I’m thrilled to help celebrate my friend Kryssie Fortune’s first Regency romance. Here’s a short interview, plus a luscious blurb and excerpt from Wickedly Used.
Give
us an insight into your main character. What does he/she do that is
so special?
My
heroine, Lady Elizabeth Blayneton is an heiress, but she can’t
inherit until she marries or turns thirty. Her uncle and guardian is
determined she will marry his slack-mouthed son, but she’d rather
not marry at all than wed him. Only she doesn’t want to die a
virgin.
Tell
us about your hero.
Brigade
Major Lord Rothbury carries the wounds his first love inflicted when
she threw him over for his father. To silence the gossip, his father
packed him off to fight in the Peninsula war and squandered the
family fortune on his new bride.
When
the current Lord Rothbury inherited, there was nothing but mortgages
and debts. He’s been trying to put things right and provide for his
sisters ever since. Waterloo looms, and he’s recalled to
Wellington’s staff. Then there’s this serving girl who keeps
ending up in his bed, only wedding her would cause another scandal
and ruin his sisters’ future.
What
draws you to this genre?
I
write the books I like to read. There’s always a strong plot, with
lots of adventure. Then there’s the sex. ;^)
I
write romance. Any sort. Paranormal or contemporary. Wickedly
Used is my first Regency Romance,
although it’s darker than many.
My
pet hate is cliff hangers. Each book in either of my series can be
read as stand-alone romance. Add in that I’m a sucker for a
happy-ever-after, and you’ve got my writing style.
Blurb
While
he is no stranger to pleasurable company from ladies of the night,
Major Richard Rothbury of the royal dragoons is not the kind of man
who will stand idly by as a woman is taken against her will, and when
he witnesses a disreputable cad attempting to force himself on a girl
in a back alley, he does not hesitate to intervene.
But
after the grateful young woman offers herself to Rothbury, he is
shocked to discover that not only was she no harlot, she was a maiden
and he has deflowered her. Furious at the girl’s scandalous
behavior and her carelessness with her own safety, Rothbury chastises
her soundly.
Though
she is due to inherit one of the largest fortunes in England, the
fact that she cannot touch the money until she marries or turns
thirty has kept Elizabeth completely at the mercy of her cruel uncle,
and for years she has been treated as if she were a servant. Her
encounter with Lord Rothbury is by far the most exciting thing that
has ever happened to her, but while he shows great concern for her
safety, he refuses to believe that she is anything more than a
serving girl.
Despite
having made it clear that he doesn’t consider a match between them
to be possible, when Elizabeth disobeys him Rothbury proves more than
ready to strip her bare, punish her harshly, and then enjoy her
beautiful body in the most shameful of ways. But can she dare to hope
that he will one day make her his wife, or is she destined to spend
her life being wickedly used?
Buy
links
Excerpt
The
dragoon bristled when he glowered at Dawlish. Catching both her
wrists in one hand, her rescuer held her at arms’ length. The
breadth of his chest fascinated her, and she could sense his inner
strength. She shuddered then stilled, but her heart still beat
overtime in her chest.
Dawlish
was older, with a thickset body and a mouth as mean as her uncle’s.
Her dragoon’s good looks and protective manner delighted her. He
had stepped in and saved her, sort of, but his gaze condemned her as
Dawlish’s whore. He felt more friend than foe, but he looked ready
to march away when she needed him to stay.
Lifting
her head, she tried to sound brave. “Please, sir, let me pass.”
When
he didn’t move, she tugged one hand free of his hold and shoved at
his chest. He recaptured it in an instant. “Damn it, girl. Stand
still for a minute.”
His
touch sent a series of lightning strikes down her spine. Her nipples
pearled and poked at the thin fabric of her gown. With him, she could
fulfill her wickedest dream. The one where she gave her virginity to
a handsome stranger. Memories of a stolen moment of passion would
sustain her until she turned thirty—she hoped.
Dawlish
snarled like a mongrel ready to fight over a bone. He still fumbled
to lace up his breeches. “I saw her first. Come here, girl. I’ll
pay whatever price you demand once you’ve spread your thighs for
me.”
Self-conscious
and horrified, Elizabeth stared at the ground. After six years of her
cousins’ insults, she felt like the nonentity they called her. She
hated that. Back before her parents died, she’d felt pretty. Her
mother had told her that her hair shone like moonlight and her eyes
gleamed like the palest topaz.
Washed
out, her cousins called them.
For
her dragoon, she wanted to be beautiful. She took a step closer to
him. “I’m not here by choice, sir. I swear it.”
He
spoke softly as if soothing a spooked mare. “Easy, girl. Allow me
to escort you back to the Grand Walk.”
Dawlish
yanked her wrist free of the dragoon’s grip and dragged her toward
him. His touch felt like a million spiders scuttling over her skin.
Does the wretched man ever bathe?
Solid, square, and sweaty, he leered
at her through piggy eyes. “Come on, Blondie, name your price.”
Just
when she thought the dragoon’s gaze couldn’t be any colder, it
turned into an arctic blast. Mouth set in a straight line, he pried
Dawlish’s fingers from her wrist. “She’s not willing. Leave her
be.”
The
vein in Dawlish’s forehead bulged. His cheeks turned mottled
scarlet. He shoved at the dragoon’s chest like a schoolboy spoiling
for a fight. Her rescuer curled his lip and brushed him aside.
Once
Dawlish realized he couldn’t move her dragoon, he shoved Elizabeth
behind him. “Rothbury? Playing the hero? After the way you screwed
your family? I don’t think so. Lavinia will laugh when I tell her
you’ve taken to defending whores. Back off, and mind your own
business. This little pigeon’s mine.”
The
look the dragoon—Rothbury—gave Dawlish would have curdled milk.
The atmosphere felt thick with menace. Elizabeth felt sure there were
undercurrents at play here that she didn’t understand.
Rothbury’s
jaw clenched with carefully suppressed anger. “The lady’s changed
her mind.”
Elizabeth’s
cheeks burned. Dawlish made her feel dirty and cheap. She pulled her
free of his grip and shoved at his back. When he stared at her over
his shoulder, his gaze held a degrading mix of menace and desire.
“She’ll be willing once we’ve agreed on the price. Besides, you
can have her when I’ve finished.”
More
about Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie
loves to visit historic sites, from Hadrian’s wall to Regency Bath.
The first book she fell in love with was Georgette Heyer’s The
Unkown Ajax. After that, she
devoured every regency book she could. After a while, they went out
of fashion, but part of Kryssie’s psyche lives in in in Regency
London. She longs to dance quadrilles and flirt behind fans. Of
course, Kryssie’s heroines do far more than flirt.
Kryssie
lives in Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast –about thirty miles
from Whitby, where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. She enjoys gardening,
travel, and socializing with her author friends. You’d be surprised
how many erotic romance authors live in the North of England.
Social
Media Links
Pinterest
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Author Page http://amzn.to/2hA0ZVO
