First Excerpt from 'The Duke of St. Giles'

I'm excited to share the very first excerpt from my upcoming historical romance, The Duke of St. Giles, with you today! To be honest it was difficult picking just one page to share with you. There are so many juicy interactions between Emily and West to choose from, I had a hard time narrowing it down to just one. Guess that means I'll have to share more in the near future!

Excerpt from Chapter Two - The Duke of St. Giles

The battered coach creaked to a halt. There was a loud thump outside the door as the coachman dismounted, followed by the muffled sound of voices as footmen from the inn shuffled up to assist in unbuckling the trunks from the roof. In a less seedy establishment West wouldn’t have bothered unloading all of his belongings, but he knew the sort of crooks that frequented The Three Pigs, just as he knew anything left behind in the carriage would be gone by morning. It was the main reason he’d elected to travel in his oldest coach, a rickety old beast of a vehicle that would neither incite jealousy nor attract attention.

“I told you,” he said, turning his attention back to Emily. She watched him like a hawk, her blue eyes intent on his face and her lips compressed in a thin white line. “We’re in Guildford.”

“I do not know where we are, but this is certainly not Guildford. You lied to me,” she accused, jabbing a finger at his chest.

West shrugged. “So I did. But I could hardly let you know exactly where we were going, could I? You have been kidnapped, Princess. I really don’t have to tell you anything.”

She didn’t like that, and he was rewarded when she grinded her teeth yet again. “Are we even going to Southampton?”

The door opened with a whiny creak to reveal West’s coachman and personal valet, a thin, weedy looking man with a thatch of greasy blond hair protruding from the brim of his hat. His jacket was ill fitting and there was a yellow stain on his sloppily tied cravat, but despite his questionable hygiene Max was one of West’s most loyal men. He was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, often taking on two jobs at once as he was now. He was also one of only three people West could trust with his life, and the only person he would trust with Emily.

“Are ye ready?” Max asked, his watery brown eyes flicking from West to Emily and back again.

“Certainly. If you would assist my wife out first—”  

“Your wife?” Emily squeaked.

West’s teeth flashed in a grin that would have been the envy of the Cheshire cat. “I told you there were a few things we needed to discuss. You can be my mistress if you like, but you’ll need to pick one or the other. Unless, of course, you would like every male within ten miles breathing down your neck. This isn’t Grosvenor Square, Princess. Any woman not attached to man is considered fair game, so I suggest you play whichever part you pick very convincingly.”

“Couldn’t I be your sister?”

“No.”

She scowled at him. “Why ever not?”

“Because they’d know it was a lie.” Uncoiling his long, lanky body West leaped down from the carriage and extended his arm. “I would never stare at my sister the way I stare at you.”

Their eyes met, angry blue clashing against amused gold. West waited for her to throw a tantrum – something he knew all women were prone to do when they didn’t get their way – but to his surprise she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and jumped down beside him before he had time to assist her.

Standing side by side their differences in height could not have been more obvious. The top of Emily’s head barely reached his shoulder, but what she lacked in size she more than made up for in temperament.

“I will pretend to be your mistress,” she said, surprising him yet again, “for if we are going for believability, I doubt anyone would think it plausible that someone like myself would agree to marry someone like you. You’re a rogue of the worst order, you know.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. With a little huff of breath she drove her heel into the ground, shoved her bonnet down over her head, and stomped past him.

Look for The Duke of St. Giles, the first novel in the exciting new Rookery Rakes trilogy, on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo this April! Until then, make sure to add to your TBR list on Goodreads. 

Excerpt from 'The Runaway Duchess'

As the release date for my first full length historical romance draws closer and closer (May 10th to be precise) I suppose I should actually start spreading the word... And convincing people, starting with you, that you absolutely HAVE to read it! If you haven't yet added it to your Goodreads TBR list, just click right here. Super easy, right? 

If you have a book review blog and you are interested in recieving an ARC of The Runaway Duchess (it will be in PDF format) send me an e-mail at jaeaton@mail.com -- all of the advanced reader copies will be sent out ten days before publication. I'll also be doing a few giveaways. If you're interested in hosting one of them, shoot me an e-mail as well! Heck, even if you just want to say 'HI!' you can e-mail. 

But anyways, as promised by the title of this blog post, here is another excerpt from the novel. In this scene Charlotte is having afternoon tea with her fiancee, the yucky old Duke of Tarrow who she is being forced to marry against her will. Enjoy! 

Excerpt from The Runaway Duchess

They moved outside to the back lawn and sat across from each other at a wrought iron table that was shaded by a large mulberry tree. Plucking a fallen leaf from the ground, Charlotte twirled it absently between her fingers while she discreetly studied her new surroundings. Everything was manicured with ruthless precision. Not a single blade of grass grew out of line. There were no flowers. Dark green hedges higher than her head formed a barrier around the lawn, preventing anyone from looking out or, Charlotte thought with a shudder, stopping anyone from looking in. What monstrosities had happened here in this stale, stagnant place? How long had the Duke’s wives suffered in silence before they died? A chill ran down her spine as she imagined them trapped here, like pretty birds in a cage, unable to break free.

She jumped when she felt fingers close around her hand, and with a visible shudder she tried to pull free of the Duke’s grasp but he held on, his fat, fleshy fingers clinging with surprising strength to her wrist.

“You have very soft skin,” he murmured as he skimmed his thumb across her knuckles before his grip tightened, wringing a soft cry from Charlotte’s lips.

She had petted an iguana once. The lizard’s skin had been cold and dry, and even though its tongue had flicked in and out and its beady eyes had followed her every movement, she felt as though she were touching a dead thing. The Duke’s flesh reminded her of the same, and the bile she had suppressed earlier upon entering his house rose yet again. “Your Grace, I do not believe this is very proper—”

“We are engaged to be married,” he interrupted. “Surely a simple touch here…” – his fingers began to inch their way up her arm – “…or there would not hurt anything.”

Charlotte stood up so fast her chair was knocked sideways. The momentum pulled the Duke halfway across the table before he released her arm, leaving angry red marks on her skin from his bruising fingers. “You may not touch me without my permission,” she said sharply, feeling more assured of herself now that there was distance between them.

His cheeks flushing with color, the Duke heaved himself to his feet but remained on his side of the table. “Impertinent wench,” he growled, his top lip curling. “You would do well to address me with respect.”

“Why? You are an old, lecherous man and if you were the last person on earth I would not marry you. I will not marry you,” she declared, driving the heel of her boot into the soft ground. The sound of the Duke’s soft laughter set her teeth on edge, and she stared at him incredulously. “What is so amusing about that? Did you not hear what I said? I am not going to marry you! I refuse.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she sighed with relief. There would be no marriage. She should have put her foot down – both literally and figuratively – weeks ago.

Still chuckling under his breath, the Duke said, “You foolish, stupid girl. Did you think it would be as easy as that? Did you think once I had you I would let you go? No.” He shook his head. “No, once gained I do not let my possessions slip through my fingers. You are mine. You belong to me.”

Available on Amazon May 10th! 

Excerpt from 'A Gentle Grace'

You have all been waiting so patiently for the release of 'A Gentle Grace' that I just had to give you something to nibble on. While the fourth and final installment in the Wedded Women Quartet is still slated for a late November release, there is quite a bit of work to be done. First and foremost, I need to write the ending. Now, this might seem quite obvious -- after all, when one writes a romance don't they know from the beginning who the heroine will end up with? Alas, such is most definitely not the case with this story. In fact, Grace will have TWO gentlemen to choose from when all is said and done. If we should all be so lucky... 

This excerpt is taken from the end of the first chapter. Grace isn't in it, but Catherine, Margaret, and Josephine are. They are determined to make their friend happy, even if that means taking matters into their own hands. Since this is the last novella of the quartet, I have made it a point to include all four friends. Grace does, of course, have the starring role and as always AGG can be read as part of the quartet or as a standalone, but for those of you who have followed these four friends from the beginning, I wanted to send them all off with a bang. Or, in this case, a scheme. 

EXCERPT FROM A GENTLE GRACE

Outside in the chilly February air, the three women exchanged uneasy glances as they waited for their respective carriages to be brought around.

“Do you think she will be all right?” Margaret asked.

“Heavens if I know,” Josephine said. “But did you see the state of that house? Everything save the furniture has been sold off.”

Catherine nodded solemnly. “The rumors are true, then. What should we do?”

“Do?” Josephine echoed, arching one brow. “There is nothing to do. If we offer to help her she would see it as pity. No, the only thing to do is to hold our tongues and pretend we do not know Grace’s family is on the brink of financial ruin.”

“I hate Lord Melbourne,” Margaret declared vehemently, kicking at a ball of snow and sending it rolling out across the cobblestone street.

“As do I,” said Catherine.

“If he were on fire I would not spare him a thimbleful of water. What?” Josephine asked when Margaret and Catherine both turned to stare at her. “I wouldn’t. The man is no better than a low lying snake and I tried to tell her—”

“We all tried to tell her,” Catherine interceded.

“No, you tried to tell her in the beginning. But you gave up after a while. I was the only one who besmirched his character on a regular basis.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “What she needs is a husband. Someone wealthy, but not so wealthy as to make him arrogant.”

“And someone kind, but not so kind as to have no ideas of his own,” Catherine said.

“And someone handsome, so she will have a splendid time in bed. What now?” Josephine asked in exasperation when Catherine sighed and Margaret rolled her eyes.    

“I believe you missed the point,” Catherine said.

“I did not realize there was one.”

“The point,” Margaret called over her shoulder as her carriage pulled up and she hurried towards it, “is that it is up to us to find Grace a suitable husband before her family loses everything. I will see you on the morrow! Have a lovely night.” And she was gone.  

“Up to us?” Josephine echoed as she stood up on her tip toes to peer down the street, searching for her own carriage amidst the growing traffic. The hour was getting late, and everyone was eager to return to their homes before night set in and the temperature dropped even further.  

“Up to us,” Catherine confirmed with a nod. “Do you think you are up for the task?”

“Of finding Grace a husband before her family finds themselves on the streets?”

Catherine nodded again, and Josephine smiled.

“Darling, I have just the man in mind.”  

new excerpt from a lascivious lady

For all you romance lovers out there, here is a new excerpt from A Lascivious Lady, the third novella in the Wedded Women Quartet, coming to Amazon in August! And don't forget to add ALL to your Goodreads to-be-read list. Just click here!

Her lips pinching at the thought, Josephine reached out and plucked the box from Traverson’s hand. It was lighter than she expected it would be, and her fingers fumbled clumsily with the latch before she drew back the top.   

“It is an insect,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “Traverson, you have gifted me with a bug.”

“A cardinal beetle, to be precise. Quite difficult to find. I preserved him in wax and glued an attachment to the back so you can wear it as a pin.”

Josephine closed the box with a sharp little click and did her best not to shudder. It really should come of no surprise that her husband’s first present to her would be one of the insects that he so loved to study. The man was positively fascinated with anything and everything that crawled in the dirt or lived under a rock.

Setting her new “jewelry” aside on a table, she skimmed a hand through her loose curls and smiled tightly. “How very kind of you, dear. Now if you do not mind, I must get dressed. Thank you ever so much for paying me a morning call, however I fear my day is filled with appointments and I must bid you adieu.”

“You are doing it again,” Traverson said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Lying. You do it so well and so often that usually you can look straight into the eyes of the person you are lying to, but you cannot do it with me. You always look down at the last second, or to the side, like you did just now.”

Josephine’s jaw dropped. “I – I am not – I am not lying,” she said scornfully. “I do have a very busy day!”

“You just did it again,” Traverson said mildly. Crossing his arms, he regarded her steadily, his gray eyes cool and unflinching. “I wonder why you cannot lie to me without giving yourself away.”

Something Josephine would very much like the answer to herself. Drawing back her shoulders, she stared straight at him and tried to repeat that she did indeed have a very busy day, thank you very much, but at the last moment her gaze veered to the side. Drats! “Oh, just go away Traverson! Even if I did not have a single scheduled outing for the next six months, I would still not have time for you.” Seething, she spun on her heel and fled back up the stairs, the edge of the sheet trailing in her wake.

“You forgot your cardinal beetle!” Traverson called.

She let the slamming of her bedroom door answer for her.

4 star reviews & a lascivious lady

I have a confession to make.

When I first published A Brooding Beauty, the first novella in The Wedded Women Quartet, I didn't think anything would really happen. I figured I would chalk it up to a big learning experience, and move on to what I thought I really wanted to write: YA. Fast forward four months and ABB is still going strong, averaging around 20 sales a day (by my personal standards, that's great). A Ravishing Redhead, the second novella in WWQ, is doing slightly better, although they tend to go back and forth. Catherine and Margaret are very competitive.

This morning I woke up, made my coffee (heart you keurig), and checked Goodreads. I was beyond delighted to discover both ABB and ARR had two new reviews, both four stars. To read the reviews in their entirety skedaddle over to Steffi and Karla's blog, Swept Away by Romance. 

"[A Brooding Beauty] is full of drama and romance but also laughter and a light-hearted style of writing that I really liked."

"[A Ravishing Redhead] is a short, steamy, and sweet novella for romance lovers."

And, my personal favorite:

"I have to say that out of the four friends, Josephine and Grace intruige me the most. Josephine's story is next in A Lascivious Lady. I can't wait!" 

I am super excited for all of you to read Josephine and Traverson's story. It has been by the far the hardest in the quartet to write so far, simply because they are such polar opposites and have a lot going against their happily ever after. A Lascivious Lady will be released in August (exact date still TBA). Until then, I can give you an exclusive sneak peak at the first chapter. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE, A LASCIVIOUS LADY

"It is sunrise. You may leave now." Lady Josephine Marie Gates sat up one elbow and stared down at the man in her bed with an expression that bordered on disgust. "Leave," she repeated. "Now."

Lord Richard Penny, an unmarried Viscount of considerable holdings, rolled off the side of the bed and landed on his feet with a groan. He ran his hand through his short brown hair and yawned before offering Josephine a slumberous smile that never failed to get him pulled back under the covers.

She gazed up at him, heedless of her nudity or the sheet that had slipped, and he allowed his eyes to wander down across her breasts. Good God, but she was a fetching creature. Her blonde hair curled over her shoulders and down her back like a cloak of spun gold. Heavy eyes, tilted at the corner and just a tad too large for her face, were the color of glimmering amethysts. And her body... Richard sucked in a breath as he recalled the slender curve of her hips, the plumpness of her backside, the swell of her -

"You do speak English, do you not, Lord Penny?" Josephine purred, tilting her head to the side and running her tongue across her full bottom lip.

Had Richard known more about the woman he had just bedded, he would have recognized that while her body suggested things only a wicked man would dare dream of, her eyes told a different story entirely. Unfortunately for the Viscount, he was not a man who picked up on subtleties.

"You know I do," he said as he leaned forward to rest his hands on the edge of the mattress. "Did you not hear all the naughty things I whispered to you last night?"

"Yes, I did."

"And?" he said expectantly.

"I have heard them all before. Really, Lord Penny, you have far outstayed your welcome. If you do understand English, which I can see that you do, although some of the larger words seem to escape you, then you must understand when I tell you this: get out."

Thoroughly taken aback, Richard straightened and looked around for his trousers.

"On the back of the rosewood chair in the corner of the room," Josephine supplied helpfully before she fell back onto the pillows with a little sigh and crossed one arm over her face.

Her breasts were still exposed, the morning light from the window dancing across her dusky nipples, and Richard snuck another look as he yanked on his pants and slipped on his shirt. Giving up his cravat for lost, he hurried to the door and hesitated, still rather unsure where he had gone wrong, or why the infamous Lady Gates was kicking him out of her bedroom at such an indecent hour.

Had he not pleased her? Richard scoffed at the thought. Her throaty moans and breathless cries had said otherwise. Not once, not twice, but thrice he had taken her during the hours between dusk and dawn. Though five years his senior she had sated his lust as no other woman had before her, or - he feared - no other woman would after.

"Marry me," he said impulsively.

"Marry you?" Josephine echoed. Leaning up her elbow she finally drew the sheet up to cover her breasts and arched one eyebrow. "Why in the world would I do that?"

Richard flushed, but did not back down. He was not a man without means. He was a bloody Viscount, for heaven's sake. Had he not already been chased to the ends of the earth and back by half crazed mothers looking to marry off their daughters? Vain, insipid, ugly chits, the lot of them. No, what he desired - what he deserved - was a real woman. A goddess, just like the one sprawled before him.

"I will spoil you beyond measure," he said. "You shall never want for anything. Jewels? They are yours. Furs? I shall strike the beasts down myself. Mansions? I will -"

Josephine waved her hand in the air, cutting him off. "Do stop," she implored, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that made his loins surge anew. "I fear you are making my head ache. Really, Lord Penny, you are only embarrassing yourself. Rather like a flea ridden dog begging to be taken back by his master after he has been thrown on the street."

Richard gaped. "A... A flea ridden d-dog," he sputtered, his cheeks growing mottled as humiliation and anger swept through him. Never, in all of his twenty one years, had he ever been so insulted. And by a woman, no less! Hands curling into fists, he said, "Now see here, you have no right to speak to me in such a manner! I am a Viscount, and -"

"Yes, yes, so I have heard," said Josephine. Yawning, she stretched out one arm and rang the small silver bell that sat on the corner of her nightstand. A maid appeared almost immediately, stepping through the door and past Richard to stand attentively at the foot of the bed.

"What do you need, mum?" she asked in a chirping voice.

Richard could not help notice that the maid ignored him completely, as if she had found a man in her mistress's chambers more than once and had grown used to it. For some reason that annoyed him even more than being compared to a flea ridden dog. Was he... jealous? His skin grew clammy at the very thought. No, surely not.

"Amelia, please escort Lord Penny outside. I fear he has overstayed his welcome," said Josephine.

"Of course, mum." Pivoting crisply on her heel, the maid marched back across the room and held open the door. "My lord?" she said, keeping her eyes downcast. She could not, however, completely control the twitch of her lips as she stifled a laugh.

A common servant, laughing at him? It was the last straw. "I shall see myself out!" Richard snapped. Wrenching the door free from the maid's grasp, he slammed it forcefully behind him and stormed down the stairs.

Josephine peeked between the fingers she had covered her face with to contain her own laughter. "Oh, Melly, is he truly gone?"

Slouching against the door, Amelia drew off the lace cap she had placed haphazardly over her unruly red curls and rolled her sparkling blue eyes. "As gone as he is going to get. May I go back to bed now? You said I could have Friday mornings off and I am quite tired."

A frown flitted across Josephine's mouth, pulling the corners down and causing her forehead to wrinkle. "I forgot. I apologize, Melly. Take the entire day if you need. I will not be doing anything."

"You are not going out? 'Tis a beautiful day, mum." Walking briskly to the floor to ceiling windows, Amelia drew back the heavy velvet curtains with a flourish, exposing the bustling street below. Already the merchants were setting up their wares, carts drawn by drowsy draft horses ambled past, and paper boys ran this way and that, dashing through London's foot traffic with ease. Spring was in full bloom and as Amelia huffed and puffed to get one of the windows open, the sweet, heavenly scent of cherry blossoms and tulips began to trickle into the room.

Closing her eyes Josephine inhaled deeply, reminded once again why this time of year was her favorite. Everything was so fresh and new... It was a time for second chances, an opportunity to turn over a new leaf, such as it was. For everyone but her, of course.

"No," she murmured wistfully, sinking back down and bringing the sheets to her chin. "I fear I am not feeling well today. You go out, Melly. Enjoy the sunshine for me."

"Are you certain, mum? Perhaps a bit of sun is just the thing to get you out of your -"

The gunshot that sounded from down stairs caused both women to shriek. In a flash Josephine was on her feet and at the door, her face pale but determined. There had been a rash of daytime burglaries as of late. Just three days ago Mrs. Dobson from only two houses down had been robbed of all her jewels and treasured paintings. Josephine would be damned if she let some lily livered thief steal from her.

"Has Bates arrived yet?" she asked, referring to the brawny retired boxer who now earned his living as Josephine's butler.

"N-no," said Amelia. "It is just y-you and m-me and c-c-cook."

Cook, who was no doubt cowering under the kitchen table at this very minute. If he had not already dived out the window.

"Stay here and lock the door behind me," Josephine ordered.

"What are you going to do?" Amelia cried, wide eyed.

Holding the sheet around her body with one hand, Josephine reached out the other to grasp a heavy poker resting next to the dormant fireplace. Her arm trembled as she lifted the poker, but her grip was sure, and her determination strong. "Stay here and lock the door," she repeated. Taking in a deep breath, she slipped from the room and crept silently down the stairs. At the bottom of the landing she stopped and tensed, brandishing the poker as if it were a club. Too late she realized that the decision to face down a possible robber wearing nothing more than a sheet had not been a wise one, but what other alternative did she have? Sit idly by and let her precious things be stolen? Josephine's lips thinned as her resolve strengthened. Certainly not.

It was not a thief, however, that she came upon when she reached the front parlor, drawn by the sound of muffled yells.

Oh, but how she wished it had been.

The fireplace poker clattered to the floor as Josephine drew in a sharp gasp at the sight that greeted her when she drew back the pocket doors.

Hopping on one leg and clutching the other at the knee, Lord Penny was howling in pain. Yet that was not the worst of it, for sitting across the room, calmly cleaning out his pistol, was the last man she had ever expected to see. He did not look up when she stumbled inside the parlor, but Lord Penny did.

"Josephine," he gasped, his face a mask of agony. "I have been shot!"

Dazedly she looked back and forth between the two men, quite incapable of saying a word. Oh dear God in heaven, she thought, yearning to be swallowed up on the spot, for surely being cast into hell would be better than this.

"Did you hear me?" the Viscount yelped. "That - that bloody bastard shot me! He shot me, Jo!"

No one called her Jo. No one but her husband. Her eyes flicked to Lord Penny, taking note of the blood that seeped between his fingers as he clutched his leg, then skittered across to the other man who had finally set his gun aside. He did not rise, merely crossed his legs at the ankle and lounged back, propping his hands behind his head as if nothing was amiss. His gray eyes studied her, traveling with detached, scientific appraisal down her body and up again before easily dismissing her.

Josephine swallowed hard and pulled the sheet tighter around her bare shoulders. "I... I do not..." The words stuck in her throat, refusing to come out. Panicked, she began to retreat from the room with slow, measured steps.

"Do you know who he is, Jo?" Lord Penny said, effectively halting her in her tracks. "The man who shot me! Do you know him?"

Her cheeks paled. She pressed one hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. "Yes," she managed to squeak, all of her carefully constructed layers of confidence stripped to the quick. "Yes I do."

Lord Penny's eyes bulged. "Then who is the damn cur?" he demanded.

Josephine braced one arm against the doorframe to hold herself up. "My husband," she said, finally meeting Traverson's cold gaze. "He is my husband."