Before Christmas I guest blogged at Ramblings From This Chick and shared an excerpt of my upcoming book. A few years ago, my Ladies Amateur Sleuth Society series came to an abrupt end leaving one lady without her happy ending. I still get reader mail asking about poor Charlotte and so in 2012 the fourth and final installment of the series will finally be available (summer). A Marriage Most Convenient tells the story of Charlotte Reed who will finally unmask the Jack of Hearts. Hope you enjoy it!

There are four ladies in London who have a most unladylike hobby: solving mysteries. No conundrum is too great for these young women. Until they stumble across the Jack of Hearts, a scandalous rogue who steals jewels from the rich and may well steal the heart of one of their own.

A MARRIAGE MOST CONVENIENT

London, 1893

It was beginning to bore him. It being stealing. Pilfering, burglary, thievery, as it were. Initially, he’d had a task at hand. Stealing something quite specific. But the thrill of the charade had been enthralling, a challenge, and a rather daring one at that.

But now he had become a novelty. The Jack of Hearts.

If the Jack of Hearts made an appearance at your ball or soiree, then it was instantly considered a smashing success. He’d been intent on hanging up his mask, even though he’d failed to acquire all of the family heirlooms his mother had sold. The Viscountess who’d purchased one of the pieces—a brooch—rarely appeared in public. When he’d heard she would be at tonight’s soirée, he’d known the Jack of Hearts would make one final appearance. The brooch was just too tempting. And now here he was — his bag full of useless bobbles, half of them not even authentic stones — crouched in the shadows outside of Mayfair Hall. Jack sighed and turned to go.

“I said, no thank you, Winthrop,” a familiar female voice said firmly. “I do not take kindly to unwanted advances.”

Jack stopped and listened intently to the exchange on the balcony above him. He peered between the bushes and watched Winthrop Cowell grip Charlotte Reed’s arm.

“Don’t be so demure, Miss Reed, I merely wanted a kiss,” the man’s words were badly slurred. Clearly he was well into his cups. “Now, hold still.”

Jack stepped forward, primed to make a move, to stop the man from taking advantage of Charlotte, but before he could step out of the shadows, she shoved against Winthrop’s bulky chest knocking the man off balance. He stumbled backwards and knocked over a potted topiary, the ceramic base shattered against the stone balcony.

“Go back inside before I find your intended and tell her of your outrageous behavior,” Charlotte said, her voice sharp with authority. “I have absolutely no desire to kiss you tonight or any other night.”

Winthrop turned and skulked back into the ballroom, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Jack took a moment to watch her. He, the real him, had known Charlotte Reed for years. He’d watched her grow into the stunning beauty she was today. The legendary Charlotte Reed who’d turned down more proposals than any woman ought to receive let alone reject. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wanted her too once upon a time until he’d seen Charlotte’s true character, seen her vanity. And he knew that Charlotte Reed was not interested in him, at least not the real him. Jack waited a moment longer to ensure Winthrop didn’t return before turning to leave.

“Who’s there?” Charlotte called out. She took the steps from the balcony to the yard and peered into the darkness. Her dark brown hair was piled atop her head coupled with the low cut neckline of her gown and it made her neck seem impossibly, seductively long. The graceful curve called to him, immobilizing him. He loathed his own weakness and that he couldn’t make himself walk away.

“How did you know I was here?” Jack asked, but he kept himself hidden in the shrubbery.

“I heard you rustling in the bushes. What are you doing out there?” Her eyes squinted, still trying to make out who stood in the shadows. Then she smiled broadly. “Are you alone out there or am I interrupting you tryst?” Curiosity shimmered in her eyes. She took the stairs down from the balcony and looked out into the yard, directly at the clump of shrubs that shrouded him.

He cleared his throat. “I am alone and I was planning to come to your rescue, to save you from your unwanted suitor, but you managed matters on your own quite nicely,” he said, intentionally deepening his voice. It was on his tongue to remind her she should not have put herself in such a position, that she should be more careful with her safety. But tonight he was Jack and Jack cared for no one’s safety, not even his own.

Charlotte took several steps towards him, twigs cracked beneath her slippers as she approached him. He stepped around a bush, revealing himself as he knew he’d never leave without her seeing him.

Surprise etched her features as a smile slid into place. He had heard rumor that she, in particular, fancied the Jack of Hearts. Many women in London did. Many of the fashionable young ladies did, those with nothing in their heads but gossip and scandal. “Have a lovely evening, Miss Reed,” Jack said as he turned to go.

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t go yet.” She shook her head. “How do you know my name?”

The tempo of his heart picked up. He was risking much by standing here, holding a bag full of stolen jewels and wearing a mask. Attracting the attention of a girl like Charlotte was one thing, but if anyone else stumbled out onto the terrace and discovered them, he’d be in serious trouble. Jack would be quickly apprehended and unmasked. The scandal that ensued would ruin his life and likely Charlotte’s as well. He should leave, yet he made no move to walk away.

“I won’t call for help,” she said. “I merely want to converse. For a moment.”

He turned back to face her. Her rich blue dress molded tightly to her full breasts, leaving little to his imagination. The color of the fabric was dark enough to enhance the alabaster of her skin. Even though he doubted the dress was new, the Reeds did not have deep pockets, she had taken great care with her appearance. She was a vision. Quite easily the loveliest woman in all of London.

Her brilliant smile gave his breath pause and made his hands twitch.

He concentrated on his tone as he spoke, “A lady, such as yourself, shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Well, you won’t harm me,” she reached out as if to touch him, then thought better of it and brought her hand back to her side. So she did have some sense. “Will you, Jack?”

The sound of the name, his name on her lips sent a mixture of pride and anger coursing through him. He reached up to ensure his mask was firmly in place. She was flirting with him. He could see it in her face, and the way her mouth was set, the subtle batting of her lashes. So the rumors were true, Charlotte fancied him.

Well, not him, per se, but the him she believed him to be. He winced. For a moment he considered reaching up and ripped the mask from his face, but he kept his hands still. He had managed to keep his identity a secret for this long, it wouldn’t kill him to do it one more night. Revealing himself to Charlotte wouldn’t change anything. It certainly wouldn’t make her want him, the real him.

“You could escort me to the gardens,” she suggested. “Like any gentleman could with a lady.”

Well, if he had to play the part, he would do it right. “What makes you think I am a gentleman?” he took a step towards her.

Her head tilted down a little as if she were trying to see him more closely. “You don’t have a reputation for ravishing, only theft.”

“Are the two so different, then?” It was easy now. This role of Jack. He was in his skin, feeling every bit the rogue. And he knew he was playing a dangerous game, but no matter the warnings in his head, he couldn’t make himself turn from her.

“Touché.” Her voice was sultry and if he didn’t know any better, he’d assume she was far more worldly then he knew her to be.

“Tell me, Miss Reed, are you always so brazen with men?” Perhaps if he called her on her behavior, she’d cease her recklessness. What if she’d fancied some other rogue, a true cad would take advantage of her?
She shook her head, her blue eyes never leaving his face. He would have sworn she could see right through that mask. But if that were true, she would no longer be standing in front of him. If she could see him, the real him, she would have walked away moments ago, bored with their exchange.

“Only those I find intriguing,” she said. Her lips curved in a slight smile revealing the dimple in her left cheek.
It seemed a bit amusing, if not ironic, that the lovely Charlotte Reed was enamored with the Jack of Hearts. The untouchable, beauty who had turned down countless proposals. The woman he himself had once fancied. “Intriguing,” he repeated.

She took several steps towards him. “Utterly captivating.”

Her flirtations were dangerous and with another other man she would have been in serious danger of losing her virtue. She needed to be warned, but he knew words would not send the message. Without thought to the repercussions, Jack placed one hand on her elbow and pulled her to him.

“Captivated or not, you should be more careful where danger lurks.” And with that he leaned down and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

He was careful not to allow himself to indulge his own desires, just a quick kiss meant to warn her. A kiss intended to let her know how dangerous her behavior was, flirting with a rogue. But her lips were warm and pliant so maintaining control was a test of wills. And soon his only thought was his desire to coax her mouth open and explore precisely how far this fancy of hers went.

She was most assuredly a willing partner, being kissed in the moonlight by a masked stranger. Her willingness was intoxicating and he knew he would take more than he ought if he did not walk away from her now. In the next moment he forced himself to break away from the kiss, then he quickly turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Once seated inside the confines of his carriage, he pulled off his mask and tossed it to the other side. He swore loudly. He’d let his guard down with her and with it, his ability to make intelligent decisions. He hadn’t maintained his secret identity this long by being foolish and reckless. Yes, it had taken considerable nerve and risk, but equal to that was the extensive planning. And tonight he’d forgotten all of that. He’d told himself he was teaching her a lesson, but he knew that wasn’t completely true.

It was time. Time to make Jack disappear. Time to just be himself.

Many of you might remember when I announced earlier this year that The Professor and I had become parents in a rather unorthodox way – we are currently foster (though very soon, adoptive) parents to two very precious little girls. To say that this has changed my life is a gross understatement. Those of you who are parents know this. I mean who hasn’t heard when they’re pregnant – a baby changes everything. Isn’t that even the tagline for some commercial – though I can’t recall what the product is. In any case my life these days doesn’t really resemble my life from even this past March.

It’s obviously affected my day-to-day activities and my writing has suffered. In hindsight, I wish that when they’d arrived I decided to simply take some time off, have maternity leave, if you will. But I didn’t do that. Instead I tried to write amidst the sleepless nights and the emotional stress of becoming overnight parents to two little girls who have not been given the best in life. And frankly it hasn’t gone well and it’s driven me a little nuts, unnecessarily I think.

But alas that’s not even what I want to talk about today. The other thing that has been shoved to a back-burner is my own health. Now I know what you’re all thinking, I can’t be a good mom if I don’t take care of myself first, but honestly how many of you actually do this? Before the girls I was an avid Weight Watcher, I never missed a meeting and I’d lost nearly 40lbs. I think I’ve only been to like 3 meetings since April and well, let’s just say at some point I stopped pretending and just put the program on hold.

Well, today the girls started a Mother’s Day Out program that they’ll attend twice a week. And it just so happens my WW meeting is on Tuesday mornings. It felt so great to walk in there this morning and start over. I told my leader that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I don’t want to even think about these past few months or the weight I’ve gained back or how I haven’t exercised and I haven’t made healthy eating choices. Today is day one, a new beginning.

Now I could wallow in this and think about how many new beginnings I’ve had. I’m one of those who has struggled with my weight my entire life. But I know from experience thinking those sorts of thoughts only hurt me. And the fact of the matter is, my weight will always be an issue. Even if I lost all that I wanted to lose, I would still have to work my program to maintain because I have food issues. This is not an unusual problem otherwise we wouldn’t be the fattest nation. So I know I’m not alone.

My question to you, is how do you get back on the wagon? What are things you do to get your mind in the game, whether it be getting back to the gym, eating better or starting something else you might have let fall to the wayside.

One of the things about writing that I didn’t realize when I first started was how profoundly personal it would be. Perhaps that makes me an idiot, but that aspect kind of took me by surprise. But I suspect that writers, genre fiction and romance writers, in particular, are very much in tune with their own personal issues – the things that make us tick, that big bag of crud we drag around filled with our greatest fears and insecurities. I suppose song writers probably are equally as aware, but I digress. The point of all of this is if you pay close attention you start to notice things about you – not all of them are the icky things either.

Recently I was reading a book and I had a big epiphany that doesn’t really surprise me, as I can clearly see the pattern in my reading tastes and several of the books I’ve written myself, frankly I’m surprised it took me quite so long to notice. Especially when I look back on a post I wrote here four years ago. So here it goes….when it comes to guys, those romantic hero types, I really am drawn to the pursuer. I suppose this might be why I don’t gravitate toward the more traditional alpha hero because they aren’t always pursuers.

The book I was reading recently that brought all this to my attention was Suzanne Enoch’s The Care and Taming of a Rogue. Now Suzanne is one of my very favorite authors, she’s definitely my go-to gal whenever I need a good pick-me-up because her books are just delightful and perfect in all the right ways. And I love, love, love her heroes. And her heroes are always pursuers, even if they don’t quite understand it themselves, they are completely captivated by the heroine, just can’t get enough and go after her full-throttle. Their unwavering pursuit just makes me feel all gooey on the inside. This is what romance novels are about for me.

Now there are plenty of great ways to put together a romance novel, but at their core, it’s either boy pursues girl or girl pursues boy and both work. But for me that one that makes me come back again and again is the former. It even happened in my own love story. When I met The Professor I wasn’t so sure about him. He was really smart, an intellectual and frankly I felt a smidge intimidated and wondered what we’d ever talk about. And he was so very different from any man I’d ever dated or been attracted to. But he pursued me deftly and it worked.

So how about you? What kind of hero do you gravitate to? Do you notice when you’re reading which character is the pursuer?

Every writer has their process. It’s as unique to each of us as the tone of our books. And eventually if you sit back you begin to see the pattern in your own work, the steps you have to take to make the magic and transform that brilliant idea into a book people can read. Writing is a lot like putting together IKEA furniture. At first it seems like since you’re a relatively intelligent person who can read and walk upright that you’ll be able to do it and then after a while that little cartoon man begins to mock you and you end up in a heap on the floor with a splinter, a half-empty bottle of wine and mascara streaming down your face.

As a writer, I’m fascinated by other writer’s processes. Perhaps because I’m always looking for new tools to add to my bag of tricks, and partly because there’s that need to justify the way I do it, to make certain I’m not a complete hack. So if you’re ever around a group of writers, you’ll hear things like this, “What do you write? Oh, are you a plotter or a panster? Oh yes, don’t you just hate synopses…”

Not that anyone asked, but here are mine…

Idea – either I spontaneously get an idea or a manufacture one, either way, pretty exciting stuff.

Brainstorming – this is just the rudimentary brainstorming, not really specifics, just possibilities, again exciting. This has got to be one of my favorite parts. Perhaps because in the midst of brainstorming (which can truly be quite magical if the ideas are working) Emily and I get to gossip a lot. But we only ever talk about nasty people.

Character work – while this part can be challenging, it’s also fun, it consists of finding the right picture to use as my inspiration, so I get to spend quite a bit of time on-line looking at sexy actors. Ryan Reynolds, or Johnny Depp or Hugh Jackman, pick your poison, it’s research, I tell the Professor. It’s my job to find out what *other* women find attractive. I also work on archetypes, Myers-brigg, GMC, conflict and connection b/w hero & heroine, character arcs, etc.

Plotting – the story rises from the characters’ GMC, their relationship and their growth, again, this part can be challenging, but is also in the fun category. I use Scrivener, real index cards, post-it notes, Excel, sometimes all of that, sometimes only one, just whatever I need to get the book into focus.

Proposal – this is the three chapter/synopsis stage and this is where it becomes painful. While working on the synopsis, I’m never more aware of the fact that I’m just making stuff up (I realize that is the case ALL of the time, but it doesn’t always feel that way). The synopsis is certainly not easy, but I find this exercise so useful because it takes the jumbled mess in my head and it puts it into a semi-organized state. It also forces me to look at the external plot a bit more – I tend to build from the internal stuff and forget there has to be action going on. When I hit the chapters, sometimes the opening scene is clear in my head and flies onto the page, but frankly this is rare. Most of the time it takes me much longer to write these first 3 chapters than it does any other chapters in the book. They are daunting to me. I know the characters, or at least I know things about them and I know how I want them to come across, but I haven’t yet let them loose to walk and talk on their own. And with the series, it adds even more complexities of taking a secondary character who thus far has only had dialogue and digging into their internal thoughts. I often call my critique partner to whine about the fact that I’ve forgotten how to write a book, I’m a total hack and I’ll never get done. This stage is hard, and painful and really not all that fun, in fact it’s my very least favorite part and it’s my very slowest stage. It’s like swimming through molasses while a mound of fire ants chase after you.

Rough draft – the pain from the first three chapters usually lasts until chapter 5, possibly 6, and then I begin to hit my stride. I get into the fun part of the book, the middle. I know, some people call this the sagging middle, but for me, it never sags, it flies. Not to say it’s easy, hardly, but I tend to know more of what’s going on, I get to really get that relationship going and it’s just the best part of the book. And then I hit the ending, the last 2 chapters for me usually go at lightening speed during this draft, sometimes only ending up 10-15 pages worth of material. I rush it, I admit it. Because by now I’m just ready for it to be over with and I know the ending will probably have to change. I should mention that at some point during this rough draft (possibly more than once) I make a frantic call to Emily for emergency brainstorming (okay this isn’t the only time she gets a frantic call, it happens all the time) because I’ve realized that I’m missing something huge (almost always my big, black moment, which I swear I had at the time of synopsis writing, but it has since shrunk to a small, slightly grey moment). I should also note that I do not revise as I write, so the rough draft is full of notes, questions and blanks for me to catch during the next round. This used to be my favorite part, but not so much anymore, but it has its moments.

Read-through – this is what happens after I’m done with the rough draft and usually ends up with another phone call to the critique partner where I whine and complain that the book is total crap and I won’t be able to fix it. But during this read-through, I make notes to myself on everything, big (new scenes) and small (punctuation or word choice). Then I write a revision letter to myself. This part is not fun.

Revisions – these are my revisions, not those from my editor. This used to be my least favorite part, but I think that’s because I didn’t know what I was doing. Now I kind of like it, but I’m only just getting used to saying that, so don’t make me repeat it. I’m a layer-er – which means that I go through the manuscript 4-5 times at this stage. The first two being the biggest moves. I add new scenes, I delete stuff, I fix all the things that are inconsistent with character, because now I really know them, I layer in emotion and texture and make sure I’ve been clear about all the elements of each character’s GMC, I look up research questions that I left blank in the first draft, sometimes I rearrange stuff. It’s major surgery. My rough drafts are often 100+ too short, so the layering really is significant. So begrudgingly I say this is the fun part.

Critique – I have a few readers that get the whole thing at this point, the first time they’ve seen it and they give me feedback. I sometimes take it and sometimes ignore it, but it gives me reassurance having other eyes look at it before I turn it in. This part is just fine.

And then I’m done and can turn it in. At this point, I know it’s the best I can do, but I’m still nervous as hell that it’s awful. But I’m still feeling happy that it’s over with and I’m beginning to fall in love with my next idea which is sure to be easy and wonderful…

So why am I writing all of this? Well, I’m working on revisions right now and they’re going far too slowly for me. And I’m certain the book is terrible and I should scrap it and come up with a new idea. But I won’t do that because I know from my process that all of those emotions are normal for me at this stage. I also know enough to know that how I’m feeling about something is not the same thing as the reality of that something. Oh, there I went and got all philosophical on y’all.

In any case, if you’re a writer, tell me about your process so I can steal your cool methods. And if you’re a reader tell me something interesting about what you do, are you an organized person or do you fly by the seat of your pants and wait for the day to take you where it will?

Okay Treasure Me has been out for about a month now and the reader feedback has been great. But if you haven’t picked up your copy, here’s a little inside peek to whet your whistle, so to speak. Enjoy.

Loch Ness, Scotland 1888

Vanessa made her way quickly through the noisy pub and took a seat at an empty table. Heavy wood paneling covered nearly every surface in the room. The floor currently acted as a small pool for spilled ale. But she needed to eat.
Gingerly she opened Jeremy’s notes and smoothed her hand across them. This was precisely the sort of place that Jeremy would balk at entering. He would despair at even laying his precious notes on the sticky surface. So she did it regardless, knowing that he wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Furthermore, he shouldn’t have left them lying around while he was off dallying with Violet.
All around her, large and hairy Scottish men sat at the tables slamming their mugs together, cursing and picking fights with one another. Were it not for her considerable practice at ignoring noise to focus on work, she might have been more distracted.
So Vanessa was quite used to pretending that nothing around her was meant for her attention. A skill that had come in handy on more than one occasion when she’d been stuck beside a bore at a dinner party. Or been persuaded to dance with an arrogant, yet ignorant, oaf at a soiree. She’d learned such a skill at home with her family where her mother and sisters spoke of nothing more than the next social engagement and which fabrics best complimented their coloring. Of course, they tried to include her, but Vanessa found none of that the least bit interesting. Instead she wanted to read or study, or more precisely, she wanted to dig. But until this very trip, she hadn’t yet gotten the opportunity.
Now Vanessa was finally here. Here in Scotland where the history was mixed heavily with myth, and the soil was rich with undiscovered fossils, all waiting for her to unearth and categorize them. First thing tomorrow morning, she would hike over to those castle ruins and find her way into the caverns beneath. Jeremy was wrong about Mr. McElroy’s discovery, and if the poor Scotsman were still alive, she’d find him to tell him so. It had been a point of contention between her and her would-be-husband, but he’d taken the time to listen to her argument. She’d thought he’d been weighing her hypothesis. Now though, she believed that he’d merely been humoring her. Well, she would prove him wrong—him and the rest of the scientific community who believed her to be utterly unqualified.
She had tried to argue Mr. McElroy’s point by sending in several letters supporting his theory that the bone belonged to what the Scots called the water kelpie. But not one of them had been printed in any of the scientific journals. No, Vanessa didn’t believe a mystical creature still lived in those peat-stained waters. But something had lived there many years ago, and the evidence was just waiting for her discovery.
She put the tip of her pencil between her teeth as she collected her thoughts, then she jotted down a note.
“What’s a purty lass like you doin’ all alone?” A large necked man plopped into the empty chair adjacent to hers. His thick brogue, laced with inebriation, took some concentration to understand. As he looked over her notebook, his nose wrinkled. “What are you doing there in that book?”
She closed the pages over her hand to mark her spot and glanced at him above her spectacles. “I am working, sir, and you are disturbing me.” Perhaps she should have stayed in her room. But she’d been hungry, and the barmaid had said this was the only place she could eat. So she’d sat to wait for her lamb stew.
He laughed, a gritty, dark sound. “Disturbing you, am I? Well, we’ll see about that.” He reached over, and with one swift pull, he’d yanked her onto his lap, knocking the notebook to the floor in the process. She struggled against him, kicking at his legs and trying to pound on his chest, but he clasped both her wrists in his vice-like grip.
“Unhand me, sir!” she said loudly, continuing to fight. She eyed Jeremy’s notebook lying facedown on the filthy floor. As gratifying as it might be to destroy something of his, she needed that research. “I must collect my notes!”
“I don’t think so. You’re a nice little morsel, aren’t you?” He buried his face in her hair. “And you smell real nice. Like flowers and honey.”
Vanessa’s heart thundered in her chest, the sound reverberating to pound in her ears. She had not carefully weighed the situation before she’d acted. She’d been so focused on her research, so intent on her own purpose, that she hadn’t bothered to think about this new environment. This was not the sort of place that a well-bred lady would travel alone. Yet here she was. Not very smart of her, she now acknowledged. This was precisely the impetuous behavior that her mother found so taxing.
But there was no need to panic; that’s the reaction her sisters would have. Vanessa, though, was level-headed and generally good at sizing up challenging situations. This one would be no different. She merely needed to stay calm, keep her wits about her, and figure out a way to escape. Perhaps she should simply jerk herself away and run up to her room. But with the current hold the man had on her, freeing herself was impossible. She could call for help. Perhaps people simply didn’t realize that she wasn’t interested in being handled by this man. Certainly a crowd this size would not allow this man to truly harm her.
But as three other large Scots stood and moved to her table, each of their expressions more lascivious than the next, she began to doubt her convictions. These men would not protect her. They would assist her assailant. She saw the great error in her logic. She had grossly underestimated her situation, and now she was in serious trouble. She doubled her efforts. Her legs kicked out, trying in vain to wiggle free from the man’s hold.
“What do we have here, Angus?” one man asked as he straddled a chair next to them. He ran a rough hand down Vanessa’s cheek.
She frowned at him and tried to pull away from his offensive touch. Had her hands been free, she would have walloped him good. Boxed his ears, or poked him in the eyes.
“A fine piece of muslin,” another man said. He moved his eyebrows up and down in a move that Vanessa could only assume meant he found her attractive. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Finally she had a man sexually interested in her, something her mother had spent hours fretting about. But eligible, appropriate men, they were not.
The man who’d imprisoned her on his lap—Angus, the other man had called him–was trying to run his hand up her leg, but she managed to deflect his efforts with an elbow to his abdomen. The man next to him yanked on her hair, pulling her head back so she could see his grimy face above hers. His yellowed teeth smelled foul, a mixture of ale and rot. Her eyes watered.
“Oh there you are, love,” another voice said from behind her. “I’d ask you kindly to remove your hands from my intended.”
She could not see the owner of the voice, but this man sounded different from the others. While his voice still had the lilt of a Scottish brogue, his tone was more refined, cleaner around the edges. Though his words were polite, his tone was edged with a threat.
“Your intended?” Angus asked.
“Aye. I said let her go.”
“As you wish,” the man said, then he dumped Vanessa onto the hard wood-planked floor.
Vanessa landed with a thud, her wool dress splayed around her, revealing both ankles. A hand reached out to pull her to her feet. She snatched her notebook on the way up.
She looked up and found herself staring into the most alarmingly handsome face she’d ever seen. His long brown hair hung to his shoulders in a wild and unkempt way, but she could tell he’d washed it recently, not at all like the greasy, matted manes of the other men. A day’s worth of beard covered his cheeks and chin, but did nothing to hide his sensual mouth, which quirked in a subtle grin. But it was his crystal clear green eyes that seemed to void her vocabulary. She nodded like a simpleton.
He held her close to his side. So far, no one had resorted to fisticuffs, but two of the Scots still held a stance that suggested they might swing a punch at any moment. Vanessa found herself holding her breath, so she exhaled slowly.
“So, English,” Angus said, sizing up her rescuer. “You’ve come back to the wilds of the hills, have you?”
“Fits you’d find yourself a pretty Lady to wed,” another said. “What’s the matter, the local skirts aren’t good enough for the likes of you?” Guffaws of laughter surrounded them.
This close to her rescuer, she could smell him. A delicious combination of soap and leather and the pure smell of the clean Highland air filled her nose. She caught herself before she closed her eyes to inhale.
“Did you bring her home to wed her properly?” Angus asked with a wide grin that highlighted his foul teeth.
“None of your damned business,” her savior said. But she noted a slight tick in his jaw line.
“A true Scot would wed her here and now,” Angus taunted with narrowed eyes.
“Wed her, then bed her,” the other agreed with a grin.
“What’s the matter, English?” another asked.
Vanessa noticed how the man at her side clinched his fist that rested at her waist. Her savior never once met her gaze as he looked at the other men in the tavern. They were all slightly smaller than he, but two of them were as broad. Still he was only one man.
“English won’t do it,” Angus said.
“He ain’t a real Scot,” the other said. “Too much blue blood.”
The taunting reminded Vanessa of her young cousins who teased and quipped back and forth, goading each other into doing something unpleasant. Children’s folly, nothing more. But suddenly she realized how quiet the room had fallen. It had been so loud, full of boisterous voices and music coming from an old harpsichord in the corner of the room. Everyone waited, listening for what would happen between her defender and the wretched men who’d attacked her.
“Mavis,” Angus yelled. Then he held up his hand. A moment later, a rope soared across the pub, and he caught it in his fist. He took a step toward them. “Well, are you a real Scot or no’?”
“Nah, he’s an English,” the other man said.
At long last, the man protecting her, glanced down and met her gaze. His pure green eyes met hers, and her mouth went completely dry. She’d never been one to become lathered by the appearance of men. Her sisters had certainly fallen into fits of hysteria when handsome men had expressed interest in them, but Vanessa had never looked up much to take notice. But with this man, his rugged handsomeness was hard to ignore. She pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose.
“We’ll do the ceremony,” he said in his low baritone voice. “I’ll marry her right now.”
Before Vanessa could ask any questions, she found herself facing the large stranger and both their right hands were tied together with the rope. The man before her repeated vows, and then nodded to her when it was her turn.
Vanessa tugged on her hand and realized it was indeed tied quite firmly to the man with the beautiful green eyes. The stench of the other men around her assaulted her senses. “Marry this man?” she asked softly, more to herself than anyone in particular.
Loud cheers surged around her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just accidentally married a Scotsman.

So as far as excerpts go, what are your favorite kinds? Do you like the first meet scene? Or a steamy scene? What kind of scene really makes you head to the store to pick up the book? I have a copy of Treasure Me and a copy of Emily McKay’s Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin ready to mail out to one lucky reader. Just comment to win.

Well, it’s been in stores for a couple of weeks and hopefully those of you who’ve been looking for it have been able to get your hands on Treasure Me. So far it’s reviewed very well, which is always nice, and the blog tour went great, perhaps some of you followed and have had a chance to win some books. But as I always do here on the Jaunty Quills, I like to give our loyal readers the first behind the scenes look at my new release.

Treasure Me is the third and final installment of my Legend Hunters trilogy and I must admit leaving these men behind makes me a little sad. I’ve had such great fun weaving these stories, coming up with the danger and adventure and spinning my own version of myths we all love. In Treasure Me we head to Loch Ness in search of a few treasures, one of which hidden in the caves beneath Urquhart Castle and the other the famed biblical relic, the Stone of Destiny (which coincidentally can be seen in The King’s Speech). It pairs up Graeme whom readers met in Seduce Me, he’s the scottie-hottie and Vanessa, a scholar in her own right, she’s an amateur paleontologist. Oh and there’s another familiar face from Seduce Me, The Raven returns which I think readers will like, I certainly heard from plenty of you that you loved his nastiness.

So here are my inspirations for my characters. And some of the reviews that have come in…“4 ½ star TOP PICK! The Legend Hunters, those seekers of treasures and myths, return for their last enthralling adventure/romance … fast-paced, thrilling, roller-coaster tale … Not only does DeHart satisfy readers craving adventure, she adds three-dimensional characters and a passionate love story that will delight.” RT BookReviews

“We have a winner! A perfect 10. [DeHart] weaves a story like a fine tapestry – rich, colorful and compelling but so tightly bound there are never any holes… hooked me from page one and left me ravenous for more at the end.” The Season

“… a fabulous tale that grips the audience from start to finish as if Indiana Jones was working Victorian Scotland.” Harriet Klausner

“Robyn DeHart has become one of my favorite authors…where she shines is in creating character…continued her series with a book chock full of fun and adventure, not neglecting steamy, tender (and sometimes hilarious) love scenes. DeHart’s romances are tender and adventurous, and funny enough you may laugh your nethers off.” FreshFiction

“I was hooked on the first page and could not put this book down, I fell asleep with it in my hand lol. I rated this book a HIGH 5 out of 5. Fantastic read.” NightOwlReviews

“DeHart delivers plenty of adventure and suspense along with the romance: secret passages, ancient encoded texts, and a double helping of theft, blackmail, kidnapping, and murder.” Publishers Weekly

Okay so you can thank me now for the lovely picture of Gerard Butler cause yummy! Yes, I got to look at that while I was writing this book. How awesome is my job?! The best part is casting my hero because I have to look at tons of pictures of hot men, it’s all purely research, I just want to make you readers happy. But I digress, so back to Treasure Me. It’s in stores, it’s great and you can look at that picture of Gerard while you read it, you have my permission, tell your husbands, it’s part of your job as a reader to get the appropriate image in your mind of my character. Now go forth and buy.

And tell me what’s in your to-be-read pile right now?

Jaunty P. Quills: Hello! It’s me, Jaunty P. Quills, Porcupine Extraordinaire. Did you miss me? Never mind. Of course, you did! I missed you too. In fact, I cut my vacation short when I heard Robyn DeHart has a new book out and (pine cone roll, please)…it’s about me! Finally, my favorite Quill, Robyn (hear that, Kristan Not-My-Favorite Higgins?), has seen fit to immortalize me. I must say, this is long overdue.

Robyn: Jaunty, I hate to disappoint you, but you aren’t featured in my book.

Jaunty P. Quills: I don’t understand! I read on your website the book features an exciting adventure whereby two legend hunters search for a legendary beast. Darling, look no further. I am that legendary beast (wink, wink).

Robyn: Oh, I see what you’re thinking. But no, you’re not that legendary beast.

Jaunty P. Quills: If the book isn’t about moi, which I find very hard to believe—it’s okay to flatter me, Robyn—what is it about?

Robyn: I’m so glad you asked since that is why we’re doing this interview, to talk about my book. *clears throat* So Treasure Me is set in the Highlands of Scotland along the shores of Loch Ness and is the third in my Legend Hunters series. It’s about Graeme Langford, an English duke who feels more connected to his Scottish roots. He’s on a quest to find the legendary Stone of Destiny. Vanessa Pembrooke is a runaway bride fleeing England from her cheating fiancé and runs to Scotland to finally conduct some hands-on research as a paleontologist. When their paths cross we get lots of chemistry, a few actual explosions and a potentially deadly search for a lost treasure.

Jaunty P. Quills: So let me get this straight. The book isn’t about me?

Robyn: Jaunty! Have you even been to Scotland?

Jaunty P. Quills: I’m actually a little afraid of the Loch Ness monster. Once my Uncle Jolly visited the area near Loch Ness and was never seen again. I don’t mean to brag, but porcupines are rather tasty.

Robyn: I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that, Jaunty. If it makes you feel any better I’ve never had any porcupine, alligator, yes, but never once porcupine.

Jaunty P. Quills: Obviously this interview isn’t going as planned. And we all know who’s responsible for that…someone—ahem, Robyn Not-My-Favorite DeHart—didn’t send me an advance copy of the book.

Robyn: I was trying to save you from nightmares, Jaunty. After you read Seduce Me, you were so afraid of the Raven, you couldn’t sleep.

Jaunty P. Quills: I don’t know what you’re talking about. (whispering) He’s not in this one, is he?

Robyn: Well, yes, he is. He was such a great villain and already introduced into the Legend Hunter world so it seemed fitting to have him come after Graeme and Vanessa. And I should probably warn you, he’s deadlier than ever in this book.

Jaunty P. Quills: Robyn, you’re scaring me! Rather, you would be if I wasn’t so strong and heroic. I would make a great hero (right, Margo My-New-Favorite Maguire?).

Robyn: Okay, how about this, Jaunty. I’ll share a little sneak peek of the book to see if you like it. And for the rest of you, one lucky commenter today will win the entire Legend Hunters trilogy.

A hand clasped her wrist.
“Looking for something?”
In one quick movement she found herself flipped over the bed and upon her back, a large and heavy and very seductive husband atop her.
“I merely thought to—“
“To steal my treasure,” he said, his voice dark and full of sinful promise.
She shivered in response.
Desire coursed through her, making her focus on his every breath. Graeme’s arm tightened around her, pulling her into his body so that her bottom nestled snugly against his legs.
Hot breath slid across her neck and down her shoulder as he leaned closer. His well-muscled chest pressed to her back. Even without the benefit of seeing it in the movement, she knew what that chest looked like. Knew every sinewy line that traced the hard muscles of his abdomen.
He kissed her neck. One hot, moist kill that proved to be her complete undoing. She knew in that moment that she would not leave this bed tonight.

Robyn: Thank you, Jaunty, for an interesting interview. I can’t celebrate a release without giving away a book, so one lucky person will win autographed copies of the entire Legend Hunters series, that’s SEDUCE ME, DESIRE ME and TREASURE ME. Comment to win!

One of the questions writers are asked the most is where we get our ideas. Now I suppose there are as many answers to that question as there are writers. Even for me, I can’t say that there’s one certain place or exercise or thing that always generates an idea. And for every book we write and publisher there are probably three other ideas that sit unwritten/half-written or just unsold on our computers.

Ideas come from everywhere, every direction. When I’m in a particularly creative place then ideas come hard and fast, one after another and I have to jot down tidbits just to remember them. Sometimes those little tidbits grow into a fully fleshed idea that then becomes a book. But sometimes those little morsels just languish on the computer never to be expanded into anything useable.

Lately, I’ve been working on some ideas. Several of them. I currently have a proposal with my agent for a new trilogy. But as she’s reading that, I’m developing yet another series idea. I’m toying with switching time periods and I’m working on putting together a workable series idea for this new era. In doing so I’ve come up with one idea that’s now on it’s 4th incarnation. I’m not quite sure, but I think I’ve struck gold with the latest version. I’m excited. I can’t stop thinking about it. The idea is growing, characters are talking, scenes are taking shape in my mind – this is usually how I can tell that I’ve got something good.

Still I don’t know. Maybe these ideas will grow into books and they’ll be the next Robyn DeHart books you read. Or maybe they’ll simply sit, undeveloped in my mind and on my laptop indefinitely.

For you writers out there, how do you know when an idea is worth developing into a book? And for you readers, what’s your favorite Robyn DeHart book? If you’re not one of my readers, what’s your favorite Quill book? One commenter will win a signed copy of Treasure Me.

Okay so I’m not really going to talk about going Christmas caroling though I will say that we had two different groups of carolers show up at our house this year. I didn’t realize people still did that and it was just so charming. So putting the caroling aside what I want to talk about is Christmas music. I love the songs of the season, the fun ones, the spiritual ones, the crazy ones – all of them. We have a fairly large collection of holiday CD’s at my house and I get them our right after Halloween so I get to listen to them all through November and December. I never get tired of the traditional songs no matter how many renditions I hear of White Christmas and O Holy Night.

I think this love comes from my childhood. I remember when my mom would get our her Christmas records – that’s right kids, those big round things you played with a needle. She had the Frosty the Snowman one and two others and they were delightful. A few years ago my brother took those old records and recorded them onto CD’s for my sister and I so that now we can still enjoy those songs from our childhoods. They sound scratchy and old fashioned and wonderful.

When I decorate my tree, wrap presents and do my holiday baking I’ve got my Christmas music going and I sing and do my thing and it just makes me so darn happy. Our collection is varied though admittedly I have a considerable amount of country singers holiday albums because it’s my favorite genre of music. So I get my twang on with my George Strait and Reba McEntire, but then I like the earthy guitar sounds from Deanna Carter’s album. It’s hard not to still love the Ally McBeal CD with Vonda Shepard and Robert Downy Jr. – makes me nostalgic for the show though.

I usually buy a new CD each each to add to the collection and a few years ago I stumbled upon one from a group I was sort of familiar with, but it looked interested so I picked it up. It’s by Mercy Me – they’re the band who sang that really popular song I Can Only Imagine from a few years ago. Well, we’ve had this Christmas CD now for several years and it still reigns as my all-time favorite. Each song has a different feel to it, almost as if they’re playing homage to some classic bands and styles. It’s just fantastic and it’s always the first one I play.

There are plenty of others that I love, but far too many to list. So how about you? Do y’all enjoy holiday music? What are your favorites? Comment and you might win a collection of my books autographed just for you.

Remember that episode of Friends where they discussed the five that would be on your list? You know the list of never-gonna-happen-in-a-million-years lust fantasy? Well Saturday night I was out with some writer friends and our conversation turned in this direction. One writer asked me who was on my 5 and I realized I’d never actually given it much thought. Well, it took me a few moments, but not so lone that my subconscious hadn’t been working on this very issue for a while. So without further ado, I present to you (in no particular order) my 5…

Matthew McConaughey – maybe it’s the Texan in me, but I can’t resist him. He’s got that lazy sexy drawl and frankly it makes me all gooey inside just to hear him talk. It was A Time To Kill that brought him on my radar and I think it was part character part actor that entranced me so. The glasses didn’t hurt either since I have a thing for men in specs.

Joseph Fiennes – with him it’s really all in the eyes. There is such intensity, such depth, such yummy goodness hidden in the color of his irises that just looking at him makes me melt. I’m fairly certain that if I were ever actually in the room with him and I caught his glance, I might swoon. Which makes it all the well that this is a fantasy list.

Ryan Reynolds – I’ve actually had a crush on Ryan for a long time since he was in a kid soap opera called Fifteen that I’m reluctant to admit I watched when I was in High School. He was a bit of a chubby kid back then, but had the same sharp wit. Well, clearly the chub is all gone and now we have what I think is a gift to all of us ladies. I mean look at him. That’s just ridiculous. I mean really!

Jonny Lee Miller – Like Mr. Fiennes, Jonny here has some intense and sexy eyes. Though I don’t think that’s the entirety of it for me, but I’m not sure what else it is. Of course the accent helps and the fact that he’s actually a bit unassuming so his sexiness can take you by surprise. I know I’ve admitted on here before that Hackers is one of my guilty pleasure movies and one of the main reasons is because we get to look at Jonny through the whole thing.

Johnny Depp – Frankly I think no list of 5 is complete without Captain Jack, but I do know there are plenty of women who disagree. But this is my list and on Saturday I nearly forgot him while thinking of my 5th and final choice. Once I remembered though, everything felt complete. He’s got it all, the voice, the sexy eyes, the smolder. He even makes things I wouldn’t normally think of as attractive work, like the thumb ring and eyeliner. He’s got a quiet vulnerability about him, yet a hint of danger which….whoa, just gets me all in a dither.

And here’s my runner-up, Josh Holloway. Yummy!

So how about you? Who is on your list of 5?