And I’m late even with that, unless January has 34 days. Things have been busy in Robinsonworld. My husband’s health continues to improve and I’m out and about promoting Mistress by Midnight. Tomorrow I’ll be at Treatment Center Maryland giving away a hardcover copy, just as I am on this site’s monthly contest. Selling rights to the book clubs means hardcover copies are printed, which was so exciting for me that I joined the Rhapsody Book Club and ordered my own books, LOL. You can see how they advertised MbM in their catalog…my family will probably put “The clock chimes for lust” on my gravestone.

In other news, I can almost see the light at the end of Ben & Evie’s tunnel, about 10,000 to go for their HEA. I haven’t shared much about my current WIP, and it’s time to change all that. Here, without further ado, is how Baron Benton Craig lays eyes on his old sweetheart and current nemesis, Evangeline Ramsey:

Ben left his mother to her gossip and speculation. Braving the best knife sharpener and Cook’s opprobrium, he snagged an extra scone and her copy of the newssheet. Over his crumbs he found the offices of the paper buried between advertisements for the improvement of manly vigor and custom reupholstery.

R. Ramsey, Publisher. An odd coincidence that the bane of his existence shared the surname of his lost and unlamented love.

He had nothing better to do today but defend his honor and demand satisfaction or retraction. He was not going to sit in his club and endure the jibes of his so-called friends as they reminded him that he was the number one topic of conversation in the ton. Bad enough Severson gave him a gimlet eye as he assisted Ben with his coat against the raw December wind.

It would do him good to walk the distance to the newspaper’s office. Work up his umbrage and indignation. His calves would get exercise too. Ben wouldn’t let a few nights of dissipation wreck his carefully-crafted body. It was damned hard to stay fit in Town, but Ben did by fencing regularly at a private salle d’armes. Using his fists was far too reminiscent of his father’s proclivities, so he left Gentleman Jackson’s to others.

In a matter of half an hour, he had traversed quite a bit of fashionable London and stood before the impeccably scrubbed front window of The London List. He could see clear to the back of the rear brick office wall and the hulking black printing press which would be idle for the rest of the week. A young gentleman, his black hair cropped brutally short, shirtsleeves rolled up and jacket discarded, appeared to be tinkering with the source of Ben’s choler. If the infernal machine was broken, that would save him the trouble of smashing it himself.

No. Ben had other methods of persuasion. He would make the fellow or his employer if he had one an offer no sensible person could refuse.

Ben startled at the tinkle of bells over the door as he entered. The printer turned abruptly to him, his welcoming smile quickly draining away, looking ready to faint onto the wide pine floorboards.

By God and the saints and all that was holy. The young gentleman was no gentleman. Ben felt light-headed himself as he stared into Evangeline Ramsey’s parchment-pale face.