Book Excerpt: Murder for Liar by Verlin Darrow

 

Murder for Liar by Verlin Darrow

Publication Date: May 15, 2023
Paperback:298

Goodreads

Tom is dangerously close to discovering where his threshold is-the point of no return for his sanity. His encounter with the killer represents one more bizarre hot potato he's forced to juggle instead of filing away neatly. It's not one too many, but what if the next one is? And could all the coincidences that keep happening to Tom be nothing more than that? Could a young woman named Zig-Zag really be an angel? How could a dog lead Tom to one of the most important clues? The questions pile up, much as the murders do.

Swept up in a perilous world where nothing is as it seems, Tom struggles to make sense of the decidedly dangerous, downright deadly scheme in which he has somehow unwittingly become a key player. Tom is about to discover that in this treacherous reality, the truth is far, far stranger than fiction...but the real danger is not knowing which is which.

Available at: Amazon and Barnes & Nobles

Excerpt

“I think she wants us to follow her," I told Zig-Zag.

“I can see that, but I think I’d prefer some human help. Hello?” she called one more time. “Anybody here?"

There was no reply. The dog watched us assiduously, her eyes gleaming. When we still didn’t move, she yipped, took another step, and coquettishly cocked her head again.

“I’m coming," I told her. “I can’t disappoint an old friend."

Zig-Zag sidled forward with me, and together we negotiated a maze of poorly lit aisles by following our canine guide. It was an eerie experience following this strange dog in an empty antique bookstore on a spiritual mission based on someone else’s vision. If at any time in my life prior to this, I’d been informed this episode was going to be part of my future, I’d have laughed.

We found ourselves in a back corner of the store in the fiction section, according to the faded blue notecard affixed to nearby shelves. The dog barked again to get our attention and then reared-up to put her paws on a small black volume near the bottom of the stacks.

“That’s the one, huh?" I asked, reaching down to pat her head.

She evaded my hand and barked again. It was an alto bark, not too deep and not too yippy.

“Get that book,” Zig-Zag said. “I want to see what it is.”

© Verlin Darrow

About the Author

Verlin Darrow is currently a psychotherapist who lives with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near the Monterey Bay in northern California. They diagnose each other as necessary. Verlin is a former professional volleyball player, country-western singer/songwriter, import store owner, and assistant guru in a small, benign cult, from which he graduated everyone when he left.

Before bowing to the need for higher education, a much younger Verlin ran a punch press in a sheetmetal factory, drove a taxi, worked as a night janitor, shoveled asphalt on a road crew, and installed wood floors. He barely missed being blown up by Mt. St. Helens, survived the 1985 Mexico City earthquake, and (so far) he’s successfully weathered his own internal disasters.

Verlin is the author of a psycho-spiritual mystery - Blood and Wisdom, as well as a fantasy thriller - Coattail Karma.

He encourages readers to visit his website or email him to find out more: verlindarrow.com or verlindarrow@gmail.com

Excerpt & Book Giveaway: QUEEN OF HELL by Danae L. Samms

Queen of Hell by Danae L. Samms

Publication Date: November 9, 2020
Paperback & eBook; 446 pages

Series: Persephone, Book One
Genre: Historical Fiction

1765. Persephone Nicholas has lived her twenty years with a father she cannot stand. Secluded on their plantation, Persephone feels she has a life destined for spinsterhood. "Life is Heaven for men and Hell for women" is her mantra. But on a visit to her cousin's wedding, she meets young Mr. Elijah Parker. Opportunities show that things can be much sweeter, and Persephone begins to question her thoughts on life. As the world continues to throw her hardships and struggle, Persephone chooses to fight and master the life she's been handed to become Queen of the Hell she living in.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

Danae L. Samms has always been a creator. Loving books, television, and being outside fueled her imagination. Her writing began when she was four with her first play, and continued to grow to a degree in journalism. Finding newspapers terrible and websites tolerable, she paid the bills as a freelance writer. Eventually, her creativity produced a novel and a thousand ideas waiting to become novels. Regularly, she keeps up with a blog of Unqualified Advice on Writing and Everything Else. The only thing she’s been doing longer than writing is horseback riding. While horse shoes were never her forte, Danae has spent plenty of time riding and training. Most of that is with her horse Maggie.

Website | Instagram | Goodreads

Blog Tour Schedule

Monday, May 24
Guest Post at Novels Alive

Tuesday, May 25
Review at 100 Pages a Day
Excerpt at Carole's Ramblings

Wednesday, May 26
Excerpt at Books, Ramblings, and Tea

Thursday, May 27
Review at Two Bookish Babes
Excerpt at Reading is My Remedy

Friday, May 28
Review at Booking With Janelle

Saturday, May 29
Excerpt at Chicks, Rogues and Scandals

Monday, May 31
Review at Novels Alive
Review at Rajiv's Reviews

Tuesday, June 1
Review at Passages to the Past

Thursday, June 3
Excerpt at Coffee and Ink
Review at Probably at the Library

Friday, June 4
Interview at Passages to the Past

Giveaway

Enter to win a paperback copy of Queen of Hell by Danae L. Samms!

The giveaway is open to the US only and ends on June 4th. You must be 18 or older to enter.

Queen of Hell

EXCERPT:

Except & Book Giveaway - His Castilian Hawk by Anna Belfrage

His Castilian Hawk by Anna Belfrage

Publication Date: September 28, 2020

Troubador Publishing

Genre: Historical Fiction

For bastard-born Robert FitzStephan, being given Eleanor d’Outremer in marriage is an honour. For Eleanor, this forced wedding is anything but a fairy tale.

Robert FitzStephan has served Edward Longshanks loyally since the age of twelve. Now he is riding with his king to once and for all bring Wales under English control.

Eleanor d’Outremer—Noor to family—lost her Castilian mother as a child and is left entirely alone when her father and brother are killed. When ordered to wed the unknown Robert FitzStephan, she has no choice but to comply.

Two strangers in a marriage bed is not easy. Things are further complicated by Noor’s blood-ties to the Welsh princes and by covetous Edith who has warmed Robert’s bed for years.

Robert’s new wife may be young and innocent, but he is soon to discover that not only is she spirited and proud, she is also brave. Because when Wales lies gasping and Edward I exacts terrible justice on the last prince and his children, Noor is determined to save at least one member of the House of Aberffraw from the English king.

Will years of ingrained service have Robert standing with his king or will he follow his heart and protect his wife, his beautiful and fierce Castilian hawk?

EXCERPT – in which Robert bids his wife farewell before riding out to war

 

Robert was up at the crack of dawn. The rain had abated, and for a couple of hours he had his men busy themselves with preparations while he oversaw the loading of victuals onto a couple of packhorses—a cart would not get far in the mountainous terrain of Wales.

By the time they came in to break their fast, Noor was already in the hall. She served him herself, placing a platter of smoked fish and bread in front of him. No words, they just sat side by side, holding hands under the table.

And then it was time to leave. Robert ordered his men outside but lingered in the hall, reluctant to leave the warmth and his wife. From outside came the sound of men and horses, and there was no point to further delaying, not when the moment of farewell was upon them.

Noor accompanied him outside, fingers clutching his. Down the steps that led from the hall, there was Elias, holding Mars. Robert took a deep breath and turned to his wife.

“Be careful,” she said, stroking his cheek. “Come back safe and sound to me.”

“I will,” he promised, knowing just how futile his promise was. It was all in the hands of the Lord—and maybe his king. Robert could do nothing but obey his orders and hope he’d emerge from every fray alive and essentially unharmed. “And you must take care of yourself, my heart.”

She blushed, her eyes glistening. She nodded in response.

Robert took her hand and kissed each finger in turn before lifting her chin so that he could press a kiss to her lips. A chaste thing, him far too aware of their audience, of just how close Noor was to tears.

“I have something for you,” he murmured.

“Another collar?” she teased, and he was grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. He glanced at Gawain, presently wearing his new collar. The hound looked none too happy about it, his hind leg coming up regularly to scratch at his neck.

“No. This is for you, my hawk.”

He dug into his pouch, his hands closing round the smooth white stone he had found so many years ago on the shore of the Holy Land. He had just been laughed out of Yasmine’s room, she telling him he need not come back if he intended to subject her to his lovesick spouting, and instead of returning to his lodgings he had ended up by the sea north of Acre, having first snuck out through St Anthony’s gate.

He pulled out the stone and opened his hand. Like a little white heart, it lay on his palm, as bright as when he’d first found it and veined with thin lines of red and black.

“I’ve carried this with me for longer than I’ve had my leather surcoat,” he said. “I never found someone to give it to before.”

“A stone?” But her finger followed its shape.

“A heart.” He cleared his throat. “My heart.”

The look she gave him made his throat constrict. In those beautiful dark eyes, he could see just how much she loved him, and that single tear running down her cheek had him reaching out to catch it.

“Don’t weep, little hawk,” he said. “I cannot bear it.”

“I’m not weeping.” She ducked her head and scrubbed at her face. “It is just the wind making my eyes water.”

He smiled. “There is no wind.” He handed her the stone.    

“Then it must be a speck of dust.” She straightened up, still as short as when he’d first met her, still soft and round. But his Noor was different from the maid he’d wed less than a year ago: she had grown into a young woman, alluring curves hiding a centre of steel. A wife to be proud of, he reflected. A wife to love and cherish, he added as an afterthought when she embraced him as if she would never let him go.

“God keep you,” she said, releasing him. 

“And you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped back, only to bump into Gawain. “Take care of your mistress,” he said to the dog, scratching it behind the ears. Gawain gave him an aloof look, eyes the colour of amber staring straight through him.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England.

More recently, Anna has published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. While she loved stepping out of her comfort zone (and will likely do so again ) she is delighted to be back in medieval times in her September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love.

Find out more about Anna on her website or on her Amazon page. You can also follow her on Facebook or Twitter.

Blog Tour Schedule

Saturday, October 24
Review at Pursuing Stacie

Monday, October 26
Excerpt at Coffee and Ink

Tuesday, October 27
Review at Rajiv's Reviews

Wednesday, October 28
Guest Post at Novels Alive

Friday, October 30
Excerpt at Historical Fiction with Spirit

Sunday, November 1
Interview at Reader_ceygo

Tuesday, November 3
Review at YA, It's Lit

Wednesday, November 4
Excerpt at What Is That Book About

Friday, November 6
Review at Passages to the Past

Monday, November 9
Excerpt at I'm Into Books

Tuesday, November 10
Review at A Chick Who Reads

Thursday, November 12
Excerpt at Carole Rae's Random Ramblings
Excerpt at Chicks, Rogues, and Scandals

Monday, November 16
Review at Reader_ceygo
Review at Just One More Chapter

Tuesday, November 17
Review at Books and Zebras

Wednesday, November 18
Review at Novels Alive
Interview at Jathan & Heather

Thursday, November 19
Review at Books, Cooks, Looks

Friday, November 20
Feature at The Lit Bitch
Review at Bookramblings
Interview at Books & Benches

Giveaway

During the Blog Tour, we are giving away two paperback copies of His Castilian Hawk! To enter, please use the Gleam form below.

The giveaway is open internationally and ends on November 20th. You must be 18 or older to enter.

Castilian Hawk

Blog Tour & Excerpt: The Saxon Spears by James Calbraith

The Saxon Spears by James Calbraith
Publication Date: December 11, 2019
Flying Squid
Paperback & eBook; 481 Pages
Series: The Song of Ash, Book 1
Genre: Historical Fiction

Amazon 

Summary:
The old world is burning down
A hero will rise from its ASH.

Thirty years have passed since Britannia voted to throw off the Roman yoke. Now, the old world crumbles. 
Pirates roam the seas, bandits threaten the highways, and barbarian refugees land at Britannia's shores, uninvited. The rich profit from the chaos, while the poor suffer. A new Dark Age is approaching - but all is not lost.

Ash is a Seaborn, a Saxon child found on the beach with nothing but a precious stone at his neck and a memory of a distant war from which his people have fled. Raised on the estate of a Briton nobleman, trained in warfare and ancient knowledge, he soon becomes embroiled in the machinations and intrigues at the court of Wortigern, the Dux of Londinium, a struggle that is about to determine the future of all Britannia.  A child of Saxon blood, an heir to Roman family, his is a destiny like no other: to join the two races and forge a new world from the ruins of the old.



Excerpt:

I hear it first, before I see it: the shaft flutters through the air and the blade hacks unfailingly into the target with a satisfying crunch.

Half a dozen cabbage heads rest on top of an old crumbling wall, marking what must have once been the eastern border of the villa. Stuck in one of the cabbages, splitting it almost in two, is a weapon I haven’t seen before: a small, slender iron axe set on a slightly curved oaken shaft. Fulco waits for me to bring the weapon to him. It’s heavier than I expected, well weighted towards the blade, which curves upwards and ends with a pointy spike.

“What is this?”

“A weapon of my people. The Romans would call it a francisca,” he replies. “At least those who encountered it and lived to tell the tale. I just call it what it is — a throwing axe.”

There’s another of the weapons lying at his feet. He picks it up and begins to whet the blades against each other.

“I see you’re fond of axes.”

“Nothing quite like it when you’re out on a campaign, boy. A sword is great, if you can afford it — and have access to a good bladesmith to repair it. But any village blacksmith knows how to make an axe head, and then you just need to find a sturdy enough stick, and —”

He throws the francisca again and another cabbage head is destroyed in the blink of an eye. This time, he goes to pick it up himself.

“You can’t do that with a sword,” he says. “Many a skull was split by these two beauties, back in the day.”

He hands me back the weapon. I glimpse my reflection in the polished blade. I run my finger against the sharp edge in admiration, and then I remember.

“Christian skulls.”

Fulco shrugs. He unties the ribbon binding his long black hair in a tight bob and lets it fall to his shoulders. He’s the only adult man in the villa to wear his hair like this.

“Christian, pagan, there’s no difference to the blade. They all die the same, no matter where they’re going after that.”

“Then the rumours are true. You don’t believe in God.”

He scoffs, and I note to myself that it’s probably best not to irritate a man twice my size, holding a foot-long flying axe as if it was a whittling knife.

“Which God?” he asks, flipping the weapon in his hand.

“There is only one.”

“Ah, but is there?”

I glance around nervously. This isn’t the kind of thing I’d like anyone to hear me discuss.

“Calm down, boy. Paulinus and Pascent know all about it.”

He looks up to the sky, at a buzzard flying through a gap in the clouds.

“See, here’s what I think happened.” He crouches and draws the sign of the cross in the sand with the pointy end of the blade. “God appeared to the Romans as a shepherd in the desert, right?”

That’s not strictly true, but I’m reminded of the axe in his hand and nod in agreement.

“And that’s fair. That’s what they’re familiar with. But what would a desert shepherd be doing in the North, where you and I come from? Wouldn’t it make more sense for God to appear in the guise of a wise wanderer, clad in a grey woollen cloak, thick enough to withstand our winters?” He draws another sign beside the cross, one that resembles a Greek upsilon. “He even got himself stuck on a tree, like that Jesus. An ash tree, no less.” He winks at me.

I have never heard about these pagan beliefs before, not in any sort of detail. I yearn to hear more, but I fear of what might happen to me — to my mortal soul — if I do.

“And is that what you believe?”

He stands up and juggles the axe in the air. “Eh. I was raised to believe in one bunch of gods, then was told to worship another. I saw people die and kill for believing in both. Now I don’t know which one to follow. I pray to the Roman God out of respect to Adelheid and her husband… but I also worship the gods of the Franks, out of respect to my ancestors.”

His explanation makes a surprising amount of sense to me. I realise I have no answer — and, I guess, neither did Paulinus when confronted with Fulco’s peculiar brand of philosophy, since he resigned himself to allow the Frank to continue his practices.

“I wish I knew what my ancestors believed in…” I say quietly.

He rubs my hair. “Oh, I’m sure I can help you with that. Franks, Saxons, Alemanns — we were all neighbours once, we all share the same gods, under different names.”

I look up, wondering if he realises how exciting this new information sounds to my ears. At last, a chance to learn something — anything, beyond faint glimpses of the past — about my ancestors, maybe about my real family… How much does he really know — and how much of it is relevant to me and my people?

“Just let me know when you wish to talk about it. We’ll find a more…” He lowers his voice and glances around. “… suitable place.”

Blog Tour Schedule

Monday, February 24
Review at Donna’s Book Blog

Tuesday, February 25
Excerpt at Passages to the Past

Wednesday, February 26
Review at Gwendalyn’s Books

Thursday, February 27
Review at Broken Teepee

Friday, February 28
Review at Books and Zebras

Saturday, February 29
Excerpt at Historical Fiction with Spirit

Monday, March 2
Review at Hoover Book Reviews

Tuesday, March 3
Review at Jessica Belmont

Wednesday, March 4
Review at Historical Graffiti

Thursday, March 5
Excerpt at Carole Rae’s Random Ramblings

Friday, March 6
Review at YA, It’s Lit

Giveaway

During the Blog Tour, we are giving away a paperback copy of The Saxon Spears! To enter, please use the Gleam form below. Giveaway Rules – Giveaway ends at 11:59 pm EST on March 6th. You must be 18 or older to enter. – Paperback giveaway is open internationally. – Only one entry per household. – All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspicion of fraud will be decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion. – The winner has 48 hours to claim prize or a new winner is chosen. The Saxon Spears

Book Excerpt - THE ROMANOV EMPRESS by CW Gortner & Blog All About It Post

This month the prompt for Blog All About It is "SPIRIT", which is strange! Why? I was thinking about what on Earth I can do for this month's prompt and then I stumbled upon a little snipbit that brought up the word "SPIRT" in a book I am currently reading, so there you go! The blogging gods have shined upon me this day!

I am enjoying this book so far. I should have it finished by tomorrow or early Sunday morning (depending how tired I get tonight). 






Here is an excerpt from 'THE ROMANOV EMPRESS' by CW Gortner. The scene is between the princess of Denmark and Queen Victoria of England:

Hope you enjoyed this snipbit and my review for this book will be on Sunday here and on Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell

GIVEAWAY and Book Excerpts: Pen & Xander by Laekran Zea Kemp

Here is the link directly to the giveaway:

https://vyper.io/c/3401xhjdj

And courtesy of the author is here are a couple of excerpts of 'Pen & Xander' for your enjoyment!

Excerpt #1:
The parking lot hasn’t changed; the science building looks the same as that first day of school five months ago. But as I sit in my car, watching girls I met during orientation skip up the steps, hugging their bags, excited to play nurse, I try to convince myself that something inside me has. That today I’ll actually be able to go inside. That today I will stop lying and be the person they want me to be.

Class starts in approximately seven minutes—the class I should have taken and passed last semester, moving me one step closer to a degree in nursing.

Six minutes.

I sit in the parking lot, watching the clock tick down. The car is in park but I can’t bring myself to turn off the engine. 

Walk inside.

I turn off the car, reminding myself how much I’ve already wasted on tuition and books.

You can do this. You can.

I reach for my bag.

Get. Out. Of. The. Car. 

And then I can’t breathe.

My mother’s shoes.

All I can think about are my mother’s shoes.

How they’ve sat in the same spot by the door for almost twenty years. Scuffed and cracked, the shadow of her foot pressed to the leather even when the laces are loose. I imagine every hallway they’ve ever walked down, every door they’ve propped open, every mess they’ve ever stepped in, every second they’ve held her up when all she wanted was to collapse. Because one of her patients couldn’t remember her face or their daughter’s name or how to speak.

When she lost one I’d wake to the knock of the rolling pin and the smell of dough warming on the hot plate. Sometimes I’d try to take the pin from her but there was something about the force, about the rhythm that reminded her how to breathe. We’d work in silence and three-dozen tortillas later she’d wrap them in foil and drive them to the family. The family that only visited once a month. That would accept my mother’s food without acknowledging that she was more family to the deceased than they were.

And then the next day she would go back to work.

For almost twenty years. She went back.

And if I step out of this car, if I walk up those steps, if I sit at that desk and pretend…how long will I be sitting there before I realize I’m trapped?

I take a deep breath, the scent of a thousand shifts at the restaurant tucked into the fabric of the front seat. Mango and cilantro and epazote, tomatillos and roasted pepitas and tortillas. I can’t sleep without those smells tangled in my hair, without those flavors still on my tongue.

So I have to decide what’s scarier: living a life that doesn’t belong to me or losing the one I love. If the truth breaks my father’s heart, I know he’ll take it from me. But if it doesn’t, if he understands, if I can makehim understand, I can be free.

I weigh each option, simmering in the anxiety they provoke, in the hope. Because I have to do what scares me. It’s the only way to ward off the helplessness. To stay in control. I always have to be in control.

Which means that today is not the day I go inside.

My stomach drops, my hand reaching to put the car in drive again.

Today is the day I tell them the truth.

Excerpt #2:

The room empties until there’s no one left but a few people snoring. Pen stays put too, standing across from me. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, her expression stoic.

“Should we call it a tie?” I say.

She slides a shot glass over to me. “There’s no such thing.”

“Okay…” I reach for the coin. “Call it.”

She calls heads. She wins.

I try to steady my voice. “Go easy on me.”

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” It’s the only game I want to play with her.

“Okay. Where are you from? Originally?”

I sigh, relieved. “Puebla. I moved here when I was twelve.”

“My turn,” she says, not wasting any time.

“Truth or Dare,” I counter.

“Truth.”

The question immediately forms on my tongue—who are you…really?—but it’s too harsh, almost accusatory. I mull over the words again and finally settle on, “Are you really as brave as you seem?”

She doesn’t smile. “Yes. And no. Your turn.”

“Truth,” I say.

“Are you as cool, calm, and collected as you seem?”

I huff out a laugh. “Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

The laugh slips from my lips. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“My turn.” I can’t tell if the abrupt back and forth is driven by her desire to reveal something about me or to be revealed herself. “Ask me another question.”

“Why did you drink before they could say who your brother…you know…?”

Pen glances at the window seat where Chloe is asleep against the sill. She rolls, sensing our eyes, and Pen lures me onto the front porch. The breeze is warm, the night sky hidden behind grey clouds. I expect Pen to explain but instead she’s silent, proving once again that Chloe’s secrets, unlike everyone else’s, are safe with her.

Beneath the light whistle of the wind, crickets chirping, I say, “You’re a good friend.”

She ignores the comment, sitting on the lid of an old paint can. “It’s your turn.”

I sit down next to her. “I’m ready.”

She narrows her eyes. “Okay, for all the marbles this one’s a two-parter. One truth and one dare.” She stares at the street, cheeks burning.

When she faces me again mine are too.

“Truth,” she breathes. “Do you want to kiss me?”

I don’t look away or even blink. “Yes.”

She doesn’t look away either. “Dare.” She swallows, leans in. “Do it.”

My hands move first, trusting that the only way to make them stop shaking is to press them to her skin. My thumbs graze her cheeks, fingers in her hair. It’s soft and she’s warm and for a long time I just look at her, closing the space centimeters at a time while I take in the lashes that are stuck together by mascara, the birthmark buried under her left eyebrow, the small dimple on her chin. I stare, sorting every piece into things that feel good and things that hurt like hell, into things I never want to forget and things I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I never have to.

But before I have a chance to savor those first few breaths slipping between her lips, they’re pressed against mine, falling and climbing their way back up. I taste her lipstick, her tongue, and it makes me dizzy. Her hands are on my knees, pinning me there, and then they’re on my waist, on my shoulders, both of us gripping each other like we’re clinging to the edge of a cliff. Afraid of falling off. Or hoping that if we do, we’ll fall together.

Suddenly, Pen stops moving.

She stops breathing, my wild heartbeat the only sound.

I open my eyes and she’s not staring back. She’s staring at the street. At the car parked in front of Angel’s house, cigarette smoke slithering up from the open window, flesh and ink viper flexed against Jago’s forearm as he hangs it over the side of the door.

I’m on my feet and so is Pen. She shudders, angry, and unafraid. But I’m terrified. And not just of Jago seeing me here but of Jago seeing her. I don’t know how long he’s been watching us but I can tell by the way his mouth twitches that he knows who she is. To Ignacio Prado. To me.

The engine purrs as the car pulls forward. Just in time for Angel to step outside. For Jago to say hello to him too.

“Get inside, Pen.”

She straightens, shoulders heaving.

“Pen…”

“No.” Her stare sharpens. She charges down the steps. “He’s not gonna fucking do this.”

Angel wrenches her back. “Are you out of your mind?”

My heart races.

“Stay away from us!” Pen shouts, trying to tear herself from Angel’s grasp. “Stay away from the restaurant. Fucking stay away!”

She seethes but the faster her breaths, the more transparent she becomes. Beneath the anger, beneath the shock, her eyes glisten with something like fear. And it’s all my fault.

Jago hangs his head back, a whistle cutting between his smile. He leans on the gas, letting the engine growl, and then he speeds off.

Pen glares until he rounds the corner and then she finally lets Chloe pull her inside. I stay put, afraid of facing Angel. I know Jago’s been following me and because I wasn’t being careful I led him right to Angel Prado’s house. To Pen. Her rage wasn’t directed at me but what she doesn’t know is that it should have been.

“I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean for—”

“It’s not you,” Angel stops me. “It’s…” he shakes his head, “it’s not you.”

Book Excerpt: A Raging Madness by Jude Knight

Genre: Regency romance, historical romance, historical suspense,
Regency noir, gothic    
Heat rating: PG-13   
ISBN: 9780473393670
Page count: 382 pages on Kindle    
Publication date: 9 May 2017

Blurb

Ella survived an abusive and philandering husband, in-laws who hate her, and public scorn. But she’s not sure she will survive love. It is too late to guard her heart from the man forced to pretend he has married such a disreputable widow, but at least she will not burden him with feelings he can never return.

Alex understands his supposed wife never wishes to remarry. And if she had chosen to wed, it would not have been to him. He should have wooed her when he was whole, when he could have had her love, not her pity. But it is too late now. She looks at him and sees a broken man. Perhaps she will learn to bear him. 

In their masquerade of a marriage, Ella and Alex soon discover they are more well-matched than they expected. But then the couple’s blossoming trust is ripped apart by a malicious enemy. Two lost souls must together face the demons of their past to save their lives and give their love a future.

Website and blog: http://judeknightauthor.com/

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Book Excerpt

Alex poured the coffee, his rinsed shaving mug doing service for Jonno’s portion. Ella sat and sipped while Jonno cleared the table and pushed the serving trolley out of the way. At Alex’s gesture, he sat on the stool again.

“Now, Lady Melville. What trouble are you in, and how can we help?” And should he believe a word she said? She did not act like a lunatic, apart from appearing half-naked in his room in the middle of the night. Apart from the panicked response to her brother-in-law.

That she had taken opium in some form was beyond a doubt. The contracted pupils, the loss of appetite, the shaky hand, the restless shifting in her seat, all spoke to that. Thanks to his injury, Alex had far too close and personal an experience of the symptoms to mistake them. The bruises on her jaw hinted that the drug taking might not have been voluntary, but perhaps her keepers needed to drug her to keep her calm.

Sane or not, Alex hoped he would not need to hand her back to Braxton. Her fear might be irrational, but when she had stood at bay, begging for his help, he had been thrown back ten years. Not that she begged him then. But he left camp on a short trip for supplies, and returned to find Ella married and much changed, her fire banked; her joy extinguished. That time, he had ignored her plight, hardened his heart and left her to the fate she had engineered. And had suffered with her as the consequences quenched her vitality and sucked away the last of her childhood. Suffered, and been powerless to help.

“I have been drugged,” Ella said baldly. “Twice a day. For weeks now. They won’t tell me why. If I refuse, they force me.”

“‘They’ being Braxton and his wife?” Alex prompted.

“And Constance’s dresser.”

“Go on.” He was careful to show no disbelief, no surprise.

“I have been kept in my room. They locked the door. They took all my clothes, my shoes. I saw you out the window and so I came. Will you help me, Alex?”

“I can take you to the rector.” Even as he said it he remembered the plump little man greasing at Braxton’s elbow. Ella would find no help there.

“No!” Her rejection was instant and panicked. “He will give me back and they will send me to that place. No, Alex. You do not know what they plan for me.” She was weeping. Alex had seen her calm under cannon fire, dry-eyed at her father’s funeral, efficient and unemotional in the midst of the carnage of a hospital tent after a battle. He had never seen her weep.

He captured her hands, and kept his voice low and soothing. “I do not, Ella. Tell me.”

PLEASE BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR THE CHARACTER INTERVIEW MAY 5TH!