Somewhere to review books I'm reading without giving away any spoilers!
Read on to discover more about this book and its author as well as an extract from it and the opportunity to enter a rafflecopter giveaway which gives you a chance to win a copy of this book for yourself! Good luck!
A dashing new neighbour…
Temptation on her doorstep!
To avoid an unwanted suitor at a ball, Hope Brookes asks another gentleman to rescue her. He obliges – with a surprisingly passionate kiss! Revealed as her sinfully handsome new neighbour, Lucius, Marquess of Thundersley, they forge a friendship over their balconies. It’s refreshing that Lucius is more interested in her writer dreams than her looks, so why can’t she stop thinking about that kiss?
Purchase Link – https://books2read.com/talkofbeaumonde2
When Virginia Heath was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older, the stories became more complicated, sometimes taking weeks to get to the happy ending. Then one day, she decided to embrace the insomnia and start writing them down. Despite that, it still takes her forever to fall asleep.
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Here’s a special treat for you – the chance to read an extract from this book to see if it whets your appetite to read it all . . . .
Hope Brookes has just escaped the lecherous Lord Harlington at her sister’s engagement ball and is avoiding him in the garden…
The little white fountain trickled over a pale Grecian-style urn sat on top of a narrow pedestal, sat in a circular pond. Ringing it was a perfectly symmetrical miniature, knee high maze made up of neatly clipped box hedging, heather, and lavender.
Because she enjoyed a challenge, she followed the puzzle properly until she reached the centre, then sat on the wide brim of the pond’s inviting wall—a wall clearly designed to be sat upon. It was the perfect spot to read, even by candlelight, if she had had the wherewithal to fetch a book and candle in her hurry to escape. So instead she simply sat as she supposed she was meant to and soaked it all in, consigning the opulent scenery to memory in case she ever needed it in one of her future stories.
The ghostly sounds of the orchestra wafting on the breeze.
The hoot of the solitary owl somewhere behind her.
The way a single wispy cloud floated and swirled eerily across the surface of the permanently startled face of the pearlescent moon.
The ominous crunch of gravel under a large boot…
Oh, good grief!
Her heart sank as she realised the irritant had found her, and she huffed out a frustrated groan as the undeniably male shape invaded her short-lived sanctuary.
Except this male wasn’t shaped like the weedy Lord Harlington as it swayed haphazardly between the shrubs. It was tall and broad and had far too much hair. Harlington wore his fair short hair neatly plumped and pomaded à la Brutus like every dandy and fashionably besotted Brummell devotee in the ton —but this hair was a dark shoulder-length riot.
As its owner stumbled into the maze, those big boots quite oblivious of the artfully clipped intricacies of the little hedges, she noticed he also had a beard too. And an earring!
‘Evening.’ He raised one enormous hand in greeting, then to Hope’s horror seated his bottom beside her, sending the distinctive whiff of freshly consumed alcohol her way. ‘Don’t mind me.’ His voice was deep, the words a tad slurred. ‘Pretend I’m not here.’
‘You are drunk, sir!’
‘That I am.’ He grinned at her, the moon revealing a row of perfectly straight white teeth buried in the dense, dark thicket of his beard and two friendly but strangely compelling dark eyes. It hinted that there was a surprisingly handsome face hidden beneath all the fur. ‘Just a little bit.’ He held his finger and thumb an inch apart. ‘But sadly, nowhere near enough as I want to be.’
With that, he produced a bottle of champagne from somewhere within his coat and idly tore off the foil. ‘Are you out here hiding from all that pretentious nonsense too?’ The shaggy head gestured back in the rough direction of the ballroom. ‘There was so much inane wittering and preening I thought my head was going to explode.’
Hope blinked at the expensive bottle. ‘Did you just steal that from the Earl of Writtle?’
‘I hardly stole it. He’s dishing out barrels of the stuff inside. His son’s reshent…reshantly…’ Two dark brows came together in consternation as his inebriated tongue failed to navigate the word.
‘Do you mean recently?’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded in mock solemnity. ‘Apparently the poor chap is recently engaged. No doubt to some witch who will make his life a living hell.’
Instantly Hope bristled. ‘The witch is my sister, sir, so watch your mouth.’ Nobody ever dared insult a Brookes in front of another Brookes—unless they also happened to be a Brookes.
‘Is she?’ He blinked and grinned again. ‘Well then that certainly calls for a shellybration.’ The cork exploded from the bottle and flew in a wide arc into the trees. ‘To your sister and the hapless, hopeless bastard she’s marrying! Cheers!’ He toasted the air and then took a long swig from the bottle before offering it to her.
She glared, affronted. ‘No thank you.’
‘Oh… I do apologise.’ He riffled in his pocket for a surprisingly pristine handkerchief and used it to wipe the rim of the bottle, then held it out again. ‘It’s perfectly chilled and not too shoddy if champagne is your thing.’
‘I said no thank you, sir!’ She surged to her feet and he threw his messy head back and laughed.
‘Oh—you’re one of those girls.’ He gulped down more of the champagne and had the gall to look at her amused. ‘The pious and sanctimonious sort.’ Then he frowned as his eyes briskly swept the length of her. ‘Although, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look typically like the pious sort looks. You’re too…’ He deposited the bottle carefully beside him and then drew an exaggerated hourglass in the air with his hands while staring her dead in the eye. ‘It must be dashed inconvenient for you.’