Emily Larkin's Blog - Posts Tagged "baleful-godmother"

Trusting Miss Trentham comes out next month, and I'd like you to meet the hero and heroine.

Letty is an heiress and she's received scores of proposals, but thanks to her Faerie godmother she can hear lies. As the book opens, she's about to receive yet another offer of marriage...

Letty braced herself for what was to come. For the past two weeks, Laurence Darlington had been doing a good impression of a man falling in love. It was one of the better impressions she’d seen this year, although not as good as Sir Charles Stanton’s. That had been masterful.

Laurence Darlington gazed ardently into her eyes. A very handsome man, Darlington. The most handsome of this year’s crop of fortune hunters. And up to his ears in debt.

“Miss Trentham,” Darlington said, emotion throbbing in his voice. “What I am about to say can surely come as no surprise to you.”

No. No surprise.

Letty heard the proposal with weary resignation. It was a pretty speech. Darlington wasn’t fool enough to call her beautiful; instead, he praised her character and her intelligence. Even so, his words resonated with falsehood. When he finished, he said passionately, “There is no one I would rather marry. No one! You are everything I could ever wish for in a wife.” The first half of that statement rang with a clear, bell-like tone. It was actually the truth. The second half gave a discordant clang in Letty’s ears.

“I lay my heart at your feet.”

Darlington was a good actor. He did almost look like a man who’d laid his heart at his lover’s feet.

Letty sends Darlington packing (of course) and then encounters a stranger.

“Miss Trentham?”

Letty glanced up. A man stood before her. He was tall, taller than Darlington, and broad in the shoulder. He was dressed for dancing in a tailcoat and knee breeches and silk stockings, but despite those clothes he looked as if he had no place at the Hammonds’ ball. No languid tulip of the ton, this man. He was whipcord lean, his skin tanned brown, his expression unsmiling. He looked almost dangerous.

Letty felt a slight flare of nervousness. She looked for the footman. Yes, he still manned the refreshment table.

The stranger is Major Icarus Reid, hero of the book, and he is dangerous. He also has a proposal for Letty ... but it's not marriage.

Happy New Year, everyone! Here's the second blog post introducing the hero and heroine of Trusting Miss Trentham.

As you learned in the previous post, Letitia Trentham is an heiress who has the ability to hear when people lie. Now it's time to learn a little bit about Icarus Reid, the hero...

Mr. Reid gave her a long, frowning stare and then said abruptly, “You have a reputation for being able to distinguish truth from lies.”

Letty tried not to stiffen. “Some people believe I can.” She said it with a smile of amusement, as if she thought it a joke.

Mr. Reid didn’t return the smile. “Can you?”

It wasn’t the first time Letty had been asked this question. She’d learned to turn it aside with a jest, with a lie. But something about Mr. Reid made that impossible. His eyes were intent on her face. They were an extremely pale shade of gray, almost silver. She had an odd sense that his gaze was razor-sharp, penetrating skin and bone. Her awareness of him became even stronger—his tension, his exhaustion. There is something very wrong with this man.

“Sometimes,” Letty said, and heard a clang in her ears at the lie. “Sit down, Mr. Reid. Tell me what it is you wish to know the truth of.”

Reid hesitated, and then pulled one of the gilded chairs out of line and sat at an angle to her. He moved like a soldier—precise, controlled movements with no graceful flourishes.

Once seated, he was silent for several seconds, then spoke tersely: “There are two men here in London—I served with them in Portugal—one of them passed information to the French.”

Letty blinked, hearing the truth in his words.

“I’ve spoken with them, and they both say they didn’t, but someone did, and they were the only ones who knew other than the general and myself. The general didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone. One of these two men lied, and I can’t tell which one. Would you be able to?”

Letty released her breath slowly and sat back in her chair. “Perhaps.” Clang. “If one of these men is a traitor, what will you do?”

“I don’t know.”

Clang.

“That, Mr. Reid, is a lie.”

Hope flared in his silver eyes, flared on his gaunt face. He leaned forward. “You can tell.”

“What will you do to him?” Letty repeated.

“Probably kill him.” This time, Reid spoke the truth.

Tiny hairs pricked up on the back of Letty’s neck. She glanced at the footman, stationed at the refreshment table, and back at Reid. Common sense urged her to push to her feet and walk from him as quickly as she could—run, if she had to. This man was dangerous.

So, there you have it, a glimpse of the hero through the heroine's eyes.

Happy New Year everyone!

[Image courtesy of the Rijksmuseum public domain collection.]

Here's the last post in this wee series about the hero and heroine of Trusting Miss Trentham.

Letitia Trentham has the unique ability to hear when people lie--and Icarus Reid knows this. It's why he's sought her out.

But being with someone who can hear every lie is uncomfortable at times--especially when you're trying to hide a secret. And Icarus has a huge secret to hide.

To keep his secret, he develops a strategy when talking to Letty Trentham...



[In this scene, Icarus has just had a colossal nightmare and Letty has gone into his bedchamber to wake him.]

“You’re not all right, are you?”

“It was just a nightmare,” Icarus said, avoiding the question. “Everyone has nightmares.”

“You had one last night, too, didn’t you?”

The shudders were dying to shivering. “You should go,” Icarus said, hauling the bedclothes up around his shoulders. His voice was hoarse. Had he been screaming again? Was that why she was here? “I apologize for waking you.”

“You do that a lot, you know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Miss Trentham sat on the end of his bed.

“What?” Icarus discovered that his face was damp. Tears, or sweat? He wiped his cheeks hastily.

“You don’t answer the question I’ve asked. Is it because you don’t want to tell the truth?”

Yes. “You should go,” Icarus said again. “It’s not proper for you to be in my bedchamber.”

Miss Trentham gave him a look that told him she’d noticed the evasion. “Do you have nightmares often, Mr. Reid?”

Every night. “Everyone has nightmares once in a while. Please go, Miss Trentham. Before someone finds you here.” He couched the request as an order.

As you can see, Icarus's strategy is avoidance and evasion -- but sometimes the things people won't say are just as revealing as what they will say.

[Image courtesy of the Rijksmuseum public domain collection.]

Today the fourth book in the Baleful Godmother series, Trusting Miss Trentham, hits the shelves!

Release day is always as nerve wracking as it is exciting, and today it's a little more nerve wracking than usual because I love this novel so much. Trusting Miss Trentham is very much a book of the heart, and it's also a bit unusual--partly because of the heroine, who is very strong-minded, but mostly because of the hero, who is in a very dark place. I hope readers will love him as much as I do!

Here's the blurb:

She's more than just an heiress . . .

Letitia Trentham is noteworthy for three reasons. One, she’s extremely wealthy. Two, she can distinguish truth from lies. Three, she’s refused every man who’s ever proposed to her.

Until Letty receives a proposal she can’t turn down.

Icarus Reid barely survived the Battle of Vimeiro. He lives for one thing—to find the man who betrayed him to the French. He doesn’t want to marry Miss Trentham; he wants to use her talent for uncovering lies.

Suddenly, Letty finds herself breaking the rules, pretending to be someone she’s not, and doing things a lady would never do. But her hunt for the truth may uncover more than one secret—including the secret that haunts Icarus day and night. The secret he intends to take to his grave…

If you read Trusting Miss Trentham , please tell me what you think. (I mean that!) I'd love to know what readers think of Letty and Icarus and Icarus's dark secret.

Happy New Year -- and happy reading!

Emily

Hi there!

Here's another snippet from Claiming Mister Kemp.

Tom and Lucas have been close friends for years. For most of that time they've been in love with each other—and doing their best to ignore the attraction between them.

But now Tom's back from soldiering, and things are about to change. In fact, they already have changed.

Last night Lucas was drunk and things went further than friendship. Way further. Lucas wants to pretend it didn't happen, but Tom refuses to pretend any more.

[This scene is in Tom's point of view, so the italics are his thoughts.]

Lucas lengthened his stride, walking even faster. Trying to outrun the memory of last night? Trying to outrun the silent, sexual frisson between them?

Or is it only me who feels it?

Tom didn’t think so. Something—instinct, hunch, gut feeling—call it whatever one wanted—something told him that the attraction wasn’t one-sided. That it had never been one-sided.

Lucas swung right and cut down Avery Row, striding fast.

“Lucas—”

“Not now.”

“Yes, now.” Another five minutes and they’d be at the Albany, where Smollet was waiting and where any chance of private conversation would be lost.

“I told you: I don’t―”

The Brook Street Mews loomed to one side, a black cave in the darkness. Tom caught Lucas’s arm and pulled him into the mews.

Lucas tried to jerk his arm free. “Look, I don’t want to talk. I’m tired―”

“Tough,” Tom said, propelling Lucas backwards until his back thudded up against a wall. “Because I do want to talk.”

“Damn it, Tom―”

Tom leaned in and kissed him. He couldn’t see Lucas in the darkness of the mews; the kiss fell off-center, catching the very corner of Lucas’s mouth.

Lucas stiffened, and jerked his head back.

Tom heard their breaths—short, sharp—and then he kissed Lucas again.

This time he found his mark.

So, there you have it. Their friendship is changing—and this time, Lucas can't pretend it's not happening.



[Image courtesy of the Rijksmuseum's collection of public domain images.]

Hello!

I'd like to introduce you to the heroes of the fourth book in the Baleful Godmother series, Claiming Mister Kemp. Yes, you read that correctly: this book has two heroes, and no heroine. (Although you will glimpse the heroines of the previous three books.)

Tom Matlock and Lucas Kemp have been close friends for years, and for most of that time they've been in love with each other—and doing their best to ignore the attraction between them. But Tom's back from fighting on the Peninsula, and things are about to change . . .

Here's a snippet from the first chapter. Tom's just arrived in London, and the first thing he does is visit his best friend.

He stared down at Lucas, sprawled in the armchair, disheveled and drunk. It didn’t take any feat of insight to guess why Lucas had chosen to spend his twenty-seventh birthday like this. The solitude, the alcohol, the tears were because of his dead twin sister, Julia.

Tom shook Lucas’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Lu. Time for bed.”

Lucas hunched away from his hand. “Go ’way,” he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

Tom uttered a faint laugh. This wasn’t the welcome he’d imagined. “No. I’m staying until you get into bed.”

“Want t’ be alone.”

“Tough. I’m not Smollet. You can’t tell me what to do.” He took Lucas’s arm and tried to haul him from the armchair.

Lucas pulled free. His eyes slitted open. He clumsily swung a blow.

“Easy, man,” Tom said, catching the fist.

Lucas’s eyes came fully open, his fist clenched in Tom’s hand—and then Lucas blinked, and bafflement crossed his face. His fist sagged. He peered at Tom owlishly. “Tom? That you, Tom?”

“Yes. Come on, on your feet.”

Lucas’s brow creased with confusion. “You’re in Portugal.”

“No, you cod’s head, I’m right here. On your feet.”

He hauled on Lucas’s arm again, and this time Lucas didn’t try to strike him.

Lucas was six foot two and built like a prizefighter, but Tom was two inches taller, and if he was leaner than Lucas, he was almost as strong. A grunt and a mighty heave and he had Lucas on his feet.

He slung Lucas’s slack arm over his shoulder. “Come on. Bed.”

Lucas couldn’t walk a straight line. Not only that, his legs kept buckling. Tom was out of breath by the time they reached the bedroom door. “Jesus, Lu, how much cognac did you have?”

“Dunno,” Lucas said, and uttered a discreet burp.

“You’d better not shoot the cat,” Tom said, warningly.

“Not tha’ drunk,” Lucas said, leaning bonelessly against him.

“Yes, you are—and I swear to God, Lu, if you vomit on me I’m going to shove you headfirst into the nearest privy.”

Lucas huffed a faint, cognac-scented laugh, and then sighed heavily. “I missed you.”

Tom tightened his grip on him. I missed you, too. He permitted himself to rest his cheek against Lucas’s hair for a brief second, and then thought, Fuck it, and pressed his face into Lucas’s hair and inhaled deeply.

Lucas didn’t notice; he was too drunk.

Tom closed his eyes and inhaled two more breaths. Nineteen years of friendship, and this was the closest they’d ever physically been. Almost hugging.

So, there you have it: two men who've been best friends for years, and whose relationship is about to change dramatically.



[Image courtesy of the Rijksmuseum's collection of public domain images.]

Hi there!

In my last snippet from Claiming Mister Kemp, Tom and Lucas kissed for the first time. In this snippet, they're dealing with the aftermath of that moment.

[The scene is in Lucas's point of view.]

A key scraped in the keyhole. The door opened. Tom stepped into the entrance hall.

Panic kicked in Lucas’s belly. He scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Tom put the key back in his pocket. “Came to see you, muttonhead. Why else would I be here?”

“But it’s morning.” And then Lucas caught the significance of Tom’s clothes. “You’re not in uniform.”

“Wellesley gave me some leave. Says he doesn’t need me under his feet.” Tom halted in the middle of the sitting room. “We need to talk, Lu.” He caught sight of the trunk, already corded. His eyebrows rose. “Going somewhere?”

“Whiteoaks,” Lucas said. “Always do, this time of year.” And then he shut his mouth and listened to his heartbeat thud in his ears.

Tom looked at him for several seconds, his gaze cool and assessing. “Running away?”

Lucas flushed—but didn’t deny the charge. Yes, he was running away.

Tom pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the nearest table. “Look, Lu―”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” Lucas said firmly.

A faint glint of laughter lit Tom’s eyes. “Chickenhearted, Lu?” He took off his hat and shrugged out of his greatcoat.

Lucas’s panic scrambled up from his belly to his chest, where it squeezed his lungs. “I’m busy. I must ask you to leave.”

The glint of laughter faded. Tom’s expression became serious. “Is that what you truly want? For me to leave?”

Lucas looked away. “Yes.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Lucas stared at the nearest bookcase, and felt the panic tight in his chest, and waited desperately for the sound of Tom picking up his greatcoat. It didn’t come.

“Then you’ll have to throw me out, because I’m not leaving until we’ve talked about this.”

Anger sparked in Lucas’s breast. He swung his gaze back to Tom. “Damn it, these are my rooms!”

Tom shrugged. “So, throw me out.”

Lucas clenched his fists and glared at him, torn between panic and anger.

Tom stared back, a bulldog expression on his face.

They both knew that if he wanted to, Lucas could throw Tom out. Tom was taller, but Lucas was brawnier—and he had a right hook that could floor an ox.

Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “No? Let’s talk, then.”

He crossed to the fireplace—and Lucas suddenly knew how a hen felt when it was cornered by a fox. He felt a burst of panic and struck out wildly. Not a right hook, and not with his full body weight behind it, but enough of a punch that Tom reeled back a pace, tripped over the ottoman, and fell heavily.

Lucas took a horrified step forward—and forced himself to halt.

Tom pushed up on one elbow and gingerly touched his cheek. “What the devil was that for?”

“I asked you to leave,” Lucas said stiffly. He felt sick to the pit of his belly. I hit Tom.

Tom climbed to his feet. “If you want me to leave, you’re going to have to hit me harder than that.”

Shall we just say that the path from best friends to lovers can be rocky at times?



[Image courtesy of the Rijksmuseum's collection of public domain images.]

The fourth book in the Baleful Godmother series, Claiming Mister Kemp, is now available!

Claiming Mister Kemp is the most emotional romance I've ever written, and also the most sensual, but it won't be everyone's cup of tea because . . . it's a romance between two men.

If you've read Trusting Miss Trentham, you'll know which two men!

It was never my intention to write a male-male romance, but when Tom and Lucas showed up in Trusting Miss Trentham I liked them both so much that I decided to write their story.

Claiming Mister Kemp was a challenging book to write, but also incredibly enjoyable, not only because I had double the number of heroes, but because one of them is my first ever virgin hero.

There some deeply emotional moments as Tom and Lucas navigate the tricky path from best friends to lovers and I should warn you that some scenes have made readers cry.

I think Claiming Mister Kemp is one of the best books I've ever written, but I understand that not everyone feels comfortable reading male-male romance. If you're not sure whether you'll enjoy it, I encourage you to read the excerpt on my website. 

Claiming Mister Kemp is a Baleful Godmother book, so Lucas and Tom do have several brushes with magic—even though they don't entirely understand what's happening. You'll also meet Letty and Icarus again (the hero and heroine of Trusting Miss Trentham).

Here's the blurb:

Lucas Kemp’s twin sister died last year. He’s put aside his mourning clothes, but not his heartache. If Lucas ever needed a friend, it’s now—and who should walk in his door but Lieutenant Thomas Matlock…

Lucas and Tom are more than just best friends; they’ve been in love with each other for years. In love with each other—and pretending not to know it.

But this time, Tom’s not going to ignore the attraction between them. This time, he’s going to push the issue.

He’s going to teach Lucas how to laugh again—and he’s going to take Lucas as his lover…

If you read Claiming Mister Kemp, I hope you enjoy it so much it makes you cry!

The latest Baleful Godmother novel is now on the shelves! It's called Primrose and the Dreadful Duke and features a heroine who loves to read, a hero with a dubious sense of humor ... and a murderer.

I had a lot of fun writing this story because the hero, Oliver, can't resist a joke. Even though there are some dark moments (murder, anyone?) there are plenty of lighthearted moments, too.

As a duke, Oliver is pursued by young ladies eager to marry him. In fact, there’s only one young lady who absolutely does not want to marry him: Lady Primrose Garland, his best friend's little sister.

Allow me to introduce them both to you. They’re at a ball…

“Lady Prim,” Oliver said, bowing over her hand with a flourish. “You’re a jewel that outshines all others.”

Primrose was too well-bred to roll her eyes in public, but her eyelids twitched ever so slightly, which told him she wanted to. “Still afflicted by hyperbole, I see.”

“You use such long words, Prim,” he said admiringly.

“And you use such foolish ones.”

And a little further on…

They eyed each other as they went through the steps of the dance. Oliver could tell from the glint in her eyes and the way her lips were tucked in at the corners that Primrose was trying not to laugh. He was trying not to laugh, too.

“You’re a fiddle-faddle fellow,” Primrose told him severely.

“Alliteration,” Oliver said. “Well done, Prim.”

Primrose’s lips tucked in even more tightly at the corners. If they’d been anywhere but a ballroom he was certain she’d have stamped her foot, something she’d done frequently when they were children.

“Heaven only knows why I agreed to dance with you,” she told him tartly.

“Because it increases your consequence to be seen with me. I am a duke, you know.” He puffed out his chest and danced the next few steps with a strut.

“Stop that,” she hissed under her breath.

“Stop what?” Oliver said innocently, still strutting his steps.

As you can see, Oliver is rather annoying! But that's not why someone's trying to kill him...

I woke up this morning to discover that Ruining Miss Wrotham won the Long Romance of the Year award at the Romance Writers of Australia conference last night!

It's just as well I've finally figured out how to do gifs, because this is the perfect time for a happy dance!