New CTR Author Alina K. Field is Celebrating!

A quick shout out to the giveaway winners, Miriam and Colleen! Miriam won the copy of Bella’s Band, and Colleen won the copy of Rosalyn’s Ring. Thank you to everyone who took time out of their busy schedules to stop by and celebrate with me!

AKF

 

Hey, Coffee Timers!

My name is Alina K. Field and I’m a new Coffee Time Romance author. I have a double celebration this month! Soul Mate Publishing released my second Regency romance, Bella’s Band this month, and my July 2013 Regency, Rosalyn’s Ring is a 2014 Book Buyer’s Best finalist. To celebrate, I’m going to give away one Kindle copy of each.

Annabelle Harris, the heroine of Bella’s Band, has all the requirements for an independent woman: she’s strong-willed and intelligent, she’s unencumbered by patriarchal guardians, and she’s, of course, rich.

So when she needs to get information about her missing sister from the lady in charge of a relatively respectable House of Ill Repute, she visits the establishment.

In my first draft of Bella’s Band, Annabelle meets the Madame in the back garden. When I looked at the manuscript the second time, that seemed, well, too weak for this bold lady.

And before I present the excerpt of Annabelle’s visit, here is my question for all of you: for a chance to win a copy of either Bella’s Band or Rosalyn’s Ring, please tell me whether you’d be willing to visit a brothel, and what kind of motivation would make you go there?

For those of you short on time, here’s the blurb for Bella’s Band:

Bullets, blades, and incendiary bombs—Major Steven Beauverde, the latest Earl of Hackwell, belongs in that world, and is determined to get back to it. His brother’s murder has forced Steven out of the army and into the title, but he has no interest in being the Earl, and worse, no idea how to salvage the depleted estate. A rumor that his brother had a son by a woman who may be a) the murderer, and b) his brother’s wife, sets Steven on a mission to find her, the boy, and—Steven ardently hopes—proof of a secret marriage that will set Steven free.

Annabelle Harris is a country heiress and a confirmed spinster resettled in London to find her sister, the mistress to the Earl of Hackwell. While she searches, she fills her home with orphans and street urchins. When the Earl is murdered, Annabelle’s sister thrusts the Earl’s illegitimate child into Annabelle’s care and disappears. Now, with suspicion pointing at her sister, Annabelle has begun a new quest—to find her sibling and clear her name.

When their paths converge, the reluctant Earl and the determined spinster find themselves rethinking their goals, and stepping up to fight back when the real murderer shows up.

And in this excerpt from Bella’s Band, the hero has reached the Madame first and is asking questions about Annabelle’s sister, who is suspected of murdering the hero’s brother:

In the garden of the house on Harley Street, the fog lay in drifts, like grey snow. Annabelle stood for a minute in the shadows between the gate and the twisted bare vines of a rose arbor trying to gauge the state of the house’s inhabitants and guests. It was well past seven, and the guests would be gone with the sunrise, or so Annabelle imagined. She wanted to catch Betty before she went to her bed to sleep.

Though she was at least a decade older, Betty Townsend had been one of Veronica’s few friends. In fact, Annabelle had introduced them. A few weeks after Annabelle’s arrival in London, Betty had brought her Thomas for safekeeping.

Like Veronica, Betty was a gentleman’s daughter. That was all Annabelle knew of her. That, and her kindness, most especially to Veronica, after the Earl’s murder. It was Betty who, again bearing a boy, had carried a tearful Robby to Annabelle’s house, and it was Betty who’d arranged a local shop as a mail drop for Veronica. Despite her firm denials, if anyone knew where Veronica had gone, it would be Betty.

In an upper floor room, a light was snuffed out.

Well, there was nothing for it. Annabelle wrapped her cloak tighter, came out of the shadows, and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she pushed the latch open and went in.

The downstairs kitchen was quiet. Dishes cluttered the long work table and a tray of snifters and cups stood on the drain board, but no one was about. Betty had two maids-of-all-work who were probably emptying chamber pots or changing linens right now. Or so Annabelle imagined. She had no inkling of how the domestic staff was deployed in a house of this type. The rest of the goings-on? Goodness, she’d managed the farm and the livestock in the last years of her father’s life. She knew the basics of breeding, though she herself was a doddering, complete, innocent.

Except for the book. Among her father’s personal effects, she’d found a most shocking picture book squirreled away. The discovery had challenged her understanding of, well, her father certainly, but Veronica’s shame also. The detailed drawings had fanned Annabelle’s curiosity into flutters and awakenings that had stayed with her, even after she’d deposited the book in the bottom of her trunk next to her father’s pistols.

The intimate depictions seemed unthinkable, until she’d arrived in London two years ago. Her sister’s fall from grace could not compare to the tragedy abounding here—ragged children, pox-ridden bodies, and the desperate degradation of the streets. It had sickened her.

Annabelle stiffened her spine and started up the staircase. She needed to find one of the maids to give a message to Betty. Voices above stopped her midway. A man and a woman stood very close at the top of the stairs.

“I’ll be back directly, sir. Won’t you wait here in the dining room? I’ll bring in more brandy.” Betty’s voice. Annabelle took a step back. She had come too early.

A dark voice murmured unintelligibly, and Betty laughed in response.

“A kitchen game?” she asked.

Annabelle’s heart raced. They would fornicate in the kitchen? That act had been illustrated in the book.

Their footsteps moved closer.

Annabelle took another step down.

The man chuckled. “I only want to talk, Betty. You’ve been dodging me since my arrival. I can make it worth your while. Can you not give me a moment?”

“Very well. Speak.”

“Can you not tell me about the last tenant of this house?” The charm of the words was belied by a tone that demanded answers.

Annabelle’s skin rippled and a chill sense of alarm rose in her. Someone else was looking for Veronica.

Betty paused, and Annabelle held her breath.

“Her name was Miss Miller.”

Veronica’s chosen name.

Annabelle’s gut twisted. So, it’s betrayal then, Betty.

“She lived here alone?” He seemed patient now, almost kind.

Annabelle’s heart pumped faster, urging her legs to carry her away. She locked her knees, stilled her aching muscles, and held her breath.

“There was a small child.”

“What was the child’s name?”

“Robert.”

“And the father’s?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Betty.” Coin clinked. “Two men were murdered, Betty.”

Annabelle held her breath again.

“Take these back, sir, and you and I shall part on good terms. Miss Miller was a wisp of a girl. If you are implying that Lord Hackwell was her patron and she killed him, well, it is a foolish idea. There are far more sensible ways for a man and his mistress to part company.”

“Where are Miss Miller and her child?” he asked, his tone stiff and uncompromising.

“They are gone, sir. How should I know the comings and goings of every member of the demimonde?”

“Do not tell me ‘gone’,” he snapped. “Where are they?”

“Gone. And I do not know.”

A door snicked above stairs and another voice murmured.

“Leave us,” the man said.

“It’s all right, Trish.” Betty’s voice held a note of exasperation.

Annabelle gripped the banister. Trish was one of Annabelle’s rescues, a haggard woman from the sorriest flock of the Covent Garden birds. Betty had taken her in as a maid. If Trish came downstairs, Annabelle could get a message up to Betty.

But Trish clomped off, and Annabelle was still alone, undecided about whether to go up or down.

Another latch rattled and a draft of cold air stirred her cloak. Footsteps below made her turn.

“Well, well, my lovely. Betty was holding out on me.” Tall and portly and well in his cups, a middle-aged man swayed on the bottom step. And the fall of his breeches was undone.

The hair on her neck danced a jig. Upstairs was a man looking for Veronica and Robby. Downstairs was this oaf who thought Annabelle was for sale.

“Come to me, my beauty.” A pudgy hand clasped hers.

For a fat man, he was quick.

“You’re disgustingly drunk,” she whispered, “and your fall is undone.”

He looked down. Annabelle wrenched her hand away, ducked under his arm, and took the stairs two at a time. She was almost to the back door when an arm wrapped around her like a vise.

Quick and strong. “Let me go.” She still spoke softly hoping to dodge the greater danger upstairs.

He swept a tray of dishes off the long center table and deposited her in its place. “Rough play, it is.” His voice was gruff, his eyes beady, his lips turned-up in a smile. One hand gripped her shoulder, the other went to his trousers.

“You beast,” she whispered. “I’m not a whore.”

He laughed and yanked back the hood of her cloak. “Of course you aren’t, lovey. You’re a countess or a marchionesse.” He grabbed at her breasts.

She smacked him away. “You swine.” Her booted foot shot out, missing his privates, hitting his tree-trunk thigh.

“Here now,” he thundered but still smiled.

She swung her fist, and it glanced off the edge of his jaw. The jab hurt her more than him. He was probably too drunk to feel any pain. Oh why had she come here?

“It’s a spanking you need.”

The man’s hand went back, and Annabelle ducked.

A loud crash made her look. Her assailant was on the floor.

Betty leaned over him. “Sir Nigel, this will not do. This is not one of my ladies. And what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Needed the privy,” he said.

“You could not use the—”

“Needed to sit awhile.” He got to his knees and rubbed at his chin.

Annabelle noticed the other man and her heart fluttered and flipped. She sucked in a breath that was far too audible. The dark man from yesterday morning, the man on the bay, who’d followed her down the street, who’d rescued Thomas, had just rescued her.

Three pairs of eyes turned her way.

Run, her legs told her again.

She tightened her fists. Nothing for it. Dropping down from the table, she asked, “Have I come at a bad time, Miss Townsend?”

Again, for a chance to win a copy of either Bella’s Band or Rosalyn’s Ring, please tell me whether you’d be willing to visit a brothel, and what kind of motivation would make you go there?

Bella’s Band is available at Amazon and you can find me at:

my website AlinaKField.com

and on Facebook and Twitter