Spotlight & Giveaway: Taken By the Rake by Shana Galen

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Shana Galen to HJ!

Hi Shana and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Taken By the Rake!

 
Hi and thank you for hosting me!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Most people know the story of the Scarlet Pimpernel. He was supposedly an Englishman who smuggled innocent people out of France during the French Revolution. He was aided by his League, made up of other noble gentlemen. I thought it would be fun to imagine a few women as League members whose stories were forgotten. This book is about Honoria Blake, an Englishwoman with a talent for forgery, working with the League in Paris during the Reign of Terror. She’s days from returning to England and safety, when a bloody man appears at the door to the safe house. He’s a former marquis who’s just escaped from prison, and he wants the League’s help rescuing the children of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

Her color was high and her breathing fast. “You said you would not allow me to fall.”
He couldn’t stop a grin. “If I may, an amendment—I will always catch you should you fall.”
“I knew I shouldn’t trust you.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

One of the most popular conspiracy theories of the nineteenth century was that Louis XVI’s illegitimate daughter traded places with the kings’ daughter from Marie Antoinette so the princess could escape from prison. The two were said to look very much alike. There’s a great book by Susan Nagel, called Marie Therese, Child of Terror, that examines that story and the life of the princess. It gave me so many fabulous ideas for this book.

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

Laurent, the hero, is pretty much your typical spoiled nobleman. What attracts him to Honoria is that she doesn’t fawn over him or flirt with him. He’s not used to a woman who doesn’t fall at his feet. Honoria doesn’t like Laurent at first, but what changes her feelings is his unwavering loyalty to the royal children. He promised he would care for them, and he is willing to do anything to keep that promise.

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would you use for the audition of the main characters and why?

Honoria struggled to take a deep breath as she and the daft marquis were thrown into darkness. The corridor opened up inside, and she was able to stand. He pushed her forward, but she took only a few steps.
“I cannot see anything. I don’t know where we are going,” she said, trying to stall him.
“We are following the corridor to the end. Keep walking.”
Now that he didn’t hold the knife to her throat, her fear had turned to anger. Who exactly did he think he was to try and abduct her? She’d come to help him—well, not him but those like him—and this was how he repaid her?
She turned on him and knocked her head on his chin. She hadn’t realized he was so close behind her. “I am not walking any farther. You can go wherever you like, but it won’t be with me.”
Suddenly his hands were on her arms, and he’d shoved her against the wall of the corridor. “I do not have time to argue with you, mademoiselle. Your friends are undoubtedly planning their counterattack even now. Keep walking.”
“Or?”
“Or we do things the hard way.”
“I hope they guillotine you,” she hissed when he pushed her forward again.
“I am certain you will get your wish.”
“I hope it takes more than one chop.”
“Unlikely as my neck is not excessively thick,” Montagne replied. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
She staggered forward, hands outstretched in the darkness. What had ever come into her to imagine kissing him last night? She’d rather kiss a toad than the horrid Marquis de Montagne.
She kept walking, and the floor seemed to slope downward gradually. Above them she could hear scuffling sounds at times. Were they under the Rue du Jour? Were those passersby on the streets or men and women moving about in their homes and shops?
Finally, after it seemed they had walked for hours, and she was ready to kick Montagne if he dared to prod her even one more time, the floor angled upward, and she had to lift her skirts to avoid treading on them. She wore a simple muslin dress, no cap as she’d been inside, and no tricolor cockade either. When they emerged, she would be in danger of being questioned as lacking patriotic fervor. Moreover, the Convention’s new decree that all women must wear the tricolor cockade made her lack of the blue, white, and red ribbons all the more egregious.
She tripped over a step and would have fallen if Montagne had not caught her arm. “Are you hurt?”
“What do you care?” she snapped and shook his hand off. She was cold in this underground corridor in October, but his hand still felt warm.
“Watch your step,” he advised.
She lifted her skirts higher and kept her other hand on the wall beside the steps. Finally, she reached the last and put her palm on a wooden door before her.
“Another door,” she said, turning her head so he could hear her whispered words.
“Do you hear anything on the other side?”
She stood quietly for a few moments, but she heard nothing. “Silence.”
“Open it.”
“You open it.”
He blew out an impatient puff of air. “Are you always this difficult?”
“Only when I’ve been abducted.”

Readers should read this book….

because it’s exciting, romantic, funny, and something different!

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I’m currently working on the fifth book for my Survivors series. The Claiming of the Shrew will be out in April. Before that, in March, I have another of the Scarlet Chronicles stories. To Tempt a Rebel features another woman in the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: A digital copy of To Ruin a Gentleman, the “true” story of how the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel began.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: All of the members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel have secret talents. If you had one, what would it be?

 
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Excerpt from Taken By the Rake:

“Where are we going?” the Englishwoman hissed in French. She’d been silent until then, her head down and her arm imprisoned by his hand. But he’d seen her gaze darting all around and guessed she had not seen much of the city until now.
“I have rooms on the Boulevard du Temple.”
“And you don’t think it’s dangerous to go to your residence? What if the guards discover you’ve escaped La Force? That’s the first place they will look. And what of your neighbors? They will report you if they spot you.”
He had already considered all of those risks. “That is why we are not making for the Champs Élysées. My apartment on the Bourlevard du Temple is small, a place to sleep if I was too tired”—or too inebriated—“to go home after attending the theater.”
“The National Convention would have confiscated all your property when you were arrested,” she argued. “Who knows who might be living in your rooms now. It might be Danton or Robespierre.”
He laughed. “Robespierre is far too frugal for my chambers. Besides, it’s doubtful the Convention knows of this residence. I paid the rent under a different name.”
For the first time since they’d left the crypt, she gave him a direct look. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “A man likes his privacy.”
Her lip curled as she obviously assumed he meant he’d kept the apartment as a place to take women. He had brought women there on occasion, but for the most part, it had been, as he’d said, a place to sleep after a late night at the theater. After the revolution had begun, Laurent had seen the apartment as a place to hide should the royalists not win the day. He’d been careful to erase or transfer any papers or deeds that linked the property to him or his family.
He would be safe on the Boulevard du Temple, if he could but reach it. And it furthered his plan. He could gather some coin and the privacy would afford his little forger time to make the papers he required. He led the Englishwoman onto another street, this one rather narrow, and immediately realized his mistake. A half dozen soldiers of the National Guard had gathered a few hundred feet before them. Laurent could not pass without being noticed. Even if the men did not recognize him as the former Marquis de Montagne, the absence of a tricolor cockade or striped trousers would make him stand out. Nor could he turn the Englishwoman around and go back the way they’d come. The Guard would be on them like a wolf on a rabbit. He had no choice but to pass them and take his chances.
He began to move forward, but the Englishwoman resisted. “We cannot go that way,” she said, voice low and eyes anywhere but on the guardsmen. “They will stop us and question us.”
“We have no other choice. If we turn around, we look suspicious.”
“We already look suspicious!” she whispered. “We aren’t wearing cockades and your hand is bleeding to say nothing of the wound on your temple.”
He’d forgotten about the injuries, but now he looked at the smear of blood on his hand and almost smiled. He released the arm he held with his good hand and moved to the other side of her, wrapping his injured arm around her and resting his bloody hand on her side, just below her breast.
She jumped. “What are you—”
“Shh. Lean on me and let me be the one to answer questions.”
He propelled her forward. “This is it. I cannot believe this is the end,” she muttered.
“Halt in the name of the Republic!” one of the guards said, stepping in their path. The others fanned out, blocking any hope of moving past the men unmolested.
Laurent halted. “Citizens,” he said. “I beg you to allow us to pass. My wife has been injured.” He lifted his hand slightly so the guards might see the bright blood stain on her white dress.
But if Laurent had thought the guards would immediately part and allow them through, he was wrong. The men barely glanced at the injury.
“Are you a patriot, citoyen?” the man who seemed to be the leader asked, his eyes darting from the Englishwoman to Laurent. He was older than a good number of the guardsmen Laurent had encountered. So many of those had been little more than boys in baggy uniforms. This one was at least old enough to shave.
“Of course.”
“Where are your tricolor cockades?”
As though anyone could not wear a tricolor cockade, but Laurent bit his tongue. These were simple men, and while verbally sparring with them might satisfy his vanity, it would also doom him.
Which begged the question—where were their tricolor cockades?
Laurent was unused to having to answer to anyone and lies of this sort did not come easily to him. But he knew he’d paused too long when the Englishwoman elbowed him and darted a glance at him from under her lashes.
“Please,” Laurent said, trying to sound desperate. He’d never begged before, but he’d had men grovel at his feet often enough to know how it sounded. “My wife is injured. I must take her to a surgeon.”
The guardsman’s eyes lowered to the bloody stain on her dress again. “What happened?”
More questions. Laurent had never professed to be the most quick-witted. He’d always been rich and handsome and charming. He hadn’t needed his wits. Now he would pay the price for his lack—as would the Englishwoman and Marie-Thérèse.
He clenched the fist at his side, as though that might force his mind into action. And then the Englishwoman looked up at him, those strangely beautiful eyes met his, and he spoke without even thinking.
“Citoyens, we were attacked by enemies of the revolution!”
And wonder of wonders, the guardsmen looked alarmed. Of course, the Englishwoman looked alarmed as well, but hopefully the men were not looking at her shocked face.
“They came upon us, attacking us from behind, as we made our way back from the Place de la Révolution. We had been to see the”—he almost said executions but changed his mind at the last moment—“sacrifices to liberty. These men were crying long live the queen! When we challenged them, they attacked, injuring my wife, and…”
Laurent knew he was in danger of going too far, but what the hell? His life had been filled with theater. He’d see this show to the end.
“And they stole our cockades.”
The Englishwoman closed her eyes, clearly indicating she felt this was one of her last moments on Earth. Fortunately, the action served to make her look weaker.
“They attacked you in the open?” the leader of the guards asked.
“Yes, citizen. On the Rue Montmarte. If you hurry, you might catch them.”
The guardsman didn’t scamper off, as Laurent had hoped. Instead, he looked at the Englishwoman and then Laurent again, his eyes narrowed. Perhaps he wasn’t as simple as Laurent had assumed.
This was the end then. He’d been a fool to believe he could save the princess. He could not even make it halfway across the city. And now he’d doomed not only himself—no great loss as he’d already been doomed—but the Englishwoman as well.
He gave her an apologetic look, but she wasn’t looking at him. She’d raised her face and now stared straight at the revolutionaries. Laurent followed her gaze, noting some of the men were ogling her with mouths hanging open. Laurent had done much the same when he’d first seen her, and he was a man accustomed to female beauty.
“Please,” the woman said in flawless French. “Save us from those monsters. I will personally write to Robespierre of your heroism and sacrifice for the revolution.”
As if Robespierre was a magic word, the men seemed to spring into action. The leader hefted his musket and looked to his men. “Which way did they run? We will catch these cowards, these enemies of liberty.”
“That way!” Laurent pointed to the east as he needed to travel west. “Hurry! They may accost other good citizens and patriots!”
The men started away, and the people in the street behind them hurried to make way. Laurent pushed the Englishwoman ahead, moving as quickly as he dared without causing undue attention. They were out of sight before they reached the Boulevard du Temple, with its tree-lined streets and wide, busy walks. It was far less crowded now as so many of the actors had fled the country and the theaters were severely regulated as to the plays and operas they might perform. Everything had to be approved by the National Convention.
Laurent hurried past the Salon de Cire, where Monsieur Curtius displayed wax figures of men like Marat, Danton, and Lafayette. Or perhaps Lafayette was no longer in favor with the revolutionaries. In which case, some other general would have replaced him. The Salon de Cire was shuttered, either closed for the day or several days while Curtius’s niece, Madame Grosholtz, created another tableau. Laurent had met her briefly at Versailles when she served as tutor to Madame Élisabeth, sister of the late king. But he passed the salon and the laboratory of the Charles brothers beside it. No one could be trusted—not even former tutors to the royal family.
Finally, he reached the front gate to his apartments, but instead of entering that way, he pulled the Englishwoman down a narrow alley and to the dark back entrance used by the few servants he’d employed. The solid wall that comprised the gate was locked with a thick padlock, and Laurent had lost the key months ago. As the wall was too high to climb, he had no choice but to break the lock. “Stand back,” he ordered the Englishwoman. Laurent had taken but one step back when the woman held up a hand.
“Do you want to call attention to us? You think no one will notice a broken lock or hear the noise you make in the effort of breaking it?”
Laurent gave her a long look. “You have another solution?”
He’d expected her to look sheepish and close her mouth. Instead, she reached into her hair and withdrew a hairpin.
“This should work,” she said, bending to observe the lock more closely. “As long as French locks are not so different from those we have in England.”
Laurent stared in stunned silence as she inserted the pin in the padlock and began to wiggle it.
The woman was picking the lock. First, she’d saved them from the guard with the mention of Robespierre, a name that had been nothing sort of magic. Now she was picking the lock to his rooms.
He heard the mechanism inside the lock click even before the padlock fell open. The Englishwoman caught it with one hand. “There.”
“Is there anything you cannot do?” Laurent asked with true appreciation.
“Yes. I cannot stay with you.” And she swung the heavy padlock at his head.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

ometimes beauty…
Honoria Blake knows she must have had a moment of madness when she accepted a summons by the Scarlet Pimpernel to travel to revolutionary Paris and help his League. She’s an expert forger and glad her services can be of use, but the violence of the Reign of Terror has her longing for her quiet, unobtrusive life in London. Then a bloody man staggers to the door of the house where she’s hiding, claiming he was sent by the Pimpernel. Recently escaped from La Force prison, the former Marquis de Montagne is sinfully handsome and charming. He’s also desperate enough to kidnap Honoria. So much for her return to the quiet life.

Can be a beast…
Laurent is a consummate rake, but even he is captivated by the beautiful Honoria. Laurent cares almost nothing for his own life, but he was always close to the royal family and the little princess was like a sister to him. He will risk everything to save her from a life of imprisonment and possible execution. His plan is risky and surely doomed, but if he can convince Honoria and the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel to help him, it just might succeed. The only question is how far he’s willing to go and whether he’s willing to risk the life of the only woman he’s ever loved to save a doomed princess.
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Meet the Author:

Shana Galen is a three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time. She’s happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
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