Nadine Millard is a writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland. Although she'll write anything that pops into her head, her heart belongs to Regency Romance.
When she's not immersing herself in the 1800s, she's spending time with her husband, her three children, and her very spoiled Samoyed. She can usually be found either writing or reading and drinking way too much coffee.
For the Love of a Lady
Kristin Vayden's inspiration for the romance she writes comes from her tall, dark and handsome husband with killer blue eyes. With five children to chase, she is never at a loss for someone to kiss, something to cook or some mess to clean, but she loves every moment of it! She loves to make soap, sauerkraut, sourdough bread, and gluten free muffins. Life is full of blessings, and she praises God for the blessed and abundant life He's given her.
Cloaked in Red
Kelly Martin is the bestselling author of contemporary, historical, and YA romance. By day, she is a preschool teacher. By night, she has her hair in a messy bun and her fingers on the keyboard. Her favorite reviews are from the people who 'know' they aren't going to like her books… but end up loving them. :)
You can find her at kellymartinbooks.blogspot.com/
She's also on Twitter: twitter.com/martieKay
And on Facebook: www.facebook.com/KellyMartinAuthor
She is also on Instagram (kellymartin215), Pinterest (KMBooks), and Tumblr (martiekay.tumblr.com).
The Devil Duke Takes a Bride Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty books. She is obsessed with all things Starbucks and makes her home in Idaho with her husband and two snoring boxers.
ALSO BY NADINE MILLARD
An Unlikely Duchess
PROLOGUE
"You know, old chap, 'tis not a bad sort of life." This sentiment was expressed rather drunkenly by the gentleman being propped up, unsuccessfully for the most part, by another young gentleman in much the same state.
The two were exiting one of the more reputable gaming halls lurking on the wrong side of London. The Black Den, known as much for its light skirts as the light pockets people suffered when exiting, had become a regular haunt for the two friends since the beginning of the Season.
These were no ordinary gentlemen. They were considered the catches of the Season and, as a result, had suffered greatly at the hands of ambitious mamas with steel in their eyes and marriage on their minds.
The more drunk of the two, and younger by two years at twenty-eight, was Lord Carrington, future Earl of Ranford, whose seat would be a magnificent estate in Ireland. Having spent much of his twenty-odd years in England attending the best schools and then sowing his oats under the pretence of wife catching, the young lord had no real desire to be shipped off back to Ireland to waste away with no society or activity to speak of.
However, his father was getting on in years, and it was time to return home and learn the ropes before the mantle and responsibility fell to him.
The older, and even more of a catch as far as the mamas were concerned, was none other than the future Duke of Hartridge. The title alone was enough to have debutants swooning. Added to that his colossal wealth and number of properties, and even Prinny himself would not have caused as much of a stir as when Charles Crawdon, Marquess of Enthorpe walked into a room.
The gentlemen had been suffering the machinations of debutantes and their mothers since the start of the Season. Only that evening, the Marquess had literally had a young girl thrown at him by her mama in the hopes that the scuffle would look like some sort of scandal, therefore forcing an engagement.
He would rather face the entirety of the French army than the mothers of the ton hell bent on having their girls wed.
And whilst Henry Carrington had suffered his share of near misses, nobody was terribly thrilled about a son-in-law who would leave the country. After all, what was the point in having a peer in the family if one could not parade him around in front of one's friends? But he was still an Earl, so he was in their sights.
And so it was that the young scoundrels, determined to paint themselves as disreputable rakes, though not quite brave enough to suffer the collective wrath of their fathers, frequented places like the Black Den, and associated with the demimonde and the women who had neither the means nor inclination to trap them into marriage.
Outside, the biting wind helped to revive the gentlemen somewhat, and as they awaited the arrival of the ducal carriage they were both contemplating the same thing.
"The end of the Season is fast approaching." Lord Carrington was the first to break the contemplative silence.
"Yes, it is."
"Your father expects an engagement."
"So does yours," Enthorpe bit back.
"Indeed he does."
There was a slight pause, and then a desolate sigh.
"I think our days of rakishness are numbered."
"Had they even begun?" Enthorpe enquired dryly.