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So, what's my idea of a hot autumn night? Well, as a Brit now living in warmer climes, I get
very nostalgic come autumn. For me it conjures up images of roaring log
fires, the curtains closed against the nasty weather, a decent glass of wine
close at hand and, naturally, a good book.
If I’m not reading someone else’s, I’m either
busy writing one or dreaming up a plot for the next one. Plot ideas come in the
strangest guises and at the most unexpected times. Take Compromising the Marquess for instance. It’s the first in a four
book series published by Carina Press charting the fortunes of the Forster
dynasty. The idea for it came to me when I was watching Prince William’s
wedding. That got me thinking about his mother and how the paparazzi had
hounded her to her death. That, in turn, got me thinking about the history of
newspapers in England.
The Times started out as the Daily Universal Register in 1785. An
underwriter at Lloyds incurred huge losses due to a hurricane in Jamaica and
sought to recoup them through a typesetting process, producing advertising
sheets to promote the venture. This, in time, led to the infamous scandal
sheets that abounded in the Regency period, so loved by the ordinary people,
and that could make or break reputations.
My heroine Leah supports herself and her sister
by writing snippets of society gossip for one such publication. When she and
Beth remove to the south coast for the benefit of Beth’s health, Leah’s
opportunities are severely curtailed, until she meets the powerful and
compelling Hal Forster, Marquess of Denby. She erroneously reports that he’s
about to marry a local lady, thereby putting him in a compromising position.
Worse, she suspects him of working against British interests. Disguised as a
lad, she attends a bare knuckle fight held behind the local tavern, which is
where she first meets Hal. He sees through her disguise immediately and this is
how he talks to her:-
Hal felt a devilish desire to teach her a
lesson. “Come inside, lads, and have some ale. It’s cold as the grave out
here.”
“No, it’s all right,” she said. Hal shot the
woman—Miss Elliott, was it?—an inquisitive glance. She looked away, apparently
realizing that she’d spoken in her own voice. “We need to be getting back.”
This time her words were a gravelly slur, partly because she’d pulled a muffler
over her mouth, covering half her features with it, but leaving the row of
freckles that bedecked her retroussé nose delightfully exposed. Hal hadn’t
known that he held freckles in such high regard.
“Nonsense.” Hal clapped her on the back. She
flinched but gamely stood her ground. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Oh, very well then.”
The dog inserted itself between Hal and the
woman as the three of them walked towards the tavern. It alternately growled
and wagged, proving itself to be a most inept guardian.
Hal bent to scratch its ears. “What do you
call the mutt?”
“Pickle,” said the lad. “He’s a stray.”
“Nice dog.”
“He’s good at catching rats,” the girl said
with the hint of a mischievous smile.
Ah, so she knew who he was. “I’ll bear that
in mind if I ever find my home infested.”
They entered the tavern. It was packed but
Hal managed to secure a small table in the corner and ordered tankards of ale
for the three of them. They were plonked on the table by a barmaid whose bosom
literally spilled out of her bodice as she leaned over Hal’s shoulder. She
roared with laughter, adjusted her clothing and directed a cheeky wink at him.
Ale slopped over the table, trickling onto the girl’s lap. Hal had to resist
the urge to wipe it away.
Miss Elliott’s eyes almost popped out of her
head as she looked round the place. It must have been obvious that there were
many gentlemen present, congenially rubbing shoulders with the lower classes,
all rank forgotten as they bonded over a sporting event. His brother Robert was
leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with a crew member from Hal’s
boat.
The few wenches in the place were rushed,
quite literally, off their feet as men paid for their favours. Miss Elliott’s
gaze was fixed on Sally, a regular at the Boar’s Head, who was all but giving
herself to a bosun at the next table. Hal nodded at the bosun—his own bosun, as
it happened. He took the hint, stood up and led Sally outside.
“Want a piece of Sally, do you, lad?”
“Er, no, of course not.” The girl shook her
head. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Come on now, we’re all men of the world here
and I saw you looking.” Hal was hard-pressed to keep his amusement in check. “I
can arrange it, if you like, once she’s free. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Er, no thanks.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Leon. What’s yours?”
Hmm, clever. Flick had mentioned her name was
Leah. “Henry,” he said truthfully. “Haven’t seen you around these parts before.
Where do you work?”
“We’re…er, looking for work. This is my
brother, Jonny.”
“What sort of work are you after?”
“Anything that pays.”
“Well, I might be able to help you there. Are
you willing to go to sea?”
“No,” said Jonny.
“Yes,” said the girl.
Hal leaned back and flashed an amiable smile.
“Well, which is it?”
“We have a few possibilities on land,” Miss
Elliott said, appearing to recall that she had the welfare of an ailing sister
to consider. “Besides, now that I think about it, I get seasick.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Hal lifted his tankard
and hid a smile behind it. He was enjoying himself enormously, pitting his wits
against the girl. She was quick on the uptake but no match for him. “You
haven’t touched your ale, Leon. Something wrong with it?”
She picked up the tankard, took too long a
draught and choked on it. Hal reached across and slapped her across her narrow
shoulders.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, did I hurt you?” Hal smiled at the
chit. “A strong lad like you. Didn’t think you’d hurt so easily.”
“It’s nothing.” She hid her face behind her
tankard, much as Hal had done earlier, presumably in the vain hope of
disguising a fiery blush.
“We’d better be getting along, mi…I mean,
Leon,” Jonny said, draining his tankard and standing up.
“Oh?” Hal raised one brow. “Do you have to be
somewhere?”
“Well, er…there might be some work for us
tomorrow and so we have to be up early to stand a chance of being taken on.”
Hal stood also, focusing his attention on
Miss Elliott, who remained seated. He could vaguely detect the swell of her
breasts, even though he suspected that she’d bound them before covering them
with several layers of clothing. “Well, if you change your mind about the work
at sea, you can always find me here.”
“What sort of work would it be?” she asked,
ignoring Jonny when he tugged at her sleeve. Presumably he’d noticed more than
one person glancing at her with speculative interest as soon as she stood up
and displayed her appealing posterior. Hal should have anticipated that but
he’d been having too much fun teasing her and, for once, had relaxed his guard.
“Oh, just general deckhand duties. You
wouldn’t mind that so much, would you, Leon? Bunking down with a lot of other
lads can be quite jolly.”
Miss Elliott swallowed, her blush deepening.
“Well, I—”
“Not shy, are you? We’re all made the same
way.” The extent of Hal’s desire to discover exactly how Miss Elliott was put
together surprised him. That tempting derriere, those deliciously slender
thighs, caused no end of inappropriate thoughts to tumble through his head. He
didn’t need the distraction of inquisitive virgins to deflect him from his
purpose.
Compromising the Marquess
– A sparkling
Regency in which a marquess finds his destiny in an impecunious siren with a
beautiful voice and a scorching pen.
I' m giving a copy of Compromising the Marquess away. Just leave a comment, and your contact details, telling me what you most enjoy about Regency romances. Good luck!
Compromising the Marquess Available from Carina Press Amazon.com http://amzn.to/TZgDHT
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Find out more about me and my books at my
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Thanks for stopping by.
Wendy
