Wilde In Love
The
Wildes of Lindow Castle, #1
by Eloisa James
Publication Date: October 31st
2017
Publisher: Avon Books
Genre: Adult, Historical
Romance
The Book Junkie Reads
. . . WILDE IN LOVE (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #1) . . . I LOVE THIS NEW SEIRES. The family members
were all their own person without apology. This introduction to this new family
of characters was intriguing. I look forward to more of them and whom they find
to wed. Alaric was up first and his battle to win Willa was just fun, witty and
sexy. I found loads of laughs during my journey of learning of the Wildes and
connecting with Alaric and Willa.
Willa was not your typical society miss. She
was smart, outspoken, opinionated, and spirited with her friends. To the world
at large she was sweet, demure, and quite. I could see and understand both
sides of Willa.
Alaric returns home after been gone for a
long time and was not prepared for the way everyone was now viewing him and his
exploits. This for him was too much to say the least. The one woman that
captures his attentions wants nothing to do with him.
The house party that neither knew the other
was at was a chance for the both, Willa and Alaric, to get to know more about
each other. Mishaps, banter, and long days make things very interesting for the
Castle during this house party.
I very much loved meeting the Wildes and
visiting Lindow Castle.
The
Wildes of Lindow Castle series:
Wilde in Love – The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #1
Too Wilde to Wed – The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2
coming July 2018
BLURB
Lord Alaric Wilde, son of the Duke of Lindow,
is the most celebrated man in England, revered for his dangerous adventures and
rakish good looks. Arriving home from years abroad, he has no idea of his own
celebrity until his boat is met by mobs of screaming ladies. Alaric escapes to
his father’s castle, but just as he grasps that he’s not only famous but
notorious, he encounters the very private, very witty, Miss Willa Ffynche.
Willa presents the façade of a serene young
lady to the world. Her love of books and bawdy jokes is purely for the
delight of her intimate friends. She wants nothing to do with a man whose
private life is splashed over every newspaper.
Alaric has never met a woman he wanted for
his own . . . until he meets Willa. He’s never lost a battle.
But a spirited woman like Willa isn’t going
to make it easy. . . .
The first book in Eloisa James’s
dazzling new series set in the Georgian period glows with her trademark wit and
sexy charm—and introduces a large, eccentric family. Readers will love the
Wildes of Lindow Castle!
Buy Links:
EXCERPT
Chapter
One
June 25, 1778
London
There wasn’t a person
in all England who’d have believed the boy who grew up to be Lord Alaric Wilde
would become famous.
Infamous? That was a
possibility.
His own father had
given him that label after Alaric was sent down from Eton at the age of eleven
for regaling his classmates with stories of pirates.
Piracy wasn’t the
problem—the problem was the uncanny way young Alaric had depicted his
small-minded Etonian instructors in the guise of drunken sailors. These days he
avoided portraying self-righteous Englishmen, but the impulse to observe had
never left him. He watched and summarized, whether he was in China or an African
jungle.
He had always written
down what he saw. His Lord Wilde books were a consequence of that impulse to
record his observations, a drive that appeared as soon as he learned to write
his first sentences.
Like everyone else,
it had never occurred to him that those books could make him famous. And he
didn’t think any differently when he rolled out of his berth on Royal George. All he knew in that
moment was that he was finally ready to see his family, all eight siblings, not
to mention the duke, duchess, and a stepsister or two.
He’d stayed away for
years, as if not seeing his eldest brother Horatius’s grave would make his
death not true.
But it was time to go
home.
He wanted a cup of
tea. A steaming hot bath in a real bathtub. A lungful of smoky London air.
Hell, he even missed
the peaty smell that hung over Lindow Moss, the bog that stretched for miles to
the east of his father’s castle.
He was drawing back
the curtain over the porthole when the ship’s boy knocked and entered. “There’s
a mighty fog, milord, but we’re well up the Thames, and the captain reckons
we’ll be at Billingsgate Wharf any minute.” His eyes shone with excitement.
Upon on deck, Alaric
found Captain Barsley standing in the prow of the Royal George, hands on his hips. Alaric started toward him and
stopped, astonished. Through the fog, the dock glimmered like a child’s toy: a
blurry mass of pink, purple, and bright blue. It separated into parts as the
ship approached.
Women.
The dock was crowded
with women—or, more precisely, ladies, considering all the high plumes and
parasols waving in the air. A grin tugged at the corners of Alaric’s mouth as
he joined the captain.
“What in the devil is
going on?”
“I expect they’re
waiting for a prince or some such foolishness. Those passenger lists they print
in the Morning Chronicle are utter
rubbish. They’re going to be bloody disappointed when they realize the Royal George hasn’t a drop of royal
blood aboard,” the captain grumbled.
Alaric, who was
related to the crown through his grandfather, gave a shout of laughter. “You
have a noble nose, Barsley. Perhaps they’ve discovered a relation you never
heard of.”
Barsley just grunted.
They were close enough now to discern that ladies were crowded as far back as
the fish market. They appeared to be bobbing up and down like colored buoys, as
they strained to see through the fog. Faint screams suggested excitement, if
not hysteria.
“This is Bedlam,”
Barsley said with disgust. “How are we supposed to disembark in the midst of
that?”
“Since we’ve come
from Moscow, perhaps they think the Russian ambassador is on board,” Alaric
said, watching a rowboat set out toward them, manned by a dockworker.
“Why in the devil’s
name would a flock of women come looking for a Russian?”
“Kochubey is a
good-looking fellow,” Alaric said, as the boat struck the side of the ship with
a thump. “He complained of English ladies besieging him, calling him Adonis,
and sneaking into his bedchamber at night.”
But the captain
wasn’t listening. “What the devil are those women doing on the wharf?” Captain
Barsley roared, as the dockworker clambered over the side from the rowboat.
“Make way for my gangplank, or I won’t be responsible for the fish having a
fine meal!”
The man dropped to
the deck, eyes round. “It’s true! You’re here!” he blurted out.
“Of course I’m here,”
the captain snarled.
But the man wasn’t
looking at Barsley.
He was looking at
Alaric.
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