, Jim. I was only telling them about the food.’

‘They could see the grub clearly enough, couldn’t they? There’s enough to feed the five thousand. Didn’t you see he was having a go at me? And I certainly don’t need you to fight me battles.’

‘You started it, Jim,’ Pearl retaliated. ‘Saying about the wavy navy.’

‘Are you taking his side?’

Pearl went scarlet. ‘Course not. But I don’t want a row on me wedding day.’

‘Wedding or not,’ growled Jim, ‘I’m fed up with every Tom Dick and Harry thinking a man in civvies has no backbone. It’s people like Winters that get my goat. A bloody reservist, I ask you! They think they’re God’s gift to the country. And what the heck is he doing here anyway?’

Pearl shrugged dismissively. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You didn’t know she was seeing him?’

‘No, she never said.’ Pearl wondered why her sister had not told her about Ricky. They spoke about everything and had shared the same room since they were kids. They’d gone to the same school, had the same friends and only gone their separate ways when Pearl started her job in the council offices. Later Ruby had joined Brewer’s the wholesalers on the wharf. When war broke out, Brewer’s was requisitioned by the war office and Ruby had stayed on and joined the assembly line. Ruby was her best friend. They had no secrets, except it seemed, for Ricky...

EAST END ANGEL

ISBN 978-1847398420 Available in paperback from Amazon and Kindle Ereader. Published by Simon & Schuster.

Authors website, http://carolrivers.com

Sultana by Lisa Yarde

2011-04-06T09:48:00.001+10:00

Sultana Blurb

In thirteenth-century Moorish Spain, the realm of Granada is in crisis. The union of Fatima, granddaughter of the Sultan of Granada, with the Sultan’s nephew Faraj has fractured the nation. A bitter civil war escalates and endangers both Fatima and Faraj’s lives.
All her life, Fatima has sheltered in lavish palaces where danger has never intruded, until now. A precocious child and the unwitting pawn of her family, she soon learns how her marriage may determine her future and the fate of Granada. Her husband Faraj has his own qualms about their union. At a young age, he witnessed the deaths of his parents and discovered how affluence and power offers little protection against indomitable enemies. Guilt and fears plague him. Determined to carve his own destiny, Faraj struggles to regain his lost inheritance and avenge his murdered family.
Throughout the rugged frontiers of southern Spain, the burgeoning Christian kingdoms in the north and the desert states of North Africa, Fatima and Faraj survive ruthless murderers and intrigues. They unite against common enemies bent on destroying the last Moorish dynasty. While Fatima and Faraj establish a powerful bond, the atmosphere of deceit creates opportunities for mistrust and tests their love.

Excerpt:

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Safar 677 AH (Granada, Andalusia: July AD 1278)

Fatima endured seven weeks of bitter silence, during which she received no word from Faraj. Her father shared the daily dispatches on the reclamation of the port at al-Jazirah al-Khadra and the defense against the Castillans. Still, no word arrived of her husband’s fate. She retreated into a shell of suffering, filled with self-recrimination. The remembrance of his final words offered little comfort in the emptiness of her bedchamber at night.

On the first cool day of the summer, Sultana Shams ed-Duna insisted she accompany her and the kadin Nur al-Sabah to the souk of Gharnatah. Her stepmother refused Fatima’s initial rebuff.

After prayers, the trio, in the company of Niranjan, the palace guard and some servants, took the route down the Sabika hill and across the bridge of the Hadarro River. The Qaysariyya marketplace spread across the dun-brown plain at the south of the city, extending from the foot of the Sabika hill to the red brick walls of Gharnatah. Jewish and Christian merchants plied their trade alongside their Moorish counterparts, the local goldsmiths, armories, shoemakers, blacksmiths and textile makers.

The Sultan’s guards jostled everyone and made a clear path for the women. Fatima shrank from the resentful gazes of those displaced by the guards’ rough handling. She kept close to Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, who doggedly haggled with the market sellers, while their slaves idled alongside the narrow streets and alleyways. Merchants offered slaves from faraway lands, bartering away their lives as easily as the silk, leather goods, brocades, ivory and olive oil sold in the souk.

The stench of piss and offal in the streets vied with ambergris, musk and incense from a nearby stall. Fatima gripped her stomach, as a wave of dizziness overcame her.

The kadin frowned at her. “Are you unwell?”

“I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded, or smell so bad.”

“Look, it’s a symbol of the Nauar.” Shams pointed to a burnished copper wheel dangling from a tent post under a faded, blue awning. “I have not seen one since I left Fés el-Bali.”

Nur al-Sabah peered over her shoulder. “Hmm, the Gypsies. Is it true they foretell the future?”

Fatima shook her head. “What nonsense they must teach in Christian households. The Nauar speak only in riddles to confuse and delude the mind.”

Shams asked, “How can you be so certain? Have you ever been to one?”

Fatima replied, “I wouldn’t dare. Sorcery and divination is the work of the court astrologer. Ask him anything you would like. I’m sure Father wouldn’t object.”

Then, a heavily veiled woman followed by two eunuchs exited the shop. One of the slaves pressed two silver dirhams into the olive brown hand of a little girl with bulging, black eyes. She took the coins and disappeared into the tent. The other eunuch handed his mistress a silken kerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, before bustling through the marketplace, her slaves following.

“I’d like to go in.” Nur al-Sabah cupped the roundness of her belly jutting beneath the green silk robe. “The court astrologer has promised another girl, but I know the Sultan wants a son. Perhaps the Nauar might know for certain.”

Fatima sniffed at this and looked away. She did not resent Nur al-Sabah’s desire anymore. Still, her father did not need more sons. He already had her brother Muhammad and now Shams ed-Duna’s boy.

Shams ed-Duna tugged at her hand. “What harm could there be if you came with us, Fatima?”

She pulled away. “I forbid it!”

Shams ed-Duna chuckled and Nur al-Sabah rolled her eyes.

Fatima gritted her teeth together and then expelled a sighing breath. “Very well, I’ll indulge you both in this foolishness. Come, let us see this fraud.”

They crossed the street, avoiding refuse and excrement, while a cadre of the guards and their servants surrounded the stall. Niranjan held aside the low curtain hanging over the entryway. Fatima glanced at him briefly, but he averted his eyes from her. She entered first and asked the little girl with black eyes for the fortune-teller. She led them behind a cloth curtain and gestured to the lone seat at a table.

Behind it, a shriveled figure with lips drawn tight over her teeth peered at them in silence. A ring of seashells, all oddly shaped, dotted the edge of the table, with one black pebble in the center. Fatima grinned at this poor mockery of mystic symbolism, but Shams ed-Duna urged her forward.

The gypsy woman bowed her head. “Peace be with you.”

Fatima asked, “And with you. Are you the one who speaks of the future?”

“Do you wish to know the future, noble one?”

Ignoring Nur al-Sabah’s gasp, Fatima leaned forward. “Why do you call me ‘noble one’ when you do not know me?”

“It is what you are.” The woman turned to the girl hovering at her side. Whispering in some language other than Arabic, she waved the girl away. The child soon returned with a cup of fragrant tisane, which the woman offered to Fatima. “It cannot harm you.”

Fatima glared at her companions, both of whom nodded. She drank the brew, bitter to the tongue at first, but sweeter as she continued. She finished and handed the cup to the woman, who said, “If you could swirl the cup, noble one?”

Fatima ground her teeth together, but complied. She set the vessel down with an abrupt clank. A few of the leaves clung to the sides and bottom. Her gaze fixed on the woman who nodded. “We must wait for the leaves to settle.”

When Fatima groaned, Shams pressed a hand against her arm. “Be patient.”

After an interim, the gypsy asked, “What is it that you wish to know, noble one?”

Fatima countered, “Tell me what you see.”

The woman stared into the cup and after a brief interval, she pronounced, “The future of Gharnatah lies within you.”

Fatima smiled at her companions. “You see? An answer, if I can call it such, without any meaning. Just as I expected.” She stood and looked down her nose at the gypsy. “Can your leaves tell you anything about me?”

The woman stated, “Nothing you would believe, princess of Gharnatah.”

Nur al-Sabah pecked at her arm and whispered something, but Fatima stilled her and leaned toward the gypsy. “Why do you call me a princess?”

“It is what you are. As I have said, the future of Gharnatah lies within you. Already, you carry one of its heirs in your womb, your son, who shall become the Sultan of Gharnatah.”

Shams ed-Duna pressed her hand against Fatima’s shoulder, but she shrugged her stepmother off. “If you knew anything of me, you would know that no child of mine could ever be Sultan. It is treason to suggest it, when the Sultan already has an heir. Besides, I would know if I am with child.”

“I speak only of what I see, noble one. You are a princess of Gharnatah. You carry a son. One day, he shall become the Sultan. Such is the fate that awaits you, whether you would wish it or not.”

Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison

2011-04-05T19:40:00.001+10:00

Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison - out June 2011

Book Blurb

Isabel Hart is afraid of two things, the maze at Trencarrow where she got lost as a young child, and the lake where her brother David saved her from drowning in a boating accident.
With her twenty-first birthday and the announcement of her engagement imminent, Isabel decides it is time for her to face her demons and ventures into the maze. There she sees something which will alter her perceptions of herself and her family forever.
Isabel’s widowed aunt joins the house party, where her cousin confides she is in love with an enigmatic young man who surely cannot be what he pretends, for he is surely too dashing for homely Laura?
When Henry, Viscount Strachan and his mother arrives, ostensibly to use her ball as an arena for finding a wife, Isabel is determined not to like him.
As more secrets are revealed, Isabel doubts she has chosen the right man, although her future fiancé has more vested in this marriage than Isabel realizes and has no intention of letting her go easily.
Will Isabel be able to put her preconceptions of marriage behind her and take charge of her own life, or is her life destined to be controlled by others?

Excerpt

The long case clock in the entrance hall worked its way to chime the hour with a clunk and mechanical whine. Isabel slid her hand over the newel post, large as a man’s head at the bottom of the stairs; patting the carved wood three times to banish evil spirits, a childhood ritual her siblings raced each other to perform first.

The fragrance of lavender overlaid with the tang of vinegar permeated the hall; a combination used by the servants to bring life to rooms that had lain empty since winter.

A murmur of raised voices from behind the green baize door to the basement sent Isabel scurrying into the morning room. Crossing the marbled floor, she pushed through the casement door onto the terrace; the route to the outside with the quietest hinge.

A smoky mist rose from the meadows in a blue haze of early morning as her feet skimmed the stone steps onto cropped, spongy grass that leached dampness into her thin soles. Strutting fantails scattered at her approach with indignant squawks.

Tucked into a corner of the grounds, the maze sat behind a railed enclosure. Squat and menacing in geometric perfection, two stone lions stood sentry on either side of an entrance which gaped - black, beckoning.

The loamy earth and damp leaf smell propelled Isabel back to her sixth birthday, when she had become lost in a dark labyrinth of strange noises. No matter how much her siblings teased her since, she had never come near it again.

In two weeks, she would be twenty one; far too old to be frightened of a few hedges. Time to banish the monster forever. While the rest of the family slept off their fatigue of the previous day’s journey from London, this post-dawn silence offered a perfect opportunity. The lush green foliage looked anything but threatening now, and yet she still had to force herself over the threshold and onto the path.

Her shoes crunched on fine gravel as Isabel crept to the end of the first corridor and turned left into a straight tunnel. The waxy leaves on an untrimmed hedge brushed her cheek as she rounded a corner. A shadow at the edge of her vision darted away in a scurrying of either claws or wings. Halting, she ran her hands down the sides of her skirt and fought the urge to turn back.

The statue of a boy on a stone plinth changed her mind. Sightless eyes gazed straight ahead, the folds of his breeches buckled below the knee. He looked smaller than she remembered, a French horn held in dimpled fingers, and a mass of short curls like thick worms carved in stone.

Reciting the route she had worked out a hundred times from her bedroom window, a burst of confidence sent her through the next gap into a small clearing where white colonial roses covered a wrought iron ornamental arch, its ivory blooms exuding a sweet, cloying fragrance.

Their unexpected beauty stilled the moment and Isabel paused, entranced. Had she got this far on that long-ago birthday, how different her childhood might have been without the insidious fears the maze always engendered. Her foot raised to move forward, a movement caught her eye. She turned, and sucked in her breath.

The scene before her made no sense.

Tall and imposing in his ubiquitous charcoal grey tailcoat, his dark hair touched by silver wings at the temples, Father stood with his arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s nurse.

Amelia clung to him, her head tilted to receive his kiss; her long, white fingers entwined in his hair. Fingers that messed the pristine order in a way he would never have tolerated in a hug from Isabel.

Pressed close, he held his broad hand spread across Amelia’s back, while with the other. . .

Isabel backed away, pressing against the hedge where sharp privet scratched the base of her neck. Like a small child caught in a misdemeanour, she waited as the seconds passed, each loaded with anticipation of her father’s voice raised to summon her back.

Apart from a low rustle and a murmur of wind, the maze remained still and silent.

Isabel bounced onto her toes and ran. Her heart pounded in rhythm with each step as she pleaded with the fates she had chosen the right path. The statue of the boy flashed past and giddy with relief at the sight of the entrance looming ahead, she burst between the hedges into bright sunlight.

Her skirt threatened to wrap around her ankles, but she reached the far side of the lawn without mishap. The arched wooden gate in the wall at the bottom of the garden stood open and hurtling through, she shouldered it shut. The click of the latch sounded over loud and the old wood cut into her shoulder through the fabric of her blouse.

Her hand clutched her chest to massage away a sharp pain. Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped. That’s where his hand lay, on Amelia’s. . .

A lump formed in her throat and indignant tears welled.

Slowing to a walk, she propelled her feet along the pathway through an avenue of trees, whose overhead branches formed a canopy to shelter walkers from the sun.

Beneath a gnarled oak that had stood witness to the sighs and laugher of generations, she slumped down on the weather-beaten slats of a curved bench; a favourite spot for childish dreams and sulks.

Her unbound hair tugged by a breeze, she stared unseeing at quiet beauty that was Trencarrow Lake. Bulrushes grew in clusters at the shoreline on one side; an untidy row of birch trees bordered the other. A squat, blue boathouse on stilts reached over the surface like a painted toy on a carpet of water lilies.

Surrounded by parkland, the main house lay a quarter of a mile back from the coast, tucked behind a rise and protected from the worst of the west winds blowing in from the sea.

Each year carved its own memories of Marazion, where Isabel’s family spent their Cornish summers. Some were happy and sun-filled, re-lived best on cold winter evenings; while the demons of others ambushed her when she least expected. In spite of everything, Isabel loved it here.

A rush of dismay brought a choked sob to her throat, and her eyes filled again, blurring the landscape into a swirl of green.

How could Papa behave so? And with Amelia, of all people. How long had their liaison been going on? Since Mother became sick? Before? Had he brought Amelia into their house to care for Mother, when all the time . .?

An image of their bodies locked together invaded her head, and she bit her lip. The intimacy of Father’s touch convinced her this morning was not the first time they had been together in that way.

The rattle of a mower sounded in a distant field, and the tang of hay filled the air. Her thoughts swirled and tumbled, until anger replaced misery, and a headache threatened.

A startled blackbird burst from a nearby bush, and the branches overhead creaked and collided in a sudden gust of wind to spray her skirt with drops of water.

“What are you looking so miserable about?” Isabel jumped at the familiar voice.

The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen

2011-04-05T07:45:00.000+10:00

Blurb:
A country-bred girl, Charity Barlow never expected to become a Marchioness. Nonetheless, she is determined to make her marriage of convenience into the ton work. Yet despite the strong attraction between them, and Charity’s bold attempts at intimacy, the rakish Lord Robert does not believe a husband should be in love with his wife. Can she ever make him love her?

Excerpt:
The footman knocked on a solid oak door.
‘Enter.’
She stepped with trepidation into the room to be embraced by warmth. A fire blazed in the baronial fireplace where a liver-spotted spaniel lifted its head to study her. After a thump of a tail, its head sank to its paws again, lulled back to sleep by the heat. Above the fireplace, the painting of a hunting scene featured several dogs. Two tall china spaniels flanked the fireplace mantel. The heavy oak beams across the ceiling, and walls covered floor to ceiling in shelves of tomes made the room seem snug. Charity rushed over and crouched on the Oriental rug beside the animal, giving it a pat. The dog’s tail thumped harder. ‘You’re a nice fellow, aren’t you?’ Her stiff cold muscles loosened, and the icy pit at the base of her stomach began to thaw. Maybe she could be happy here. She loved dogs.
‘Welcome to Castle St. Malin.’
A man rose from behind a massive mahogany desk strewn with papers in the corner of the room. He crossed the room to greet her. He was not her godfather. She caught her breath. He was tall, his dark hair drawn back in a queue, and there was something of the marquess’ haughty demeanour about his handsome face, but she doubted he’d yet reached thirty.
‘Thank you.’ Charity could only stare at his attire, her gaze locked on his gold silk waistcoat as he bowed before her. He was in mourning, for black crepe graced the sleeve of his emerald green coat. With a sense of foreboding, she curtseyed on wobbly knees. ‘Where is the marquess, if you please?’ She looked around hoping her godfather might pop out of somewhere, but the room was otherwise empty.
‘I am the Marquess of St. Malin. My uncle passed away a short time ago.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’ What she feared was true. Charity had an overwhelming desire to sit and glanced at the damask sofa.
He reacted immediately, taking her arm and escorting her to a chair. ‘Sit by the fire. You look cold and exhausted.’ He turned to the footman. ‘Bring a hot toddy for Miss Barlow.’
Charity sank down gratefully, her modest panniers settling around her.
‘I find the staff here poorly trained,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what my uncle was about.’
‘Why did you send a carriage for me?’ she asked, leaning back against the sofa cushions. ‘I wouldn’t have come had I known.’
‘I thought it best to sort the matter out here and now.’ He rested an elbow on a corner of the mantel and stirred the dog with a foot. ‘Shame on you, Felix. You might accord Miss Barlow a warm welcome.’ He looked at her. ‘My uncle’s dog; he’s mourning his master.’ He raised his brows. ‘Notice of my uncle’s passing appeared in The Daily Universal Register.’
‘We don’t get that newspaper in my village.’
‘You don’t? I wasn’t aware of you until the reading of the will. Then I learned of your parents’ death from my solicitor. I’m very sorry.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry, too, about your uncle.’
‘My uncle fell ill only a few months ago. He rallied and then …’ The new marquess’ voice faded. He sighed and stared into the fire.
‘You must have been very fond of him,’ Charity said into the quiet pause that followed. Though, if she were honest, she felt surprise that the cool man she remembered could have provoked that level of affection.
He raised his eyes to meet hers and gave a bleak smile. ‘Yes, I was fond of him. He always had my interest at heart, you see.’ He sat in the oxblood leather chair opposite and rested his hands on his knees. ‘I am his acknowledged heir, and the legalities have been processed. I’ve inherited the title and the entailed properties. The rest of his fortune will pass to another family member should I fail to conform to the edicts of his will.’
'His will?’ Charity gripped her sweaty hands together, she couldn’t concentrate on anything the man said. Her mind whirled, filled with desperate thoughts. With her godfather dead, where would she go from here? Her heart raced as she envisioned riding off along the dark cliffs to join a theatre troupe, or become a tavern wench.
‘This must be difficult for you to take in, and I regret having to tell you tonight before you have rested. But I’m compelled to move quickly as you have no chaperone and have travelled here alone …’
She raised her chin. ‘There was no one to accompany me.’ She would not allow him to make her feel like a poor relation, even though she was quite definitely poor. And alone. She hated that more than anything. What had her godfather left her? She hoped it would allow her some measure of independence and wasn’t just a vase or the family portrait.
The footman entered, carrying a tray with a cup of steaming liquid. Charity took the drink and sipped it gratefully. It was warming and tasted of a spicy spirit. She found it hard to concentrate on his words, as her mind retreated into a fog and her eyes wandered around the room. She finished the drink, which had heated her insides, and allowed her head to loll back against the cushions. Her gaze rested on her host, thinking he would be handsome if he smiled. She was so tired, and the warmth of the fire made her drowsy. What was he saying?
‘It’s the best thing for both of us, don’t you agree?’
She shook her head to try and clear it. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
He frowned. ‘The will states we must marry. Straightaway, I’m afraid.’
‘I … What? I’m to m-marry you?’ Placing her cup down carefully on the table she struggled to her feet, fighting fatigue and the affects of whatever it was she’d just drunk. Smoothing her gown, she glanced at the door through which she intended to depart at any moment. ‘I have no intention …’
His lips pressed together in a thin line. ‘I know it’s perplexing. I didn’t intend to wed for some years. I certainly would have preferred to choose whom I married, as no doubt would you.’
Her jaw dropped. What kind of man was this? She had been raised to believe that marriage was a sacred institution. He made it sound so … inconsequential. She stared at him. ‘The will states I must marry you?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what it states.’ He rose abruptly with a rustle of silk taffeta and moved closer to the fire. She wondered if he might be as nervous as she. ‘Unless I’m prepared to allow my uncle’s unentailed fortune go to a distant relative. Which I am not. As I have said.’ His careful tone suggested he thought her a simpleton. Under his unsympathetic gaze, she sank back down onto the sofa. ‘You are perfectly within your rights to refuse, but I see very few options open to you. As my wife, you will live in comfort. You may go to London to enjoy the Season. I shall give you a generous allowance for gowns and hats, and things a lady must have.’ His gaze wandered over her cream muslin gown, and she placed a hand on the lace that disguised the small patch near her knee. ‘What do you say?’
She tilted her head. ‘I shall receive an allowance? For gowns, and hats, and things a lady must have.’
‘Exactly,’ he said with a smile, obviously quite pleased with himself. ‘I see we understand each other perfectly. So … do you agree?’
What was wrong with this man? Slowly, Charity released a heavy sigh. She could barely contemplate such a thing as this, and yet he acted as though he’d solved all the problems of the world with fashion accessories. She had hoped for a small stipend, but marriage! And to a complete stranger. She couldn’t! Not for all the gowns and hats on earth. She straightened up in her chair and lifted her chin. Her words were clipped and precise, and she hoped beyond hope he would accept her decision gracefully. ‘I say no, Lord St. Malin.’
‘No? Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘How disappointing,’ he said quietly.
She gulped as his heavy-lidded eyes continued to study her from head to foot. She was uncomfortably aware that the mist had sent her hair into a riot of untidy curls, and she smoothed it away from her face with both hands as she glanced around the room. She tucked a muddy shoe out of sight beneath her gown and then forced herself to meet his gaze. Might he like anything of what he saw? Her father loved that she had inherited her mother’s tiny waist, and she thought her hands pretty. His lordship’s gaze strayed to her breasts and remained there rather long. She sucked in a breath as her heart beat faster. When their eyes met did she detect a gleam of approval? It only made her more nervous.

ISBN: 9781844718425

Salt Publishing Buy link: http://www.saltpublishing.com/ebooks/reg
Amazon Kindle Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/The-Reluctant-Marquess-ebook/dp/B004NBY2EW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=A24IB90LPZJ0BS&s=books&qid=1297546064&sr=1-1

Author website: http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com