However, as several reviewers have remarked, they were doubtful I could pull off a happy ending ... but I did :)
So yes, as I said, All Romance EBooks are discounting all of my four titles under my Beverley Oakley pseudonym - including Her Gilded Prison - for a short time, here: http://bit.ly/142xOkW
Rake's Honour was shortlisted Favourite Historical by Australian Romance Readers Association in 2012. It's a racy Regency romp about an ambitious debutante whose mother plans to marry her off to loathesome Lord Slyther - unless she can come up with an alternative that will save the family from penury.
There are some sizzling sex scenes and a sting in the tale as my heroine shows the hero who is really the boss. It also has a 'laugh-out loud' ending, according to several reviewers.
Lady Lovett's Little Dilemma is a sweet, sensual mystery/romance detailing the unexpected events that reconcile 26-yr old Cressida to becoming once again a 'proper wife' to her beloved husband - despite her terror of dying in childbirth having her sixth child. It was a best seller at All Romance Ebooks and has had lovely reviews. As one puts it, LLLD is 'A love story about birth control...usually the narrative is about the hero and heroine finding each other and ending with marriage. Here it starts with marriage and goes on from there....'
It's available at this price for a short time from http://bit.ly/O9EELS
The Cavalier is a story of lust and revenge set during the English Civil War. Lovely Lady Elizabeth's castle is being besieged by the Cavalier lover she was forced to forsake 8 years prior to marry her harsh Puritan husband. Now Elizabeth must trade her body to spare her husband's life. As she offers herself to the man she once loved she has no idea what motivates him - desire or revenge.
And now for that promised extract of my next release,
Dangerous Gentlemen. The scene opens when Hetty, who has just been warned off the apparently dangerous Sir Aubrey, creeps into his room during a ball in the home of which Sir Aubrey is a houseguest.
EXTRACT
Hetty could not imagine how a scion of high society like Sir Aubrey could be guilty of such a heinous crime as treason. And surely the story of the runaway wife was a gilded one. It was
all the stuff of make-believe and Cousin Stephen was only telling Hetty he was
dangerous to curb her schoolroom daydreams.
Turning, she saw half protruding from
beneath the suit of clothes what appeared to be the edge of a silver, filigreed
box. It was partly obscured by the overhang of the counterpane, as if it hadn’t
properly been returned to its hiding place.
A moment’s indecision made her pause but
soon Hetty was crouching on the floor, closing clammy fingers around the box.
Might it contain secrets? Ones that would reveal, conclusively, what Cousin
Stephen claimed was true?
Alternatively, proof that would exonerate
Sir Aubrey?
Hetty fumbled for the catch. Dear Lord,
this was too exciting for words. Perhaps Sir Aubrey was a secret agent working
for the English, and Stephen had no idea?
Perhaps he was—
Protesting door hinges made her squeal as
the door was flung wide. Hetty let the lid of the box fall and retreated into
the shadows as Sir Aubrey strode into the room.
He was breathing heavily as he shrugged off
his jacket with a curse, raindrops spattering into the hissing fire as he raked
his fingers through his hair. A curious stillness overtook him and he froze,
obviously sensing all was not as he left it.
He sniffed the air. “Orange flower water,”
he muttered, stepping closer to the fire, fumbling for the tinderbox on the
mantelpiece to light a candle.
Immediately he was thrown into sharp relief
and as he stared at Hetty it was not his look of shock and suspicion that made
her scream but the copious amounts of blood that stained his shirtsleeves and
once-snowy linen cravat.
“God Almighty, who are you?” he demanded,
staring as if he might like to cast her into the flames like the crumpled paper
he withdrew from his pocket. His gaze raked her finery. “You’re no parlor maid,
that’s for certain!”
Gaping, unable to formulate a sensible
answer, Hetty finally managed, “What happened to your arm, Sir Aubrey? Are you
injured?”
“Sir Aubrey, is it? So you know who I am
but you still haven’t told me who you are?” He grunted as he looked down at his
arm, the bloodied linen shredded over the long graze. “It’s not as bad as it
looks and I assure you, I gave a good account of myself.” His laugh was more a
sneer. “Indeed, my assailant lies dead in the gutter.”
Hetty gasped. “Dueling?” Myriad questions
crowded her mind. Could this be to do with Araminta? Had Sir Aubrey left
Araminta in the middle of the ball to fight some other contender for her
affections?
“Dueling?” he repeated. He shook his head
and Hetty drew back at the coldness in his eyes. “There was nothing noble about
my activities this evening. I was set upon in a dark alley. A short scuffle
ensued, I drew my knife, then—” With his hand, he made a gesture like the
slitting of his throat, adding, “I am slightly wounded but as I said, my attacker
does not live to repeat the insult.”
Her horror clearly amused him, for his eyes
narrowed while his generous mouth quirked. He looked like an incarnation of the
most handsome demon she’d ever seen depicted in the fairy stories she loved to
read.
“We all have enemies, madam. Enemies that
must be eliminated if we are to breathe freely.”
Chapter Three
Aubrey was enjoying the girl’s wide-eyed
terror. No doubt she imagined he’d sliced the throat of a footpad, not the
snarling, mangy cur who had leapt upon him as he’d been returning from his
brief assignation to settle a gaming debut incurred by his favorite, reprobate
nephew.
Taking pity on her, he said reassuringly, “Don’t
worry. I won’t hurt you.’ Her wide-eyed look as he removed first his jacket,
then the bloodied shirt he tossed upon the bed, before he rose to his full
height, bare chested, afforded him the most amusement he’d had in a long time.
“So, you’re the girl Madame Chambon sent?”
She simply stared at him and he nodded
appraisingly as he sat on the bed and pulled off his boots.
“You had me fooled
for a moment. I thought you really were some innocent who’d lost her way in these
catacombs.” Had he not been so jaded he might have been ashamed at the
assessment in his tone when he added, “My faithful procuress threatened I’d not
be able to tell the difference.” He chuckled and put out his hand. “She said
she’d surprise me. Well, come into the light so I can see you better. After the
god-awful night I’ve had, you might be just what I need: the retiring sort, for
I’m sick to death of women who like to play games.”
All my Beverley Oakley Books can be bought at half price for a limited time at:
http://bit.ly/O9EELS
