TRIPLE THREAT DREILING

Nominated for three RITA awards her first year in publishing... Triple Threat

VICKY DREILING

returns for another day on GLIAS. Looking at her covers, I feel like I'm at a debutante ball.

 

A SEASON OF SIN

E-Novella

Hachette Book Group: Forever Yours

ASIN: B008GYLGBE

 Introducing the Sinful Scoundrels...

 The Earl of Bellingham is nothing is not a creature of habit: money, meals, and mistresses must be strictly managed if a man is to have a moment's peace. It's a system that works splendidly for him--until now. With his oldest and dearest friends succumbing, one by one, to wedded bliss, Bell is now restless and a trifle lonely. Enter the Sinful Scoundrels--Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, and Harry Norcliffe, Viscount Evermore--who drag him back into society and draw his rakish eye to the ton's new beautiful young widow. Bell isn't after a wife, but a challenge. And Laura Davenport should fit the bill quite nicely...

HERE’S A LITTLE INTRODUCTION
London, 1819 

Dismissing a mistress was the very devil.

Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham, strode to the town house, rapped the knocker, and braced himself. Having been in this situation several times before, he had some inkling of what was in store for him. In the past, he’d prepared pretty speeches in a misguided effort to soften the blow, but he’d never managed to finish before the tears and screeching started. He’d soon abandoned that tactic. A pretty bauble, the expected pension, and a hasty adieu had worked wonders on his last paramour, but he did not expect matters to progress so easily in this particular case.

The only easy thing about Marguerite was her virtue.

While he dreaded the inevitable scene, he could not tolerate her ultimatums any longer. Earlier in the day, she’d sent yet another perfumed missive, the fifth this week. In today’s note, she’d stated that she required his presence this evening for an urgent matter. Under ordinary circumstances such a presumptuous summons would set his teeth on edge, but truthfully, he was relieved that Marguerite had overplayed her hand.

He was bored out of his mind with her.

Thompson, the cadaverously thin butler, admitted him. Upon entering the foyer, Bell divested himself of his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. Then he addressed Thompson. “There may be a disturbance. Do not concern yourself.” Knowing Marguerite, there would definitely be a disturbance, a loud one.

Thompson frowned, drew in a breath, and then closed his mouth, as if reconsidering his response.

Bell raised his brows. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Thompson?”

He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Lamant asked me to show you to the yellow drawing room while she finishes her toilette.”

Doubtless, she meant to keep him cooling his heels for half an hour in her usual fashion. “Do not bother, Thompson. I can see myself up.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Bell trudged up the stairs and wondered how he’d managed to misjudge Marguerite. When he’d first propositioned her, she’d given the impression of being both sweet and sensual, a combination he’d initially found fascinating. After a mere month, he’d discovered that behind that sweet smile lay a veritable shrew. He ought to have pensioned her off a week ago, but pressing business in Parliament had detained him.

Her constant demands for attention, jewels, and gowns aggravated him. Nothing ever satisfied her, with the notable exception of his boudoir skills. The last time, she’d swooned. He’d been rather proud of himself—until she’d awakened and carried on like a blasted harpy because he’d mussed her hair.

“Women,” he muttered as he entered the drawing room. Bell halted and looked about in horror. Evidently, Marguerite had taken it upon herself to make over the formerly elegant room in the latest chinoiserie style. He grimaced at the yellow wallpaper featuring hundreds of birds, but that wasn’t the worst part. Everywhere he looked there were pagodas—dozens and dozens of pagodas. The miniature tiered towers cluttered the mantel, the sideboard, and every other available surface in the drawing room. There were urns painted with pagodas. There were plates painted with pagodas. There was even a pagoda clock.

Bell rubbed his temple, wondering how much she’d charged on his accounts to transform the drawing room into this hideous chamber of pagodas—without his permission. It would all have to go, of course. He would have to instruct Thompson to hire someone to restore the room to its former state.

With a long sigh, he walked over to the Palladian window and gazed out the wavy glass into the small, dark garden. He’d never bothered to hire someone to tend it properly, since he came here only to visit his mistresses in the evenings. The prospect of finding someone new didn’t thrill him, but he was a man of lusty appetites. He hoped to hell he’d find someone less temperamental than Marguerite.

The clip of heels alerted him. He turned as Marguerite minced inside the drawing room, wearing a dramatic silver gown with some sort of filmy black netting over it. For a brief moment, he wondered if she’d anticipated his dismissal and decided to wear a mourning gown to show her heartbreak—for the jewels and gowns she frequently insisted were her due.

Marguerite approached him and halted only a foot away. Her gaze traveled down his body, lingering overly long on his tight trousers. Her lips parted as she reached out and then just as quickly snatched her hand back. “No, I must be strong,” she muttered.

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

She met his gaze and turned away. “Why must you look at me in that mesmerizing fashion?”

“Marguerite, I have no idea what you’re about,” he said.

“Oh, yes, you do. You use your blue eyes as a weapon to fell damsels.”

He wondered if she’d been nipping from the brandy decanter. “Are you unwell?”

She lifted her chin in a lofty manner and shook back her glossy, black curls. “You came. I had my doubts.”

Based on his previous experiences, he knew to expect weeping and screeching. This time, he decided to present the gift before he gave her the bad news. Marguerite’s eyes gleamed as he offered her the bracelet. After donning it, she scratched one of the emeralds.

“It isn’t paste,” he said, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

“Well, a lady must be sure,” she said in a petulant tone.

Marguerite hardly qualified as a lady, but he had no intention of stirring up her temper.

“There is something we need to discuss,” he said.

“Indeed, there is. I have become exceedingly unhappy with your increasing neglect.” She sniffed and drew a handkerchief out of her bosom to dab at her dry eyes. “You’ve left me all alone and bereft for an entire sennight.”

He might have known she would launch into her complaints straight away. “From the beginning, I explained that my duties are my first priority.” He didn’t add that he’d begun to dread visiting her.

“At the very least, you could have notified me.” She admired the bracelet again. “Do you realize you’ve never even bothered to send a posy?”

If only he’d known she preferred flowers to jewels and gowns, he might have saved himself a veritable fortune.

“I am unaccustomed to such mistreatment,” she said.

He set his fist on his hip. “I have never mistreated you.”

“Oh, yes you have,” she said, her voice pitching up an octave. “You regularly abandon me for the lures of your club. When you do decide to visit, you never give me any notice.”

Her brittle voice irritated him, but he kept his tone even. “You’re my mistress. I’m not required to give you any notice.”

“Neither am I.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

She drew in her breath. “I’m very sorry, Bell, but I can no longer tolerate your frequent absences and neglect.”

He stared at her. Why wasn’t she weeping and begging, the way his previous mistresses had done?

Marguerite sniffed. “I regret to inform you that I no longer find you a suitable protector.”

For a moment, he stood there, unable to believe what he’d just heard. Then the words crashed into him. The devil! She’d dismissed him.

A LITTLE ABOUT VICKY

Triple RITA nominee Vicky Dreiling is a confirmed historical romance junkie and Anglophile. Frequent business trips to the UK allowed her to indulge her passion for all things Regency England. She is, however, truly sorry for accidentally setting off a security alarm in Windsor Castle. That unfortunate incident led her British colleagues to nickname her “Trouble.” When she’s not writing, Vicky enjoys reading, films, concerts, and most of all, long lunches with friends. A native Texan, she holds degrees in English literature and marketing.

AND A LITTLE BIT MORE

ANGI: What is your favorite season of the year?

VICKY: Autumn, because it begins to cool off in Texas.

ANGI: What do you like about the hero of your book?

VICKY:  He’s loyal and protective.

ANGI: What do you remember about your first real kiss?

VICKY:  The guy had braces.

ANGI: What’s the favorite food to eat?

VICKY: Mexican!

ANGI: Where’s the favorite place you’ve ever visited?

VICKY: The Musee D’Orsay in Paris. It’s where the impressionist paintings are housed.

ANGI: What is your biggest vice?

VICKY: Coke Zero – I’m a caffeine addict.

ANGI: Is there a “Blooper” in your story (it may have been changed before printing)?

VICKY: Well, I apparently mixed up a butler’s name, so I had to fix that in several places in copy edits, but it’s no longer in the e-novella.

ANGI: How is it working with hot guys and sexy women all day?

VICKY: My favorite part is when the hero & heroine banter – so fun!

ANGI’S GOTTA ASK: Last year when you visited GLIAS, you mentioned that your favorite movie of all time was PRETTY WOMAN. Are there any comparisons to those lead characters in any of your stories?

VICKY’S GOTTA ANSWER:   Now that you mention it, Tristan did share some characteristics with Edward Lewis, most especially having a cruel father. 

 

VICKY THIS SEASON

Website    Contact     Facebook     Twitter  @VickyDreailing 

Goodreads   Blogs    Previous GLIAS interviews

 

NEXT SEASON 

WHAT A WICKED EARL WANTS

Spring 2013

Hachette/Grand Central: Forever Imprint

 



PREVIOUS SEASONS

HOW TO MARRY A DUKE

Hachette/Grand Central: Forever Imprint

ISBN: 978-0-446-56538-7

READ AN EXCERPT   

 

HOW TO SEDUCE A SCOUNDREL

Hachette/Grand Central: Forever Imprint

ISBN: 0446565385

READ AN EXCERPT 

 

HOW TO RAVISH A RAKE

Hachette/Grand Central: Forever Imprint

ISBN-10: 0446565407

READ AN EXCERPT

 



 

AN INTERNATIONAL DRAWING for one of Vicky's book. Winner's Choice. Leave a blog comment to be eligible.

 

Note: COMMENTERS are encouraged to leave a contact email address to speed the prize notification process. Offer void where prohibited. Prizes will be mailed to North America addresses only unless specifically mentioned in the post. Odds of winning vary due to the number of entrants. Winners of drawings are responsible for checking this site in a timely manner. If prizes are not claimed in a timely manner, the author may not have a prize available. Get Lost In A Story cannot be responsible for an author's failure to mail the listed prize. GLIAS does not automatically pass email addresses to guest authors unless the commenter publicly posts their email address.

DON’T FORGET to FOLLOW us on Twitter #GetLostStories or LIKE us on Facebook  to keep up with all our guest authors and their prizes. Join me tomorrow when I host RITA winner  IRENE HANNON. And come back Thursday when Susan hosts Nancy Martin. ~Angi

 

TODAY'S QUESTION: 
What do you love best about historical romance?