Thursday, May 28, 2020

#Showcase Gone With The Rogue by Amelia Grey

Today I have another scrumptious historical romance, Gone With the Rogue (don't you just love these play on word titles) by Amelia Grey.

Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Release Date: 4-28-2020

First Comes Love #2



A powerful handsome rogue finally meets his match in Gone With the Rogue, the second book in the First Comes Love series from bestseller Amelia Grey.

She had an acceptable marriage of convenience. Now widowed, can this determined and beautiful mother find true and forever love?

The sinking of the Salty Dove took her husband’s life—but it didn’t drown Julia Fairbright’s courage to endure. She creates a proper life for herself and her young son. But now, the ton’s most notorious rogue is back, and how he makes Julia feel is anything but proper. She can’t deny the desires he awakens in her, even though she knows that the handsome devil will surely break her heart.

Garrett Stockton owns a successful shipping company and is rumored to have a woman on every continent and half-a-dozen in England. The truth, however, is that Garrett has but one mistress: the wide open sea. That is, until he meets Julia, whose spirit of independence matches his own. What begins as a flirtatious battle of wits turns far more passionate than either of them could have imagined. Suddenly, Garrett’s only desire is to sail into the sunset with Julia as his wife and young Chatwyn his son. But she won’t take his hand—how can he convince her that his love is real and his heart is hers?

“A master storyteller.”—Affaire de Coeur

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Being stuck in a tree on a rather precarious and shaky limb wasn’t actually an unfortunate position to be in, at least not if you were a boy looking for an adventure. That the person stuck was a female, a lady at that, more specifically Lady Kitson Fairbright, daughter-in-law to the elderly, high-nosed Duke of Sprogsfield and mother to his three-year-old grandson, changed the equation and put her in something of a pickle.

Not that she didn’t always seem to be in one. According to the duke, Julia was constantly trampling on the strict rules he and Society dictated for a young widow. He was always itching for her impulsive ways to land her in trouble so he could make good on his promise to take her son and raise the boy himself.

Which was why she never should have climbed the tree in St. James Park. And especially on her first day in London. But what was she to do? When they’d arrived earlier in the day, she couldn’t deny Chatwyn’s request to play in the park. He’d been traveling in a hot, bumpy carriage for two and a half days. The long journey was torture for an active four-year-old boy.

Unfortunately, the fine webbing of Julia’s butterfly net had caught in a branch of the old elm just as she trapped the beautifully winged insect. No amount of pulling or yanking brought the net down. She couldn’t let the butterfly suffer an untimely demise in the rare late-summer heat. With an extreme amount of mental fortitude and more physical strength than she thought possible, she had thrilled her son and appalled his governess by scaling the tree. Holding on to the limb above her head for balance, she’d sidestepped out as far as she dared, and reached over. Taking great care not to touch the delicate wings, she freed the butterfly from its prison but couldn’t dislodge the net.

Her discovery that the tatted collar sewn onto her dress had become tangled in a cluster of small branches and now held her hostage wasn’t what caused her moment of panic, an emotion that wasn’t common to Julia. She’d calmly removed her bonnet so it wouldn’t get caught and went about trying to free the lace at her nape with one hand while continuing to steady herself with the other. All she’d managed for her struggles was a damp neck from the exertion, raw palms, and a pair of summer white gloves that would have to be thrown away.

Yet, still remaining mostly unruffled, Julia had thought about her options and decided on the only sensible one. She’d sent her son and Miss Periwinkle home with instructions for the governess to return quickly with scissors so she could cut herself out of the knotted mess. Julia had much to do before the duke arrived in London.

Three weeks ago, she’d overheard him talking with his solicitor about a company he owned—one of many that weren’t recorded in his name but he controlled. Julia had to get her hands on the documents of one in particular. If she found it, she could prove he wasn’t the righteous standard-bearer for how one should obey rules of Society, conduct matters of business, and treat their fellowman fairly—even generously.

Julia looked at her widow’s dress. A small collar was all the trim the duke thought a proper widow should wear. He believed he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. What was acceptable and what must never be said or done. Society had kowtowed to him and agreed there was no other man more fair-minded or respectable than the revered Duke of Sprogsfield. Everyone in the ton believed he had never stepped a foot outside the straight line he drew for how one should conduct one’s life, be it gambling, drinking, or dallying with the opposite sex. The problem was that he expected Julia not to either.

The duke himself was a younger son and was never supposed to inherit the dukedom. He had been educated to be a clergyman, and he’d never put aside his strict code of what he considered right and wrong after he became the duke. He made it easy for people to assume he was better, wiser, and saintlier than they were.

While other widows were unregimented by such a pretender and could enjoy the somewhat relaxed freedoms their status availed them, Julia was not and could not. And as soon as she was free from the tree, she would return to the duke’s house and begin her quest to end his tyrannical ways.

It was daunting to think about taking on the duke, but she had no choice. The first thing she planned to do was start acquainting herself with the staff’s current habits. She’d overheard the duke telling his solicitor that all the papers concerning his secret companies were hidden in his London house. She must find them before he recovered from his illness and joined her in London.

Julia would have to be careful and elude the servants. There was no reason she should be in the duke’s bedchamber, dressing chamber, or private book room—the most likely places for him to hide the documents. It would definitely cause suspicions if she were seen in any of those rooms, and she had no doubt that the housekeeper or the footman would make sure the duke was told if she were caught trespassing. And Julia had no doubt the duke would drag himself from his sickbed to get to London if he should ever have an inkling about what she was up to.

Yet the thought of success and confronting him with her findings when he arrived in London heartened her while she waited to be freed from the tree. She desperately needed proof the duke wasn’t the pious and honorable man he portrayed himself to be but a charlatan and, in truth, an odious man.

Julia closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent scent of drying bark and sun-kissed foliage. She heard a bee buzzing nearby and laughter from the children she’d seen in the distance. Ever since she heard the duke discussing the secret companies, she’d envisioned finding the proof of his lies and telling him if he didn’t allow her and Chatwyn to be free of him and his rigid ways, she would expose his secrets to all of Society.

She opened her eyes and peered through the canopy of leaves to see if Miss Periwinkle was in sight. There was no sign of the governess, but she saw a gentleman walking his horse straight toward her as if he’d known she was ensconced among the branches. Her normal calm threatened to desert her. She hoped he would pass without a whiff of notice. Carefully, she drew her feet closer together, and lifted the hem of her dark plum-colored skirt to the tops of her walking boots to conceal herself further into the tree that thankfully was still in the full bloom of summer.

Julia couldn’t see the man’s face from her vantage point with the brim of his hat riding low, plus the way he held his head down as if he were a determined man on a mission. He was powerful-looking with wide, straight shoulders and long, lean legs that were fitted into shiny black knee boots that had short leather tassels at the top. They seemed to wink at her with every step he took. There was no doubt he had the strong, confident stride of a man who knew his place in the world, what he wanted and didn’t care what others thought.

To her surprise and annoyance, he didn’t pass by her but stopped at the base of the tree and patted the horse’s neck. The fine cut and fabric of his coat suggested he was a gentleman, but she didn’t recognize him. Carefully watching him, she wondered why he tarried. She started imagining what he could be doing. Was he pausing to take a drink from his flask, or a late-afternoon nap in the last sun rays of the day? But then an entirely different idea crossed her mind. Maybe he was waiting to have a tryst with a woman.

Right beneath her!

And that’s what caused Julia’s moment of panic and the loud gasp that gave away her position.

The horse tossed its head and shuddered.

The man looked up.

Julia froze.

“What the deuce are you doing up there?” he asked incredulously, looking as startled as she was.

“Nothing,” she answered defensively, tamping down her horror at being caught, yet somehow managing not to be completely mortified by the unfortunate event.

She was now sure she’d never seen the man before. And even more sure he was no gentleman. Gentlemen removed their hats—or at the very least pushed them farther up their foreheads—when meeting a lady. Even if said lady was in a tree. He did neither.

Focusing on his face, she took in his full, nicely shaped brows, angular cheekbones, and slightly square chin that made him as handsome as any man she’d ever seen. She watched his gaze skim over her, too, just slowly enough to cause a curl of feminine interest to shimmy in her chest. At that, the heat of the afternoon swelled heavily around her, flaming her already flushed cheeks.

Staring up at her with a quizzical expression, he offered, “That’s a rather odd place to be standing around and doing nothing.”

But true. She’d long since given up on finding the strength to break the durable tatting thread, tear the well-made fabric, or twist in two the branch that held her captive. She must have sworn a hundred times already that she’d never trap another butterfly in a net to give it closer inspection no matter how much her son pleaded.

Realizing she still held the tail of her dress above her boots, she quickly released it and said, “Never mind about me, sir. I don’t know who you are and you should be on your way.”

Sweeping his hat off his head, he tossed it on top of his saddle without taking his gaze from hers, and with a teasing glint in his eyes he said, “Mr. Garrett Stockton at your service.”

Julia almost gasped again. She knew the name and the man’s reputation as a rake and a man who didn’t obey anyone’s rules. He was said to have a mistress on every continent and more than half a dozen in London alone. She could understand why. He was a handsome devil—just as she’d heard. Strangely, their paths had never crossed when he was in London. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d forget meeting.

There was a building in St. James that bore the name Stockton Shipping Company, and it was his. She’d heard talk about the intriguing sea adventurer fighting pirates, and having the Spanish armada chasing his ships. Looking at him, she supposed it could be true. The gossip in Society seemed to be that whenever he was invited to parties every young lady in attendance wanted him to take her out on the dance floor. Julia wondered why the gossip wasn’t that all the ladies wanted him to take them into the garden for a forbidden kiss.

But now wasn’t the time to keep thinking about how attractive he was or peruse her memory for more gossip about him. She had to figure out how she was going to get out of this with some of her dignity intact.

She needed him to go away and forget he ever saw her.

“I am Lady Kitson Fairbright, Mr. Stockton.”

He gave her a bow and said, “My lady.”

Julia wasn’t sure whether he recognized her name as the daughter-in-law of the influential Duke of Sprogsfield. Mr. Stockton pushed both sides of his dark blue coat behind him, rested his gloved hands on decidedly slim hips, and continued to stare.

He wasn’t making this easy for her. Did he think a lady wanted to be caught in a tree by a stranger—or by anyone? Usually Julia could control whatever situation in which she found herself. But this afternoon everything had gone wrong.

She attempted to dismiss him again by saying, “Whatever it was you were going to do or whatever secret rendezvous you might have planned, you’ll have to move away and find another place.”

With a slight, intriguing half smile, he said, “I have no secret plans to meet anyone under this tree. I’m in London because a friend of mine will be marrying soon and I want to attend his wedding. I’m in the park because trees are something I want to see after a long voyage. Now, that branch you’re on doesn’t look particularly sturdy. I don’t think it’s safe.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she responded confidently, even though there was no truth to her words. She was getting more worried by the moment in her cascade of greenery. Her arms were tired from holding on to the limb above her head, first with one hand and then the other to keep from losing her balance, falling off, and hanging herself. But that was too gruesome to think about. And admitting she’d done something so outlandishly impulsive that she needed any help she could get right now didn’t come easily to her nature.

Instead, Julia resisted the urgency and cold hard truth of her peril again, continued to stare straight ahead as if studying something important, and said, “I’m enjoying the view. In the distance I see at least three carriages rumbling along, and a lady and a gentleman are walking with a dog—a spaniel, I think. Another couple has three children with them, and much farther down, I see a crowd gathering around a cart. Someone must be selling sweet cakes, or perhaps there will be a puppet show.”

As if to emphasize her jeopardy, her arm trembled as she finished her sentence. Where in heaven’s name was Miss Periwinkle? It shouldn’t take her so long to get home, grab a pair of scissors and get back to the park.

A rustling noise caught her attention and she looked down. Mr. Stockton was wrapping the reins over a bunch of low-hanging leaves.

Her heartbeat skipped with apprehension. “What are you doing?”

“Securing the horse. I don’t know why you climbed the tree, Lady Kitson, but it will be dusk soon. I’m not going to walk away and leave you standing up there.”

Why was it that sometimes things that appeared relatively simple in their inception frequently had a way of turning into ill-timed problems for her?

She understood the wisdom of his words, but stifling her very real fears about her predicament, she said, “My son’s governess was here with me. She will be returning shortly.”

“How is she going to help you to the ground? You must be up at least eight or nine feet.”

Julia was hot, tired, and exasperated. A feeling of weary surrender settled over her. “Oh, piffle,” she said as a pain of anxiety struck her stomach. She had to believe Miss Periwinkle was only a minute or two away. “I might as well tell you so you’ll leave me in peace. If you must know,” she began, recounting the misadventure that had her trapped. She concluded, “Thankfully the butterfly is now free.”

She watched his eyes scan the tree and knew when his gaze lighted on the dangling net. “You must have been running and jumping to get it caught up that high. Climbing the tree was brave and kindhearted.”

“But foolish as well,” she suddenly admitted honestly, hating to reveal the seriousness of her situation to this man but grateful he seemed to understand the reason behind her jeopardy. Out of frustration, she reached to the back of her neck and tugged on her clothing again. “When Miss Periwinkle returns with scissors I will cut myself free and climb down. You must leave. The Duke of Sprogsfield is quite rigid when it comes to my following the accepted behavior of widowhood, and I simply cannot be seen with a man helping me down from a tree.” Especially such a young and handsome one. “Now, please go.”

There was a firm set to his full lips and jaw. He placed his hands on his hips again and in a resolved manner asked, “Can you move?”

Such a simple question. Her temples were beginning to pound from the oppressive heat, from the exhaustion of holding first one hand and then the other over her head. “Very little without strangling myself,” she confessed, realizing even the fresh green scent had become stifling. “My collar isn’t detachable but I will manage.” Somehow. Surely. She would get herself down.

“I’m not leaving you up there.”

Grabbing the sides of the substantial trunk with his gloved hands and fine-leather booted feet as if steel spikes were attached to them, he started climbing up. One firm clutch at a time.

“No, don’t do that, Mr. Stockton. Please. No.”

It seemed only a second or two later he was standing on the widest point of the same wobbly limb with her, but with his back and weight pressed tight against the trunk and his eyes staring intently into hers. She suddenly felt as if all the quivering leaves on the tree were in her stomach as every muscle in her body tensed at his closeness. He stood beside her, tall, confident, and decidedly male. An unmistakable awareness passed between them. What struck her even more disturbingly was that he had ignored her pleas to go away. He was determined to help her. How many times had she asked others to help her break free of the duke’s domination so she and Chatwyn could be free to live by themselves? Countless. Everyone had refused her, including the duke’s two older sons and his daughter. They were as restricted by him as Julia was. And now this man was helping her when she wasn’t even in need of it. Julia knew Miss Periwinkle would return.

Rays of late-afternoon sunshine found a sliver of space between the bouquets of leaves, glistening off his golden-brown eyes and highlighting strands of his tawny-brown hair. She wanted to reach out and brush the wayward strands away from his forehead, but held back that feminine instinct and asked, “How did you do that so fast?”

“I’ve climbed the mast of a ship many times.”

Julia stilled. Her heartbeat slowed as long-ago memories rushed past. The mention of any ship always brought the sinking of the Salty Dove to mind. It had taken her husband’s life and more than one hundred others. She lowered her lashes over her eyes, as she often did in a show of respect, honor, and memory of all who were affected that day by the passenger ship going down in a violent storm off the coast of Portugal.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he offered, with a tone of regret in his voice. “It was careless of me to mention a ship and remind you of the tragedy and your loss.”

So he had recognized her name. He knew her story. “Please don’t worry yourself,” she said, lifting her gaze to his face. “No words are necessary.” She didn’t mind talking about the disaster that befell the Salty Dove, its passengers, and the crew four years ago. Lost friends and family should be remembered.

When it happened, Julia had found herself in the unenviable position of being eight months with child. Perhaps some ladies would have taken to their beds in sorrow and grief, facing the overwhelming burden of suddenly being a widow. Julia had never been one to allow situations to get the best of her. She accepted the blow fate issued and carried on. Besides, she had to be strong for the babe waiting to be born.

Julia hadn’t been in love with her husband when she married him or when he died, but she had always been grateful to him and respectful in all ways. Now that he was gone, she honored his memory and felt sadness that he hadn’t lived to see his delightful son.

“My mourning is long past,” Julia said quietly. “Life goes on, Captain Stockton.”

His eyes seemed to take in every detail of her face as if he were delicately searching for something before he nodded once in acknowledgment.

“Not everyone who owns a ship is a captain, Lady Kitson.”

“I hear you own many ships.”

He ignored her statement, but not her. His gaze swept down her widow’s dress. Dark plum color, long sleeves, high neckline with the proper amount of cream-colored lace trimming it. She didn’t mind the sensual way his glance brushed over her. It was purposeful and filled with interest, causing tingles of awareness to tighten her chest and stomach.

“How did you manage to get up here?” he asked, testing the strength of the limb beneath his foot.

“The same way you did, though I am willing to admit it wasn’t as easy or as quick for me as it was for you.”

“And I will admit you are quite accomplished to have done so.”

His compliment was like a gift of fresh air. Unexpected, but heartily welcomed, since she was feeling weak from the heat and exertion of holding herself on the limb. She was certain his praise was sincere and not just flattery. She couldn’t let his words pass without giving him a brief smile before saying, “Miss Periwinkle hasn’t returned as swiftly as I’d expected. I hope you can save me before I lose my balance and hurt myself with this wretched collar.”

“We can’t have that.”

“Then tell me, sir, how do you propose to get me out of this untenable situation?”

“A man should never offer to rescue a lady if he doesn’t have the means to do so.” He slowly bent his knees, slid his hand down to the top of his boot, and pulled out a leather-handled knife. Flickering shadows and dancing sunlight glinted off the short blade.

Relief came sweet and cooling as an October breeze. “Yes, Mr. Stockton,” she said softly. “That should do it, but will the thinner part of the limb hold the weight of us both?”

His gaze fell to the branch. He was silent for a moment. That worried her.

She held out her free hand toward him. “Why not give me the knife and let me do it?”

“No, Lady Kitson,” he answered, taking off the glove on one hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his coat. “You must trust me to do this.”

She looked at his mouth, wide with well-defined lips, and thought about his words. If the wood splintered and broke, she would be—well—the possibility was suddenly too real and too horrible to think about. She stared into his warm, golden-colored eyes again. Because he seemed so sure of himself, she said, “Very well. Since I have little choice in the matter and even less patience or strength left to argue, let’s get this done.”

He reached up and grabbed hold of a different limb than the one she held, then steadied himself, too. “Turn as far away from me as you can and then place both your hands on the branch above you. Rise to your toes and lift as much of your weight as possible with your arms, and hold yourself up for as long as you can.”

It wouldn’t be as simple as he made it sound. Already her arms trembled from the strain of the last half hour. Yet she must do as he instructed. She couldn’t twist very far without tightening the collar across her neck, but she took in a deep breath and pulled up and onto her toes.

The branch swayed down and creaked under his weight. She heard the quick intake of his breath and gripped the limb tighter and gasped, shutting her eyes tightly. Thoughts of dangling from the tree only by her collar, her feet kicking, and never seeing Chatwyn again flashed through her mind. For a moment, she thought she might scream, but then she heard a soft, masculine whisper near her ear: “We’re fine.”

His soothing words penetrated her fears. Julia’s lashes fluttered up.

“It’s going to be all right. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

Mr. Stockton was looking at her calmly. His faith that everything was going to be all right flooded her. She sensed a bond developing between them and knew she could trust him to get her down safely. He was going to save her. She gave him a hint of a nod. Cautiously, he took another step, and another, and then he was right beside her.

It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a man. The way his physical presence filled the crowded space between the branches was calming but also wonderfully stimulating. She couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong-looking his shoulders were and had to suppress her innate desire to grab on to him for safety and to feel his masculine strength beneath her hand.

“I’m going to reach around you, so don’t try to look at me or worry about what I’m doing,” he said, in a low voice.

She was attuned to his every breath as he gently placed the back of his ungloved hand on her chin and urged her to turn her head to one side. A faint, pleasant scent of a spice she couldn’t identify clung to his skin. She found the unfamiliar fragrance titillating. His touch was tender, sure, and undemanding, so she complied without complaint.

When he slipped his arm behind her, Julia’s heartbeat seemed to thrum in her ears. A tantalizing shiver washed over her. She was attracted to this man and had to resist the temptation to lean in closer and take comfort from his nearness.

She felt his fingers lightly touching her nape. A shiver of pleasure washed through her again. Whirls of wondrous feelings spun inside her. She could tell he was assessing the tangle of twigs, leaves, and lace, deciding what needed to be cut and where best to do it, and not meaning to cause such womanly feelings to awaken inside her. They did just the same. It was maddening, really. Bound as she was, completely without defense, she should be frightened out of her wits, but no, she was enthralled by the rogue’s touch.

“Tell me about your son,” he said, his machinations squeezing the collar tighter around her neck for a few seconds.

Determined to stay steady, she fortified the strength in her arms and toes and rolled her eyes toward her rescuer. There was an easy-going charm about him that was irresistible. “Are you trying to distract me from what you’re doing?”

Mr. Stockton ignored her question and asked his own. “What’s his name? His age?”

“Chatwyn. He’s just turned four, with hair as dark as mine. His eyes are a bright blue. He’s quite inquisitive about all things but especially butterflies. He loves to be outside and running free, as I do, and—”

“Shh,” he said, interrupting her as she felt the first thread break, giving her a little more moving room.

“What is this? You just asked about him and already you’re tired of hearing—”

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered as the last thread broke, freeing her so she could move her head at will. She lowered her feet and rested one arm by her side. “Shh.” With the tip of the knife, he pointed toward the ground.

Suddenly Julia heard the voices, too. Ladies’ voices. Neither of them Miss Periwinkle’s. They were coming closer. Apprehension gripped her with its cold, icy fingers of dread. She was no longer trapped but might still be caught.

“Look over here,” one of the ladies said excitedly. “Don’t you think this is the horse we saw Mr. Dryden riding?”

Julia cringed. She recognized the voice as Miss Lavinia Etchingham. Of all the people in London who could have stopped to check out Mr. Stockton’s horse, why did it have to be her? She was thought to be the person who fed gossip to the scandal sheets.

“I have no knowledge of horses,” a softer voice answered.

“You know some are brown, gray, or black, and some are this reddish-brown color which happens to be the color Mr. Dryden was riding when we saw him.”

It sounded as if the ladies had stopped right under them, still Julia didn’t dare look down. She was hardly breathing for fear they’d be noticed. “I don’t know why anyone would want to ride such a big beast, though most gentlemen seem to enjoy the opportunity.”

“Of course they do,” Miss Etchingham remarked. “It makes them feel more powerful to have such a magnificent animal beneath them and to be in total command of it.”

“How like you to be so truly improper.”

“Whenever I look at Mr. Dryden I feel rather naughty.”

A loud giggle from one of the ladies startled the horse. The mare snorted and nickered restlessly. Dizzying fear ripped through Julia again. She felt her heart might beat out of her chest. Her gaze locked with Mr. Stockton’s. His brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh, never mind about this horse. We’re wasting time and it’s probably not Mr. Dryden’s animal anyway. And do walk faster, or we’ll never find him before dusk overtakes us and we must return home.”

After more than a few seconds ticked past, Mr. Stockton lowered his head and looked down at his chest.

So did Julia.

His shirt front and the ends of his neckcloth were rumpled into her tightly curled fist.

Copyright © 2020 by Amelia Grey.


"Grey's unconventional meet-cute, compelling series backbone, and authentic characters move an interesting plot forward … An engaging series start." - Kirkus

"Grey’s prose is strong and her characters are fun." - Publisher's Weekly

"Grey launches her First Comes Love series with a perfectly matched pair of protagonists, a vividly etched supporting cast, and plenty of potent sexual chemistry and breathtaking sensuality." - Booklist

Book 1 Available now

About the author:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author AMELIA GREY read her first romance book when she was thirteen and she’s been a devoted reader of love stories ever since. Her awards include the Booksellers Best, Aspen Gold, and the Golden Quill. Writing as Gloria Dale Skinner, she won the coveted Romantic Times Award for Love and Laughter and the prestigious Maggie Award. Her books have sold to many countries in Europe, Indonesia, Turkey, Russia, and most recently to Japan. Several of her books have also been featured in Doubleday and Rhapsody Book Clubs. Amelia is the author of over twenty-five books, including the Heirs' Club trilogy and the Rakes of St. James series. She’s been happily married to her high school sweetheart for over thirty-five years and she lives on the beautiful gulf coast of Northwest Florida.


  1. I've been loving historicals lately, and this sounds so good! I do love the play on words, and love a sexy rogue! Thanks for sharing Debbie :)

    Lindy@ A Bookish Escape

    1. I know that play on words really catches my attention too. I really need to give historical romance another go