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FOREVER YOUR EARL
The Wicked Quills of London Book One
Eva Leigh
Released Sept 29th, 2015
Avon Books
Eleanor
Hawke loves a good scandal. And readers of her successful gossip rag live for
the exploits of her favorite subject: Daniel Balfour, the notorious Earl of
Ashford. So when the earl himself marches into her office one day and invites
her to experience his illicit pursuits firsthand, Eleanor is stunned. Gambling
hells, phaeton races, masquerades…What more could a scandal writer want than a
secret look into the life of this devilishly handsome rake?
Daniel
has secrets and if The Hawk’s Eye gets wind of them, a man’s life could be at
stake. And what better way to distract a gossip than by feeding her the scandal
she desperately craves? But Daniel never expected the sharp mind and biting wit
of the beautiful writer, and their desire for each other threatens even his
best laid plans.
But
when Eleanor learns the truth of his deception, Daniel will do anything to
prove a romance between a commoner and an earl could really last forever.
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But Lord Ashford up close was
rather...appalling. It didn't seem right that a man so blessed by fortune
and title should also be so attractive.
His dark brown hair was fashionably
cut and artfully tousled, as if he'd recently risen from a lover's bed.
Given his reputation, that was most likely possible. He had a broad
forehead, a coin-clean jawline, thick brows, and eyes that, even with yards
between her and him, stunned her with their blue clarity. Naturally, he
had a mouth that looked very adept at kissing and...other things.
He moved with a long-limbed ease
that betrayed his skill as a sportsman. His ink blue coat fit the broad
width of his shoulders, and his cream and gold-embroidered waistcoat defined
the shape of his torso—his tailor on Jermyn Street produced excellent work.
Snug doeskin breeches were tucked into polished Hessians that came from Bond
Street.
Truly, he was quite alarming.
“Miss Hawke?” he
asked sharply, coming to stand in front of her paper-cluttered
desk. “I wasn't expecting a female.”
“Neither were my parents,” she
answered, “but they learned to adapt. How might I help you, my
lord?”
Though she felt an obligation to ask
the question, she braced herself for what was sure to be a scorching lecture.
He removed his hat and set it
aside. Then he held up an issue of The Hawk's Eye and
began to read
.
“'Lord A—d, a figure well-known to
our assiduous and genteel readers, was lately seen in the company of a certain
Mrs. F—e, whose late husband made his considerable fortune through the
manufacture and sale of a woman's garment we blush to mention in these virtuous
pages.'” He tossed one of the issues to the ground. “Wrong.”
“You cannot deny—”
But he wasn't done. Holding up
another issue of the paper, he read again. “'It may or may not stun
our honorable readers to learn that the notorious Lord A—d has not amended his
ways following the duel over Lady L., from Y—shire, and has been espied with
another married lady of questionable character, at the late night revels hosted
by the equally rakish Mr. S—n. Yet it was noted by our keen-eyed
intelligence that this married lady was not the only female vying for the
earl's favors.'” This paper he also cast to the floor. “Wrong.”
She herself had written those
pieces, and while they weren't matchless examples of English prose, she was
still rather proud of them, as she was of all her labors. To have her
hard work thrown to the ground like so much garbage was rankling.
“I assure you, my lord,” she
said bitingly, “The Hawk's Eye strives for the greatest of
accuracy.” She had a network of sources which she used regularly to
provide information. Many members of the aristocracy were in dire need of
funds, and they gladly turned on each other in order to maintain the pretense
of effortless wealth. Eleanor always paid her informants to keep them
returning.
Whether or not they lied to her just
to collect payment wasn't her concern, but she always preferred it if she could
validate their statements. Sometimes that meant going out and conducting
a few investigations. But she was a very busy woman—writing articles,
editing countless others, managing the paper’s finances—and didn't always have
the time.
She had to earn a living, after
all. And men like the earl didn't.
MY TWO CENTS
I've read Eva Leigh writing as Zoe Archer, and maybe I'm a bit biased in my review since I love Ms. Archer's books.
I was excited that she decided to write some Regency Romances. I've only read and am reviewing Forever Your Earl.
This was a solid well written book. I found it charming and very witty. Some of the conversations between Eleanor and Daniel had me chuckling. Their chemistry was smoking and realistic.
Some of the, let's call them unconventional plot points in this book are what made it so great. Plus I LOVE a strong smart heroine- and Eleanor is certainly that!
I can't wait to read more by Ms. Leigh.
SCANDAL TAKES THE STAGE
The Wicked Quills of London Book Two
Eva Leigh
Releasing Oct 27th, 2015
Avon Books
Successful playwright Maggie Delamere
has no interest in the flirtations of noblemen like Cameron, Viscount Marwood.
She once paid dearly for a moment of weakness… and vows to rebuff the wildly
persistent-and irritatingly handsome-scoundrel at every turn. But when pressure
to deliver a new play hampers her creativity, an invitation to use his country
estate as a writer’s retreat is too tempting to resist...
For years, Cam has admired Maggie’s
brilliant work and he can’t pass up the opportunity to discover if the
beautiful, mysterious playwright is as passionate and clever as the words that
flow from her quill. He’s never offered a lady his bed without being in it, but
if it means loosening Maggie’s pen-and her inhibitions-he’ll do exactly that.
But soon Cam’s plans for seduction
become a fight for Maggie’s heart. He’s more than the scandalous, carefree rake
society believes him to be… and she’s the only woman who has ever noticed.
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Both Ashford and his wife were elegantly attired for a night out. Lady Ashford, in particular, glowed in blue. Though she was a countess, she prided herself on being a working woman. Yet Cam felt certain that the substantial sapphires around her neck and hanging from her earlobes were placating gestures to her husband. Ashford tried to spoil her at every turn.
Both Ashford and his wife were elegantly attired for a night out. Lady Ashford, in particular, glowed in blue. Though she was a countess, she prided herself on being a working woman. Yet Cam felt certain that the substantial sapphires around her neck and hanging from her earlobes were placating gestures to her husband. Ashford tried to spoil her at every turn.
The couple stood unfashionably close. Ashford had his hand
on the small of his wife’s back.
After kissing Lady Ashford’s gloved knuckles and giving his
old friend’s hand a shake, Cam said wryly, “I’m older than I thought, since I’m
certain that my eyes are failing. This can’t be Lord and Lady Ashford actually
leaving their home. Joining those of us who haven’t found wedded bliss.”
“It’s not our fault that the female population of London
considers you an irredeemable rogue,” Ashford said.
His wife smiled warmly. “To women, his reputation acts as a
lure, not a deterrent.”
“And yet they’ll find themselves sorely disappointed,” Cam
noted, clasping his hands behind his back. “Because this piece of beefsteak is
not for sale at Smithfield market.”
Ashford shook his head. “Don’t tell your father. He comes to
me almost once a fortnight, despairing of you ever finding a wife.”
Cam rolled his eyes. His father was also Ashford’s
godfather, and ever since his friend had married, the efforts to see Cam
settled and applying himself to the business of getting an heir had redoubled.
“So much labor,” Cam said with mock sorrow, “and for so
little an outcome.”
“You are determined to remain a dedicated bachelor, then?”
Lady Ashford pressed, ever the journalist. She used her matching blue fan to
cool herself against the oppressive heat in the theater.
“I have a younger brother,” Cam noted. “He has three
qualities in his favor that I do not.” Holding up his hand, he enumerated each
aspect on his fingers. “One: he has already taken a bride of suitable lineage
and fortune. Two: they have produced a child. And third: he has no compunction
about assuming the role of Marquess of Allam should anything happen to me.”
Shrugging, Cam said, “There are no obstacles to me
continuing to live my life as I so desire it. Free of entanglements.” Free of
disappointment.
His parents had a remarkably happy marriage.
While they
didn’t show affection in public the way the Ashfords did, at home, it was
another matter. His mother and father were devoted to each other, brushing
hands, exchanging looks, even—God help him—sequestering themselves in the
middle of the day in the bedchamber.
It hadn’t been a love match, but it had become one, and Cam
knew things like that occurred rarely. What had happened with a seasoned rake
like Ashford was the exception, about as common as finding a pearl in an apple.
The only place where love happened consistently was on the
stage. It wasn’t meant for the real world. Not meant for him. He’d only find
disenchantment if he tried for what couldn’t be.
Which is why he always kept his amorous encounters temporary.
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EVA LEIGH is the pen name of a RITA®
Award-nominated romance author who writes novels chock-full of smart women and
sexy men. She enjoys baking, Tweeting about boots, and listening to music from
the ‘80s. Eva and her husband live in Central California.
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