Spotlight: Temptation Rag by Elizabeth Hutchison Bernard

From the author of The Beauty Doctor, Finalist for the 2018 Eric Hoffer Book Award, 2017 AZ Literary Awards, and a Medallion Honoree of the Book Readers Appreciation Group.

Seventeen-year-old May Convery, unhappy with her privileged life in turn-of-the-century New York City, dreams of becoming a poet. When she meets the talented young Mike Bernard, an aspiring concert pianist, she immediately falls in love. But after their secret liaison is discovered, neither is prepared for the far-reaching consequences that will haunt them for decades. As Mike abandons serious music to ruthlessly defend his hard-won title, Ragtime King of the World, May struggles to find her voice as an artist and a woman. It is not until years after their youthful romance, when they cross paths again, that they must finally confront the truth about themselves and each other. But is it too late?

The world of ragtime is the backdrop for a remarkable story about the price of freedom, the longing for immortality, and the human need to find forgiveness. From vaudeville’s greatest stars to the geniuses of early African American musical theater, an unforgettable cast of real-life characters populates this richly-fictionalized historical saga.

Excerpt

The women making their way down the avenue, cheeks glowing from the cold, eyes burning with conviction, came from every stratum of society, the wealthiest to the poorest. This was no picket line, no stubborn demonstration by a handful of militants hoping for a small headline in the morning paper. This was a force to be reckoned with, a force to which the politicians in Washington would have to answer, sooner or later. These women were betting on the numbers; there were too many of them to ignore.

But despite the impressive turnout, the suffragettes were clearly outnumbered. The street was lined with tens of thousands of onlookers, some only curious but others intent on undermining the women’s morale. They included men of all descriptions, from common laborers in canvas and khaki to office types in overcoats and gray bowlers. Men presumably with loving mothers and sisters, devoted wives, obedient daughters. Men who no doubt considered themselves inarguably civilized but, in the blink of an eye, had changed into quite the opposite. Their relentless heckling was predictably rude, shockingly hateful.

The arrogance of these ill-mannered naysayers only served to harden May’s resolve. But their voraciousness made her nervous. The policemen stationed along the parade route didn’t seem to be taking their assignment too seriously. Rather than pushing back on the crowd, they appeared perfectly happy to let the worst of the rabble-rousers do whatever they wished. Already a few had crossed the line that separated spectators from protesters, the authorities either unaware or simply choosing to do nothing.

As she headed down the parade route, trying not to let her uneasiness get the best of her, May thought of what Rosamond told her on the night they met, as they sat at her kitchen table sharing a fine bottle of Madeira. Freedom isn’t yours until you make it yours, not until you decide there’s simply no other way to live. Back then, she had only the vaguest notion of what he meant. She was too caught up in her self-inflicted misery; the only way she knew to express herself was through suffering. Her headaches had nearly driven her mad. But she had stopped seeing Dr. Adams long ago. Her need for him disappeared once she resolved to channel her anger and frustration in more productive directions—her poetry and the suffrage movement, work as vital to her now as the air she breathed.

There were some who argued that today’s parade, with its theatrical flag-waving, mounted brigades, marching bands, and floats, would only engender hostility. It would end up setting the movement back, they said, not moving it forward. May had sided with those who believed the time had come to stop begging and start demanding, and she felt honored to be among those selected to ride on horseback near the front of the parade. Granted, over the years, proceeds from sales of her books had provided substantial support to the cause. But she preferred to think she was singled out because of the voice she had given to the movement through her poetry, which had achieved a popularity far exceeding her expectations.

Still, in the midst of all the praise and notoriety, at times she couldn’t help feeling like an imposter, the kind of person who preaches one kind of life while living another. After all, her marriage was, and always had been, a hoax. It had become even more unbearable since her father’s death. Not surprisingly, Teddy seemed to believe that the passing of George Convery gave him license to treat her however he pleased. His disdain for her appeared no longer to have boundaries.

“Help! Somebody help!”

The screams came from behind her. Twisting in the saddle, she saw that a small group of men had stormed the procession. She watched in disbelief and horror as several of them began ripping signs and banners of protest from the suffragettes’ hands, snatching the women’s hats from their heads, pushing them to the ground, or grabbing them by the arms and attempting to drag them off the street.

Dear God, how could this be happening? Where were the police? The parade organizers had been assured by DC officials that crowds would be contained, the marchers would be protected. Why was no one in authority lifting a finger?

May signaled to the several other women on horseback who were close by, all of them now aware of the unfolding chaos. Without having to utter a word, everyone seemed to understand what must be done. May was the first to turn her horse around. She had never been more terrified; the last thing she had planned on was becoming a vigilante. But how could she simply stand by as her sisters were spit upon, brutalized, and literally kidnapped off the street?

She took a tremulous breath, then dug her heels into the animal’s side.

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About the Author

Elizabeth Hutchison Bernard is an award-winning author of historical fiction. Her novel The Beauty Doctor is a suspenseful tale that takes place in the early days of cosmetic surgery—when the world of medicine was a bit like the Wild West and beauty doctors were the newest breed of outlaw. Temptation Rag: A Novel immerses readers in the bawdy atmosphere of vaudeville and early twentieth-century African American musical theater in a story about the price of freedom, the longing for immortality, and the human need to find forgiveness.

Elizabeth currently lives in Arizona with her husband and their much-loved and very spoiled black Lab.

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Spotlight: The Cowboy's Honor by Amy Sandas

Publication date: 2/26/19

Three runaway brides

Determined to escape their fates

Flee West to find freedom that can only be had in a cowboy’s arms…

Courtney Adams never questioned the future her parents laid out for her…until the day she was to marry one of Boston’s elite. Desperate, she flees the church in a flurry of bridal finery and trades her pearls for a train ticket to Montana—only to be mistaken for a surly cowboy’s mail order bride!

Dean Lawton doesn’t want a wife—especially not some fancy Eastern lady he believes his brother “ordered” behind his back. Yet one mistake leads to another, and before the dust can settle, he finds himself married to a woman who challenges him at every step…and sets his wounded heart ablaze. But the clock is ticking on this marriage of inconvenience, and soon Dean must decide: convince Courtney to remain in his arms, or lose her light forever…

Excerpt

“Is there a hotel in town where I might procure a room for a few days?”

“Miss Mabel has a boardinghouse down the road, though I don’t know for sure if she’s got any open rooms.”

Courtney smiled her thanks to the postal clerk, already envisioning a quaint but comfortable room with clean sheets on the bed. Maybe even a hot, tasty meal. She had given up on finding food that was near the same quality she was accustomed to, but she would settle for edible and filling right now. She couldn’t very well expect a rugged town in the Western Territories to provide the same levels of comfort as a big city back East. She had left Boston in search of a new life. It was time to embrace all of what that meant.

As she stepped onto the boardwalk, blinking against the bright summer sunlight, Courtney didn’t realize she had stepped right into someone’s path until it was too late.

And of course, it had to be Mr. Martin.

What should have been just a very brief bumping of elbows and shoulders became much more when he took swift advantage of the encounter by wrapping his arms around her in an exaggerated and unnecessary attempt at steadying her.

Courtney immediately put her hands up to try to shove him away, but her efforts were ineffectual. He was intent on holding her close.

“It’s my lovely traveling companion,” he exclaimed. His face was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. “What a pleasure to run into you again so soon.”

“I would thank you to release me, sir.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. I never did get your name.”

“And you never will. Now let me go,” Courtney stated more forcefully. Her stomach turned in distress as she glanced around to see if there was anyone who might come to her aid.

“Let the lady go.”

Despite their low timbre, the words were spoken from behind her in such a hard and forceful tone that Mr. Martin’s grip around her waist loosened as though on command. She did not waste time in giving a solid push against his chest and wrenching free. She quickly backed away from Mr. Martin’s grabby reach, which brought her closer to her unknown rescuer.

Turning to acknowledge the man who had come to her aid, all she saw was the expanse of a broad male chest covered by a faded blue cotton shirt. The scents of horse and leather and sunbaked earth filled her nostrils. Distracted and still a little distressed, she felt her foot catch in the twisted length of her skirts on her next step, and she started to stumble. Warm, rough, capable hands grasped her arms as the stranger held her secure until she regained her balance. A low sound escaped the man’s throat as his hands dropped away.

“My apologies,” he muttered as he stepped back from her. The velvety texture of his voice soothed and flustered at the same time.

Courtney took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure after the discomfiting experience of being handled so familiarly first by Mr. Martin and then by the tall stranger. She wasn’t used to such treatment…but while Mr. Martin’s assistance had caused only irritation, this stranger certainly deserved her thanks. She corrected her posture and made sure her expression was perfectly neutral before she lifted her chin, prepared to utter a swift expression of gratitude.

The words never made it past her lips.

In fact, everything—her train of thought, her breath, time itself—just stopped.

The man stood a few inches taller than her and wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat that blocked the sun, giving her an unimpeded look at one of the most handsome faces she had ever seen.

His skin was bronzed from exposure to the sun, and a hint of sandy-brown beard shadowed a hard jawline and square chin. Though his mouth was pressed into a firm line, it didn’t disguise the masculine beauty of his arched lips beneath a well-shaped nose and strong cheekbones. His features were put together in a way that was rugged yet undeniably attractive.

But his eyes—pale blue like a summer sky brushed with wispy clouds—were what had given her the intense little shock of awareness. It was like being woken up from a hazy dream. Everything just suddenly became more vivid, more…awake. His gaze held a hint of impatience as he looked down at her from beneath a furrowed brow.

While she stood dumbfounded, he swept his stunning gaze over her person.

His hard expression tensed even more as he took in the sight of her elaborate wedding gown before finally returning to her face. Only now, instead of impatience, she saw the glimmer of something more in his eyes.

She had to consciously tell herself not to react to the way he eyed her so openly. Keeping her expression calm and unruffled under this man’s intense regard was not an easy task, especially now that she was dealing with strange little sparks that had ignited beneath her skin everywhere his gaze had fallen.

She was accustomed to inciting admiration in the gentlemen of her circles—she had been told she was beautiful often enough throughout her life to believe it was so. But she could not say she had ever inspired the flash of irritation she noted in his eyes when he finished his perusal.

He sent a focused glare toward the post office behind her before looking down at her once again. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, his smooth-textured voice a strange contradiction to his harsh visage.

He was scowling. At her.

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Spotlight: The Confessional by K. Nilsson

The Confessional
K. Nilsson
Publication date: February 20th 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Psychology student, Grace Fleming, is addicted to meaningless hook-ups in random places, impulsively following a script for self-destruction and bad behavior. She suffers from nightmares and a patchwork of flashbacks that leave her in a fugue state. Unsure what they mean, she goes to therapy, seeking answers. Is her mind conjuring them up or are they past encounters she’d blocked out?

Saint is a private investigator of dubious character. He will take almost any case, but his favorite includes entrapping married women into infidelity. Saint is hired to keep a watchful eye on Grace while keeping his identity a secret. The paradox tempts him; is Grace, a devil in disguise or an angel with a crooked halo? When he finds himself in a compromising position, Saint quits. He soon regrets resigning when he discovers a sinister threat to her safety, and it may be the reason for the nightmares.

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EXCERPT:

Finn was working his shift, watching Grace from a side street near her house in Hollywood Hills. I went home to shower and eat something. Four hours later, he called.

“Grace’s going somewhere… she’s been dolling up for the last hour,” he said. “You can see that close?”

I was wondering what else he’d seen.

“If only you knew,” he chuckled. “The glass butterfly roof makes it easy viewing with the drone.”

“Do you want to follow her? If not, I can do it. I have no plans tonight,” I said.

“I need the money, boss. How about we do it together? I need to install the tracker app on her phone, and maybe you can distract her.”

I agreed. I’d wanted to meet this girl since taking the case. She hadn’t gone anywhere outside her usual radius ever since she returned home.

I was getting into the car when Finn sent me a text.

Finn: Grace is on the move, I need to follow her.

Me: Where is she?

Finn: She started up that little fireplug of hers and got on I-10 toward Santa Monica. I’m on her tail.

Me: I’m switching to the hands-free mode. I’m driving.

Finn: Oh, forgot about that. I am switching modes too.

Ten minutes later, I was right behind her.

Me: I’m on the highway. I think I see the Bug.

The VW Bug was like a toy, changing lanes seamlessly as if it were in a video game. If I got too close, Grace might see my car. It’s a little flashy for a private investigator, but it was perfect for driving in Southern California. I didn’t want to be spotted, but I wasn’t about to let her lose me. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to drive toward the beach at the same time as she, would it?

Grace pulled up in front of a nondescript little piano bar near the beach. The electric blue neon sign flashed its name, Place Pour Steaks. I got there just in time to see her hand keys to the valet and saunter in; her hips swaying from side to side.

Me? I was playing catch-up all the way. I screeched to a stop in front of the other parking attendant and tossed him the keys.

My 1962 Skylark convertible, though a little beat up, was my pride and joy.

“See this fifty-dollar bill? It’s yours when I leave if you park it over there.”

I pointed at a slot that said Reserved.

Once inside, I took two minutes to find Grace. She’d scrambled up to the bar as if the house was on fire. I looked around for the usual suspects—girls down for whatever and putting in the effort to get noticed. I wanted to meander over to Grace right away, but I couldn’t look as if I was stalking her.

She sat on the stool at the far end of the bar, her right leg elongated, the ball of the foot anchoring her in place, while she rested her left on the stool’s spindle, watching, scoping, and evaluating. It looked as though she had gone to the same school of surveillance as me.

Grace’s platinum blonde hair was in loose waves around her shoulders. She was wearing a style rich girls do well, casual, edgy, and expensive. An off-the-shoulder soft leather jacket, accented with zippers and buckles, was one breath away from slipping down her arms, even though it wrapped her upper body like a glove. A black lace strap appeared to be an afterthought. I wanted to lick her skin all along the edges of the lace and up into her collarbone.

Grace wore the RL signature crisp, white, linen shorts. She encased those long legs in a pair of black over-the-knee boots by MB, an Italian leather shoe designer. As an investigator, I notice these details. If I didn’t have a professional agenda regarding Grace Fleming, I’d know every inch of leg inside the boots. I leaned in close to her and tried to get the bartender’s attention, but instead, I hoped to get hers. First impressions were everything, but I didn’t know what kind of image I’d present, because my interest in the Fleming girl was strong. I shuttered my face into an expression I’d perfected, dispassionate eyes that veil what I’m thinking or feeling.

“Sir?” prompted the bartender.

“I’d like Scotch neat with a glass of water.”

“Would you like ice in your water, sir?”

“No,” I said, turning my palm down with a slight back-and-forth motion.

I stood close enough to Grace to inhale her scent, vanilla, and oranges, with a hint of clove mixed. It was a heady concoction. I wondered if her whole body tasted like sugary breakfast cereal. She turned toward me, and our eyes locked.


Author Bio:

K. Nilsson’s love of reading began with the Bobbsey twins. When she ran across some Italian True Romance novellas stashed in the attic, the musty serials hooked her on adult fiction. Though black and white photos were dramatic enough to know what the stories were about, she taught herself to read in Italian and translated them to her friends.

She’s an unapologetic reviewer of books, restaurants, and vacation destinations. An amateur photographer, K. loves taking editorial photos and documenting her travels. Her personal philosophy, sleeping is a waste of time.

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Spotlight: Hot for a Cowboy by Kim Redford

Publication date: 2/26/19

Two flames burn way hotter than one...

Eden Rafferty has lost it all: big time career, high-profile marriage, and just about everything she owns. Coming back to Wildcat Bluff with her tail between her legs, the only person who can help her heal is cowboy firefighter Shane Taggart. But nothing is simple, and their high-octane past is just the beginning of their current problems…

Excerpt

After Shane left, Eden sighed in satisfaction, feeling more at home than she had in years. They were carrying on a long-held tradition in their families of eating together at the dining table. She opened a cabinet and selected the white plates with black barbwire motif around the edges that brought back fond memories. She set them on the table along with silverware and napkins.  

Fortunately, she’d already had her shower and put on a red T-shirt, cutoffs, and flip-flops. All she needed to do now was make a meal for them.

As she set to work, she noticed she was happily humming a tune. She stopped in mid-pie-slice. She didn’t remember being happy like this when she was married to Graham. They were always running here and there, trying to find time for each other or maybe not trying hard enough.

She glanced around the kitchen—cabinet to countertop, refrigerator to stove, cookie jar to toaster. Who knew such a small thing as putting together a meal in a beloved home could make her feel so happy? Suddenly she realized that it didn’t require being a star, talking to a large audience, or taking home a big paycheck to feel sublimely happy. It just took being with the right man in the right place at the right time.

And in that moment of clarity, she felt every single last brick—thud, thud, thud—drop out of her protective wall. With that sudden change came a feeling of vulnerability but also a feeling of freedom and new beginnings. Home sweet home.

She picked up the platter of sandwiches and carried it to the table, where she set it in a place of honor. She walked back into the kitchen and picked up the aqua-tinted glass pitcher of sweet tea. As she poured the amber liquid over ice in matching aqua glasses, she hummed to the sound of crackling ice.

After she added the glasses to the table setting, she cut two big wedges of pie, set them on dessert plates, and carried them to the table. She stepped back, proudly looking over her creation with pleasure. She’d never been a happy homemaker with Graham. They’d been too busy, too distracted, too often gone from home. Now she wanted the happiness she remembered from childhood when warm cookies, cold tea, and simple sandwiches eaten with loved ones made life special and worthwhile.

When she heard Shane’s footsteps in the hall, she felt her heart pick up speed. Just the idea of eating a meal with him completed her happiness.

When he wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her back against his broad chest, she felt tears fill her eyes. How long had she wanted to be loved and treasured like this?

“Table looks pretty,” he whispered as the heat of his breath fanned the delicate whorls of her ear. “But you’re a whole lot prettier.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She placed her hands over his arms and held him tight, feeling the fabric—gone soft and pliant from so many washings of his cutoffs and T-shirt—rub against her.

“I’m about to choose you over food.”

“Don’t you dare! I worked long and hard on those sandwiches.” She tried to twist out of his embrace, but he simply spread his hands across her stomach and held her tighter.

“You’re going nowhere till I let you.”

She knew that was true because of his superior strength but also because she wanted to stay nestled in his arms. And yet, she wanted them to sit down at the table and eat together like a family, as they had done so many times when they were young. “Sooner we eat, the sooner we get to the hot tub.”

He groaned, as if in great pain, nipped her earlobe, let her go, and quickly sat down in front of a plate.

She joined him at the table, savoring the moment as she looked across at him and picked up her glass of tea.

He grabbed his sandwich, took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Real good, but I know something better.” He gave her a steamy look with hazel eyes gone dark.

She gave as good as she got as she bit into her sandwich, wishing she’d made them smaller, anything to get to the hot tub as quickly as possible.

By the time they got to the pie, she almost giggled because they were wolfing down the food as if they were at an Olympic event.

“Pie’s better than I expected,” he said as he quartered the piece and made it disappear.

“It’s good.” She took smaller bites, but she was in no less hurry to be done and gone. She’d had enough family time at the table. She wanted her hands on him and his on her.

He drained his glass of tea, picked up his plate, and stood up. “I’ll set this in the kitchen and go get a bottle of wine. Meet you at the hot tub.”

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Spotlight: Bad Influence by Stefanie London

Publication date: 2/26/19

He’s the bad bachelor who inspired it all…

Annie Maxwell had her whole life figured out…until her fiancé left her when his career took off. If that wasn’t bad enough, every society blog posted pictures of him escorting a woman wearing her engagement ring. To help the women of New York avoid guys like her ex, Annie created the Bad Bachelors app. But try as she might, Annie just can’t forget him…

For bank executive Joe Preston, his greatest mistake was leaving the love of his life when she needed him most. Now, all he wants is to make things right—and she won’t have him. But when Annie’s safety is threatened by a hacker determined to bring down her app, Joe is the only one she can turn to. He’ll have to lay himself on the line to prove to Annie that he’s a changed man. But will their hard-won bond survive the revelation that Annie is the one pulling the strings behind Bad Bachelors?

Excerpt

“You’re not thinking about seeing him again, are you?” Darcy shoved the sleeve of her sweater up, exposing her elaborate tattoos. “Please tell me you’re not in self-destruct mode.”

“I’m not,” Annie said, unsure which of the two things she was actually addressing.

She should be repulsed by the thought of having Joseph back in her life. Spitting in anger that he’d waltzed back into Manhattan and was hanging around “their place” without warning her. But the fact was, Friday night had shifted something between them. He’d come to her rescue when she’d needed him.

This time. Let’s not forget that his presence and attention are conditional.

Darcy pulled on a pair of pink rubber gloves and wrenched Annie’s mother’s old, squeaky taps. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not thinking about seeing him again.”

The answer should have been an immediate absolutely not, but the words didn’t spring to Annie’s lips. “Maybe it’ll give me some closure.”

“It’s been three years. What other information could change the way you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“The answer is none. Nothing will change what happened.” She squirted detergent into the basin and Annie watched the luminescent bubbles multiply under the hot water. “Think about the reasons why he might want to talk to you. Stay the hell away. Trust me, your sanity will thank you.”

Of course, she knew Darcy was right. When Joseph had walked out, she’d fallen to pieces. Her friends had helped put her back together. They’d crashed at her place that first night—Darcy and Remi sleeping on the cramped pullout sofa bed—to make sure she got up the next morning and ate a proper breakfast. They’d stood by her while she called her boss and asked for a few days off to deal with it. They’d plied her with wine and pizza and cheesy movies.

They’d gone to the hospital with her after her mother’s mastectomy, held her hand, and promised her that everything would be okay. Things he should have done.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Her mother appeared in the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips. Only she wouldn’t be smiling if she actually knew that their “boy talk” was about he who should not be named.

Darcy shot Annie a look. “Your daughter is harassing me about my charity run.”

Connie snorted. “That sounds like her.”

“Ma! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Her mother walked over and wrapped her arms around her, her head barely coming up to Annie’s chin. She smelled like lemon and sweet basil and perfume. Like always. It struck Annie, even now, that her mother’s shape was so permanently changed. She’d decided not to have reconstructive surgery after the double mastectomy—one to address the cancer and one as a preventive measure—having always hated her huge bust. But they’d never actually talked about it. And Annie hadn’t wanted to pressure her mother when she knew it was still a painful topic.

Her mother and Sal had always been determined to “protect” their kids from anything painful in life, including their health problems. At the time, they’d hid Connie’s diagnosis until it was decided she needed to have surgery. Had Annie known about her mother’s situation earlier, she might never have agreed to go to Singapore. Perhaps with that on the table from the get-go, things might have turned out differently between Annie and Joseph.

But it hadn’t, and knowing her parents were inclined to harbor such big secrets had made Annie jittery. And untrusting.

Wow, and the hypocrite of the year award goes to…?

“You know I love you, topolina. But you are a giant pain in the ass sometimes.” Connie’s loud laugh ricocheted off the worn linoleum and weathered walls.

“Charming,” Annie replied, extracting herself from her mother’s embrace and heading behind the breakfast bar to gather more dishes. “Let me know when we want to do dessert, and I’ll get some coffee going.”

“Soon. The girls have gone for a walk and the boys are in the garage.” She attempted to muscle her way into the kitchen to help, but both women waved her away.

Connie rested against the breakfast bar. Her once-chocolate-brown hair was now peppered with gray. The lines had deepened around her eyes, which still had a mischievous twinkle, and she wore her signature bright-pink lipstick.

To Annie, she would always be the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. And the bravest.

“So,” Connie said. Annie’s ears pricked up at her tone. It was the I’ve heard something interesting tone. “When were you going to tell me Joseph is back in town?”

Darcy made a choking sound and Annie froze, her back to her mother as she dried one of the white ceramic platters. “Huh?”

“I ran into Zia Mariella at Costco, who said she’d had lunch with Anna-Maria from down the street, and she had spoken with Petra—Petra who’s married to Tony—whose grandson works for one of the banks, and he read an article saying Joseph is now the chief something-or-other.”

Annie blinked as her brain took the necessary time to catch up with her mother’s story. “Wait, which Petra?”

Connie ignored her question and narrowed her eyes. “Did you know?”

Darcy looked like she was about to back out of the kitchen, so Annie grabbed her wrist, shooting her a Don’t you dare leave me look. Crap. What was she supposed to do now? She never lied to her parents. Ever.

“Uhhh…”

“You did know.” Connie’s lips flattened into a line so thin that almost all of the pink lipstick disappeared. “How could you not tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to know, to be honest.” Annie tucked her hair behind her ear. Shit. This was not a time for her tells. When it came to dealing with her mother’s warpath, the mantra needed to be: Show no weakness!

“Well, I do.” Connie planted her hands on her hips. “So now I can tell him to leave again. He’s not welcome in this city.”

Her mother would definitely freak the hell out if she knew he’d been in Annie’s apartment.

“Thanks, Mayor Mama. I’ll be sure to revoke his Connie visa.” She rolled her eyes.

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Author website: www.stefanie-london.com

Spotlight: His Scandalous Viscountess by Sorcha Mowbray

Once upon a time, a boy and a girl fell in love…but prestige, power, and a shameful secret drove them apart.

Julia fled abroad after the death of her husband, Lord Wallthorpe. She has finally returned to England, but little has changed. 

Except for her. 

As a dowager marchioness, Julia lives and loves where she pleases. And the obnoxious son of her dead husband does not please. But what can an independent woman do? Why, create a scandal, of course!

Viscount Wolfington is no stranger to the wagging tongues of the ton. Between being a Lustful Lord and the scandal of his birth, he learned long ago that society had little use for him. So when he walks into The Market and finds the woman who once stole his heart being auctioned for a night of debauchery, he jumps at another chance to hold her–even for just a single night.

As Julia and Wolf unravel their pasts, will villainy win again, or will love finally conquer all? 

Excerpt

February, 1862

“Gather round, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we have a most unique entertainment.”

Madame de Pompadour’s voice quivered with excitement as Grayson Powell, Viscount Wolfington, walked into The Market. He was late, but the unusual announcement grabbed his attention.

Despite the frustration that pulsed beneath his skin—not uncommon after a confrontation with his father—curiosity had Wolf veering away from the stairs and edging into the back of the half-filled salon.

The attractive madame continued her pitch, exciting the men, and a few of the women. “In a rare occurrence for an establishment such as The Market, tonight we shall have…an auction!”

Murmurs ran through the crowd. Moving closer, Wolf couldn’t help but find himself intrigued. Auctions occurred all over London, but most of them were of a questionable nature, typically featuring a virgin prize. He found the practice disturbing for multiple reasons, primarily because if the woman being auctioned was in fact a virgin, it was doubtful she was participating of her own free will.

Most of the time, the woman in question was not a virgin at all, which meant the buyer was being duped. Toss in the notion that buying and selling human beings smacked of slavery—a practice he could not condone, and England had outlawed in 1833—and all around it made the auctions an objectionable practice.

All of which made The Market holding one entirely outside the norm.

“The woman up for bid this evening is not a virgin.” Madame paused, drawing out the moment. “In fact, she is a woman of experience, who has been a wife to a peer of the realm and lover to a desert sheik. Tonight, she seeks an enthusiastic lover—or two—for a night of unrestrained passion.”

Wolf spotted his friends, Flint, Linc, and Arthur, milling about toward the back of the crowd. He stepped up and greeted them with a quiet nod.

“Interested in the auction, Wolf?” Linc grinned, a clear indication that he was most certainly intrigued by what Madame might have on offer.

“Not particularly. I have my doubts about these spectacles. Honestly, I would have thought The Market above such practices,” Wolf said and returned his focus to the front of the room as Madame raised her hands to quiet the murmuring crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lady Eatifi ‘Ahmar.”

Wolf’s heart suddenly leapt from his chest, only to lodge in his throat. A woman had appeared next to Madame de Pompadour, her hair a deep, fiery red that seemed to ignite in the gaslight. She might call herself Lady Eatifi ‘Ahmar now, but Wolf would know Julia Fairchild—or more aptly, Lady Wallthorpe—even if she were covered in robes from head to toe. And covered, she was not.

Next to him, Linc murmured, “Bloody hell, that woman is brazen. Wanton and brazen.”

And she was. Julia stood before a room full of mostly men wearing a puffy-sleeved chemise that ended far short of where such a garment should. Just below her breasts, the material banded and stopped, leaving her torso uncovered and exposed to all and sundry. The rest of the garment reappeared at her waist, creating a full-skirted look that swished about her ankles, offering suggestive peeks at her lower legs. Around her hips, she had wrapped a brightly colored scarf and a coin-draped belt, which tinkled as she paraded around the makeshift stage in her bare feet.

When she stopped at one end, she turned and flicked her hips, causing the coins to jangle and the material to swirl about her legs. Wolf’s mouth felt as though he’d ridden across the dells, only to be rewarded with cotton in lieu of water.

Finally, Lady Eatifi ‘Ahmar returned to Madame’s side and finished her tempting display with a shimmy of her shoulders that set everything to jiggling in the most enticing manner.

And with that, the bidding commenced.

“One hundred pounds from Lord Glennmore,” Madame announced.

It took mere moments for the bidding to reach a thousand pounds. With each subsequent raise in price, Wolf’s fury swelled.

How could Julia do such a thing? What of the scandal this would mire her in?

Had she no care for her reputation?

He listened to the lascivious men call out ridiculous sums of money for the privilege of slipping between her long legs, all the while watching for the point when the bidding slowed.

Wolf leaned over to Linc and nudged his friend. “How much blunt do you have on you?”

“Not interested?” Linc jabbed an elbow in his ribs. “I’ve got seven thousand pounds. Hit a run of luck at the tables tonight.”

“Can I borrow it? I’ll write you a draft on my bank.”

Linc grunted and handed him the wad of cash. “I don’t want the money. Share her with me.”

Wolf’s gut churned. Could he do such a thing? There was a time when he had been deeply in love with Julia. But he’d long ago closed off that part of himself, and willed it to wither and die. His intervention tonight was nothing more than common decency, a way to ensure she didn’t suffer at the hands of some pompous, overblown lord who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I plan to release her from any obligation to us.”

Linc sighed. “I rather figured. Go on, then.”

As the offers reached the five-thousand-pound mark, Wolf made his move. “Ten thousand pounds. Ready.”

The room grew quiet, except for a few mutters of annoyance from the previous highest bidders. Madame looked fit to burst, she was so pleased. Julia appeared surprised, almost as if she couldn’t fathom such a large bid.

Or perchance it was because it had come from him?

“Sold to Lord Wolfington!”

Madame’s excitement bubbled over, even as Julia leaned over and whispered in her ear. The enigmatic owner of The Market merely held up her hands, as if to say it was already done, and Julia frowned in response.

A few men grumbled, but it was clear Madame had achieved whatever her goal was, and she would not continue the auction.  

Wolf pressed through the now-dispersing crowd until he reached the raised platform. Stepping up, he towered over the petite Madame de Pompadour, as usual, but the statuesque Julia still all but looked him in the eye. Years ago, when they had been young, her height and her refusal to appear of lesser stature was one of the many things he’d loved about her.

Wolf bowed over the proprietress’s hand. “Good evening, Madame.” And then he turned toward Julia, who automatically lifted her hand. Good manners always won out—even hers, so it seemed. “Ju—Lady ‘Ahmar, such a lovely surprise to see you again.”

Madame waggled her eyebrows. “Ah-ha! Now I understand. You know each other already.”

“Yes, we were acquainted many years ago,” Wolf replied. “But alas, she left me behind and gallivanted off to tour the world with her new husband.”

The bitterness over that turn of events was hard to squash down again, since it currently felt as though someone had ripped the bandage off the wound, causing it to seep anew.

“Well, that is what one does when they are deserted on a London street corner and left to be married off.”

Julia’s green eyes flashed sparks he’d never seen from her before. When he’d known her, she had been strong-willed, but soft-spoken

“And I suppose one also stays away from England for nearly ten years after his death?” Wolf let one of his brows rise, his anger refusing to be quelled.

“Such passion between you two, it gives me chills.” Madame’s eyes appeared glassy, and her cheeks flushed. “Alas, we must conduct business before pleasure.”

“Of course, Madame.” Wolf looked about and spotted his friend standing nearby. “Linc, can you take Lady…uh, ‘Ahmar, upstairs? I’ll be along in a moment.”

“My pleasure.” Linc held out his hand and assisted Julia down from the platform. Leaving Wolf to quickly follow Madame into her office to settle their business.     

When he finally headed upstairs to find Julia and Linc, he tried to tamp down his more hedonistic instincts. He’d told Linc he planned to let her leave unmolested, which he fully intended to follow through with. But images of her standing on the dais with her torso exposed kept flashing through his brain. All that smooth, creamy flesh bared, and then the small peeks of her ankles as she’d stood barefoot.

Next his dastardly mind retrieved images that took him up her calves, over her thighs, and presented him with the notion of feasting on her sweet pussy. His cock flexed in his trousers, rising to the occasion, regardless of it being all in his mind.

Determined to be a gentleman, he willed his lusty thoughts to retreat and his shaft to soften as he steeled himself to see the woman he had once wanted more than his next breath.

~ ~ ~

Julia sat beside the man Grayson—no, Wolf—had called Linc.

Wolf? She tested the name out in her head, and thought about the man who had strode onto the makeshift stage to claim her. There had been a predatory quality to him that had not been part of the young man she had once known and loved. The moniker suited him far more than Grayson.

Linc eyed her speculatively as she sat across from him in the growing quiet. “Lady ‘Ahmar, it appears you have already met Lord Wolfington.”

Julia tried not to sigh as she thought of the idyllic young man she’d once known. “We were neighbors, many years ago.”

The blond man seemed to ponder that notion for a moment. “You must have been quite young.”

She couldn’t repress the smile that came to her lips as she remembered their youthful romps across the countryside near Marribone Manor, and then later, when they’d met again after he finished school and she had been launched into Society. He had acted the earnest, doting suitor during her first seasons, and made her believe in fate and fairytales.

While not the daughter of a peer, Julia’s father had been very successful in his business endeavors, which had afforded them the ability to move amongst the ton. Of course, as she later learned, that had all been done with a very precise purpose. Specifically, for her to marry into the peerage, thereby making her parents related to that upper echelon of Society versus the fringe dwellers they had been relegated to as nouveau riche upstarts.

“We were young and blissfully ignorant of gender and class expectations at the time.” Not to mention naïve about how unreliable love could be. Following her heart again was not a mistake she would make anytime soon. Memories of her past tasted bitter on her tongue, even as she waited for the source of all her heartache to reappear.

The door suddenly swung open, and she peered at two men and the ladies that accompanied them. However, Wolf was not among the small party.

“Hello!” One of the men, whose short-cropped hair fell in a soft wave of golden brown across his forehead, lifted a glass of amber liquid in a salute. “Where has Wolf gotten off to? I figured you two would be relishing your spoils by now.”

Julia’s cheeks heated at the obvious reference to their having won her in the auction. She drew a deep breath. She had known what would occur. Had even arranged for the event downstairs, but that knowledge didn’t mitigate the fact she had all but been forced into the event. Nevertheless, she had intended to make the most of an untenable situation.

Why shouldn’t I have the opportunity to explore a new sexual experience while holding the jackals of Society at bay?

Linc glared at the friendly man. “Hold your tongue, Dunmere. Lady ‘Ahmar is our guest.”

Dunmere’s eyebrows rose, but he ceased asking uncomfortable questions, which Julia was grateful for.

Then the door of the room swung open once again, and this time Wolf strode through, looking fiercely determined. About what, she had no idea. However, she hoped it had something to do with having hot, sweaty sex with her. And if that happened to include the boyishly handsome Linc, all the better. The man owed her a little pleasure after all the pain he’d caused.

“Julia—uh, Lady ‘Ahmar.”

Wolf seemed unsure for a moment as he pulled up short and stopped.

She rose to her feet. “Please, Julia is fine. My identity is no great secret, despite the nom de guerre.”

“Very well.” He nodded sharply. “I came to escort you home.”

“Home?” She was confused by his words, as images of the two men wrapped around her still teased her brain.

“Yes. Shall we?” He indicted the door, which he held open.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “I believe we have some business to attend to first.”

Wolf’s golden-brown brows drew down over his clear blue eyes. “We do not.”

Her spine stiffened in indignation. “On the contrary, you won a night of sexual adventure with me, and I have no plans to renege on that promise.”

Just then, a group of noisy men and women stampeded past the open door of their room.

She let one brow rise. “Perhaps we could have this argument with less of an audience than the one both currently in the room with us, and the one passing by?”

Wolf grunted and waited until the man called Dunmere and the rest of his party departed. Then he closed the door with an imperious thud. “I bid on you with the full intention of releasing you from your obligation.”

Julia drew a deep breath. The man was going to be impossible about this. With no warning, she turned and wiggled onto Linc’s lap as he sat in a wing chair. Completely caught off guard, he had no chance to block her maneuver.

“Unfortunately, I have no such good intention on my part,” she continued. “You bid on me and won, and I fully intend to extract my night of pleasure from you and your friend. I believe you won together, did you not?”

Linc looked distinctly uncomfortable as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed her breasts closer to his chest and face. He coughed, then answered. “Yes, I provided some blunt.”

“Excellent. It was my preference that two men would win the night with me. Wolf, will you be joining us, or am I to be disappointed by you once again?”

She winced inside at her reference to their past, but she needed to move him off the mark. She needed to know what having Wolf as a lover might be like, just this once. Because despite her lingering anger with him, her body still responded to his mere presence.

To her excitement, Linc appeared to be game for her plan. His cock grew harder by the moment beneath her thighs. She turned her face so she was close to his ear and could whisper to him. “What will it take to get him to join us, do you think?”

“This secret conversation alone might do the trick,” Linc whispered back. “But if not, then maybe you could kiss me. That ought to get him moving…though hopefully not to punch me in the face.”

She chuckled and then leaned in and captured Linc’s lips with her own. Pushing past his teeth, she swept in to taste the whisky on his tongue and explore his mouth. He met her with a vigorous twist of tongues that reminded her of what it was to have a man touch her again. It had been nearly a year since she’d last felt the touch of a desirable man in his prime. And Linc fully met both requirements.

Though Wolf might easily obliterate the competition if he would remove himself from hovering near the door like a clucking hen.

And then his presence suddenly loomed over them, casting a shadow from the gas lamps along the wall. Rough hands, like those of a laborer, cupped her face and pulled her mouth from Linc’s. As she turned to look up at Wolf, their gazes met. His expressive blue eyes had shifted to a more stormy gray, and he slammed his mouth down on hers in a move that was pure declaration.

Julia’s senses reeled as Wolf kissed her. He tasted of man, and the faint hint of mint, which triggered the echo of a memory as their tongues tangled and twined. The wet slide was an erotic caress that had her nipples hardening and her pussy dampening in immediate response. Then one big hand slipped around to the back of her neck and hauled her up and off Linc’s lap. Once she was standing, Wolf pressed closer to her, deepening the kiss, as though he wanted to crawl inside her.

Behind her, Linc rose and pressed closer to her back, sandwiching her between them. He unfastened her belt, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled tinkle. Then he loosened the scarf at her waist and slipped it free from her hips.

Wolf broke the kiss, finally retreating for a much-needed breath. Julia’s head spun as she tried to take in the truth of the matter. The man she’d dreamed about for a decade was here in her arms, if only for one night.

How could she let the opportunity to bring every fantasy she’d had to life pass?

Wolf’s tumultuous blue gaze bore into her, demanding the truth. “Do you truly want this, Jules?”

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About the Author

Sorcha Mowbray is a mild mannered office worker by day…okay, so she is actually a mouthy, opinionated, take charge kind of gal who bosses everyone around; but she definitely works in an office. At night she writes romance so hot she sets the sheets on fire! Just ask her slightly singed husband.

She is a longtime lover of historical romance, having grown up reading Johanna Lindsey and Judith McNaught. Then she discovered Thea Devine and Susan Johnson. Holy cow! Heroes and heroines could do THAT? From there, things devolved into trying her hand at writing a little smexy. Needless to say, she liked it and she hopes you do too!

For more information about Sorcha, please visit her website, “Like” Sorcha on Facebook and follow her on TwitterInstagram and Goodreads. Join Sorcha’s newsletter to be the first to hear about upcoming releases. She’s loves hearing from her readers. Email her directly at sorcha@sorchamowbray.com