I posted the following yesterday on the Dashing Duchesses, but it seems out of place if I don’t announce my new series on my own website.
I’ve been sitting on some news since December. I don’t know about anybody else, but I find it especially difficult to have some good news and not be able to share.
But now I’m allowed to, and I hope my fellow duchesses will indulge me.
It’s finally official. I can announce my new series. Starting later this year (release dates to be confirmed, but I’ve been hearing August), you can read the first installment in a steamy three-book series revolving around three former friends who attended Eton together, but who circumstances have torn apart.
What came between them? Well, that’s a secret.
In WHAT A LADY CRAVES, the first in the series, irreverent bluestocking Henrietta Upperton has determined to move past her scandalous broken engagement by striking out on her own. Unfortunately, she’s taken a position as a paid companion to the cantankerous Lady Epperley, who just happens to be a relative of Henrietta’s former betrothed. But since her intended went away to India, the last thing Henrietta expects is for the man to turn up on his great-aunt’s doorstep having lost nearly everything in a shipwreck.
The one thing Alexander Sanford hasn’t lost is his sense of honor. When he washes ashore close to his aunt’s manor, he’s shocked to find Henrietta in residence, but welcomes the chance to set the past aright by renewing his pursuit of his former betrothed. But he’s brought back more from India than his feelings… something that could put all of his loved ones in danger.
Sound interesting? How about a little teaser:
“Stand aside.” Damn that lock of hair. How it must make her look youthful and wayward; it must rob her of any kind of authority.
She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward. The lock swayed tauntingly before settling back in the middle of her nose. “I shall scream.”
He ignored this in favor of reaching for the tress. He took it between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing, concentrating on what he was doing as if it were of the utmost importance that he learn the exact texture of her hair. Dumbfounded, she allowed him.
Somehow, he pushed closer until his breath blew across her face, warm and sweet. “Do you remember this?”
“Remember what?” She had to force the words through her lips. Drawing in air had suddenly become a difficult prospect.
“This. How it was between us.”
“No.” A blatant lie. That particular hint of gravel in his voice pulled her straight into the past.
“I don’t believe you. I recall that expression.”
“What expression?” She had to work to get that much out, and blast it, the words emerged on a breathy note.
“Your eyes dark, cheeks pink, lips parted. Like you’re ready for a kiss.” Somehow he edged even nearer. The wall was solid at her back, possibly the only reason she was still upright. “Like you expect one. Demand it, even.”