Thursday, July 19, 2012

Guest Blogger H.C. Brown

Please welcome guest author H.C. Brown, who bravely answered my Rick Reed questions, and then is going to tell us about her latest releases! One lucky reader will win a copy of a Tryst of Fate! Look for the details after the post! Make yourself comfortable, and I'll rustle us up some coffee.  Why don't you go ahead and answer the questions first?

 The Questions

        You’re marooned on a small island with one person and one item of your choice—who is that person and what item do you have?

A: I’m married to an Alpha male, so sorry to be boring but I’d take him. They say you can live on love, so I’d take a bottle of water.

   Which musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that musical are you?
A:  Hello Dolly.  Dolly of course J

3     Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them:  account, reserved, glove
Lord George waited patiently for Byron to arrive at Whites.  Damn, he’d made a reservation too. He drank his glass of sherry, pulled on his gloves, paid the account, and left. Perhaps, he’d find another sweet young thing to meet tomorrow.

        You’ve just been let loose in the world of fiction, with permission to do anyone you want. Who do you fuck first and why?
A: I’m very attracted to “pretty” men in fiction. So, I think Lord John Grey in the Outlander Series. He apparently goes both ways.

      What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?
A: In bed.

      When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?
A: Usually the title followed by the character’s names, I never plot.

7      If they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you?
A: Marilyn Monroe

          Who’s your favorite horror villain and why?
A: Freddy Krueger because he frightens the Hell outta me.

     Do you have an historical crush and if so, who is it?
A: No, not in real life.

      Is there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to receive it?
A: Most of my stories are sliding along that precarious edge.

H,C. Brown Bio and excerpts.
H.C Brown is a multi published, best selling, award winning, author of, Historical, Paranormal, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, BDSM, Time Travel, Action Adventure, Contemporary and M/M Romance.
She writes under the name Pia Moonglow for YA fantasy.
H.C. Brown started writing ten years ago and had her first novel published in 2006.

Blurb: A Tryst Of Fate
After inheriting a Georgian house in Berkley Square, London, Colt Daniels, millionaire art dealer, finds himself obsessed by a portrait of the home's former owner, Lord Alexander Swift.
During a conversation with author, Jake Williams, Colt discovers Lord Swift and his cousin had mysteriously disappeared from the cellar one evening, shortly after Alexander's illicit affair with the rogue, David Fitzhugh. Jake reveals Colt bears a remarkable resemblance to Fitzhugh.
Colt decides to investigate Alexander's strange disappearance and ventures into his cellar late one night to look for a secret passageway. When his flashlight fails, Colt finds himself transported back in time to 1775 and there he comes face to face with the man of his dreams -- Lord Alexander Swift.
 Available in paperback and e-book.

Lord & Master  
Blurb: Lord Reynold Wilton, fearing exposure after a public argument with his sex slave, Lord David Litchfield, leaves England for the Americas. On his return, he finds his delicious man in the hands of a brutal sadist. In a time when homosexuality is a hanging offense, Reynold must use every trick in the book to regain the possession and trust of his young lover.


London 1769

A rush of pain radiated from Lord Reynold's clenched teeth and into his temples. The burn from over exertion raged across his shoulders. His sweaty grip slipped on the leather handle of the cane, a narrow strip of birch he had commissioned especially for discipline. With lust, he gazed down at his slave, savoring the crisscrossed, red welts marking the porcelain flesh, the raised prints of his hand on each tender buttock. He bent over the slim figure tied so deliciously on the bench, and licked each crimson cut, using his mouth to soothe and caress. Reynold lapped, enjoying the taste of sweet skin, the rise of gooseflesh under his tongue. The man's scent of soap mingled with the warm aroma of male sex filled his nostrils.

With the man tied this way, stretched out with both arms and legs secured, Reynold had complete control. The power of dominance surged through him. In truth, he could easily draw blood with his cane if he chose to, yet he loved this man and gave his slave what he craved. This session had been different from those long nights of bliss they'd enjoyed so often before. He needed to conquer his slave, to take back his role as master in a relationship teetering on the brink of disaster. With slow, deliberate moves, he stalked around the bench, running the cane over the sub's quivering body. He stopped at the head of the young man. "Why do you question my loyalty? I will not tolerate such behavior." He grasped a lock of the man's long, blond curls. "Speak."

"I am jealous, Master."

Reynold brought the birch down in two swift cuts across the slave's pristine back. The prone man's cry sent blood rushing to his cock. Christ, he loved to hear his submissive moan. He threw down the cane. "Of whom are you jealous this time?"

"Lord John, Master." The slave drew a shuddering breath. "I don't want you to continue your friendship him."

"When you are tied to my bed, I am the master." Reynold met the man's cornflower blue gaze. "I will not tolerate such demands from my slave. If you continue in this manner, I will have no option but to take my leave." He ground his teeth. "I warn you, do not think to use my devotion as a weapon to manipulate me to your will. If needs be, I will take a commission abroad to be rid of you."

"Reynold . . . I beg you—think of my feelings."

"You would have me weak?" Reynold dropped his breeches. "I think not."

"No, Master, not weak—never weak." David's gaze fell on Reynold's shaft. "I do not care to share you with Lord John." He licked his lips. "When you are in his company, I fear I will lose you."

Reynold growled. "I regret now confiding my relationship with Lord John Henley to you before we became involved. The man is a dear friend but you are my lover. If you don't believe this to be true, the trust you claim to have in me does not exist." He sighed. "Perhaps it is you who wants to end our relationship."

"Christ, I would have no other touch me in this way, and you know this to be true." David poked out his tongue, and swiped it across the head of Reynold's cock. He moaned. "I beg your forgiveness."

"You have my forgiveness, but I cannot allow you to dictate which friends I have. You know I have no desire to fuck any of them. Arguing with me in public has already put us both under scrutiny. Christ, David we can't be seen together. The risk is too high. What reason would I have to be in your company?" Reynold stroked David's cheek. "If you cannot trust me, this time we have together—our relationship as master and slave, as lovers, will not survive." Reynold groaned. "I care for you deeply but I won't allow you to risk the hangman's noose because of youthful foolishness. I will not offer you another chance, do you understand?" Reynold tugged David's hair. "Do you?"

"Yes." David smiled. "Master, will you allow me to pleasure you? I crave the taste of your seed."

Palming his shaft, he guided it toward his slave's rosy lips. He sighed as the man's hot, wet mouth surrounded him with absolute bliss. He loved the way David's flushed cheeks pulled tight with every withdrawn thrust. Later, he would take the man's tight arse, and hear his intoxicating screams of delight. He could never have enough of his luscious young submissive. Reynold rolled his hips, his hands cradling David's, sweat soaked cheeks. Lord, this man knew how to take him to heaven.
Tipping back his head, he plunged deeper, fucking the man's delightful throat.

This session with David had been brutal. Reynold wanted to stamp his authority over the young man. Of late, the possessive nature of his delicious sex-slave had become out of hand. David had grown too demanding. Reynold had no option but to take a stand. The submissive's teeth raked a path up his aching cock, the man's agile tongue flicking over the sensitive tip. Reynold bit back a groan and fell into the darkness of forbidden bliss. His slave's mouth became a whirlpool of ecstasy spinning him into an uncontrollable, shattering conclusion. Christ, David, for once, do as I say. Your jealousy is leading us down a path of damnation.

Chapter One

Three years later—London 1772

Lord Reynold Wilton opened his pocketbook and paid the tailor's account, grateful to be finally out of uniform. He met the gaze of Mr. Joseph Brown. The man had produced every inch of clothing he had worn since a boy. "Have everything else sent over to Spencer Street. There's a good man."

Donning the new hat he'd purchased from Locks in Bond Street, Lord Reynold pulled on his gloves and turned to look in the mirror. The new, delightfully comfortable, clothes fit well. Soft and fresh against his skin, the linen provided a welcome change from his stagnant, uniform shirt and stiff smalls. At last, after three despicable years, he resembled a gentleman again. The new clothes, ordered by letter some three months prior, had surprised him with their elegance. Mr. Brown had tailored each garment in the height of fashion, right down to the fine, lawn ruffles and silver buttons. White silk stockings and a cloak of the finest, black wool lined in silk completed his dress. He rubbed his chin and smiled ruefully at his reflection. The breeches stretched tight about his thighs and bottom, and Mr. Brown had pinched the jacket in at the waist to enhance the width of Reynold's shoulders. The cravat lay in exquisite folds. Dressed as such, in blue velvet, with his hair tied in a neat queue, he knew how men of his predilection would react to his appearance. Christ, I look like a peacock. In truth, his body had changed from soft to hard and muscular, but a commission in the Americas did that to a man. His face had altered too, but not in a bad way. He had not suffered any serious injury during his time abroad, but the man with haunting eyes in his reflection had replaced the innocent expression of youth.

Although, relieved by the sale of his commission and consequent arrival in England, his thoughts were not on returning immediately to his country estate in Surrey. Rather, he had spent the last two days in his townhouse close to Hyde Park, not wanting to endure the immediate duties of lord of the manor.

Lord Reynold stepped from the shop and glanced down Oxford Street. Nothing of note had changed in London during his time abroad with exception of women's fashion and the volume of carriages barreling along the dusty roads. He drew a deep breath to enjoy the scents of normality after enduring an eternity of stinking jacks and sweat. The smell of gunpowder and the unforgettable stench of a military camp had combined with horrors a man could never forget.

For three long years, Reynold had remained abroad. Christ, he had little choice. His role as master had become impossible after another very-public argument. David's actions had threatened to expose them both. To avoid the scandalmongers and the chance of prosecution for the act of sodomy, he made the heart-wrenching decision to leave his lover.

Reynold stood for a few seconds to enjoy his surroundings. There had been a meager amount of birds brave enough to negotiate the noisy camps, and his heart lifted to see an abundance of sparrows feasting on a discarded crust of bread on the footpath. Above a blue sky peeked briefly through a profusion of white fluffy clouds. A stream of sunlight bathed a rose bush sitting in a large, yellow glazed pot beside the milliners next door. The rich perfume from the red blooms mixed with the pungent odor of horse dung squashed on the road. The hay infused clumps thrown in all directions by the constant stream of carriage wheels. Everything is so normal, as if no one knows a war of great proportions is looming.

Moving toward the curb, Reynold called out to his driver to take him to Charters, a gentlemen's club in Vauxhall, and climbed into the carriage. He sighed, rested his head on the back of the seat, and closed his eyes. A familiar memory flooded his consciousness. The vision of a young man, exceptionally featured, with a soft gaze the color of a summer sky, hooded with long, tawny lashes. He groaned, recalling his sweet slave's sated expression from hours of glorious sex. The young body, so deliciously secured, skin damp and flushed from his master's cane. David.

The memory of the man he had loved above all else had not faded. Christ, he heard David's voice in his dreams. In vivid detail, he recalled the way the young man had touched him, loved him. Heat pooled in his loins curling into a deep longing for the man he craved. He yearned to see his lover once more and slide his hands over the young man's tender skin. The thought of marking David's pale flesh with a cane made him hard. He craved the taste of the man's succulent lips and the joy of sinking to his balls in David's tight arse. The sweet recollection of his lover's moans of delight had haunted him during the long nights away. He would wake to the scent of the man, the taste of David upon his lips. Then face another day, lonely and mean spirited.

Has David forgiven me for leaving him? Many times, he had put pen to paper, only to tear up and burn the letter. What valid reason did he have to write to the young man? No one could possibly know of his true friendship with the Duke of Litchfield's son and he could think of no excuse to correspond with David. In truth, if he could write to the young lord, how could he communicate his feelings? How could he tell of his love, his sorrow for leaving, and the desire that burned constantly without respite? No one could know of his lust; indeed, the hangman's noose would soon be around his neck if anyone discovered his predilection.

In truth, Reynold had gleaned from the broadsheets, sent each week by his mother, that the anti-sodomites had become rife in London. Would seem, the consensus being, that whoever performed an act of sodomy, whether consensual or not, deserved hanging or at least a good flogging and a life sentence in Newgate Prison. Of course, the use of the charge of sodomy had become a scapegoat for any person holding a grudge against another. Whether proved or not, the implication alone did enough damage to destroy a man's reputation.

Not alone, Reynold had many acquaintances of the same persuasion. All had first met at the Macaroni Club. Of late, due to the increasing notoriety of the Macaroni as a sodomite haven, the members now preferred to visit Beechcroft House in Holborn, known locally as a gentlemen's gambling establishment. In truth, Beechcroft House catered for men of his predilection in the deepest of secrecy. The owner, Mr. George Fortisque, catered for a variety of tastes, from role-play and the rituals of femininity, to those who enjoyed other, more vigorous types of indulgences.

The moment the carriage stopped outside the steps of Charters, the doorman rushed forward to greet Reynold. With a beaming smile, the man opened the carriage door and let down the steps. Reynold stepped from the carriage. "Thank you, Graves."

"It's good to see you back on English soil safe and well, milord."

Reynold pressed a coin into the old man's hand and stepped into the foyer. The footman moved forward like a large, black raven and took Reynold's coat and hat, the latter instantly whisked away by a servant. "Is Lord John Henley here today?"

"He is milord. His lordship is in the front room in his usual seat by the window. Will you be taking lunch?"

Reynold inhaled the familiar scent of coffee and brandy laced with the aroma of cheroots drifting from the smoking room. Time stood still in this club. It was as if he had never been away. He smiled. "Yes, Craven, I do believe I will."

He found Lord John at his usual, secluded table reading Lloyd's Evening Post. The Marquess of Henley's son lifted his head, got to his feet, and smiled warmly. Reynold inclined his head and bowed. "Lord John, your servant, sir."

"Lord Reynold. As I live and breathe, it's good to see you again." Lord John waved toward the seat opposite. "How did you enjoy the Americas? Ah, don't tell me, you look like you're in need of a drink."
He waved a hand toward the steward and sat down.

With a nod, Reynold took the comfortable, wingback chair opposite his friend and crossed his legs. The cart with an assortment of crystal decanters and glasses appeared at the edge of the table. He lifted his gaze toward the servant. "Brandy."

The rich sharp smell of brandy filled his nose. He took the proffered drink and swirled the honey-colored liquid around the glass. He met Lord John's gaze and smiled at the returned heat displayed from within his friend. Fond memories of their relationship fluttered in the corners of Reynold's mind. Yes, Lord John was indeed the social butterfly, or whatever one called a sodomite rake.

The man had not changed. Wigless, Lord John preferred his own glorious hair. The memory of running his fingers through the man's deep, auburn silk sent a warm glow to his groin. Today, Lord John had tied back the neatly powdered locks with a dark blue ribbon. A shaft of light from the window sent flames of russet and gold into the curls framing a small face with expressive, blue eyes. The man's long lashes brushed porcelain cheeks touched with color. "You are looking well, John." Reynold let his eyes drift up and down Lord John's small but muscular body, and then moistened his lips. "How are my friends at Beechcroft House?"

"There is some concern." Lord John tapped the newspaper. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Geoffrey Boarders is standing in the pillory at Cheapside this day charged as a sodomite." He groaned. "The illustration is more than a little obnoxious." Lord John offered the broadsheet to Reynold with a grimace. "There is an ongoing enquiry into homosexuality as we speak."
He met Reynold's gaze. "No one is safe."

Reading the editorial, Reynold snorted and pushed the newspaper across the table. "The man is a fool, and so is anyone loitering under Blackfriers' Bridge of an evening. Christ, the man was dressed as a Molly. No doubt, he will learn his lesson with a year in Newgate—a better option than hanged, I dare say. At least, I suppose we should be grateful, he had the sense to hold his tongue about his associates." Reynold frowned. "Speaking of acquaintances, have you noticed Lord David Litchfield at Beechcroft lately?"

"No, but I spoke to him at a soiree at Lady Charlotte's country estate some months ago." Lord John smiled. "He asked me . . . in a most secretive fashion if you were well. He is a most delightful young man. You need not have worried Reynold, not a whisper came from your argument with the boy." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Although if you are planning to rekindle your acquaintance with him, I feel you are too late. I know for a fact, he is involved with another. You would do well to look elsewhere. He folded the newspaper and stared at Reynold. "Is there something wrong, Reynold? You seem . . . distracted."

Lord Reynold sipped his brandy and then ran his fingers across the smooth glass. A dagger of regret stabbed at his heart. What he craved, he could not have, but the memory of Lord John's lips drew him with a potent desire. The very thought of swiping his tongue across the man's mouth made him hard. He sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I find myself in a distressing condition. It has been . . . some time for me. Unfortunately, no suitable occasion presented itself when I was abroad . . . not one."

"A malady easily remedied, my dear." Lord John winked salaciously.

Clearing his throat, Reynold reached for the newspaper and slid the pages onto his lap to hide his obvious arousal from two gentlemen entering the room. He nodded slightly toward his friend and changed the topic of conversation. "I have so many things to discuss with you, Lord John. Such business cannot be conducted in public places." He paused, waiting for a steward to pass the table.
"I would like to discuss the fortunes of young Lord David's breeding experiments in the Duke of Litchfield's stables. The lad always did have an eye for a good filly, and I hear they have an excellent stallion standing at Essex. I am seeking a new horse. I sold, Charger, before I took up my commission. I require a liaison for the sale, and I know you have business dealings with the Duke of Litchfield. Do you still have lodgings close by where we may discuss such matters?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, yes." Lord John picked an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.
"Perhaps after lunch we should retire to my office and discuss this in privacy."

Downing the rest of the brandy, Reynold placed the empty glass on the table and chuckled. "Yes, there is nothing better than a lively discussion about horse flesh to warm the blood."

* * * * *

Lord John watched his friend devour the eel pie with obvious relish. His friend's handsome features attracted both men and women, as did his tall, muscular body. Now, after three years in the 29th, Lord Reynold had matured significantly, but his sapphire-blue eyes, arched, black brows, and generous mouth still held their sexual allure. Indeed, he could remember the taste of the man, and the delicious sting from his birch cane. Their casual affair had spanned three, glorious years before Lord Reynold had become obsessed with Lord David. No words could prevent Lord Reynold from buying his commission, the man had fled to protect rather than punish the inexperienced young man.
In truth, Lord John had enjoyed his friend's company and had always relied on a good spanking from his friend. He had become quite bereft at Lord Reynold's fascination with the young lord.

The fact that an argument with Lord David, the eighteen-year-old second son of the Duke of Litchfield, had impelled his friend to take a commission in the Americas defied reason. He had noticed Lord David at most of the society balls this season and privately coveted the body of the fine-boned young man. The thought of undoing the boy's mass of blond hair, spreading it down the smooth skin of his back, and then slipping into the man's tight hole, had driven him to distraction . Christ, he could hear David's moans of pleasure in his imaginings. He glanced away from Lord Reynold, concerned his lustful expression may betray his longing. If his friend knew of his desire to have David, their friendship would soon be a distant memory.

"That was an excellent meal." Lord Reynold finished his drink, placed the glass on the table, and got to his feet. "Shall we retire to your office?

"Yes, my new lodgings are a short walk from here."

After leaving Lord Reynold's carriage outside Charters with instructions to return at six, they decided to walk the short distance to Mrs. Bell's boarding house. Lord John shielded his eyes from the spots of blinding sunlight reflecting off the windows of the terraced houses. Underfoot, shadows from a lilac tree in a nearby courtyard danced across the pavement in leopard spots. The unappetizing smell of boiled mutton drifted from one of the houses. They walked in silence. A dandy walked by with a pair of magnificent bulldogs pulling out before him on silver chains. The dogs' sides heaved with excursion. Their red tongues lolling limply between lips drawn back to expose long canines. With each breath long strings of spittle issued from their open mouths.

Skirting the dogs, Lord John turned to his friend. "I have, this past year, rented the top floor of the widow Berkley's house. Thankfully, she welcomed the building of a covered, exterior staircase to a private entrance." He grinned. "She was happy with my explanation of the requirement for a suitable office, and a bed to fall into when foxed. I pay the sum of ten guineas a year for this privilege, with the only requirement being that I refrain from entertaining my doxy on the premises." Lord John smiled at the implication. "Indeed, apart from my dear mother, women happened to be the last thing on my mind. I employ a drudge once a week to clean and wash the bed linens. It is a very safe place with a sound lock on the door."

Lord John used his office to discuss matters of his estates with his accountant during the year. The rest of the time, the small nest of rooms concealed his dalliances with carefully, selected men.

With his eyes riveted on a point in the distance, Lord John drew a deep breath. "Will you tell me about the argument between you and Lord David Litchfield? I still find it difficult to believe you fled abroad. Christ Reynold, what on earth happened to make you contemplate such a thing? I assume from Lord David's coldness toward me since you left, that I had something to do with this unfortunate incident."

"He was young and had no understanding of our ways. He wanted my exclusivity, and that is what he enjoyed—nothing less. I gave myself only to him, but he became bacon-brained. He insisted you and I were lovers, and nothing I could say could convince him to the contrary." Lord Reynold let out a long sigh. "Do you remember the last game of faro we played at Charters? As I left, David arrived and we argued—in the street. Christ, I had to pretend we were arguing over a woman. Although, the implication was there, hanging over us just waiting for an anti-sodomite to pounce. I had to leave; there was no other choice." He slapped his leather gloves across the palm of one hand. "No other has affected me in this way. Christ, Johnny, after three miserable years, I still find myself desperately in love with him. His very name makes me want him. Every second of every hour, he dominates my thoughts. I crave the smell of him, the taste, the feel of his skin under my hands—the tightness of his arse. He is to me like the opium pipe, and I am his slave." He shook his head. "What a jest for one such as me . . . that a slave might have such a hold on a master who wields the cane." Reynold drummed his fingertips on the arm of the chair. "I realize now, I should never have left him. I cannot turn back the clock, Johnny. My only choice is to tell him of my devotion and beg his forgiveness. Yet, my perverted mind is set to cut his flesh with a birch and see him on his knees, begging for my cock—for me." He met Lord John's gaze. "Yet, the boy is lost to me is he not?"

Lord John glanced around. No one walked close enough to overhear his private conversation. He touched Lord Reynold's arm briefly. "Not a boy, Reynold, he is very much a man after attaining his twenty-first year. However, if you love him as you say, why did you buy a commission in the Americas for Christ's sake?"

"To keep us all out of Newgate in the first instance, and somewhere in my addled brain, I truly believed David required time away from me. The sweet man had lost his trust in me. As a master who only wishes to bring pleasure, there can be no enjoyment without a slave's trust." Lord Reynold stopped walking and turned to face Lord John. "The boy was jealous of our understanding. Do not raise your brow, my sweet slave had the notion I took you to my bed regularly, and nothing I could say would placate him." He sighed. "David insisted . . . yes I fear, he insisted, I refrain from continuing my friendship with you. He wanted me to ignore you as if you were a leper. Although, I gave him my word I would not touch another while we were together, the fool would not believe me."

He turned and resumed walking. "The disagreements, the loud and very vocal demands—Christ, you must understand, I could not continue in such a manner." He met Lord John's gaze. "I've missed him dreadfully, and perhaps after three years to think on our relationship, David may be ready to resume on my terms." Lord Reynold sighed. "I must find a way of contacting him, perhaps on the ruse of seeking a suitable horse. Although, I have no idea where Lord David is residing at this precise moment. He may be in London for the season."

Falling into step beside his friend, Lord John cleared his throat. "I do believe Lord Litchfield moved to London in March. I heard somewhere that Lord David is here for the season."

He cast a quick glance at Lord Reynold and noted his friend's lips had formed a thin line. "The Duke of Litchfield is redecorating his townhouse, and I gather David has moved into the De Vere in Cavendish Street, as escort for his sister. He usually takes a walk with her in Hyde Park each afternoon . . . you know, the usual social ritual. Although, I have not seen the chit at many social gatherings, and I do believe there is a reason for her absence. There is a rumor circulating about Sarah's reputation, although, nothing I can confirm, dear boy."

"I have no interest in the chit but a casual meeting with Lord David would work quite well. Although, I do have a few questions for you before I approach him."

"What could I possibly know about the private life of Lord David?"

"My interest lies more in the master David knees before now. I too have my sources, but I require details. How many masters has he served since I went abroad?" Reynold glanced at Lord John, a grim smile on his lips. "I know very well, you are acquainted with his current master, Johnny. You mentioned before you thought David lost to me. Tell me now, what do you know?"

Heavens above, leave it be, Reynold. No good will come of this. "Lord David is beyond your reach. He is under the control of a brutal master." John met Lord Reynold's gaze. "But I am here, Reynold, and will be for as long as you need me."

"You will always have a place in my heart, Johnny but you must know I cannot rest until I have at least made an effort to contact Lord David." Lord Reynold turned to John. "Tell me the name of his master and everything you know about the beast. I beg you not to withhold anything."

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Thanks for stopping by, HC!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie


  1. Fun interview and good excerpt. Wish that was my house and kitchen. Please include me in the giveaway. Thanks for the chance to win!

  2. Thanks for stopping by. Please leave a contact email.

  3. Sorry! strive4bst at yahoo dot com