RW: What’s your story/back story? Why would
someone come up with a story about you?
RR: Really? You need to ask? I thought every gossip and backstabber in
London knew my story. I came up to town as a young cub and fell in love with a
dashing widow, Lady Lavinia. She let me court her—and spend my allowance on her—then
she met my father.
He was older, richer, and more worldly-wise. He was also dumb enough to
marry her. I embarrassed the pair of them, acting hard done to and sulking. My father
packed me off to fight in the Peninsula war. I grew up the first time we faced
enemy troops. I’ve made some good friends in the army, but I will never fall in
love again. Besides, my father bankrupted the estate, lavishing jewels and
pretty gowns on his new wife. I inherited it a few years ago, but he left me
nothing but debts. He’d even spent my sisters’ dowries.
RW: Can you tell us about your hero/ine
RR: Beth’s a serving girl, so beautiful she dazzles me, but she breaks rules
on a whim and has an imagination you wouldn’t believe. She tried to tell me she
was an heiress once. As if. No heiress would wear clothes as threadbare as
hers. She’s lusty too. The first time we met… Ah, but a gentleman never kisses
and tells.
RW: What problems do you have to face and
overcome in your life?
RR: First, we need to defeat that Corsican upstart, Napoleon Bonaparte.
Wellington recalled me to his staff. When I sailed for Belgium I never expected
to see Beth again, but like so many foolish members of the ton, her employers
have decided to spend the summer in Brussels. The fools think war’s a game.
Once the battle’s won, I need to marry money and launch my sisters into
society. Lavinia stole their birth right, but they deserve better than to live
in genteel poverty. It’s tearing me apart, having to decide between bettering
their future and running off with Beth.
RW: Do you expect your heroine to help or is she
the problem?
RR: Beth’s a problem, all right. The first time we met, I saved her from
Lavinia’s new husband. He’s a drunken sot who beds any whore who comes his way.
Then I rescued her from two troopers. God knows what would have happened if I
hadn’t come along, but they’d have hurt her. Badly.
They’d tricked her into going with them. She knows herb law and healing,
you see, and she sneaked out after midnight to heal their wounded comrade.
Thank goodness I heard her scream. I soon spanked some sense into her.
RW: Where
do you live?
RR: I
go wherever the army sends me. I have a bankrupt estate in the Midlands, but I
need to stay in the army to eat. Thanks to my father marrying my first love, I’m
poorer than the proverbial church mouse. Currently, I’m serving on Wellington’s
staff in Brussels.
RW: During
what time-period does your story take place?
RR: It’s set in the Summer of 1815, during the
Battle of Waterloo
RW: How
are you coping with the conflict in your life?
RR: Badly. Ever since I inherited the family
estate I’ve been trying to scrape together enough money to dower my sisters. I
caused a scandal in my teens, and if I run off with a serving girl, I’ll cause
another. That will ruin my sisters’ chance of making a good marriage.
RW: If money were not an object, where would you most like to live?
RR: I’d move back to the family estate and bring it up to date. Instead, I’ve
sold it to finance my sisters’ first season. That leaves me with nothing, but
since I introduced Lavinia to my father, that’s exactly what I deserve.
RW: If you came with a
warning label, what would it say?
RR: Heartless soldier ahead.
No money and no heart. Only meeting Beth’s reminded me that I do have feelings.
RW: Satin, Egyptian cotton,
jersey, flannel… What are your favorite sheets?
RR: I got used to sleeping rough
on the Peninsula war. Any sheets mean a real bed, and that’s a luxury.
Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie Fortune writes hot sexy books full of hunky heroes and sensual
heroines. So far she’s written seven paranormal romances, five contemporary
ones, and she’s working on her second Regency romance—but regency just got
sexy. If you’re looking for Georgette Heyer, you might need a fainting couch
after reading Kryssie’s historicals. Since Kryssie hates cliff hangers and
unhappy endings, she guarantees each and every book is a stand-alone romance
where the heroine always finds her happy-ever-after.
Wickedly Used.
The Plot
While he is no stranger to pleasurable company from ladies of
the night, Major Richard Rothbury of the royal dragoons is not the kind of man
who will stand idly by as a woman is taken against her will, and when he
witnesses a disreputable cad attempting to force himself on a girl in a back
alley, he does not hesitate to intervene.
But after the grateful young woman offers herself to Rothbury,
he is shocked to discover that not only was she no harlot, she was a maiden and
he has deflowered her. Furious at the girl’s scandalous behavior and her
carelessness with her own safety, Rothbury chastises her soundly.
Though she is due to inherit one of the largest fortunes in
England, the fact that she cannot touch the money until she marries or turns
thirty has kept Elizabeth completely at the mercy of her cruel uncle, and for
years she has been treated as if she were a servant. Her encounter with Lord
Rothbury is by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her, but
while he shows great concern for her safety, he refuses to believe that she is
anything more than a serving girl.
Despite having made it clear that he doesn’t consider a match
between them to be possible, when Elizabeth disobeys him Rothbury proves more
than ready to strip her bare, punish her harshly, and then enjoy her beautiful
body in the most shameful of ways. But can she dare to hope that he will one
day make her his wife, or is she destined to spend her life being wickedly
used?
An Excerpt:
Hidden
behind their masks, the patrons behaved too freely. Druid’s Walk became a place
for pleasure and indiscreet sex. Seeing that serving girl go there alone roused
his protective instincts. He needed to ensure her safety, but it took him a
while to make his way through the crowd.
His size
always made him stand out, and tonight, he drew predatory looks from some of
the ton’s ladies. He’d been immune to women’s charms since his first love
ruined his life. He didn’t understand why that serving girl called to him on a
primal level.
Finally,
he reached Druid’s Walk. Looking far ahead, he saw a group of Cits accost her;
he clenched his fists and started toward them. Those louts needed to learn
better manners. Just as he approached, she broke free and vanished into the
night. The silly chit ran further into the Walk’s notorious depths.
Five
drunken idiots had harried the woman who fascinated him. He released the cold
fury that lived inside him and strode toward them. Menace dripped from his
gaze. Dangerous and deadly, he knew five to one weren’t bad odds… for him. He’d
honed his fighting skills during his seven years fighting in the Peninsular
War. Teaching drunks who thought they were invincible some manners came
naturally to him.
He tapped
the nearest one on the shoulder. “You need to treat ladies with more respect.”
The drunk
said nothing, just flailed his arms wildly, trying to hit the dragoon’s head.
Sidestepping, Rothbury planted his right fist in the drunk’s face and his left
in his gut. The man doubled over and threw up.
The other
four rushed him in a group. Rothbury’s first punch broke a man’s nose. His
second dislocated another’s jaw. One kick and another drunk doubled over on the
ground. Two more punches and the last two sprawled on the mud at his feet.
Breathing
steady and even, Rothbury towered over them. If they’d have been in his unit,
they’d have been on a charge. Tonight, he’d leave them sprawled on the pathway
and follow the blonde who’d enchanted him.
The need
to possess her clawed at his soul. Her beauty drove him wild and turned his
balls blue. Not that he could afford a mistress or even a couple of hours with
a whore. If she was the innocent she seemed, he’d see her safely home. But he
wanted her to be wicked and willing.
By the
time he found her again, she’d attracted Lord Dawlish’s attention. That man’s
reputation was so dark his peers had blackballed him at White’s.
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