Welcome to the Sultry Summer Reads Blog Hop! All the rules and how the hop will work it listed on the Safari Heat
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win the fabulous prizes in this hop THAT REQUIRE MAILING, you must reside in the US or Canada, because of prohibitive
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The Grand Prize Is A Kindle Fire HD 7” – Second Prize Is A 100.00
Gift Card
to Amazon or B&N. Plus books to go on the winner’s new Kindle.
Apart from one of my books donated for the
winner’s new Kindle, I’ll be giving away a Gift Certificate for ARe All Romance
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Writing
historical fiction that is based on factual events is sometimes difficult. When
you choose Victorian London as the setting, and the genre is erotic romance,
things can present special challenges. I’ve always loved this era, a holdover I
think from my utter love of Sherlock Holmes. A few years back, I wanted to do a
series. As things sometimes happen, my timing was not great. The Devane Files
only survived two books, a long novella and a short one. I wanted to write
more, but there was little interest. Who knows? I love the Inspector, so it’s
likely I will revisit him one day soon.
One
of the interesting things about writing in this era is to keep the tone
correct. Victorian society was very proper and in many ways quite repressed on
the surface. The heroine in these two books is a young widow, accused of
murdering her abusive husband. Michael Devane is an opium addict and a very
unorthodox investigator. So, instead of choosing the blatant for the eroticism,
I went with a more subtle sensuality. The readers who have discovered these
books have given them consistently excellent reviews, and I have to admit, they
are rare for me in the sense that they’re stories I genuinely like myself. So,
if you’d like to discover a mystery with sensuous edge, and ties to Jack the
Ripper, you will probably love The Devane Files!
I’ve
chosen a very simple excerpt for this blog, Bethany and Michael’s first real kiss,
catching them both by surprise:
“My carriage is outside,” she said, “Percy
will take us to the Café, if you are willing to be seen with me, Inspector,”
she grinned as she spoke, a teasing challenge in her tone.
“I think I’ll risk it, Lady Bradshaw,” he
replied, matching her tone.
Once they were underway, he looked across
the carriage and saw she was still watching him, a wistful smile softening her
features. When she saw he was observing her interest, the expression changed,
and became one of polite warmth. He was exceedingly disappointed.
“Why did you want to see me?” he asked,
finally coming to the reason for their present meeting.
She opened the small bag she carried and
offered him the handkerchief he’d given her in the library of her home, after
the torrential storm of her tears had passed and left them bonded much more
intimately than was wise for either of them. He accepted the freshly washed and
pressed handkerchief, tucked it in his pocket, and waited.
“Bethany?”
he prodded when she seemed inclined to remain silent. He leaned forward, and
saw the ashen features that had been so animated mere minutes prior to his
query. He took her hands in his, felt the chill through her lace gloves, and
his chest tightened painfully. “What is it, darling?” he coaxed, sincerely
anxious when her agitation grew more evident.
“Last night,” she started, choosing her
words with obvious difficulty and care. “Do you believe dreams show us things,
Michael?” she asked, attention erratic, switching topics so swiftly, he
blinked.
“Yes,” he answered her honestly. How could
he not believe in dreams as visions of truth when much of his investigative
brilliance was based on the abstract images of dreams and drug-induced vision.
If it was possible, the answer upset her
further. He left his seat and settled next to her, keeping her hands held
tightly between his.
“What have you seen?” he asked, filtering
the probable answers through his brain even before she could reply. When she
spoke again, she offered him the one possibility that he would never have
guessed.
“Your death,” she murmured, voice heavy
with dread. “Last night, in my dreams, I saw you die, Michael! You were alone,
lying on a dark street...” She shuddered violently, closed her eyes, and tears
slid from beneath the veil she’d hidden behind. “I know it is highly
inappropriate, but I cannot help it,” she looked at him again, and finished, “I
do not think I could bear your death, dearest.”
Devane was speechless for a few seconds,
stunned by the revelation of both her nightmare and the depth of her sincere
affection for him. Bethany
clearly misinterpreted his silence; she pulled her hands from his grasp and
stared at the other side of the carriage wall.
“You must think me a complete fool,
Inspector,” she murmured bitterly. “Please accept my apology for the
embarrassment I have...”
Devane reacted purely on instinct, cutting
off the apology that hit him as an offense, not a deference to his feelings. He
touched her cheek, turning her to face him.
Before reason could censor his action, he touched his lips with hers,
covering her mouth with a tenderness that had been missing from his heart since
the early days of his marriage. Back when he and Evelyn had been in love and
filled with hope. The kiss had been meant as a brief caress of reassurance, but
the tentative touch slowly caught him and held, making him deepen the kiss
further, turning it into a sensuous exploration of her mouth. The taste and
scent of her filled his awareness and he leaned closer, holding her head,
guiding her willing response as she sighed quietly and melted into his embrace.
It was several minutes before he withdrew,
and seconds more before he knew what had pulled him out of the erotic languor
that had seeped into his very bones. The carriage had stopped moving. He looked
at Bethany, and
she stared back, her expression a combination of wonder and confusion. He was
puzzled by the emotions, but decided not to ask.
“Lady Bradshaw!”
Percival Vaughan’s anxiety laden voice
reached them a moment before the carriage door was unceremoniously opened and
the footman peered inside. Devane caught his attention instantly and was
startled by the burning resentment that sizzled in the other man’s light blue
eyes.
“I’m fine, Percy,” she said, sounding
slightly breathless. “Really. Thank you for your concern.”
“I told you we was here, ma’am,” he stated
quietly. “When you didn’t answer, I thought you’d fainted again.”
She winced at the reminder of the last time
she’d ridden in a carriage with Devane, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep
the smile from curving his lips upward. She pretended not to notice his
amusement.
“I’m sorry, Percy,” she apologized, quite
unnecessarily. “The Inspector and I were discussing Robert’s death, and I truly
didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he bowed his head in
deference, and held the door open while Devane stepped from the carriage then
turned to assist Bethany.
Devane caught the anger in Vaughan’s eyes again the instant his hand
touched hers, but he made no outward appearance of having noted the emotion. Bethany stepped daintily
onto the cobble-stoned walk, and asked Percy to return for them in
approximately an hour. He nodded, slammed the carriage door shut with needless
force, then climbed back into the driver’s seat. Devane felt the prickle of ice
at the back of his neck as they approached the door to the café, and he glanced
back, long enough to see Vaughan glaring at him with open hostility. The vehemence
of the resentment struck Devane like a blow, then he entered the building and
turned his attention to Bethany
as she spoke quietly to a young man, asking for a private room. He clearly knew
her and was happy to accommodate the request.
The Devane Files: Book One - OUT OF HELL
Available from: Liquid Silver Books
The Devane Files: Book Two - AN UNSPOKEN BETRAYAL
Available from: Liquid Silver Books
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