HOW TO MARRY A ROGUE has arrived!

Take out your dancing cards, brush off your silken slippers and call for your barouche - my new Regency-set historical romance is here!

Amazon has it now available in paperback and e-book and it's still on pre-order with Wild Rose Press until Friday, when it will be for sale. It's going for a special price of $2.99 for a month.

As a special celebration, I will send an AUTOGRAPHED PAPERBACK of the book to a random commenter - USA and Canada only, please. So, if you've always wanted to leave a response, but were too shy, now's your chance.

Here's one of my favorite excerpts from the book, with a little hook at the end to further entice you! The scene is at Jack's French chateau, where he has brought Georgiana after a mishap at the ball earlier that evening. She sneaked into his room like she used to when she was little, and cried on him while he was asleep. Her sniffling awakens him, and then....

 “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” He patted his shirt. “And why is my shirt wet?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This house is so big and empty.” She never realized before what true quiet was, having lived at Fairwood Hall with more than fifty servants always present.

“It does feel like one rattles around the walls a bit.” He rose from the bed and replaced the bottle on the table. “But you cannot sleep in here, much as I don’t mind the company.” He winked. “It will be just my luck you’ll inform your brother I compromised you, and he’ll lure me into the marriage trap. Perhaps that was his idea all along, and you’re part of his conniving, scheming mind.”

His teasing tone stirred something in her. She drew the quilt up to her neck and backed further against the headboard. “Oh, please, let me stay. I’ll sleep on the settee, or the floor. I don’t want to be alone.” She purposely swiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled loudly.

He heaved a sigh. “If you were not so tall, I would throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to your own chamber.” He indicated the settee. “Throw me a pillow, will you? I suppose I’ve had worse beds than this.”

 “It’s only for one night.” She tossed him a pillow. He blew out the candle.

“It had better be. I did not sign up for this journey as a nursemaid, much as I would love taking you across my knee and giving you a well-deserved spanking for all the trouble you cost me this evening.”

“Nursemaid Jack,” she sang softly. He snorted, and she laughed quietly. “Was she very beautiful?” She’d spoken before she’d given it a thought. His personal life was none of her business.

“Who?”

“The paramour you had to leave tonight on my account.”

He snorted. “There is no paramour.” He punched his pillow in the darkness.

“You came to the ball alone?”

“Yes. I often attend balls unaccompanied. One has a damnably difficult time meeting strange ladies if one is attached to another. Why the interest in my activities, she who ventures to balls in a foreign country with no chaperone?”

“I assumed there must be some reason to have kept you from visiting Aunt Adele and me.” She bit her lip, scolding herself for sounding petulant.

“I apologize for not coming to see you. My grandfather will accept nothing but absolute perfection. And if there was a paramour, Miss Lockewood, this is less than suitable talk from one as young and innocent as you.”

“When I am one and eighty, will you still consider me a little girl, I wonder?”

“You will always be my friend’s little sister, dear Pudding Face.”

His voice held a barely perceptible warning. She lay back on the pillows and snuggled beneath the quilt. “I should tell Jonathan you compromised me. That will be fine revenge for all the times you called me Pudding Face. He would be forced to call you out, and you will feel so guilty you’ll allow him to kill you.”

He harrumphed loudly. “I can imagine that duel. He would talk me to death before I could get in the first blow.”

“If you promise to take me somewhere tomorrow, I promise not to mention what happened tonight to my brother.”

“That’s called blackmail.”

She echoed his snort. “Call it what you will. I want to enjoy myself while I’m away from home. It’s my last chance.”

“You’ve seen what trouble you’ve found in having so much fun, haven’t you?”

“I will not be in trouble as long as you’re with me.”

  Ready to find out what happens? Then buy the book! Or, leave a comment to win your own autographed copy. I will send a free e-book to the second random commenter.

Thanks for stopping by! Your support is what keeps me going.

Never-Before-Seen Excerpt From My New Historical Romance!

I hope you enjoyed the two interviews with the lead characters of How To Marry A Rogue. Journey with Jack and Georgiana as they venture abroad to France's beautiful wine country and find out that what they've always run from is what they truly want. Along the way, you'll meet a colorful cast of locals, including a saucy maid and her lover, two fuddy-duddy matrons who want nothing more than to sip a quiet cup of tea in the countryside while dreaming of more exciting adventures, and several more people who will surprise, delight, and - gasp! - astound you.

Here's a never-before released excerpt of Jack and Georgiana once they are in France and she has started causing all sorts of trouble for him. Enjoy!

     “Have you been shut up in here all day with the ghosts of old composers?” Jack announced from the drawing room door. He crossed the room to where she sat, and leafed through the music on top of the case. She snatched the papers from him.

     “Some of us are not carousing all day and night.” She played blindly, not caring what tune emerged from her fingers.

     “Some of us are not doing that, either.” He picked up a stray sheet and held it to her. “What is this? Doesn’t look like Mozart to me.”

     She glanced carelessly at the paper and gasped in dismay. At the bottom, she’d drawn their entwined initials, complete with tiny hearts and an attempt at a rosebud. She snatched the paper from him and crumpled it up.

     “I was bored.”

     “Hmm.” He went to the cabinet against the wall and removed a violin case. “I’ll wager you don’t know this about me.”

     “Which of the myriad fascinating things about you do I not know?”

     She bit her lip in feigned concentration, picking out the tune almost effortlessly. Normally, her excellent playing was a source of pride, but since coming to France, she took no pleasure in it. All she’d done since his absence was daydream and draw silly pictures. She was grateful she’d burned the last one before he came home–a little sketch of his lips she’d spent an hour drawing.

     He unlatched the case and carefully removed a violin and bow. He held it up to her, almost reverently. “This.”

     “Was it left behind by one of your grandfather’s guests? The one with the smelly gowns, perhaps?”

     He frowned comically, but she sensed a touch of bashfulness. “It was my father’s, if you must know. I did learn other accomplishments besides drinking and chasing skirts while at university.”

     As she watched in semi-amused silence, he placed the violin under his chin, took a breath, and closed his eyes as he drew the bow across the strings. The familiar strains of Boccherini’s Violin Sonata poured forth from the instrument, as effortless as her own playing had been.

     She snapped out of her dazed confusion and accompanied him on the pianoforte. As he played, he walked slowly toward her, his gaze locked with hers. Their playing was harmonious. Neither of them missed a note, and he increased his speed, but she kept up.

     With a flicker of his gaze, he indicated she should move over on the bench, and she did, without losing her place on the keyboard. He sat on the edge, his back against her shoulder as they continued to play. His hair brushed her face a few times, and she inhaled deeply, her breath catching as her pulse sped up. Sensual memories of the night before threatened to disrupt her concentration, and she had to will her hands to hit the right keys. When the piece ended, he rested the violin and bow on top of the pianoforte and faced her.

     “I had no idea you could play! Why did you not say something before? We could have played duets when you and Jonathan were home at Christmas.”

     He grinned. “That is precisely why I did not say anything. Besides–I would much rather sit in the audience and listen to you. You always played for me, Georgie.”

     She turned toward the keyboard again, fiddling with a loose d sharp key. “How you will flatter yourself.” Her heart pounded so hard she feared he could hear it. Perspiration broke out under her arms and she shifted on the bench, wishing he would get up and move away from her so he wouldn’t detect the effect he had on her.

     He chuckled. “I am speaking the truth. The last time I was home with Lockewood, you were–what, fifteen? You found out my favorite piece and learned it for a week. At the Christmas party, you played it, and stared at me the entire time. I still remember you wore a white dress with a pink bow tied in the back.”

     She sniffed. “I was probably watching you in the corner, drinking wine punch and fawning over Lady Ellenton’s daughter.”

     “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten all about Clementine Ellenton, until you mentioned her. I wonder whatever happened to her?”

     His hand rested on the keys. She dropped the lid, banging his fingers. He drew them back with a sharp yelp, and looked into her eyes. She tried to return his grin but failed. Surely, he could see the helpless jealousy and naked emotion on her face. It was useless to pretend anymore. The feelings she’d had as a lovesick girl–unsated by even Edward’s flattering attention–were unabated where Jack was concerned.

     She started to rise from the bench, but he caught her wrist, turning her body as he placed her hand around his neck. Her fingers curled into his hair of their own accord. The desire she’d experienced the night before–the yearning ache as she’d clasped him in her arms–rushed back in a torrent. She pushed at his shoulders but it was more for show.

     “If you want to find out about Miss Ellenton, perhaps you should write her. I’m sure she would love to hear from you. You should visit her and let her nibble on your neck with her little rabbit teeth.”

     He shook his head. “I have no wish to see her. It’s your teeth I want nibbling on me.” He pulled her into his arms.

     “You ignored me the last time you saw me. You refused to dance with me, leaving me to…to Edward’s devious plans.” The accusations tumbled from her and she thumped his chest, but he caught her hand in a strong grip. “You always used to spend time with me, but that Christmas you avoided me as if I were leprous.”

     The teasing grin faded rapidly. His gaze burned into hers and she forgot to struggle. After an interminable moment when she’d nearly given up on him saying anything, he spoke.

     “I didn’t want to see you all grown up. You were so…uncomplicated then.”

     She gulped to moisten her dry throat. “Am I so complicated now?”

An Interview with Jane Austen

Every day as I write, Jane Austen is looking over my shoulder. I mean this literally, because I have the Jane Austen action figure on my desk shelf! Her friendly expression, saucy brown curls, and pen in her hand are my inspiration. When I get stuck in the middle of a scene, or can't think of the right word, I glance up at her brown-paint-dot eyes and ask, "What would you do?"

Sometimes, her plastic grin throws a challenge my way. I can hear a clipped English accent coming from her carmine lips as she scolds, "I wrote by lamplight without central air or heat. Figure it out!" Other times, when she is perhaps in a more charitable mood, she responds, "Move on to another scene until your mind clears."

Jane's birthday was this month. At the ripe young age of 239, she still has plenty of advice to give budding romance authors. Want a stoic hero with a heart of gold? Darcy's your man. Prefer an older hero who goes after what he wants? Knightley to the rescue! A spurned hero who still loves the heroine for your reunion story? That will be Captain Wentworth. And as for rogues - she has them in spades! Who is more despicable, Wickham, who uses girls for their money, or Willoughby, who seeks wealth over his heart?


If I could speak to her for only a moment, I would ask where she got her inspiration. From relationships she observed in her family and friends? Her own active imagination? Or her heart that dreamed of a love never attained? All of the above?

She looks at me from the shelf. A breeze from the a/c duct overhead stirs the plastic feathers in her quill. I think she just winked at me.

Dear reader, what is your favorite Austen book? If you haven't read the books but enjoy the movies or series, feel free to comment. Responders will be entered for a chance to win an adorable facsimile of a Regency dance card that is a little notebook. It features a cover inspired from Emma.