Cover Goodness (or Badness?)
Whoa. Here’s the incredible cover for Agony/Ecstasy, coming from Berkley Heat in December. Margaret Rowe has a short story in it, Wicked Wedding Night. The chick with the whip kind of scares me, but the guy is okay. š
Any Wicked Thursday
It’s Thursday! Time for an exclusive excerpt of Margaret Rowe’s Any Wicked Thing!
Here’s the first part of the cover blurb:
One disastrous nightā¦
At twenty-one, Sebastian Goddard, heir to the duke of Roxbury, desperately sought diversion from a life smothered by peerage and position. His quest led him to one night of reckless passion, resulting in betrayal by his oldest friend Frederica Wells, and the discovery of his fatherās darkest secret. Reeling from the devastation, he embarked on a ten-year debauch that well earned him the nicknameāāLord of Sin.ā
My hero Sebastian has not seen Freddie since he saw far too much of her one night ten years ago. Here’s his first encounter with her now that she’s all grown up:
He admired the Archibald crest on the keystone and knocked at the solarās massive oak door. He thought he heard āCome,ā though between the thickness of the door and stone walls it was impossible to tell. But when he pushed open the polished wood, he stopped listening altogether. All his other senses went on alert, however. Who needed ears when the sight of Frederica Wells was enough to drive any man quite as mad as the king or his father or the frog-loving Earl of Archibald?
Where was the chubby chit he remembered? The girl who fenced and fished with him? In her place was a curvaceous creature with gilt-streaked hair, her tongue licking a lucky wayward crumb from plump pink lips. Whose plumper white breasts nearly spilled from a flimsy dress that was surely too low-cut for tea. And damn it, where was her flirtatious companion when he had most need of her? Heād been without a woman too long if just the sight of his old enemy caused him such stimulation. This was Freddie, whose pigtails heād pulled, whose feet heād tripped, who bedeviled him like a little leech until he went away to school.
And when he came home, she tried to trick and trap him, until her head was turned by the promise of few pounds.
āHallo, Freddie. I see you started without me.ā He swiped a miniscule biscuit and swallowed it whole.
She wrinkled her perfect little powdered nose. No doubt she found the childhood nickname abhorrent. Heād have to keep calling her that to keep her at armās length, make sure she knew she held no sway over him. Damn her father for dying, damn his father for dying, damn Freddie for not finding some other man to bother with her hair and her breasts and her rosy mouth.
She inclined her head, as if she were a queen greeting a vexatious subject. By God, she had nerve. The last time heād seen her, she had been half-naked and white-faced, every freckle on her face like a spatter of mud, their worlds smashed to pieces. One would never know from her sang froid that they were anything to each other but passing acquaintances.
āSebastian. Or should I say Your Grace, although that seems very odd. How was your trip north?ā
He threw himself down into a chair that looked like some deposed kingās throne, devilishly uncomfortable as were all the authentic furnishings in the castle. No wonder the knights in days of olde were always riding off to do battle—sitting down at home was as good as getting a jousting stick up oneās arse. āBeastly. Iāve remembered why I never came back to visit. Every single minute is a fresh reminder.ā He gave her a pointed look, and was pleased to see her blush of discomfort.
Countdown, Content & Contests
Any Wicked Thing, a Margaret Rowe book from Berkley Heat, comes out March 1. I got an early copy today from my editor’s assistant in the mail, and it’s really beautiful. I’ll get a whole box of them at the end of the month, some of which will be given away as prizes. (click on Margaret Rowe’s contest link for a chance to win one this month, and Maggie Robinson’s contest link to enter for a chance to get a copy of my critique partner Tiffany Clare’s The Seduction of His Wife)
But I’m hanging on to the first one. My books are all on top of my rolltop desk, and AWT’s snuggling up to Tempting Eden now. When I look up from the computer screen and see five books, I still can’t quite believe it.
For the next three weeks (every Thursday, if I can remember, LOL), I’m going to be posting a snippet from AWT. Those of you who subscribe to my newsletter may have already read it, but check back next week for something brand new and shiny. If anything else exciting happens, I’ll let you know. š
Oh, she was naĆÆve now, entering into this ridiculous agreement with him. And for what? The uncertain roof over her head? But it was too late. She took another step forward. And then another.
He pressed his thumbs to her cheeks, his fingers resting lightly on her temples. His pupils were huge, black as his soul—if he still had one—ringed in dark, fathomless green. She longed to touch the bump on the bridge of his nose, the only imperfection she could detect in his shadowed face. He was whispering something scandalous, but she couldnāt listen for watching his lips move. Then he smiled and slanted them over hers, the soft strength of them warm and insistent. Her mouth opened in protest and his tongue traced the seam of her top lip slowly, as if he were measuring by touch, calculating the inches of pink. He did the same to her bottom lip, shocking her with his gentleness.
When theyād last kissed, heād tasted of too much brandy and smelled of sweet smoke. Tonight there was the merest hint of wine. His clean skin was scented with the rose petal soap she had made herself from the overgrown canes that tumbled over the outer wall. What should have been feminine had been converted into something else altogether—heād captured the briar as well as the bud. She hoped to steady herself with a deep breath, but instead was swept away to the wild roses and the heat of last summer. Her skin beneath the pressure of his fingertips tingled as he drew her closer, his mouth skimming effortlessly over hers, brushing, savoring. There was nothing to do but meet his tongue and shiver as he tore her defenses down lick by wicked lick.
She felt herself sway, and reached for something to hold on to, although she was still sweetly trapped between his hands. She should touch him, if only to feel his smooth brown chest or span his narrow hips or tousle his curling dark hair. But there was no safe place to touch that wouldnāt scorch her as he brought her to him, his velvet mouth angled expertly so that even the corners of her lips received attention.
Frederica had dreamed of kisses like this, though doubted their existence. How odd that her oldest friend and newest enemy was the man to prove her wrong. He lulled her into discomfiting comfort, banishing all thoughts with the steady skills of his tongue and teeth. His fingers slipped through her hair, loosening the braids. Her scalp tickled as he massaged her head and she felt a wash of heat down her neck. Her nightgown was suddenly too heavy, too warm, her arms useless at her sides, her knees weak. Sebastian seemed to know the exact moment of her capitulation, broke the kiss and lifted her from the floor.
Checking Off the List
I finished writing the first of the London List books yesterday, and plunged right into the second book today. I’m going to let Ben and Evie’s story rest and recuperate a little before I read/revise it and send it to my editor. I miss them already. š Fortunately I can make them turn up for a brief reunion the next book. Authorial magic!
I lived with them for over four months, and Evangeline Ramsey is probably my secret twin. Oops, not so secret. I’ve told you. But she’s sarcastic and stubborn and snotty and warm-hearted and wildly in love with a man who drives her crazy. She is, however, much braver than I am, breaking rules, hacking off her hair and posing as a man. She’s never at a loss for words–except when she’s in Ben’s arms. š
Updates from the Writing Cave
I expect to be on the quiet side for a while. I’m close, oh so close, to finishing my current project. As of today, I have a little over 84,000 words. I know exactly what needs to get written (not always the case, LOL). I’m excited, yet sad at the same time. I love this couple!
But I love Sebastian and Freddie too, who are about to make their debut in Margaret Rowe’s Any Wicked Thing from Berkley Heat on March 1. Look for excerpts on the blog in the coming weeks. Here’s a snippet:
Frederica removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She didnāt want to see her embroidery anywayāshe was making a dogās dinner of the vines and flowers on the pointless pillow case. Why embellish something that was to be drooled on? It was not as though sheād ever have a man in her bed to impress with her neat French knots and chain stitches. And if thatās all heād be looking atā
A perfectly wicked thought crossed her mind. True, she had pledged to herself to never marry. She planned on hiring a much nicer companion than Mrs. Carroll in two years when she came into her funds and live modestly on her inheritance, with perhaps a faithful dog or a cat. Perhaps both. Men were, on the whole, disappointing creatures who cared for nothing but their own comforts, and often had fleas besides. Sebastian was the very model of such a manāselfish, careless, reckless. But the play upon the family nameāhe was known as God of Sin by the chin-wagsāwas surely deserved.
Fredericaās paltry attempt at sexual experience a decade ago should probably not even be counted as such. While she had undoubtedly lost her virginity, sheād never been transported to heaven as was rumored possible. Over the years, she had achieved it for herself with considerable effort without going insane or blind, but how lovely it would be to be brought to abandon by a skillful lover.
A Sebastian who was not dead drunk or full of poppy smoke. A Sebastian who had ten years to hone his skills and earn his disreputable reputation. Of course, he might have picked up something far less desirable than knowledgeāgentlemen were dying off left and right from debauchery. But if Sebastian didnāt have the pox or nasty little insects nesting in his nether hair, he just might do again.
How very shocking. She was considering making a second mistake with Sebastian. In a real bed this time, with embroidered pillowcases and clean linens and candles scattered about the room illuminating his masculine perfection.
Of course, there was a considerable impediment to her plan. Sebastian Goddard hated her.
But not for long. *g*