Friday, December 4, 2015

Review of The Duke and Miss Christmas

The Duke and Miss Christmas is a lovely story about the sister of a Duke named Gwen and a Duke named Crispin.  If you have read the other books in the series you know who Crispin is.  He has a Rakehell reputation in London for his exploits when he was younger.  Gwen had a season in London and a Scoundrel broke her heart.  When she meets Crispin for the first time she thinks he is trying to make off with her younger sister and attacks him.  Crispin is helping the young lady onto his horse so he can get her to her home for medical attention when he is attacked from behind by a hoyden with a wicker basket.  Gwen does not want anything to do with this Duke and Crispin has decided he wants a kiss.  Therein follows the courtship with wonderful romance, laughter and lots of love.  This is a Beautiful novella that you read and love, I did!!!

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Review of The Christmas Wager by Delilah Marvelle

Another amazing story by the talented and unique Delilah Marvelle.  A young lady who grew up in a Foundling Hospital all of sudden to now part of her dead mother's very rich family who she never knew she had.
Her first day at her uncle's home she meets an American Millionaire, and they are both intensely attracted to each other, but she is only 16 and her best friend is a gypsy who told her she would marry a duke.  He is determined to have her and is willing to wait until she is older and wants him as much as he needs her.  There are ghosts, a wager, a sexy American and a fiesty English Lady. This story takes place over a period of six years that makes it even more fun to read.  Great dialouge, witting repartee, laugh out loud moments and very erotic love scenes.  Loved this book from beginning to end.  An AWESOME Christmas present for anyone who loves an breathtaking Historical Romance novel.

Review of Christmas Enchantment by Patricia Rice

This is a perfect Chirstmas present for anyone who loves stories with magic,angels and happy endings.
Christmas Angel is the story of a two people who have known tragegy in their lives and are just trying to get through the season as best they can. They discover that even though they have different views on how to help themselves and the people of their small town they find love and a way to save the town.
Christmas Goose is about a widow is barely scraping by with two young girls to raise, but is too proud to ask for help. A member of the local Patron family comes home for the holidays, frustrated, angry and sad.. When he hears that his best friend who died had married and left a widow. He wants to help her but she is too proud to take charity. He sees a way to finally help someone and will do anything to make her accept his help and in the process they fall in love.
Tin Angel was my favorite. A man who has lost all faith in his government and just wants to be left alone. Unfortunately an Angel shows up and wants to help realize how much he has in his life. He names the angel Mary and they have conversations and he begins to understand how much he has in his life and how he can help others. Mix in a dying young lady and an agnel and Christmas could be saved and his soul healed.

Three love stories that will warm your heart and soul.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Virtual Book Tour for Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyt

SHE'S TAKING CHARGEPrim, proper, and thrifty, Eve Dinwoody is all business when it comes to protecting her brother's investment. But when she agrees to control the purse strings of London's premier pleasure garden, Harte's Folly, she finds herself butting heads with an infuriating scoundrel who can't be controlled.

Bawdy and bold, Asa Makepeace doesn't have time for a penny-pinching prude like Eve. As the garden's larger-than-life owner, he's already dealing with self-centered sopranos and temperamental tenors. He's not about to let an aristocratic woman boss him around . . . no matter how enticing she is.

In spite of her lack of theatrical experience-and her fiery clashes with Asa-Eve is determined to turn Harte's Folly into a smashing success. But the harder she tries to manage the stubborn rake, the harder it is to ignore his seductive charm and raw magnetism. There's no denying the smoldering fire between them-and trying to put it out would be the greatest folly of all . . .
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    “What do you see when you look at me?”
   What did she see when she looked at him?
    Eve inhaled, trying and failing to tear her gaze from his.
    Mr. Harte sprawled across her dainty settee like a Viking marauder in a pillaged 
Christian church. His broad shoulders took up more than half the width, his arms lazily 
draped over the back. His scarlet coat was spread open, contrasting with the sedate gray-
blue of the cushions almost shockingly. One long leg was thrust straight before him, the 
other cocked open and resting on a booted heel. The pose made the apex of his thighs 
very . . . obvious . . . and even as she kept her eyes locked on his she could feel heat 
rising in her cheeks.
    What did she see?
    She saw violence and anger, kept under a control that was tenuous at best. She 
saw power and a strength that could hurt her—kill her—if he so chose. She saw the 
innate brutality that was, in larger or smaller part, in all men.
    She saw her most terrible fears.
    But—and this was the truly unprecedented part—she saw more in him. She saw 
temptation—her temptation—alluring and frightening at the same time, his virility so 
strong it was nearly a visible miasma in the space between them.
     She wanted him. Wanted that brash gaze, those long, muscled thighs, that 
mocking, insulting mouth, and the shoulders that went on forever, big and brawny and so
very, very male.
    This was madness—she knew that intellectually. She’d never wanted a man 
before—was in fact afraid of almost all men, let alone one so obviously, blatantly sexual.
    She took a breath, hoping that he couldn’t read all this from her gaze—and 
knowing it was a lost cause already.
    His heavy-lidded green eyes were far, far too perceptive.
    “I see . . .” She paused to lick suddenly dry lips. “I see that your hairline is nearly 
a perfect arc across the expanse of your forehead. That your eyebrows tilt ever so slightly 
up at the ends and that the right has a scar through it. I see that when you are solemn, the 
outer edges of your lips reach just to the midpoint of your eyes, but when you smile, they 
go beyond the corners. I see that your chin and jaw are almost in classical proportion and 
that a small white scar forms a comma on your chin just to the right of center.” She 
finally glanced away from him, breathing heavily, certain that she’d not thrown him off 
the track with her artist’s eye’s impressions. She inhaled again and ended, “I see every 
line of your face, every line’s intersection and how they relate. That is what I see when I 
look at you.” 
    “And is that all you see? Lines?” His voice was deep and amused.
    She chanced a peek.
    He still watched her, his gaze utterly unperturbed by her observations about his 
    No, she’d not fooled him at all.
    She licked her lips again, buying time. “I see,” she said carefully, cautiously, “a 
very self-possessed man.”
    “Self-possessed,” he drawled. “I’m not sure what that means, frankly. It sounds, 
just a bit, like a coward’s answer.”
    Her gaze flew to his, outraged.
    But before she could take him down a peg, he chuckled softly. “Tell me, Miss 
Dinwoody, would you like to know what I see when I look at you?”
    She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t.
    “Yes,” she blurted, and then winced because she knew well enough what men
thought when they looked at her: ordinary, if they were charitable. Plain if they were not.
    She braced herself for mockery, but when she glanced again at him, his gaze was 
hot and hard. Certainly not gentle. Certainly not kind. But he wasn’t dismissing her, 
    He looked at her as if they were equals. As if he really saw her, a woman to his 
    “I see,” he said, his deep voice musing, “a woman afraid, but fighting her fears. A 
woman who carries herself like a queen. A woman who could rule us all, I suspect.”
    She gazed at him, her breath caught in her throat, afraid to exhale and break the 
    A corner of that wicked mouth tilted up. “And I see a woman who has a deep 
curiosity. Who wants to feel but is worried—of herself? Of others?” He shook his head. 
“I’m not sure.” He leaned forward slowly, destroying his pose, and she had to fight 
herself not to scoot her chair away from him. “But I think she has a fire banked within 
her. Maybe it’s only embers now, glowing in the dark, but if tinder were to be put to 
those embers . . .” He grinned slowly. Dangerously. “Oh, what a conflagration that would

About the author:
Elizabeth Hoyt is the New York Times bestselling author of over seventeen lush historical romances including the Maiden Lane series. Publishers Weekly has called her writing "mesmerizing." She also pens deliciously fun contemporary romances under the name Julia Harper. Elizabeth lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with three untrained dogs, a garden in constant need of weeding, and the long-suffering Mr. Hoyt.

The winters in Minnesota have been known to be long and cold and Elizabeth is always thrilled to receive reader mail. You can write to her at: P.O. Box 19495, Minneapolis, MN 55419 or email her at:

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