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
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
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.
HERE’S A LITTLE INTRODUCTION
London, 1819
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.
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.
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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?
What do you love best about historical romance?
