I have been all about the historical romances lately. Bridgerton inspired me to read more of the historical romance genre. I know that a lot of historical fiction novels have a romantic element, which I how I normally get my romance fix, but there is something unique about actual historical romances.
Typically the historical fiction novels have other plots to focus on and if romance factors in, then so much the better. But the historical romance genre focuses exclusively on the romance and HEA. That’s what I am loving lately about the historical romance genre. We all need a little HEA right now and I have been devouring all the HEA that I can find!
Today I have an excerpt for Amalie Howard’s new historical romance, The Rakehell of Roth. This one is the second installment to her Everleigh Sisters series and it promises to be breathtaking! I can’t wait to read this one in its entirety! Get all the details below and check out this little sneak peak also!
In this game of seduction, the rules don’t apply…
As owner of the most scandalous club in London, the last thing the notorious Marquess of Roth wants is a wife. Keeping up his false reputation as a rake brings in the clients with the deepest pockets—money he needs to fund a noble cause. Even though everything inside tells him not to leave his beautiful, innocent wife behind at his country estate…he must.
But three years later, tired of her scoundrel of a husband headlining the gossip rags, Lady Isobel Vance decides enough is enough. She is no longer a fragile kitten, but as the anonymous author of a women’s sexual advice column, she’s now a roaring tigress…and she can use her claws.
Isobel decides to go to him in London, channeling her powers of seduction to make him beg to take her back. But she didn’t expect her marauding marquess to be equally hard to resist. Now the game is on to see who will give in to the other first, with both sides determined like hell to win. (summary from Goodreads)
Winter sat back against the velvet squabs of his coach and settled in for the ride to his father’s ancestral seat in Chelmsford, his family home and the only place he could take a wife.
Bloody hell. Not a wife. His wife.
God, how his sister would have cackled to see the great Winter Vance leg-shackled.
I shall never marry! His twelve-year-old self had puffed his chest. Girls are annoying, just like bratty little sisters.
Prue had paid his male posturing no mind. Then I shall curse you, my favorite brother, to marry the most beautiful angel in the world!
And here he was.
Married to exactly that.
Winter forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t go to his private estate, Rothingham Gable, for obvious reasons. For one, that particular abode was not prepared for a Lady Roth, given the week-long house party that had just been hosted there.
He had not even been in residence. Rutland and Petersham and the rest of their fast set had run the show, desperate for some wild country fun to offset the terminal boredom of the season. While he missed them from time to time, those days of endless dissipation were over. They had been for since Prue’s death. Not that anyone actually knew…or had noticed. People believed what they wanted to believe.
Winter slanted his new wife a glance. Her attention was caught outside the small window, her face held in pensive thought. Her profile was exquisite, perfect in its symmetry from the classic line of her forehead to her delicate nose and pink rosebud pout. Isobel was young, fresh out of the schoolroom, but he couldn’t deny her exceptional beauty…or his irritating and inconvenient attraction to her.
Christ, he wanted to debauch that mouth right there on the balcony—take it from virginal pink to passionate red. The urge had taken him by surprise. The honeysuckle scent of her satiny skin had been an aphrodisiac. When he’d grazed the corner of her mouth and seen her undisguised longing, the bolt of lust tunneling through him had nearly brought him to his knees.
Just like it threatened to do now.
Ripping his gaze from her tempting lips, he let it drift down the elegant line of her throat. He imagined tasting the skin there, nuzzling her fluttering pulse beneath his lips, and inhaling more of her sweet, flowery smell. Winter bit back a groan. He would no doubt sample both later…when he’d be expected to do his marital duty. Hell. He’d have to hold himself in check. Make it perfunctory. And most of all, quick. The act was a necessary obligation, nothing more, because he had an inkling that this woman could be the end of him.
“Did you enjoy seeing your sister?” he asked, his voice rough edged. They’d called in at Beswick Park after leaving Lady Hammerton’s. Her rousing entertainments had gone well into the dawn hours.
His wife startled, attention flying to him. “Yes, of course, my lord. Thank you for arranging the visit.”
“Call me Winter,” he said.
She flushed. “Winter.”
His wife turned the full force of those ice-blue eyes on him, and for a moment, it felt like his skin had been seared by lightning. But that gaze also shone with no small degree of infatuation. It didn’t take much to interpret the shy glances and the soft blushes whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.
This was why it could never work.
About the Author
AMALIE HOWARD is the author of the Publishers Weekly bestseller, The Beast of Beswick, “a smart, sexy, deliciously feminist romance.” She is the co-author of the #1 bestsellers in regency romance and Scottish historical romance, My Rogue, My Ruin and What A Scot Wants, and has also penned several young adult novels, critically acclaimed by Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, VOYA, School Library Journal, and Booklist, including Waterfell, The Almost Girl, and Alpha Goddess, a Kid’s INDIE NEXT selection. Of Indo-Caribbean descent and a woman of color, she has written articles on multicultural fiction for The Portland Book Review and Ravishly magazine. She currently resides in Colorado with her husband and three children. Visit her at amaliehoward.com.