BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL ROMANCE - HEARTH OR HEART (Bowman Girls, #1) by Emily Lane

Hearth or Heart

The Bowman Girls, #1

by Emily Lane

Publication date: July 13th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance

BLURB

After her father dies, Effie Bowman and her eight sisters are left penniless, homeless, and alone. Salvation comes in the form of the new custodian of the estate, Mr Thornaby. But the more she learns of Mr Thornaby, the more she realises he needs her discretion as much as she needs his security.

In her efforts to moderate the wild Mr Thornaby, she recruits the unlikely aid of ton society’s most determined widower, Sir John Callander.

As the season progresses and Effie pulls Sir John deeper into her desperate schemes to moderate Mr Thornaby, both are forced to wonder if Effie is attempting to tame the wrong gentleman.

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EXCERPT

Of all the consequences to befall a clutch of daughters belonging to an entailed estate, this one was quite outside the common.

‘£20 a month in pin money?!’ cried Effie.

‘Each.’

Mrs Thornaby, ensconced in a cream morning gown of twilled French silk that seemed to defy her age, smiled most becomingly upon her niece.

‘That is just for your frills and affects and whatever other small accoutrements you young girls require these days,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘Your dresses, gowns, and hats, of course, can be drawn against my son’s account.’

‘Ma’am, I could never.’

‘Oh, yes, you could,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘That boy has too much money.’

Effie’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her gaze down.

Grimacing, Mrs Thornaby said, ‘So, your mother has told you a little of it, I collect.’

‘She has, ma’am,’ Effie admitted.

Mrs Thornaby looked her up and down.

‘Your mother tells me you are an exceptionally good manager.’

Now the talk of money had faded, Effie’s calm, dark eyes levelled upon Mrs Thornaby once more.

‘Yes, ma’am, it’s true.’

‘I suppose with eight sisters, borne of a mother of my sister’s temperament, you, as the eldest, should rather be forced into such a role, even if it was not of your disposition.’

A smirk crossed Effie’s features as she declared, ‘That much is true, to be sure.’

‘But men and boys are a different matter indeed.’

Effie’s hands, trying to thread a needle, paused. She set her embroidery box down and took up her cup of tea.

‘I have no brothers.’

‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘And husbands? What thoughts have you on them?’

‘Not so many, ma’am. I can scarcely imagine having one, never mind plural!’

Mrs Thornaby did not laugh. Instead she set down her teacup with a clatter.

‘As you may have heard, my son returned last night from Brighton.’ She paused. ‘My son is… a particular kind of fellow.’

Effie’s brow arched. Having heard—during the small hours of the morning—this particular kind of fellow stumble through the upstairs hallway singing about the roast beef of Great Britain, she was inclined to agree with a great many insinuations that issued from that vague sobriquet.

‘Indeed?’

‘He is now, of course, the custodian of your late father’s estate—by some contortion of family lines.’

Society in the northeast of England was sparse. Somehow, Mrs Thornaby’s son had ended up taking title to the entail of her sister’s late husband’s estate.

‘Yes.’

‘It is all that is natural, then,’ Mrs Thornaby went on. ‘That my son should marry you, to maintain my sister’s place at Barraton.’

What little of the sisterly rivalry that had been passed on to Effie permitted her to regard this piece of charity with deep suspicion. Her eyes cinched a touch.

‘With respect, ma’am, I fail to see why Mr Thornaby should want to marry me.’

‘I do not.’

Blushing, Effie picked up her embroidery box again. ‘I mean, ma’am, that Mr Thornaby must have a great many… um, admirers. I cannot see that he will mark me with any distinction.’

‘He will not, but I shall tell him he is to marry you. Likely, the novelty of it will tickle him, and he will entertain it for a while. Thereafter, it is your duty to… charm him.’

Effie touched her nose. She looked around the cavernous room.

It was an early, grey morning, but the shiny mahogany and silk furniture, glossy wallpapered walls, and great sash windows shone under the blaze of three gilded hearths.

‘Oh. I see.’

Mrs Thornaby’s eyes followed Effie’s, and she grimaced.

‘We are family, Miss Bowman. Now more than we ever were. My son represents Barraton. He is Barraton.’

Effie’s jaw quirked.

‘To put things plainly, my dear, it has lately come to my attention that my son is very much in need of the companionship, temperance, and governance that a wife must, to some unions, bring.’

Mrs Thornaby paused.

‘Now, am I saying that my son is bereft of the faculties required in choosing or acquiring a wife? I am not. But one cannot but put more faith in one’s own family, especially a family so interconnected.’

Effie bowed her head. ‘It would be in my best interests, indeed, to… govern Mr Thornaby—as a wife or no.’

‘But as a wife especially,’ Mrs Thornaby reiterated.

 

Author Bio:

Emily Lane writes sweet, clean Regency Romance perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer, Sophia Holloway, and Sophie Irwin. Hearth or Heart, her debut, launches July 13th. By day, Emily is a Management Consultant in the Lifesciences industry - she hopes her novels have just as much chemistry as her job! She lives in Thailand, which would be inconvenient but for the hot weather.

The Bowman Girls is Emily's first Regency romance series, with 3 books currently planned:

Hearth or Heart (out now)

Past or Promise (Late 2026)

Duty or Devotion (Late 2026)

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL MYSTERY - LADY PETRA AND THE WOLF (Lords Fall First, #2) by Anna Valleria

Lady Petra and the Wolf

Lords Fall First, #2

by Anna Valleria

Publication date: July 2nd 2026

Genres: Adult, Gothic, Historical, Mystery, Romance

BLURB

In Victorian London, Lady Petra, the daughter of the powerful and manipulative Earl of Kemberley, has spent her life as a silent pawn in her father’s political games. While the ton sees a perfectly poised debutante, Petra is secretly a woman of industry who runs a sanctuary for abused servants in a derelict London theatre.

Julian, the Viscount Wolfridge, known to the world as Wolf, is a cynical rake with a secret heart of gold and a childhood spent on the Bristol docks. When he proposes a fake courtship to Petra to stir her indifferent betrothed into action, he doesn’t realize he is stepping into a web of secrets far deeper than his own. As Petra’s world of mystery and Wolf’s path of redemption collide, they must decide if a marriage born of a trap can ever survive the truth.

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EXCERPT

She shut her mouth abruptly, the sparks in her eyes extinguished as she retreated once more into the mask of a composed, distant lady. He despised when this happened, as it did ever so often when he approached her. He lived for the moments he could tease her, to break her composure, to see those eyes light up, even if it was in disdain or scorn.

Wolf knew himself to be an unrepentant rake, undeserving of John’s friendship or loyalty. Despite this self-knowledge, a fierce, uncharacteristic longing arose in him at that moment: he wished for someone to argue so passionately on his behalf, to proclaim him a good man.

Remembering himself, Wolf discarded such a maudlin thought.

“I am not obligated to explain my motivations to you, Lord Wolfridge.” Her tone was meticulously polite, yet beneath the kindness, he detected a veiled reproach that ignited his blood.

“And yet…” he went on as if he had not heard her. “Your white knight is not here. Nor has he been here in a very long time.” In her eyes, a battle of pride, hurt, and anger raged, and for a moment, he nearly regretted his casual cruelty. Yet, there was a purpose behind his malice.

“You more than anyone know he is busy.” Petra spoke quietly, her words clipped. “I have long wondered why you do not share the same sense of industry as Lord John.”

Indolent. The word lurked in their conversation and Wolf again regretted pushing this issue to the surface. A lord does not dirty his hands with work. He takes what he wants and leaves the work to others.

Ignoring his father’s tedious voice, which always stirred a confusing mix of feelings, he redirected his thoughts to his best friend, John Longley. John possessed all the virtues he lacked: he was honorable, kind, and diligent. He would despise him if John weren’t like a brother to him. Why did the notion of Lady Petra marrying John trouble him so much? It was none of his concern.

Yet, he couldn’t let it go.

“Has he not communicated that to you himself, Lady P?” he asked, relishing the way his lips popped on the P. He could swear he almost saw a tick of her jaw at his use of the sobriquet bestowed upon her by the gossip rags.

“As we have established, Lord John is very busy, my lord. He does not have time for frivolous goings on of the ton,” she said more firmly this time.

“And yet, my lady, I can see the small seed of doubt this might cause you.” He watched her jaw almost tick again, and for a brief moment, savored the victory of being right. “Does his absence not pain you, Lady P?” He wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome he wanted from his teasing, but he relished the rare opportunity to be able to read her expression.

Her eyes met his, and he was struck again by the intensity of her gaze as it searched his face. He felt her assessing his intent, seeking any hint of malice or desire to hurt her. In that moment, he understood that such an aim was entirely absent from his heart. Wolf could not quite articulate the purpose of his banter, but an instinct told him Petra and John would not suit. It was patently clear that John possessed not the slightest inkling of the gravity with which Petra had regarded their supposed understanding.

John’s ignorance was not due to neglect; in fact, he was one of the few gentlemen who didn’t seem inclined to constantly leave his wife behind. Rather, he had been distracted by some persistent, unspoken melancholy, as though his mind and heart were fixated entirely on someone or something else. Wolf suspected, however, that the cause of this melancholy was not Lady Petra, given that the look of longing vanished whenever her name was mentioned.

Staring into Petra’s mahogany eyes, a plan came to him. Devious, perhaps, a bit underhanded, but one that would prove to Petra that she and John would not suit.

“Let me court you,” he blurted out.

For once, Lady Petra’s entire face showed what she was thinking as her mouth fell into an almost perfect “O.”

She really was rather adorable. Where did that thought come from? “Adorable” was not in his lexicon. As she began to regain her composure and start to form a reply, Wolf followed his initial, impulsive request before she could respond. “Not a real courtship, mind you, just something to shake Lord John into the parson’s trap. Fearing he might lose you should hasten the nuptials, yes?”

In truth, this ruse would not hasten the betrothal, but help free John, and ultimately free Petra.

Why he wished her to be free, he was not going to examine too closely.

 

Author Info

Anna Valleria is an award-winning historical romance author who believes that everyone deserves to see themselves on the page. Her mission is to write steamy Regency and Victorian stories featuring socially active heroines and devoted heroes that reflect windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors for all readers, including characters of different sizes, backgrounds, abilities, and neurodiversities. Her novel The Baron Takes a Wife was the 2025 winner of the Hearts Through History Romance Through the Ages Contest in the published Georgian/Victorian category.

Currently residing in a beautiful, historic city in the southeastern U.S. with her family and a rescue pup. If she's not writing, she's likely in a coffee shop, walking with her son or dog, or trivia with her team, Stone Cold Jane Austen.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL - FOR LIBERTY AND LOVE (Petticoats & Patriots, #1) by Shanna Hatfield

For Liberty and Love

Petticoats & Patriots, #1

by Shanna Hatfield

Publication date: June 16th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical Romance

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Courage built a nation. Love made it worth fighting for.

Throughout 250 years of American history, a well-loved locket finds its way into the hands of eight spirited heroines—each standing at the crossroads of love and destiny, and each inspired by a true patriot. As it journeys from one heart to the next, these stories unfold with sweet romance, unwavering hope, and a deep love of country, proving that even in uncertain times, love is always worth the risk. Start reading the Petticoats & Patriots series today!

She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.
Philadelphia, 1776

As whispers of revolution turn swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.

Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.

Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.

But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.

In a war where even allies can become enemies, Lucy and Branch must navigate a world of hidden truths and guarded hearts. With the fate of the colonies—and their hearts—hanging in the balance as Lucy delivers a message in enemy territory, will they find the courage to trust each other and choose love?

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EXCERPT

Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.

When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.

“Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.

Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she’d stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.

“May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.

“I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”

Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but she didn’t. Surely, he had to know she’d seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.

Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?

Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”

“I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she’d misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”

“And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.

“Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”

“Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.

As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”

“My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”

“Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she’d planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome with those sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.

Passionate kisses? Heavens above! What was she thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.

 

Author Info

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.

Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.

To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield

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SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL - IN THE ORCHARDS OF SHADOW AND LIGHT (The Shadow, #1) by Arthur McMaster

In the French Resistance of 1944, trust is the difference between life and death. 

Post-war troubles heighten when our hero’s life is in danger and all he holds dear is at risk.

In the Orchards of Shadow and Light
The Shadow, #1
by Arthur McMaster
Genre: Historical WWII Suspenseful Spy Romance

In the vast tapestry of war, outcomes are never certain. Its demands are endless, its sacrifices countless. Yet for one couple who will share war's burdens and dangers-a daring American OSS agent and a French Resistance leader-its conclusion will transform both lives forever.

From the opening line, author Arthur McMaster, a retired foreign intelligence officer, makes clear: "No families escape the devastation of war." What follows is storytelling you won't be able to set aside. Amid the apple orchards and farmlands of war-ravaged Western Europe in the final years of World War II, we follow thirty-five-year-old OSS operative Claire Skiffington and French Resistance leader Jacques Berlangier through perilous clandestine operations. Eluding Vichy collaborators and Wehrmacht checkpoints, Claire's cover is that of a simple pastry girl, but this emissary is far more than she appears.

Years after the Nazi menace has passed, in the small Breton village of Combourg, Claire and Jacques are in love and determined to build a life together. Their days and nights in Paris work to make it all magical. But someone wants Jacques dead. Why? And how will one estranged family member unlock the source of danger?

Brimming with suspense and rich in character development, In the Orchards of Shadow and Light features beautiful imagery and finely drawn characters. Written by former DIA-CIA analyst and award-winning writer Arthur McMaster, In the Orchards of Shadow and Light is the first in a trilogy based on espionage, romance, and suspense. Combines elements of "The Rose Code," "The Nightingale," and "All the Light We Cannot See" to create a rich atmosphere, original characters embroiled in real historical events, dangerous romance and compelling drama. This story represents one man and one woman's perilous commitment to service in the face of danger: one couple's commitment to overcoming treachery and blazing a future together.​

 

What readers are saying:

“Finely crafted with an artisan's touch, there is an unseen history beneath the lives of those trying to survive. Precisely researched, McMaster adroitly drops the reader behind the lines of clandestine operations. The grim destruction of Europe is brought to life with beautiful imagery and reconnoitered characters-every bit as interesting as those of Ken Follett's Eye of the Needle and The Key to Rebecca. This is a fine novel no one should pass up.”

— William Walsh, author of Lakewood (TouchPoint Press)

 

As you begin this book, prepare yourself for reading a writer who knows the details of espionage so well they feel like second nature, rather than research. Prepare yourself for lush, lyrical prose and the historical span of an Ian McEwan novel. This is a spy story, a love story, and a family story set largely in France, during a war, but McMaster balances the deprivations of war with domestic arts, the healing chores of mother women who bake stolen oranges into cakes, somehow find tea to serve, and harvest the slenderest sprigs of tarragon and chervil, plucked from their gardens, and stored in delicate clay pottery. This is a white knuckle thriller written by someone with all the sensibilities of a poet.

— Susan Tekulve, author of In the Garden of Stone

**Releases June 2^nd – Order Now!!**

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Near eleven, Jacques’s truck approached the barn. There, he and Claire saw two men in black coats putting a third into their vehicle. The barn behind them roiled in flame. From the look of it, the generator had exploded, or maybe they had simply set off some explosives. Jacques and Claire sat far enough back to observe what had happened but not close enough to be spotted.

“Goddamn it.”

“My God, Jacques,” she said. “They are taking him.” Their own luck had held. Thomas’s had not. “And he had been so clever. The boot heel. The shaving cream.”

“We have to go. Immediately!” Both watched, though only seconds more, until the Germans drove off with their prize, the barn behind them collapsing in flame. “Did you think he knew about Combourg?” Jacques asked her.

She had never mentioned it. They’d only met Thomas at the Laurent farm, in Épiniac. “As I recall, nothing was ever said to him about Combourg.”

“He would not know of the monsignor, Roger’s uncle,” she added. They had kept that secret. Claire rubbed at the palm of one hand, kneading it with the knuckle of the other.

“No. And he does not know our real names,” Jacques said. “But Roger Laurent could know.”

Jacques took her hand. “Thomas is lost, but what harm Roger could do yet is considerable. If he gives up Roger.”

“Will he? Where will they take him?” she asked as Jacques worked the truck around, knowing he was leaving behind his apples and, more importantly, his cover for travel.

“Saint-Lô, I would think. Some Nazi headquarters.”

As Jacques wrenched the truck sharply onto the road toward home, where the deeply distressed Claire would be able to arrange for her return to Bodney, a bottle scooted out from under her seat.

“Look at this,” she said, pulling it up from the floor. “It’s his Calvados.” Attempting to hold back tears.

“Keep it. We will finish it tonight in his honor with a tip of the hat to our friend.”

Passing near enough to the Laurent farm en route to Combourg, with relative safety still several kilometers away, Jacques pointed to the farmhouse. It was risky, but he had to take a look, remaining well back from potential observation. There, they were able to make out, standing near the entry door, the one thing they had hardly dared hope to see—a dark green motorcycle.

What Roger’s return portended was unclear, but given what had happened to Thomas, that outcome was surely the best they could have hoped for. Jacques slowed the truck and looked to the darkened house, their hearts racing.

“Oh my God. He’s come back.”

Jacques touched her hand.

She thought to say something, leaning into him. “Let’s go home, Jacques. Please!” Then added, “You did well, getting us through it all. So brave.”

“You and me,” he said. “We did. Together.” He touched her face tenderly.

In that moment, Jacques and Claire leaned toward each other for a necessary hug, and then a kiss. A kiss of relief. A kiss of what might yet be.

Poet, playwright and novelist, Arthur retired from full-time teaching, most recently as Visiting Assoc. Professor of English, at Converse College, in Spartanburg, SC. HIs books include: In the Orchards of Our Mothers (historical fiction novel); The Whole Picture Show (poetry) Musical Muse (academic); Birdies Never Die (golf); Givings & Misgivings (poetry) and The Spy Who Came Down with a Cold (poetry) and Need to Know (memoir).

Arthur's first career was that of a foreign intelligence officer, with assignments with military intelligence and briefly with the CIA. Arthur earned an MFA degree in Poetry at University of Florida. Pushcart Prize nominations. He now teaches in Continuing Education Dept for Furman University (fiction and poetry). 

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL FANTASY - MAIDEN TOMB (Twelve Cursed Maidens, #1) by Cynthia Sally Haggard

Maiden Tomb

Twelve Cursed Maidens, #1

by Cynthia Sally Haggard

Publication date: February 5th 2025

Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Historical, Retelling, Romance

BLURB

Follow twelve princesses down a dark tunnel into a grove of jeweled trees to a too-placid lake, where a prince will row you across to a gleaming castle to dance the night away. This historical fantasy—a retelling of the Twelve Dancing Princesses folktale—drifts backwards in time from the Early Middle Ages of Sicily to the Bronze Age of the Trojan War. It is perfect for fans of Circe and Spinning Silver.

Sixteen-year-old Justice wants to release her sisters from the jaws of Father’s imprisonment. But what can she do? The easiest way would be to find suitors for them.

However, that is not so easy, for Justice’s elder sisters are strange. What with All-Gifted’s madness, Protectress’s hair writhing with snakes, Death-Bringer’s grief (not to mention her strange name), Shining’s scandalous doings, Maiden’s tart tongue, Shadow’s crippling shyness, no sensible man would want her sisters as wives. Which leaves Justice, the seventh daughter, the one who possesses a quiet authority.

Maiden Tomb, Book One of the Twelve Cursed Maidens series, is a clean enemies-to-lovers romance.

The original fairytale—about twelve young ladies dancing all night—sounds so jolly doesn’t it? But I don’t think Twelve Dancing Princesses is about dancing at all.

I think it is about death.

Why do I think that? Well there appear to be some elements to the tale that go back, way back, hundreds, no, thousands of years, back into the Ancient World.

First of all, being rowed across a body of water sounds like a thread of Greek Mythology found its way into this tale. It is very reminiscent of Charon the boatman rowing the souls of the newly dead across the River Styx.

Then there are those jeweled trees. Where do they come from? Several scholars believe that element of the story comes from the Tale of Gilgamesh, which may have been originally composed around 1800 BCE. It tells the story of Gilgamesh, a King of Uruk a city-state in Sumeria, who is grieving for the death of his best friend. According to scholars, Gilgamesh ruled the Kingdom of Uruk in around 2700 BCE.

Then there are the princesses themselves. Have you ever wondered why their are twelve princesses? Again, the answer points towards the ancient kingdom of Sumeria, which existed in what is now present day Iraq, beginning in around 6,000 BCE. The Sumerians were renowned astronomers who used a base-12 numerical system, unlike the base-10 or decimal system we use today.

And so, there you have it. When you dig below the surface, a charming story from Europe has roots in the Middle East and seems to be thousands of years old!

And so, when I came to write Maiden Tomb, a piece of women’s fiction that explores the all-too-often captivity of women, I put back all those elements. We have the Gilgamesh epic, and elements of Greek Mythology, complete with snakes, ancient gods, and powerful goddesses. And far from being a jolly novel about young people dancing, as the title suggests, I made it a book about death.

I hope you find this coming-of-age novella as enjoyable to read as I found it fascinating to write.

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EXCERPT

In the past week or so since we’ve arrived, life has taken on a predictable rhythm. I spend the mornings entertaining the ladies of the castle, with the lyre, my singing, playing knucklebones, and listening to their gossip. Truth to tell, nothing they say is particularly interesting as high-born ladies spend their time inside. When they are not diverting themselves with such pastimes as I provide, they are spinning, weaving, running the household, and caring for their children. They talk incessantly about their children. They know little of the outside world.

I escape after the midday meal, taking advantage of the ladies’ habit of resting as the sun’s chariot crests at the highest point of the day. While they sleep, I head out into the scorching countryside looking for Father.

We sit together in the shade, while Father does some task, usually repairing something, while I tell him everything I’ve learned the evening before. It is not that hard. Because I am small, and people are now familiar with my face, no one pays me any mind as I take my seat at the bench that runs along the side of the huge table where all the working folk of the castle eat their meals.

Father has told me never to be inquisitive, but I am dying to know more about the twelve mysterious ladies locked up in the castle tower, the ones people whisper about behind their hands when they think no-one is noticing.

As the light of the sun drains from the sky, as the king’s men sink lower onto wooden benches eating dish after dish, quail, pheasant, peacock, duck, eggs, bread, olive oil, wine, and olives, the noise of seven hundred men sharing jokes, laughing, and swilling wine reverberates around the hall.

Finally, I can take it no more.”Is it true what they say about the King’s daughters?”

The grizzled stranger on the bench next to me wipes the grease off his mouth with the back of a hand and spits out an olive pit.

“Where’ve you popped up from? You shouldn’t be here. You’re only a young lad.”

I am used to these remarks. After I left home I took a ship that was blown off course, taking me west to the land of the Italoi. I had to beg for money in the streets and in the taverns and it was not long before I heard news of Father, who was sailing to the west of this land.

And so I made my way across steep mountains before coming down to a lush plain. Playing my lyre to entertain strangers I followed their directions to the sea, to a wide bay within sight of a simmering, high, conical-shaped mountain.

And there, in a tavern, I met Father.

Now we are traveling home together. But Father is not here on the bench beside me, as he should be, but outside at a nearby farm pretending to be a stable hand.

This is one of Father’s clever strategies. He is a master at extracting information. He calls his strategy “divide and conquer” and it means that I have to use my lyre to find a berth for the night in some local chieftain’s house. This is not usually difficult, especially if there are ladies around because for some reason they always want to pet me.

Meanwhile, Father finds work on the outside as a shepherd, farmhand, or stable boy. By concealing his origins and pretending to be dumb, drunk, or both, Father is able to overhear a great many things. We have a plan to meet every day at noon, I escaping the blandishments of the ladies to visit the local farm for milk, cheese, eggs where I could happen upon the new stable boy, farmhand, or shepherd.

The only fly in the ointment is my age. I am only twelve years old and to my great annoyance, I look it. So Father made me memorize some phrases to offer when this issue arises.

“Father is here with me, but is suffering with an ache to his belly.”

One sentence is usually enough for most people. Father has instructed me never to offer explanations that are not asked for as it only makes people more curious.

But the fellow is staring at me, waiting for more.

I turn my eyes down. “Father told me to eat supper and then berth with him in the stable yard.”

“He’s the new stable hand, is he?”

I nod.

“Much good he’ll be with a bellyache.”

I look up. “Do you have a remedy for that good sir?”

Father always stresses the importance of asking for advice when a conversation turns sour, as it flatters the vanity.

The fellow hawks and spits, rising from his seat. “You’ll have to go to the kitchens for that, son.” He ambles off.

 

Author Bio:

Cynthia Sally Haggard was born and reared in Surrey, England. About 40 years ago, she surfaced in the United States, inhabiting the Mid-Atlantic region as she wound her way through four careers: violinist, cognitive scientist, medical writer, and novelist.

Her first novel, Thwarted Queen, a saga set in 1400s England with a Game of Thrones vibe, won the 2021 Gold Medal IPPY Award for Audiobook. Her second novel, Farewell My Life, a dark historical about a hidden murderer, won the 2021 Independent Press Award for Women’s Fiction and was the 2019 Distinguished Favorite for the New York City Big Book Award.

Cynthia graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University, Cambridge MA, in June 2015.

When she’s not annoying everyone by insisting her fictional characters are more real than they are, Cynthia likes to go for long walks, knit something glamorous, cook in her wonderful kitchen, and play the piano.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL - THE SHEIK AND THE SLAVE (The Sheik and the Slave, #1) by Nicola Italia

The Sheik and the Slave

The Sheik and the Slave, #1

by Nicola Italia

Publication date: March 13th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical Romance

BLURB

He owned her body… but could he ever claim her heart?

In the merciless splendor of the Arabian desert, Sheik Mohammed rules as an absolute master. His command is law. His power unquestioned. Women adore him, enemies fear him—and nothing he desires has ever been denied him. But when a golden-haired English beauty is dragged before him in chains, defiant despite her fate, something long buried in his warrior’s heart awakens. For her, he pays a king’s ransom… and claims her for his harem. Yet the proud, fiery Katharine refuses to surrender—not her spirit, not her will… and certainly not her heart.

Lady Katharine Fairfax was born to privilege, not bondage. The cherished daughter of English nobility, she has known only safety, luxury, and freedom. But when she dares to reject the vile advances of a powerful Baron, his vengeance is swift and cruel. Torn from her homeland and sold into the sultry, dangerous world of an Arabian palace, she becomes a prisoner of a man whose touch both terrifies and awakens her.

In a palace of silken veils, whispered secrets, and forbidden longing, passion ignites between captor and captive. Katharine burns with hatred for the man who owns her… yet trembles beneath the heat of his dark gaze. Mohammed has conquered kingdoms—but Katharine’s love may prove the one prize he cannot command. And as treachery coils around them and enemies close in, they must risk everything for a love that could destroy them both… or set them free.

Sweeping. Sensual. Unforgettable.

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EXCERPT

The candle lights flickered low and the music began. It was a beautiful piece by George Frederick Handel, a Trio Sonata in B Minor. Katharine listened to the music and closed her eyes. The violin, flute, and continuo were in perfect sync with each other as the music moved and flowed through the room. She stood with James, sipping a glass of champagne, while she watched her guests mingle. A hundred people filled the room, and dozens more stood or danced in clusters and groups around the food tables. Champagne was in abundance. She had lost count how many people she had greeted and smiled at. She suddenly felt lightheaded as the champagne drizzled into her veins. The trio sonata continued playing, and its beauty was mesmerizing.

When she opened her eyes and looked across the room, she glimpsed him across the room and knew she had drunk too much. He had walked behind a group of people standing at the far end of the room. Kat almost dropped her flute of champagne.

“Darling, what is it?” James whispered as he felt her lean into him.

“The heat. It’s the heat,” she answered. “I need some fresh air.”

“Of course. I’ll accompany you,” he said.

“No, you should stay. I’ll only be a few minutes,” she replied. She moved her dress hem aside as she moved gracefully through the room.

Kat placed her champagne glass on a table and walked outside the ballroom and into the night. A few couples were outside talking and they greeted her. Her brother Charles and his wife, Sarah, smiled at her, and Charles kissed her in greeting.

She smiled to them and then turned away. She was going mad! She brushed a hand across her forehead and flushed cheeks.

Katharine looked out over the gardens that she knew so well. Earlier that day, she had stood next to James, thinking of the stallion and wanting to give him a proud name. She had always loved Greek mythology so she had thought of Ares, the god of war. But just then, she had seen him. Either that or her imagination was going wild.

She saw at first the figure behind the large group of people at the far end of the ballroom. He was dressed in a deep blue coat and waistcoat with snug knee-length breeches, low-heeled shoes and silk stockings. His hair was unpowdered but clubbed with a black ribbon, and he appeared to be clean-shaven. He was well-dressed, and the cut of the coat showed off his muscled back and the width of his shoulders.

The breeches did well to expose his muscled legs, and his dark shoes had no buckles on them.

But as much as tried to fit into this world, he did not. He was like a wild tiger in a small cage. He belonged in a hot world of sand and sandalwood incense, not in a ballroom filled with dandies and champagne.

He belonged in a world of sandstorms and harems, where the world smelled of incense and jasmine.

Kat shook her head. This was madness. This was what happened to women who had no clean grasp on reality. She wandered into a farthest part of the gardens, where the willow trees had been planted long ago. The birch and ash trees grew there as well.

Katharine was particularly fond of elm trees. The willow tree branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and she stepped inside one. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking. She closed her eyes and remembered his goatee as his mouth touched hers. She remembered his hands on her, inside of her, and taking her that night after the party.

The air was cold, and her breath foamed out as she exhaled. The willow tree branches encircled her and protected her as she sighed. She must let it go. She must forget him. This can only drive me mad; she told herself for the thousandth time.

She touched the diamonds at her throat and tried to calm herself. Silly, she said to herself. She breathed out and turned to go back to the party.

But then, her quick intake of breath and the pounding of her heart inside her chest happened instantaneously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“You aren’t real,” she breathed out in disbelief, her breath foaming in the cold air.

“Oh, I’m real enough,” he mocked her.

His clothes were European as she had seen in the ballroom and his hair was pulled back without a wig. But his golden body belied the fact that he was not European and never would be. He would never fit in and would never want to. He had come here for one reason.

“I don’t understand. How are you here?” Katharine asked him, as her fantasy and nightmare collided together. She pressed a hand to her exposed chest as her heart raced.

“The horse, your Arabian, was my Arabian. I bred and sold him to your father,” Mohammed explained.

“Did you know when you sold it to him that it was for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. His dark eyes met her blue ones.

Mohammed watched her intake of breath, which caused her breasts to swell over her neckline.

He had watched her that night, not able to take his eyes from her. He had many dealings with Europeans because of the Arabian horses he bred. The horses were renowned for their beautiful bone structure and stamina, but he had never accompanied the horses once they were sold. He had always dealt with the foreigners, accepted their money and had his men transport the horses. This time was different, however. This time everything was different.

Her father had written to Mohammed, inquiring upon the price of an Arabian stallion. Edward wrote in detail about his spirited daughter, explaining that the horse must be the same, intelligent and spirited. Mohammed had accompanied the horse to England to bring back what was his by Arab law.

He had watched her stand near the English dandies at the ball and smile into their faces. He had watched a young blonde dandy rest his hand on Katharine’s waist and clenched his own fist in anger. She had used her body well to trap men into wanting what they couldn’t have. Poor Majeed had found out the hard way. His own brother was enchanted by the little falcon! Majeed should have known better.

And now, after coming across the sea, he was here to claim her again. There would be no negotiations and no bargains; she would be his.

Unaware of his thoughts, Katharine shook her head, confused. Her diamond earrings glistened in the dark.

“Why are you here?”

Mohammed stepped toward her.

“You know exactly why I’m here. I’m here to take back what’s mine,” he told her.

He closed the small gap between them and jerked her into his arms.

“No,” was all she managed to say before his mouth took hers. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, which only made him more dangerous. She knew what was underneath the fancy clothes.

 

Author Info

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

https://linktr.ee/authornicolaitalia

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SPOTLIGHT - HISTORICAL ROMANCE - KINDRED SCHEMES (Schemes, $#1) by R. K. Harrington

One bookish debutante. 

Two dashing suitors.

 And a season full of scandal.

Kindred Schemes
Schemes, #1
by R. K. Harrington
Genre: Historical Regency Romance

 

One bookish debutante. Two dashing suitors. And a season full of scandal.

Lady Alaina Sinclair never expected London society to be so treacherous—or so tempting. She has always preferred books to ballrooms, but with a disastrous start to her first season, she’s determined to rewrite her fate. With her heart set on the respectable—and very eligible—Duke of Ashford, Alaina is ready to embrace society’s expectations… even if it means silencing her true desires.

Alaina’s world is set awry by Christopher Kendall, the Marquess of Rochester—sharp-tongued, maddeningly handsome, and inconveniently, the duke’s closest friend. Their first encounter is a disaster. Their next, a temptation. And every moment together after that, increasingly impossible to ignore. But with a web of secrets, jealous relatives, and mysterious threats unraveling around her, it soon becomes clear: this is no ordinary season.

Kindred Schemes is a modern take on a regency romance with glamour, a steamy love triangle, and enough mystery to keep readers turning the page.

 

What readers are saying:

"The story’s central love triangle will delight romance fans...Harrington excels in crafting multidimensional characters...[A] satisfying blend of romance, intrigue, and character-driven storytelling." — Booklife 

 

An entertaining period love story, nicely balancing breathless lust with social satire and high-mindedness.” — Kirkus Reviews

 

"The characters are colorful and sharply etched…the prose has a droll, Austen-esque verve to it, using pompously polite palaver to reveal the crassness of high society...In keeping with the style is the spirit of the book’s message—that true love triumphs over mercenary calculation. Readers will root for the feisty Alaina to overcome the stuffed shirts and find her heart’s desire.” — Kirkus Reviews 

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London, 1809

Oh no, here he comes, the lascivious Lord Finch and his merry band of drunken fools. Alaina looked out at the crowded ballroom, her eyes connecting with the group of men making their way toward its center. Alaina had only been at the ball for a quarter hour before this particular disaster struck, the leers of the men making the hairs at the nape of her neck prickle. It did not escape Alaina’s attention that Lady Barbara, Lord Finch’s sister, accompanied the group, and wore a sly smile. Hopefully, this latest encounter would be short. Surely, Lord Finch would not want to be rejected twice, let alone in front of a large crowd.

Alaina looked to her right to find her parents close at hand, thankfully, and she stood a little straighter knowing she would not face this alone.

The group of men seemed to move in unison before coming to a halt a few paces before Alaina and her family. A group of onlookers formed a circle around them as if ready to enjoy the ensuing spectacle, Lady Barbara taking her place in the throng. Alaina struggled to focus on the faces of the onlookers as she held her head high, ready to meet Lord Finch and his friends with as much dignity as she could muster. She hoped to project a more serene exterior than she currently felt, her heartbeat accelerating to such a degree that she could feel the blood rushing in her ears.

Lord Finch stepped to the fore of the now halted group, and gallantly bowed to Alaina before speaking, his voice so loud that Alaina was sure people arriving in carriages outside could hear.

“My dearest beautiful Alaina,” he started, clearing his throat before continuing, “You have set upon me quite a conundrum. I fear I have fallen madly in love with the idea of having you as my wife, and I feel you should be happy with such an arrangement. I am quite the catch, you know, especially for someone from the country, and one who likes to read.”

From behind him, Lady Barbara piped up with an added insult, “Amazing, really, that Alaina found her way out of the library to be here.” Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Alaina cringed at his easy use of her given name, devoid of any honorific, and seethed at the mockery of her character. Lord Finch and his sister sounded ridiculous, pompous, and conceited.

Alaina was frozen in place, her lips trembling in rage, and when no comment ushered forth from her lips, Lord Finch rejoined, unfazed by the one-sided nature of their conversation. “I find myself at an impasse. Shall I continue to press my suit with decorum, or should I make my feelings known to the whole world, so that you may not so easily dismiss them as you have in the past?”

A warmth crept up Alaina’s neck and touched her cheeks, giving her pale skin a glow, although one not easily perceptible in the dim light of the ballroom. She turned once again to where her parents stood, only to find that her father had disappeared, and her mother’s pale face was drawn in embarrassment as she watched her eldest child with dismay. Oh, how Alaina wished her father would have stayed; his tall frame was intimidating to a crowd, and his familiar umber eyes were always reassuring to her.

Resolved to put a stop to this farce, Alaina turned back to Lord Finch and remarked, her voice distant and strange sounding in her ears, “Lord Finch, it seems my earlier rejection of your suit did not deter you in the least, but I ask you to have a care for your surroundings.”

As the words left her mouth, Alaina watched Lord Finch’s face change, his outwardly serene expression making way for something more sinister. His smile twisted into an outright leer, and his pale green eyes seemed to burn of their own accord, the candlelight no longer just a reflection in them. He lowered to one knee and reached out his hands in supplication as he sneered, “Please, will you marry me, my lady?” The emphasis on the last word ensured that Alaina felt the insult.

Lord Finch was quickly joined by his friends, their idiocy knowing no bounds, all of them dropping to their knees in a chorus of marriage proposals, each more mocking and infuriating than the last. Soon laughter rang loudly in Alaina’s ears as the men and then the onlookers seemed to find amusement in her predicament. Her world blurred through a sheen of tears, the faces of the laughing men—now resembling something like demons—the only clear points in her vision.

Alaina glanced about to find her mother and threw herself into her open arms, shielding her from the worst of the crowd. The two women made their way to the outer edge of the ballroom and quickly to the front entrance, only stopping a moment to gather their cloaks before heading out into the cool night. Her father, having had the forethought to make his way to the exit, met them in the front drive, where he had already called for their carriage to be brought around, and not a moment too soon.

The Sinclair family hastened into the carriage, a pall falling on them as the conveyance made its way onto the main thoroughfare and toward their London townhome. Alaina squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the clip clop of the well-matched team of four, grateful for the silence of her parents, as she let tears make their way unchecked down her cheeks.

R. K. Harrington is a debut historical romance author, combining swoon-worthy romance with a bit of mystery. Her first novel, Kindred Schemes, is scheduled to be released February 2026.

In 2021, R. K. Harrington found that her daydreams were yearning to spill over to the written page, and, ever since, has been writing historical romance with a dash of mystery in hopes of publishing her work one day. After much editing, and long hours designing, she is gearing up to release her first novel, with many more to come!

R. K. Harrington grew up reading romance novels at a (maybe too) young age, and the stories entranced her. Give her a Happily Ever After (HEA) and there is no better book in the world. While romance books (namely historical romances) are her first love, R. K. Harrington is an avid reader of all genres. She has gone through many phases: medical mysteries, crime dramas, science fiction, romantasy, and is currently in a fantasy phase (she does do the occasional non-fiction book as well, namely history). Through every season of reading, romance books of all kinds are sprinkled liberally.

When R. K. Harrington is not writing or reading (or working her day job as an engineer), she is having fun with her husband, their kids, and her very cute dog, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Maximus. They all live in the DMV area, where the summers are hot, the winters are cold, and the two days of Spring and Fall are beautiful enough to open the windows! 

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