Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 06, 2018

Maxwell Bretherton of Love & Mayhem by Luanna Stewart @Luanna_Stewart #HistoricalRomance #Pirates #BritishGentry.



I'd like to welcome Maxwell Bretherton of Love & Mayhem by Luanna Stewart.  This will be the last post on this blog for the foreseeable future, as I am retiring.

RW:    What’s your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about YOU?
MB:    Good afternoon, allow me to introduce myself. Maxwell Bretherton, at your service. I believe I’ve led a somewhat exciting life to this point. It’s not every young man who sails from England to Canada to stake his claim only to be taken prisoner by a band of cutthroats and scoundrels and forced into a life of piracy on the high seas. Nor is every prisoner lucky enough to survive, purchase his freedom, and amass a small fortune.

RW:    What problems do you have to face and overcome in your life?
MB:    I just want to settle my parents’ meagre estate and return to my home on the island of Jamaica. I have no desire to remain in London longer than necessary—it’s too blasted cold, for one thing. I wish to be done with my past. My childhood was not the happiest. Oh, I was fed and clothed and sent to a good school, but I received little affection. My fondest memories are of the days spent with my friend, Oswald, and his family on their sheep farm. In fact, I’d been affianced to his young sister, Sybil, before I was kidnapped.

RW:    Do you expect your heroine to help or is she the problem?
MB:    Sybil is quickly becoming a thorn in my side. I’d thought her a pretty enough young lady when I last saw her and now she’s grown into quite a beauty. She’s also grown into a stubborn, headstrong, outspoken—woman—who seems to think she can get what she wants, regardless of society’s rules. This is 1883, not the time of the debauched Romans. A young lady cannot merely take a lover should the mood strike.
              
RW:    How are you coping with the conflict in your life?
MB:    I assure you I am coping quite well. I’ve explained to Sybil in no uncertain terms what I expect of the woman I’m to marry—and marry we will, regardless of her assertions to the contrary.

RW:    Cherries or Bananas? Leather or lace? Black or red?
MB:    I must say, those are bizarre questions. Bananas are rather puny and full of seeds. I’ve not eaten cherries in many years—perhaps I’ll see about importing some when I return to my home. Leather. I’ve not worn lace since infancy.

           Should you be asking my preference for a lady, then I’d say lace. Black or red what, exactly? If you are again speaking of attire, you can never go wrong with black. Though I do have a waistcoat embroidered with red flowers of some sort which has garnered several compliments.

RW:    When I’m alone, I (fill in the blank).
MB:    Ah, an easy answer. When I’m alone, I read. I have a sizable library at my home to which I’m constantly adding volumes. The climate can be a trial—damp is an enemy to books, as are insects. I most enjoy the biographies of men, and a few women, who have shaped the world. The great explorers and their feats of bravery hold me spellbound for hours at a time.

RW:    Those are all the questions we have for you. Thank you for speaking to us.
MB:    My pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pirate to find.

Luanna Stewart

Luanna Stewart has been creating adventures for her imaginary friends since childhood. As soon as she discovered her grandmother's stash of romance novels, all plots had to lead to a happily-ever-after.

Luanna writes full time, concentrating on sexy romantic suspense, steamy paranormal romance, and spicy historical romance.

Born and raised in Nova Scotia, Luanna has recently returned to the land of her birth with her dear husband and two spoiled cats. When she's not torturing her heroes and heroines, she’s in her kitchen baking something delicious.

Under her previous pen name of Grace Hood she has two novellas published with The Wild Rose Press.

Love and Mayhem

The Plot:

Sybil is happily on the shelf, tending to her sheep. But she fears she’ll depart this life without experiencing physical love, which she suspects is rather enjoyable. When her long-lost fiancé returns from sea, she decides he’s the lucky man who’ll receive her virginity.

Max is eager to return to his sugar plantation and has no intention of remaining long in London. However, he didn’t bargain on a wilful, pretty, exasperating spinster determined to take him to her bed.

He insists on marriage but she wants only his body. Her heart is not part of the deal. Unfortunately, love doesn’t always follow the rules.

Excerpt:

“I see all sorts of advantages to the married state.” He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn before kissing her palm. Then he flicked his tongue over the inside of her wrist. She bit back a moan. Who knew the wrist was such a sensitive spot?

She forced her mind back to the task at hand. Which, when you came to think of it, served the other task as well. Namely, getting him to flick his tongue on other sensitive parts of her body. She took a deep breath. “Some enjoy those advantages without the bother of a marriage ceremony.”

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Monday, May 29, 2017

Diane Noble @dianeanoble1 Author of Oppression #Adventure #Egypt #Kidnapping




Welcome Dianne A. Noble. Instead of our usual interview, Dianne talks about her books…

OPPRESSION

The first time I saw Egypt I was seven years old and sitting on the deck of the troopship Dunera with my head buried in Enid Blyton’s Ring-o-Bells Mystery. I looked up when we docked in Port Said to see the gully-gully man. He was an Egyptian magician who fascinated everyone, young and old alike, and accentuated the other world atmosphere of this exotic country. As we sailed down the Suez Canal—much narrower than expected—Lawrence of Arabia figures seated on camels appeared on the desert banks. I can truly say Egypt was the first place interesting enough to get my head out of a book.

Three years later, in December 1957, the Canal had been closed, and we flew back from Singapore in an RAF Hermes plane. The journey took almost three days, stopping in several countries to re-fuel and de-ice the wings. This time there were no hot and vibrant sights and I didn’t see Egypt again until I reached my early forties, when I travelled by train from Cairo to Aswan, glued to the windows as we passed by villages which looked like they’d come straight from the pages of the Bible. My lifelong love affair with Egypt had begun, and I’ve been back many times. The last time, I visited the City of the Dead in Cairo, a necropolis which features in Oppression and houses many poor people.

This novel is the story of Beth who prevents the abduction of a young girl in a North Yorkshire town, but is powerless to stop her subsequent forced marriage. In time to come Beth travels to Egypt to search for the girl, Layla, and finds her living in the City of the Dead. Oppression is the tale of two very different women, both of whom are oppressed in their lives, and how they triumph despite the odds.

Outcast and A Hundred Hands

Ten years ago I volunteered to spend a winter teaching English to street children in Kolkata, formerly Calcutta, in India. While there I realised what it is I love about the country—it’s the people. Despite great deprivation they laugh and are joyful. This time in Kolkata proved to be the hardest thing I have ever done. Broken, crumbling buildings sit amid lakes of raw sewage; filthy children encrusted with sores are homeless; families live on a patch of pavement so narrow they take it in turns to lie down. They give birth—and die—there. Yet their indomitable spirit shines through.

I feared I couldn’t do it, felt my resolve dying daily amid the horrors and hardship, but I started writing a journal and it saved me. Every night, no matter how dirty and exhausted I felt, I recorded one child’s progress with the alphabet, another’s disappearance, how many times I’d been hugged. It was a form of de-briefing but also cathartic. It got me through and these diaries formed the basis for A Hundred Hands and Outcast.

India remains my favourite place in the world, and I re-visit whenever I can afford it. I have often thought about living there and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel rekindled that desire!

OPPRESSION

The Plot:

When she tries preventing the abduction and forced marriage of 16-year-old Layla, Beth defies her controlling husband, Duncan, and travels to Cairo where she finds the girl now lives in the vast necropolis known as The City of the Dead. She’s hiding from her abusive husband, and incites fellow Muslim women to rebel against the oppression under which they live. Beth identifies with this and helps her.

Cairo is in a state of political unrest, and Beth gets caught up in one of the many protests. She’s rescued by Harry, who splits his working life between Egypt and England, and they fall in love. When Harry returns home and Layla vanishes, someone stalks Beth, and threatens her with violence. And then Duncan turns up...

Excerpt

She woke in a fretful tangle of sheets, head thumping, hair plastered to her head, wet night shirt moulded to her body. Where am I? Her gaze moved from the window to the puddle of discarded clothing and she remembered. Of course. Egypt. Leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve her slippers, she held them at arm’s length and shook them, then pulled them on and got out of bed.

Sitting on the toilet with her feet in the air, she kept a watchful eye on the floor tiles but there were no more insects to be seen.

The shower worked first time. Maybe they turned the supply off at night because of water shortages. She let it run over her, washing away the stale perspiration and dirt, rubbed shampoo into her hair, rinsed it out and stood longer. How wonderful to be clean again. With a sigh of pleasure she eventually turned off the water and looked round for the towels. There were none. She sighed. Looked like nothing was going to be simple. She dripped her way into the bedroom and dried herself on a couple of T-shirts.

By the time she’d dressed, sweat again bubbled out of every pore. Looked like she’d have to learn to live with the noisy A/C as well as permanent electric light. Her clothes smelt of mothballs after a night in the wardrobe. Pity they didn’t work for cockroaches. She looked in the small mirror over the basin and ran a comb through her hair. The lump on her temple had receded leaving a swirl of purple and yellow.

Right, almost ready for breakfast. Her stomach rumbled in agreement as she walked to the window. The shutters were stiff, the catch rusty, reluctant. Perhaps they weren’t meant to be opened, but kept closed against the sun. With a small explosion of dust and rust flakes, she pushed them free and felt heat on her face, smelt donkey dung as she looked down on the heads of a hundred people milling round, women in headscarves, men bareheaded, black hair gleaming in the sun.

She craned her neck to see small wooden shop fronts looking like cabinets with shelves. The noise was ferocious: people shouting, donkeys braying, a motorbike backfiring. Across the alley, on the roof of a narrow ochre-coloured building a woman pegged out washing, her small child playing perilously close to the unguarded edge. Beth’s arms prickled with heat as she watched, until a triumphant bluebottle shot through a hole in the insect mesh and she quickly pulled the shutters closed, remembering just how many flies there were in Egypt. She’d have to buy a swat today.

Fastening on her wristwatch, she checked the time. Ten to nine. She hoped that she wouldn’t be too late for breakfast. It was going on for seven o’clock at home and she was glad not to be there. Instead she was happy to be starting out on her first day in Cairo.

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Twitter: @dianneanoble1







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