The Earl and the Courtesan
By
Raven McAllan
Regency
Romance (contains some sex and profanities)
Blurb:
Once a courtesan, not always a
courtesan. It’s time to move on, and who better to do it with than a rake?
Theresa Kyle, ex-courtesan,
will not kowtow to any man in marriage, let alone an odious ex-pupil. When the
man rejects her refusal of his proposal, she reluctantly agrees to seek help.
Jamie, the Earl of Weston, is
in a fix of his own. The marriage mart is not for him, let alone a compulsory
wedding due to the machinations of his mother.
A mutual friend seems to have
the perfect solution. The earl and the courtesan—what better way to foil those
who want to see them married against their wills?
Alas, the best-laid plans go
awry, for neither had expected to fall in love. Needless to say, as far as
Jamie is concerned, being a member of the aristocracy comes in handy when you
need to bend the rules to your will. Convincing Theresa, however, may well be
harder than winning over the ton.
Buy Links:
Author Bio:
Well what can I
say? I'm growing old disgracefully and loving it.
DH and I live
on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for
us.
Our kids have
grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep
breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my
study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I'm often seen procrastinating,
by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and
assuring tourists that indeed, I'm not the bed and breakfast. That would mean
cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies
as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to
do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic.
Long may it last.
Social Media Links:
https://www.facebook.com/ravenandkera (my page)
https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallanandkerafaire (author page)
http://amzn.to/2r3i55e (Amazon. com page)
http://amzn.to/2r32baI (Amazon UK)
Excerpt:
“I think we should start a club,” Theresa ruminated. “One for
people like us who do not want to be ruled by convention.”
Her friend Maria sat back in her chair and contemplated Theresa.
“There are plenty of us. What’s our name?”
“How about the Daring Ladies Club?”
Maria sniggered. “Oh, I like it. And the members?”
“Well, you and me for a start. We can begin small.”
“Excellent. When do we have our first meeting?” Maria reached
for a nearby bottle of wine and poured two glasses full.
“I rather think we’re having it now,” Theresa said with a laugh.
She took her glass and held it high. “To the Daring Ladies Club. Be this the
only meeting or not, we can at last acknowledge who and what we are.”
“Interesting, unconventional and ready to take on the world?”
“Something like that.”
Theresa sat back in the large comfortable chair and smiled at
her friend over her glass of wine. Theresa’s long black hair was half in a knot
on the top of her head and the rest had left its pins and spiraled over her
shoulders in a waterfall the color of midnight. She pushed it back impatiently.
At times it was the bane of her life.
“So, that apart, who is your next client?”
“Who’s next?” she said in reply to Maria, her friend, confidante
and seamstress to the ton. “Nobody. I’ve decided to retire.” She sipped her
wine and savored the silky-smooth apricot and gooseberry-scented liquid with
enjoyment. “This is good.”
Maria put her own glass down with such a thump that the fine
French contents slopped dangerously near the rim. Her mouth dropped open and
she gaped at Theresa as if she were hallucinating.
Theresa grinned and held the glass in the air to look at the
light amber-colored liquid. “Where did you find it?”
“Never mind the wine,” Maria retorted. “Say that again, slowly.”
Theresa opened her eyes as wide as possible and waved her glass
from side to side as a toast. It wasn’t often possible to shock or surprise
Maria, and therefore every time it happened was immensely satisfying.
“Theresita is no more. From now on I’m plain Theresa Kyle, spinster of the
parish.”
“Why?” Maria sounded bewildered, as well she might, Theresa
thought. She hadn’t mentioned her intentions to Maria until she’d firmed up her
decisions and set certain plans in motion. “You’ll never be plain anything,”
Maria continued. “Black hair and blue eyes combined with a stunning figure will
ensure that.” She tugged a strand of her own soft brown tresses. “Not
forgettable like mine.”
“Exactly.” Theresa chose to misunderstand her. “You are not
forgettable, and you know it. Your hair is glossy and your figure…”
“Is voluptuous. Top-heavy. Why do you think I became a
seamstress?” Maria asked, then chuckled. “I know what suits me.”
“You know what suits others as well,” Theresa replied. “That is
why you are successful.”
“Just as well, because now I can afford to dress in the style I
enjoy,” Maria said. “Something that pleases me. However, stop changing the
subject. Why are you retiring?”
“Why?” Theresa said. “Because I’ve had enough.” She shrugged and
raised her eyebrows as she tried to put into words just how she felt. “Of men
and my life as it has been. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed every minute
of it, I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But think about it, Maria. I’ve spent
the last fifteen years earning my living on my back.” She snorted then took a
mouthful of wine. “Well, not necessarily on my back, but you
know what I mean.”
Theresa winked and Maria choked. “Water,” Maria spluttered. “No,
wine will do.” She took a large swig and wiped her streaming eyes. “How can you
say something so audacious with such a straight face?” she asked when she could
speak in a coherent manner once more.
“Practice,” Theresa responded without any embellishment to her
reply. “Back, front or sideways on, it all has the same end. To instruct
certain gentlemen of the ton that there are two people in each coupling and
both have desires and needs that must be addressed.”
“So? You’re successful, well liked and a definite asset to lots
of relationships, even if that is not admitted to. You can’t tell me there are
no more men who need help, because after listening to the women in my salon
whinge I won’t believe it.” Maria rolled her eyes. “Some of the things I hear
would make the most confident of men blanch. I hear about sizes of appendages,
how long a man can last, the best position to ensure you do not get with child…
You name it and I probably can give you five different opinions. I’m sure you
are needed.”
“More than likely, but no more help from me.” Theresa sat
forward and began to count on her fingers. “First, I’m one and thirty, and
would have what, three, four more years before all the bits that are now firm
and attractive to gentlemen begin to wobble more than is seemly. Second, I’m
not as agile as I was.”
She hiccupped as Maria began to laugh uncontrollably. “Not… Oh
my, the picture that conjures up,” Maria tilted her head to one side. “Just how
agile do you need to be?”
“As a…and oh, do stop it…” Theresa shook her head and sniggered.
“You’d be surprised. Well, no, on reflection, maybe you wouldn’t, but believe
me it isn’t as easy to twist and turn as it was five years ago.” She stood and
began to pace Maria’s snug sitting room. One long stride and her swirling
skirts set a side table rocking. She stooped to steady it. If the dainty china
figures on it smashed, Maria would not be best pleased. “It’s not just that. I
think I need to remove from town for a while, and get out of a certain
honorable’s orbit.” She turned in a flurry of elegant skirts and faced Maria.
“One who doesn’t understand the words ‘it is over’.”
No comments:
Post a Comment