Spotlight & Giveaway: One Night with an Earl by Tina Gabrielle

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Tina Gabrielle to HJ!

Hi Tina and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, One Night with an Earl!

 
Hello! Thank you for getting to know me and my books.
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

When a lady seeks to lose her virginity before her thirtieth birthday, she is shocked to discover her passionate lover is the son of the man who ruined her family.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Miss Ana Gardner was determined to lose her virginity that
night.

And yet, as she stood outside one of the salons of the elite
brothel, her courage threatened to fail her. Even though no
one could possibly recognize her in the shockingly daring
red gown and half mask, a tight knot formed in her stomach.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• “One Night with an Earl” is a diverse #ownvoices story featuring a Middle Eastern heroine and a duty-bound earl.
• Ana (Anahit) is a lady who longs to experience passion before she is considered a spinster by society, and she takes matters into her own hands.
• Oliver, Lord Drake, is a duty-bound earl who never attends brothels yet he is drawn to the mysterious woman who calls herself Lady Scarlet.
• A romantic star gazing evening takes place.
• I share my family’s baklava recipe in the back of the book.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

Ana Gardner is a determined to lose her virginity before her thirtieth birthday and takes matters into her own hands by looking for a lover in a notorious brothel. She spots Oliver, the earl of Drake, who appears not to want to be there. She’s drawn to him, and Oliver finds himself fascinated with the mysterious Lady Scarlet.
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe Hero and Heroine’s love affair?

Sexy, tumultuous, feisty, adoring, loving

or

Can one passionate night turn into forever?
 

The First Kiss…

“You should go now,” Oliver said.

Ana blinked in surprise. She now realized where he’d led her—to the corridor nearest the vestibule. He hadn’t meant to lead her upstairs to share the night, but for her to flee the Silver Chalice.

Her breath quickened, and her cheeks grew warm with humiliation. Had she misinterpreted so badly? What made her believe she could pull this off? She was as far from a seductress as a woman could be.

Foolish, Ana. Go back to your dull working life, your cold, empty bed. Spend night after night wondering about the pleasurable experience that slipped through your fingers because you were not bold enough to seize it.

Her embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance, then determination. This was her one chance, and she’d never get an opportunity like this again. She understood the risks, had contemplated each and every one in detail for weeks, before arriving here tonight and slipping into the tight red dress.

Tomorrow, she would return to Malvern Manor with memories—memories which would have to suffice for the rest of her days.

Raising her chin, she spoke in a husky whisper. “I don’t want to go, and I don’t think you want me to, either.”

Long, anxious moments passed as their gazes held one another. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered how he didn’t hear it. As he watched her, she had the strange impression that he was battling his own restraint. How odd. Didn’t most men who walked through the brothel’s doors
expect to be led to one of the rooms?

Finally, he let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath a meticulously tailored coat that emphasized his broad shoulders. “You should not have fallen into Moore’s hands.”

“I did not intend to seek out Moore, but you.” She boldly laid a hand on his chest. Beneath layers of broadcloth and linen, his own heart beat strong and sure.

His gaze narrowed. “Why?”

“I saw someone I desired.”

His hissed in a breath, and her confidence grew. Her first instinct had been right. He was attracted to her; she was sure of it now. “Would you like to kiss me, my lord?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“And still you hesitate.”

“I do not do this.” A flash of anger crossed his face, and once more, she had the impression he was fighting something, like a man dying of thirst but who feared the well was poisoned.

“Do what? Kiss a woman?”

“No. Frequent brothels.”

Neither do I. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she held back. He mustn’t suspect a thing. Besides, if he spoke the truth about not seeking out demimondes, then perhaps he would not notice her inexperience.

But that was foolish thinking. Just because he was not one of Madame Crescent’s frequent customers did not mean he was sexually inexperienced. She’d have to convince him otherwise regarding herself.

“Allow me to make the choice for you, then.” Standing on tiptoe, she leaned forward, raised her chin, and closed her eyes.

And waited.

Seconds ticked by. She cracked her eyes to find his gaze fastened on her mouth. What would it take for this man to kiss her?

She wasn’t entirely innocent and had taken a turn once or twice in the gardens of a ball and had been kissed before. But that was years ago, when she’d had a dowry and suitors. Her mother may have been from the Middle East, but her father was an English baron, and Ana had been accepted by most of society.

His fingers clenched at his sides. “You’re intent on carrying this out, then?”

“Yes.” She challenged him, challenged herself.

She held her breath and kept her eyes open as he lowered his head. Rather than capture her mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss, his tongue leisurely licked her full underlip. Her lips tingled, and she sucked in a breath. The touch was nothing like the awkward kisses she’d experienced.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.”

He had? A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her, and she parted her lips and grasped his upper arms. Her pulse raced as if she had run around the perimeter of her family’s summer estate on a warm afternoon after a long winter of dreary cold. Then he lowered his head once more and sucked in her full bottom lip as if he were taking a red cherry into his mouth.

Oh, my.

Her prior experiences had not prepared her. Wet, sloppy kisses from overeager fops and dandies pulling her into garden mazes could not compare. He tasted like fine whisky and dangerous male.

More! her mind cried out.

Sizzling heat ran through her veins and made her legs weak. She leaned into the kiss and was rewarded when his possessive hand snaked around her waist, and he pulled her
flush against him. His mouth slanted over hers and kissed her fully.

Her lips parted, and his tongue slipped inside to explore the recesses her of mouth. He may have been holding a part of himself back from this, but once he’d committed to kissing her, he did nothing in half measure.

She found herself thrust against the wall, one hand clutching his lapel, the other hand wrapped around his shoulder. His hands rested flat against the wall, and he caged her with his large body. She didn’t feel trapped, only thoroughly ravished by his skillful mouth. Broadcloth
scraped against silk, and the heat from his hard body seeped into her soft curves.

When he tore his lips from hers, his dark eyes blazed. “Which is your room?”

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

One of my favorite scenes is when Ana shares a middle eastern drink called “arak” with Oliver and she reveals a bit too much…

Ana’s stomach tightened as Oliver’s gaze lowered to the glass in her hand. She’d sought solitude in the midnight gardens when he’d come upon her.

He shot her a charming smile. “Are you drinking?”

“Is it forbidden?” Ana asked.

“Of course not.”

“Good. You should try the arak. I was pleasantly surprised to find it still at Rosewood,” she said.

He gave her a curious look. “Still here?”

Damn! The liquor had loosened her tongue. “I meant here at all.”

“I admit I’ve never tasted arak.”

She clucked her tongue. “You are missing out, my lord. Arak is a traditional and popular drink in the Eastern Mediterranean.”

“Oh?” His tone was light.

The words kept flowing, and she waved the bottle as she spoke. “Countries like Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. You must expand your horizons.”

“Shall we share, then?”

She shrugged. “It’s your home.”

He offered his arm, and she placed her hand on his sleeve. With one last glance inside at the iron-and-glass conservatory, she let him lead her back on the path to the bench she’d first occupied. He sat beside her, his thigh brushing her skirts. Heat emanated from him, and his familiar cologne was more drugging than the flowers.

Only a small amount of water remained in the glass. She poured a good amount from the bottle and handed it to him. It would be strong. “Drink.”

He sipped the glass, then raised an eyebrow. “Anise.”

“Many dilute the arak with water.”

“Not you?”

“I started with water in the glass but finished it. Besides, I enjoy the full flavor.”

“Why am I not surprised? You are not fully English?”

Even with the liquor flowing in her veins, she knew this was not going the way she’d wanted. How to answer without revealing too much? She was a bad liar when confronted face-to-face, and she knew the best way to convince him was to reveal only part of the truth. “My great-grandmother was from Lebanon.”

Truth. She didn’t need to tell him her mother and grandmother were from there as well. Or that they also had Armenian and Arabian blood, and that her mother often accompanied her father as he traveled throughout the Middle East in search of antiquities.

Oliver gave a quick nod. “I suspected as much.”

He was too perceptive, too intelligent, and she knew better than to ask how he knew. Inquiring opened herself up to more questions—questions she did not wish to answer.

He sipped from the glass. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“About my great-grandmother?”

“No. About your accommodations here.”

She bit her lip. How had she lost her train of thought? “Appearances are important.”

“I told you I would never reveal anything to Lord and Lady Malvern about our past. Do you trust me?”

A cloud shifted, and she was able to see his face beneath the full moonlight. He was so handsome that he could steal her reason if she wasn’t careful. “Yes, I trust you not to speak with my employer.”

“Then why the concern?”

“Because you placed me in a bedchamber suitable for an honored guest, not a chaperone. It is a room for a lady.” She lowered her voice as if others were present to hear. “Or a room for lovers.”

“Ah, and is that so bad?”

When he looked at her like that, it wasn’t bad at all. When had he shifted even closer?

“I spoke with Madame Crescent.” She felt compelled to tell him.

“Oh?”

“She confirmed you returned to see her the day after… our evening together.”

“I told you I returned to the Silver Chalice looking for you. What else did she say?”

She hesitated, her face heating from the arak and more. “That I must make the decision on my own if we should indulge in more than one night of pleasure.”

His eyes darkened, and he inched closer. “A very wise woman. What did you tell her in return?”

She hadn’t told the madame anything. But her decision had been on her mind, and with Oliver so close with a hint of anise on his breath, her inhibitions seemed far, far away.

“I did not have an answer. But I am sure of one thing. Something the arak gives me to courage to admit.”

His eyes were fierce. “Which is?”

She faced him fully now. “No matter how hard I try, I cannot stop thinking of you.”

He inhaled between parted lips, his gaze turning hot and ravenous at the same time. “I told you the same.”

“I’m not certain what to do about my thoughts.”

“I know. I want to kiss you, Ana. Tell me you want me to.” His voice was gruff.

She couldn’t protest, couldn’t move. She licked her suddenly dry lips and his heated gaze lowered to her mouth.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

She could blame it on the arak, but the truth was more damning.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

Ana focused on the nymph statue to ease her nervousness. The detail was truly striking. As with many ancient statues, either vandalized or simply damaged over time, the head was missing, but it was so lifelike that Ana wanted to reach out and touch the marble to see if she’d awake.

She removed her gloves and slipped them into her reticule, then reached out a finger to graze the cool marble. “Are you waiting for your bridegroom?” Ana asked, whispering to the nymph.

“Or perhaps she is posing for her lover.”

Ana spun at the sound of the distinctive male voice to see Oliver standing behind her. Her pulse quickened, and her face heated both from his presence as well as the intimacy of her observing the nearly naked nymph.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“I did not want anyone to know I was following. Besides, it took a while to extricate myself from Lady Malvern’s clutches.”

“I see.”

He stepped closer, and an unwelcome awareness tingled in her veins. With her back to the nymph, she was aware of every inch of his muscular frame as he moved, and she thought he would make the perfect model for any sculptor.

No! No! No! Her wandering mind was her greatest weakness. Where was her resolve? Her sense of self-preservation? She’d asked him here for a reason.

She raised her chin. “I sought to meet me so that we can resolve our differences.”

He didn’t move. “Will you indulge me first by answering one question?”

She blinked. “One question?”

“Why do you dislike me? As I recall, you liked me very much the night we spent together at the Silver Chalice.”

There was a maddening hint of arrogance about him when he mentioned their passionate evening at the brothel. He only knew she was Lady Scarlet, not the daughter of the baron his father ruined. She would never reveal anything. “I told you. That was only for one night.”

He laughed hoarsely. “Why, for heaven’s sake? I can’t stop thinking about our shared evening. Don’t you feel the same?”

Yes, she did. She wasn’t an indecisive woman, yet she found it incredibly hard to calm her racing heart when he was standing an arm’s length away, watching her intently. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears as she struggled to keep her anger as a defense.

“No,” she insisted.

His dark gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “Your passion was not feigned that night.”

“Whatever was between us no longer exists for me.”

A flash of challenge lit his dark eyes. “Hmm. If that is true, then perhaps you would not mind participating in an experiment.”

“An experiment?”

“A simple kiss.”

Oh God. If he kissed her, she’d lose her resolve. There was too much at stake for her. He, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. Rich and powerful, he was no match to her social standing. “I don’t think such an experiment will work.”

“Then you don’t mind trying? One kiss, and then I’ll respect your wish and never trouble you again.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, pulse pounding. One kiss? She hesitated, her mind considering his request. She could do this. A brief kiss and then he’d leave her alone. It was a challenge, one she had no intention of losing.

She cocked her head to the side. “One kiss and you’ll never seek me out again, never address me as anything other than Miss Gardner, companion to Lady Penelope?”

“Yes.”

She came close, and his cologne fill her senses, sandalwood and his own essence. She girded her resolve, closed her eyes, pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss, then quickly moved back. “Nothing. Not even a spark.”

“That’s unfair. I hardly call that a kiss.”

“You did not specify and must uphold your part of the bargain.”

“Not quite. Unless you are afraid?”

She let out a huff. “I’m not—”

He placed a hand on her waist and tugged her closer, cutting off whatever she was about to say. “This is a kiss.”

He didn’t ravage her. She could have resisted if he had, but he chose a different onslaught, one that shattered her defenses with skill. His mouth slanted over hers slowly, captured her lips, and savored her like a ripe strawberry. It reminded her of their first kiss, releasing a flurry of delicious memories. She sighed, a deep, rich sound that she’d heard in her dreams since their one night together. Her fingers touched his biceps, then tightened on the broadcloth, feeling the hard muscles beneath. Her lips parted of their own volition, inviting him to take. He took full advantage and swept inside, deliciously tasting and taking. The hand at her waist urged her forward, and she stepped even closer, her breasts brushing his chest, her nipples tightening against the fabric of her chemise. Like a trained lover, her body ached for his touch.

He moaned, or was that her?

She kissed him back, and her fingers inched to his shoulders, then sank into the silken strands of his hair. She was secretly thrilled she’d removed her gloves.

His own fingers moved to her hair. A pin sprang free, and the lace cap fell to the floor.
Her eyelids fluttered open. A shaft of sunlight illuminated his handsome face, and she imagined how the nymph must have felt when she first spotted her Greek warrior, all bronzed muscle and power.

All her own muscles were taut and aching, battling her, tearing down her sworn resolve with a simple, wondrous kiss. Ana melted beneath his skilled lips, his hands, and the knowledge of the pleasure he could bring her. Their night together came back in a raging rush, and she clung to him. Desperate, aching, wanting.

He was the one to break the kiss. The flame in his eyes made her heart race.

“I think that counts as proof.” His voice was gruff.

Slowly, she grew aware of her surroundings. The dim thrum of the large crowd just a corridor away became a buzzing in her ear. The chill of the marble floor seeped into her slippers, up her spine, and cooled her heated thoughts as effectively as the self-satisfied smile curving his tempting lips. She grew aware of their position. In an open alcove, they could be discovered at any time.

Denying her response was fruitless. And yet, “It was a moment of weakness, nothing more.”
“I don’t believe that to be true. For me, it meant more. You mean more. Perhaps I’m being selfish, but I’m asking you to reconsider spending another night together.”

It was tempting, more than he knew. Still, she could not act the fool. “I have much more to lose than you, my lord.”

“I told you I would never whisper a word. I am a man of my word. Your position is secure.”

“How?”

He leaned close to whisper in her ear, his breath caressing her sensitive lobe. “I’ll send a carriage for you at night. No one need know. Come to me.”

The erotic demand and the near brush of his lips sent a shiver down her spine.

Her body yearned to obey, but the warning voice inside her head could not be ignored. How could she have thought one night at the Silver Chalice would have ever been sufficient to last a lifetime?

Because you did not expect to spend it with him.

Readers should read this book …

Because it is a sexy, fun historical with a feisty diverse heroine and an intriguing hero. When Ana discovers her passionate lover is the son of the man who ruined her family,

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m working on the second book in the series and it also features a diverse heroine. I’m loving it so far!

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

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Excerpt from One Night with an Earl:

London, May 1817

Miss Ana Gardner was determined to lose her virginity that night.

And yet, as she stood outside one of the salons of the elite brothel, her courage threatened to fail her. Even though no one could possibly recognize her in the shockingly daring red gown and half mask, a tight knot formed in her stomach.

Could she do this? Could she spend a night with a strange man?

A rustle of silk reminded her she was not alone. “A woman must be in charge of her own pleasure.”

“How?” Ana’s heart beat wildly as she glanced at the woman beside her.

Madame Crescent owned the infamous establishment known as the Silver Chalice. A woman in her early fifties, she had a slender waist, fair hair, pale blue eyes, and few wrinkles. If Ana had met the madame at a ball or garden party, she would assume she was a titled lady or a rich merchant’s wife. She was still surprised the proprietress of sin had agreed to her proposition.

One night. One man of her choosing. No names.

“Confidence is as alluring as beauty. It will allow you to be in control,” Madame said.

Panic rioted within Ana. Confidence? Any second now, she’d turn and sprint for the front door.
She took a deep breath. She needed to distract herself. Taking a deep breath, she studied her surroundings.

The elegant salon could have been in any wealthy nobleman’s home. With mahogany furnishings, a pale gold-and-blue striped sofa, gilt mirrors, and blue velvet curtains, it was fashionably decorated.

But one had only to look closely to note differences.

A small marble statue on a dainty end table portrayed an amorous couple entwined in each other’s arms.

A painting above the fireplace exhibited a blonde woman reclining on a settee without a stitch of clothing except for her white silk stockings tied with red bows at her plump thighs. Her legs were sprawled across the arm of the settee, one hand covering a breast while the other shockingly rested between her legs. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with passion.

Ana wanted to experience that passion.

At twenty-nine years of age, she was not entirely ignorant of what occurred between the sexes. She’d overheard the servants’ gossip about their own amorous encounters at Malvern Manor, where Ana was employed as a chaperone to Lord and Lady Malvern’s daughter. Her position was little more than a step up from one of the servants.

A position that offered little hope of ever having an amorous encounter of her own.

Her circumstances had led her to the Silver Chalice, the most elite brothel in London. The owner, Madame Crescent—which Ana doubted was her true name—had agreed to meet her when she’d knocked on her door. Madame sat across from her in a private sitting room and, without a hint of judgment in her eyes, listened to Ana’s request: she desired to spend a night with a lover before her looming thirtieth birthday.

Life was passing her by, and she wanted something for herself. She was proud that she’d taken this much control over her situation, but now that she was observing the men in the room, the composure she’d spent years perfecting was but a fragile shell around her.

According to the madame, a nobleman, Lord Elton, was to marry in a week and had brought along his friends to celebrate. What might Elton’s fiancée think if she were to see her betrothed now?

No one yet had noticed her or the madame, and she had a chance to observe the room’s occupants. Half a dozen men were drinking, laughing, and enjoying the charms of the demimondes who strolled about the room. Each of the women was beautiful—one blonde, one brunette, and one red haired.

The blonde trailed her fingertips across the shoulders of a man’s jacket and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. From his wide grin, he appeared quite receptive to whatever she’d suggested.

The brunette bent low as she served a gentleman a tumbler of whisky, the tops of her rouged nipples revealed to his hungry gaze. The red-haired courtesan sat on a man’s lap and wrapped an arm around his neck as he slipped a finger inside her bodice to fondle a breast. Her eyes slid half closed, and she sighed as if enjoying each stroke.

Oh my God.

“As I told you when you first came to me, a clever woman holds much power,” Madame said.

Power. It was something Ana had never had in life. If anything, she’d struggled simply to survive. Her downward spiral had begun after her mother’s death. Her grief-stricken father, a baron, had gambled away the family home to an unscrupulous peer, the tuition needed for her younger brother’s schooling, and her own dowry. The fickle men of the beau mode had quickly turned their attention elsewhere once they learned her father had gambled most everything away.
Then her father committed the ultimate betrayal by taking his own life, leaving Ana to pick up the pieces. The scandal had ruined the family name. Any lingering hopes Ana had of marriage and a future were lost.

In the ten years since, she’d changed her name, her identity, her very essence to obtain employment and survive. No longer Miss Anahit Woodbridge, daughter of an English baron and a wealthy Middle Eastern woman—she was now Ana Gardner, a companion to society’s daughters.

Her employment as a chaperone was not exciting, but it was an honest living. It also allowed her to provide additional funds for her younger brother, Adam. She’d sold her mother’s jewels to pay for his boarding school, but she regularly sent the school all additional income she could spare. Adam was only fifteen years old and still needed clothes, shoes, books, and everything else growing boys required.

“As promised, your identity will be kept secret,” Madame Crescent said.

Ana reached up to touch the half mask. Madame had given her the scarlet dress and mask and had advised her, in a detailed and crude manner, how the girls that worked here prevented unwanted pregnancies.

As for the other women in the room, Ana was aware of all her differences. She had grown to look more like her Middle Eastern mother than her English father. Her thick, oftentimes unruly hair was vastly different from the fine hair of many English ladies. Their chignons and buns were shiny and smooth while her dark curls battled her efforts to tame them. The frequent rain and humidity in London caused stray wisps of curls to spring free of even her tightest buns. She was also conscious of the way her skin easily bronzed beneath the summer sun, but she’d grown proud of her heritage. Her mother’s voice was never far away.

You are special, Anahit. You come from a long lineage leading back to Arabian sheiks and Armenian kings, both existing well before the reign of any English monarch.

“Do you see anyone you’d like to do the honor?” Madame Crescent asked.

The honor. She meant take her virginity. A woman of Ana’s age was viewed as a spinster.

Correction. By society’s standards, she was considered an old, moldy book on the lowest shelf. Her life as a chaperone was dull and duty-bound. She liked her young charge, but the girl’s parents, particularly her mother, Lady Malvern, were insufferable.

Anna studied the men in the room. Which one? Definitely not the ruddy-faced, intoxicated groom. She had already decided to dislike him. The others were a rowdy bunch enjoying the women’s charms.

The Earl of Moore. The Viscount Sutherland. The Marquess of Elton. She recognized them from when she’d chaperoned her young charge to her first balls and routs around Town. From where she stood, she could hear them clearly.

“I’m eager to head upstairs. Madame Crescent said there’s a chit with breasts the size of large melons in the Green room,” Moore said.

“Keep your cock in your pants and have another drink with us, Moore.” Sutherland reached for a nearby decanter and poured amber-colored alcohol into both of their glasses. Some missed and splashed on the cuff of his ruffled shirt. He didn’t seem to notice.

Elton grasped the blonde around the waist and tugged her close. “I agree with Moore that we should head upstairs.” He squeezed her tight, and she giggled. “This won’t take long, Sutherland.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Sutherland said, then threw back his head and laughed.

Elton’s eyes narrowed. “Speak for yourself. From what I heard, you didn’t perform last time.”
More raucous laugher. Had she not heard them speak with her own ears, Ana never would have believed these gentlemen could behave in such a fashion. She cringed just thinking of any of them with her fresh-faced charge.

Or herself.

“I had no idea,” Ana whispered.

“Ah, you are shocked by their talk. Men do not behave in the same fashion with ladies as they do with their friends. Still, there must be someone,” Madame Crescent said.

And then Ana saw another, sitting in the back of the room. She hadn’t seen him at first. Dark-haired and striking, he had a sculpted mouth and tanned face. Even in this group of noble-born men, his presence was compelling. Each of the women had eyed him, and some of the men had made an effort to speak to him. He wasn’t the most handsome man in the room; that distinction fell to Elton. But it wasn’t entirely his looks that caught her attention. Rather, an air of isolation surrounded him, and he gave the impression that he was unaware of any stir he made, nor did he care what others thought of him. She didn’t recognize him from her duties as she did the others. He kept himself separate from the rest but still within hearing distance, as if he was there but did not want to be.

Aloof, alert, and to her—intriguing.

As Ana watched, he unwound himself from the couch, strode to the sideboard, and poured himself another drink. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and lean. He moved like an athlete, and his steps were too sure to be intoxicated like his friends. A divot in his chin caught her attention. From where she stood, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. He had an innately captivating presence.

The red-haired courtesan wasted no time sidling up to him with a sensual smile. His lips tugged in a grin, but he shook his head. She pouted, then left to entwine her arm with one of the others.

Him.

“I see you’ve selected. A wise choice for a lady’s first,” Madame Crescent said.

“Who is he?” She had not heard any of the others address him by name.

“Names are not important here. Just as you guard your identity with your mask, you should not inquire as to his.”

Of course. She didn’t want to know anyway. One night. One time. That’s all she sought. Then she’d send the rest of her years as a spinster.

***

Oliver Bedford, the Earl of Drake, was not in a good mood. The last establishment he wished to attend tonight was the bordello known as the Silver Chalice. When he woke that morning, he anticipated an undisturbed evening going over the many ledgers of his estates in order to meet with his stewards later that week.

Instead, he had been dragged from his home by a group of dandies whose company he scorned. The men of fashion were his brother’s friends, not his.

Oliver could use a good bout in the boxing ring. He’d learned the best way to ease his frustration and grief was in a roped-off ring with gloves, skill, and a worthy opponent. Then he could return to Drake House and focus on his duties.

Instead, he had to take his brother’s place. Not only had he inherited his earldom, but somehow, he’d inherited his friends.

Damn you, Henry, for dying.

The news had upended his world. Overnight he’d had to leave the country where he’d been spending extended time meeting with stewards at each of his family’s estates to return to town.
“Would you prefer a different drink? If not whisky, we have anything else you desire.” The blonde courtesan had approached. She was beautiful, with honey-colored curls, a heart-shaped face, and lush breasts. Her painted lips were curved in a seductive smile, and he knew she offered much more than simply fine spirits.

How had she managed to extricate herself from Moore’s clutches?

He politely declined her offer of liquor and more. Oliver wasn’t interested in what she offered. He was only here to celebrate the Marquess of Elton’s last night of freedom before he was shackled in matrimony to the daughter of a duke. Elton had been Henry’s best friend, and Oliver now would take his brother’s place at the wedding, as well as all the celebrations—which was why he was at the Silver Chalice.

In Oliver’s opinion, it was another excuse to drink to excess and indulge in self-satiation. Nor would Elton change his ways when vows were exchanged. More likely, he’d bed his virgin wife, then join with his cavorting friends the same night.

Oliver’s father had been no different. His brother, Henry, had taken after his sire.

And they both were dead.

Oliver did his best not only to avoid his brother’s friends, but their haunts—the clubs, gaming hells, theaters, private parties which lasted until dawn, and bordellos with an endless stream of smooth-speaking courtesans.

He didn’t hold it against his brother’s friends. They could have their fun tonight. He just wanted nothing to do with the Silver Chalice.

But if he couldn’t avoid tonight, he at least could drink himself into a stupor, then stumble to his home and forget the evening.

A flash of red in the doorway caught his eye. A woman in a red silk dress with a half mask entered the salon. He nearly dropped the fine whisky.

She was quite simply stunning. Dark curls were artfully piled upon her head, and a fat lock curled around her chin to frame a stunningly lovely face. Her complexion was dusky, a shade darker than that of most English ladies. The tight dress was designed to display her curves to perfection. A pearl clasp between her breasts drew a man’s eye to the abundance of creamy skin rounded enticingly above her bodice. A slit in the skirt revealed one shapely, silk-clad leg as she walked.

She had the type of mouth that made a man think of carnal thoughts and a desire to suck those plump, pink lips. She was tall for a woman and would just reach his chin and fit nicely against him. Something about her was different from the other women in the room, delectably different. She appeared hesitant, yet confident, a fascinating contradiction of virginal innocence wrapped in a temptress’s body.

His reaction was swift. The thudding of his heart drowned out the coarse conversation in the room. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

Across the room, their eyes met and held, and his cock took notice.

“Good evening, my lords.” Her graceful curtsy revealed the tops of her breasts.

Her voice was not overly honey-sweet and false like the other women, but smooth and smoky, like fine mulled wine. It made him want to hear that voice low and husky as he unbuttoned the red silk to expose more of her skin. She’d be warm, welcoming, and bewitching, just what he needed to forget his burdens.

God, what was he thinking? He didn’t need a distraction, no matter how lovely.

Then she took a step forward in his direction, then another. All rational thought fled.

Hell, yes.

Others noticed her, too.

“What do we have here?” the Viscount Sutherland asked.

The Earl of Moore sneered. “Sod off. I saw her first.”

Of the group, Oliver liked Moore the least. Selfish and crude, he was often the group’s ringleader.

“You have the blonde,” Sutherland protested.

“Why fight? There’s plenty to go around,” the Marquess of Elton said. Well into his cups, with one of the women sprawled across his lap, his bride was clearly not on his mind.

All the while, the lady in red glided toward the back of the room, toward him. Oliver willed it with all his might. Maybe it was the whisky, but he was agreeable, no matter what she’d offered. God, what was wrong with him?

Moore stumbled to his feet, seeming not to care that his chair crashed to the floor. Alcohol wafted from his pores. Oliver thought Moore intended to challenge his friends, but instead, he grasped the woman’s arm as she moved past him.

“Just what I’ve been waiting for. We’re going to have a grand time together,” Moore said.

She was closer now. Behind the mask, the woman’s eyes widened, and the hazel color fascinated Oliver. She didn’t want Moore. It was clear in the stiffening of her spine, the tension in her shoulders, the parting of her lips. Oliver knew even before she attempted to tug her arm free to speak.

“Not this evening, my lord,” she said.

“Why not?”

Like a dog with a tasty bone, Moore was as relentless as he was intoxicated. His fingers tightened on the woman’s arm, enough to cause a slight gasp of pain from her, and that was all it took for Oliver to intervene. He would never force a woman, and he’d be damned if he would allow another to do so.

He stood and strode to Moore. “She’s mine for the evening.”

Moore glowered. “All the demimondes are free for the taking at the Silver Chalice. Go back to your corner, my lord.”

Oliver’s fist clenched at his side, and he wanted nothing more than to break Moore’s bulbous nose. Challenge the brute in a ring.

He could do none of those things here, but he refused to let her go to the pompous pig. He tried another way, one in which a bull-headed man like Moore would consider. “She was sent to me by Madame Crescent herself. Why do you think I’ve been waiting?”

“He’s right, my lord,” she spoke up.

Moore ignored her and focused on Oliver. “Oh? I didn’t know you frequented this place or any place where a man could have fun.”

Oliver narrowed his gaze. “Don’t be an idiot. If you want to anger the Madame, then by all means do so, but you’d have to find another bawdy house in the future, and we all know the Silver Chalice offers the best.”

Oliver reached for the lady, and this time, Moore released his grasp. Oliver experienced a searing satisfaction as she unhesitatingly slipped her hand in his. Her perfume, a delicate lavender, wafted to him, and his eyes took in the flawless curve of her cheek.

“Come with me.” He led her straight to the door.

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Ana Gardner is determined to lose her virginity before her thirtieth birthday. She’s no stranger to fake identities, having posed as a chaperone since the scandal that destroyed her titled family. So she dons a mask, changes into a low-cut red gown, and attends the city’s most elite brothel, the Silver Chalice.

Oliver Bedford, the imposing Earl of Drake, is only at the Silver Chalice to appease his debauched friends—until he spots Lady Scarlet. She’s refreshing…and a complete mystery. Certain she’s a lady in disguise, Oliver is determined to learn her identity, but she eludes him at every turn.

The night with Oliver was unforgettable. But when he arrives at her employer’s home, she’s horrified to discover her lover is the Earl of Drake, the son of the man responsible for her father’s death and subsequent family ruin. And that he’s there to court her young charge.

Oliver never had any interest in the debutante, but he is drawn to her chaperone—a woman he soon realizes is his Lady Scarlet. Now that he’s found her, she claims she wants nothing to do with him, even though her kisses say otherwise. Fortunately, Oliver is not one to give up when he finds something he wants…and he wants Ana. In his bed, and in his life. Forever. But first, he must persuade her to trust him—and to believe that one wild, passionate night can turn into forever.
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Meet the Author:

Best-selling author Tina Gabrielle is an attorney and mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. She often picked up a romance and let her fantasies of knights in shining armor and lords and ladies carry her away. She is the author of adventurous Regency historical romances for Entangled Publishing and Kensington Books. Tina also writes best-selling cozy mysteries as Tina Kashian for Kensington Books.

Publisher’s Weekly calls her Regency Barrister’s series, “Well-matched lovers…witty comradely repartee.” Tina’s books have been Barnes & Noble top picks, and her first book, Lady Of Scandal, was nominated as best first historical by Romantic Times Book Reviews. Tina lives in New Jersey and is married to her own hero and is blessed with two daughters. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website to learn about upcoming releases, join her newsletter, and enter free monthly contests at www.tinagabrielle.com
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