Showing posts with label Fall #Romantic Travel Tour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fall #Romantic Travel Tour. Show all posts

October 28, 2016

Guest Promo (CLXXXIII) Fall #Romantic Travel Tour Linda McLaughlin



Fall #RomanticTravel: Quebec
Quebec is one of the most romantic cities in North America, seeming more European than NorthAmerican. It’s also one of the settings I used in my French & Indian War-set historical romance,Rogue’s Hostage. When I was writing the book, my husband and I took a vacation to Quebec Province so I could do some research. We started in Montreal, where I managed to figure out how to navigate the Metro using my college French.


After a few days exploring Montreal, we took the train to Quebec, and I fell in love with the charming old city, though I had to keep reminding myself that the setting in my book was the previous city, the one that was destroyed by the British shelling. I was particularly interested in visiting Notre Dame des Victoires, the small church in Lower Town which was destroyed in the shelling, but later rebuilt in the same style. In the book, Mara seeks comfort inside this lovely little church.

Since I wanted to stay in the old part of the city, I booked us a room at Chateau Frontenac, the venerable Canadian Railway hotel. Picturesque setting, but we were pretty sure they gave us the smallest room in the place! Instead of a view looking out toward the river, our window looked down onto an alley. Ah, well, we didn't spend much time in the room anyway. We were far more interested in wandering the winding streets, taking pictures of the old houses and the fort and battlefield.


On the last day we took a boat ride on the St. Lawrence for spectacular views of the city and countryside. What a beautiful area! I'd love to go back some day.

(Note: I took this trip back in the pre-digital photography days so any photos are from my Art Explosion CD collection or DepositPhotos.com.)

Rogue’s Hostage
By Linda McLaughlin
Historical Romance


Blurb:

His hostage... 

In 1758 the Pennsylvania frontier is wild, primitive and dangerous, where safety often lies at the end of a gun. Mara Dupré's life crumbles when a French and Indian war party attacks her cabin, kills her husband, and takes her captive. Marching through the wilderness strengthens her resolve to flee, but she doesn't count on her captor teaching her the meaning of courage and the tempting call of desire.

Her destiny...

French lieutenant Jacques Corbeau's desire for his captive threatens what little honor he has left.  But when Mara desperately offers herself to him in exchange for her freedom, he finds the strength to refuse and reclaims his lost self-respect. As the shadows of his past catch up to him, Jacques realizes that Mara, despite the odds, is the one true key to reclaiming his soul and banishing his past misdeeds forever.

Buy Links:

Excerpt

Quebec, Canada, April 1759

The journey was almost over.
Eyes narrowed against the glare off the water, Jacques stared at the approaching skyline of Quebec as the bateau rushed downriver. Perched on the north side of the Saint Lawrence River, the city’s walls and fortifications guarded the way into the interior of New France. Though the British had tried twice, the city had never fallen. But Jacques knew that sooner or later they would try again.
He glanced at Mara, who sat beside him, huddled in her shawl, shivering slightly. When he put an arm around her and pulled her closer, she burrowed against him. Guilt and regret stirred inside him. She was the reason he had requested a transfer back to Quebec. Since leaving Fort Duquesne, she had been a different woman—quiet, submissive, and obedient.
To his surprise, he missed her sharp tongue and pointed opinions. All through the long Canadian winter, he had watched and waited for her to revert to her normal self, but it was as if she were a different woman. On occasion, Jacques had been tempted to bait her, but his guilt kept him from doing so. Her state of mind was his fault, after all.
In the last four months, she had followed him over a route seen by few white men, much less a woman. Together they had traveled by bateau, canoe, sled, and snowshoe. Mara had witnessed the mighty power of Niagara Falls, traversed Lake Ontario, and braved the Lachine Rapids—all without complaining. But also without any sense of wonder or enthusiasm for the places she’d seen, just a wistful remark about how much Emile would have liked to see the falls.
It had been an arduous journey, and now she deserved some comfort.
A raw wind off the river threw pellets of rain in his face, and he pulled up the woolen muffler Mara had knitted for him. That was all she had done at Niagara, her needles clicking incessantly until he had thought he would go mad. But something about the rhythmic nature of the task seemed to comfort her, so he’d said nothing.
Another blast of wind reminded him of how long and severe Canadian winters could be. In this northern country, rivers and lakes froze over completely. There was a wild beauty in it that he used to find exhilarating. Until an equally impervious chill took up residence around his heart.
The bateau docked at the part of the city called Lower Town, below the cliffs of Cap Diamant. Above them towered the ramparts guarding the government and church buildings that comprised Upper Town. Jacques helped Mara onto the dock and led her down a street lined with warehouses and taverns. He stopped in front of a sign picturing a leering devil with a forked tail.
Le Diable? What are we doing here?” she asked, a surprised look on her face.
“This is home, madame. Welcome to my humble establishment.”


Author bio:
 
Linda McLaughlin grew up with a love of books and history, so it's only natural she prefers writing historical romance. She loves transporting her readers into the past where her characters learn that, in the journey of life, love is the sweetest reward. Linda also writes steamy to erotic romance under the name Lyndi Lamont, and is one half of the writing team of Lyn O'Farrell.

You can find her online at Website
 Blog


September 22, 2016

Guest Promo (CLXXVII) Fall #Romantic Travel Tour Charlene Raddon


Since I was born in Colorado Springs, Colorado, it is one of my favorite states. I remember visiting the sights with my family, such as Seven Falls, Pikes Peak, the Garden of the Gods (where my uncle ‘balanced’ balanced rock (he put concrete around the base), and the Royal Gorge. So Colorado was a natural for the location of my most recent story, A Ride Through Time, a novella in the just released anthology, The Good, The Bad, and The Ghostly.



Blurb:
Ghosts. Murder. Love. P.S.I. Agent Burke Jameson traveled to Eagle Gulch, Colorado to investigate a report of ghost activity at a house where a murder had taken place in 1881. When his vehicle carrying his P.S.I. equipment dies, and a saddled but riderless mare appears, he mounts up so the horse can take him to her fallen rider. Instead, he is taken to a whole new life he could never have anticipated.



Clorinda Halstead believes she’s a widow. After all, she did shoot her husband, Horace, one violent night in 1881. He deserved it, the jury concluded. Living with the town marshal and his wife, all Clori wants is to be left alone. Then a stranger, Burke James, joins the household, and nothing is ever the same again.



How did Burke find his way through time to the year 1881, and who is haunting the lovely but distant Widow Halstead? Can Burke find the ghost of Eagle Gulch without his P.S.I.equipment? And how will he ever choose between going home to his own time and a life of love and happiness with Clorinda?

Excerpt:
Burke’s gaze cut to the house and that eerie deja vu sensation washed over him again. Cold wafted around him like icy arms. He shivered.

Likely scared off the mare with his unprecedented howl at the moon. Nothing more.

Didn’t matter anyway.

What counted was doing his job.

He drew in a deep breath and smelled smoke.

Smoke?

Gray plumes curled up from the chimney, ghostly pale against the darkening sky. Someone must be inside. Why hadn’t he noticed the scent right away? And the faint candlelight behind the lace curtains? Burke prided himself on his powers of observation. Hadn’t done too well this time.

Whoever was here had likely come to check the house’s condition and do repairs. They had set a fire for warmth while they worked. Nothing spooky or dangerous about that. They must have parked in the back. He shook off the niggle of dread on his spine, stepped onto the wooden pallet that served as a porch, and raised his fist to knock.

Plain, unadorned wood.

Where was the plaque proclaiming the place a historic site? And the vinyl-protected display stand that related the Halstead story?

Had the historical society given up maintaining the property? That could explain the house’s poor condition—the peeling paint, the sagging porch roof—but not the missing deadbolt lock that had been there seventeen years ago. Who would ignore badly needed repairs, yet replace a perfectly fine door with one that had never seen a deadbolt?

Whatever was going on here, he’d get to the bottom of it. In fact, he couldn’t wait.

If only Gabe would arrive with the P.S.I. equipment. Burke’s instincts screamed paranormal, louder than ever. His nose itched with urgency. He looked at Spook. The Vizsla sniffed among the leaves; just a normal dog.

Lifting the cuff of his jacket, he checked his watch. Not an ordinary watch, but a specially fashioned piece of modern equipment that not only gave the time, date and weather but acted as a recorder as well. It contained an EDI meter, an Infrared thermal scanner, an EMF detector, and GPS. Right now, the detector showed red, indicating a disruption in the electronic field. That likely meant a ghost disrupting the frequency. The scanner also showed the temperature continued to drop.

So why had Spook's highly trained instincts gone offline?

Burke pressed the communication button and texted Gabe. While he waited for a reply, he walked the grounds searching for an injured man thrown from a horse. He found nothing and received no reply. Damn.

On his way back to the house he tried his phone again. Nothing. He would have blamed it on the multitude of trees that had surrounded the place, but they were gone.

He peered through an old, distorted glass pane, past the lace curtains. The furniture appeared much the same—what hadn’t been stolen before the historical society took possession. No sign of occupants but they could be in the kitchen or upstairs. Each floor had two rooms, the living area in the front, kitchen in back, and two bedrooms upstairs.

Flummoxed. Burke felt plain flummoxed.

Hell, where had he come up with that antiquated word? The house and its atmosphere were getting to him.

He glanced at the window again. A face—stark, shadowed, creepy as hell—looked back.

Charlene Raddon is an award-winning author of historical romance novels set in the American West. Her first books were published by Kensington Books in the 1990s, then released as eBooks by Tirgearr Publishing who also released two of her books in print. In 2016, she became self-published. She is currently working on a new novella. Charlene is also a book cover designer for Silver Sage Book Covers, specializing in historical covers.

Find her at:

September 16, 2016

Guest Promo (CLXXVI) Fall #Romantic Travel Tour Alina K Field




My favorite romantic getaway is Prescott, Arizona. I love checking into a vintage hotel like the St. Michael’s or the Hassayampaand sipping a drink at the same saloon frequented by Wyatt Earp.


Blurb for Bella’s Band:
Bullets, blades, and incendiary bombs—Major Steven Beauverde, the latest Earl of Hackwell, belongs in that world, and is determined to get back to it. His brother’s murder has forced Steven into a new and completely unwanted role, and worse, he has no idea how to salvage his family’s depleted estate. A rumor that his brother had a son by a woman who may be a) the murderer, and b) his brother’s secret wife, sets Steven on a mission to find her, the boy, and—Steven ardently hopes—the proof of a marriage that will set him free.


Confirmed spinster Annabelle Harris is a country heiress with a penchant for taking in orphans and helping the downtrodden. Her philanthropy hides her desperate search for her disgraced sister, the mistress to the Earl of Hackwell. When the Earl is murdered, her sister thrusts her child into Annabelle’s care and disappears. Now, with suspicion pointing at the sister, Annabelle has begun a new quest, to find the woman, and clear her name.

When their paths converge, the reluctant Earl and the independent spinster find themselves rethinking their goals, and battling the real murderer together.

Excerpt
She felt his eyes fixed on her. He drew her head closer and she could smell his woodsy clean scent, so intensely male. The carriage passed by a street lamp and into a dark stretch, and she could no longer discern the outline of his face.
Her heart tingled and her breath came in short little huffs of anticipated pleasure.
“Annabelle,” he whispered. “What do they call you? Anna? Belle?”
She tensed remembering her chat with Lady Rosalyn.
“It is Belle. How very appropriate.” He kissed her hand.
“Bella,” she whispered. “And not appropriate at all. How did you learn my name?”
“Bella.” He breathed her name in a brandy-laced murmur. “The maid at the Harley Street house gave me your last name. And by the way, she worships you.”
Dear Trish. Annabelle pushed at the seat and squirmed, with no success. He still held her fast.
“I’ve found that servants know everything and talk prodigiously.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.
Annabelle bit back a disagreement and stilled. In a properly run household, gossip was squashed. The poor man had never lived in a properly run household.
His lips hovered over her and she waited. He’d kissed her nose. Perhaps he’d been aiming for her mouth and missed. She wanted one more kiss. She would be safe. In a carriage on a public street, he wouldn’t attempt to take more.
***
Steven held himself an inch away from her lips. Her nose had been cold, but heat radiated between them, holding them in a warm cocoon. She smelled of plain soap and faint lavender. There was nothing cloying about Miss Harris. He’d breached a line of defense with the use of the pet name. Bella. She wanted him to kiss her.
Not yet. Not yet. She was lovely, and innocent, and perfect. He was known for his quick thinking under duress, and he’d made up his mind. He would do this honorably. He was not his brother. It would not be a seduction.
“Bella, you are right that we should dispense with the dance. You are right that we should speak to the point, and so I will. I think you and I, we should wed.”
What?” She jumped a full inch from the seat before settling back.

Purchase Link:Amazon

Author Bio
Alina K. Field hails from the Midwest, but now lives in sunny Southern California. She is the author of the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best novella winner Rosalyn’s Ring, and the novel-length sequel, a 2015 RONE Award finalist, Bella’s Band. Her most recent release is Liliana’s Letter, a Regency novella and 2016 National Readers’ Choice Award finalist. She loves blogging about nerdy historical research and connecting up with readers on social media.

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