~~The Darkside Codex Books~~

Hello everyone!!!! It's good to be back! Today I'm hosting The Dark Codex Books. Check out the books and have a good time.

The Caelimane Operation 

Southwatch is a steampunk city divided: the rich live in the luxurious airships of the Aerie, while the poor eke out an existence in the pollution-choked streets below. From one extreme to another, idealistic professors, devious aristocrats, mechanicals and fae all struggle for the future of the city they all share -- or just try to survive. The Caelimane Operation by Chris Pavesic is the latest story in The Darkside Codex, a series of stand alone stories which take place in Southwatch. 

Released January 16th, this is one story you won't be able to stop reading.
  
In case you still need some convincing, here's a blurb: 
When the Temples to the Goddess north of Southwatch are burned and followers of Dione are murdered, Hierocrat Catherine, a bard of the Caelimane Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed, but will she succeed when she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead?  

And here is how the story begins: 

Prologue: 

Jackson “We should turn north, sir,” Corporal Ben Jackson urged as the shadows started to lengthen. “If we hurry, we can be inside the capital city borders by nightfall.” He glanced up at the surrounding trees, tall oaks for the most part, with a birch or an ash here and there. To the west, where the sky glowed with the departing sun, the branches and leaves were outlined in yellow light like the converse of the unifying dark lead network of stained glass. To someone like Jackson, more accustomed to patrolling fields swept clean from the Dark Cloud devastation that still surrounded the towering city of Southwatch, the sight of so much living vegetation was unnerving. “Are you afraid of the dark, Corporal?” Lieutenant Reginald Daniels asked with the hint of a smirk. Jackson did not respond directly to the question. He was experienced enough in the Army to know that no good came from answering an inquiry of this sort. Newly appointed officers like Daniels loved testing their men with these types of abstractions, and Jackson did not want to spend the foreseeable future on night patrol outside the borders of the city when they returned to Southwatch from their current mission. “Just concerned about the mounts lasting, sir,” Jackson lied. “We’ve been riding hard since we left the garrison, and it’s been a while since I’ve wound the clockwork.” He patted the side of his horse’s neck almost as an afterthought to lend credence to his reply. The mechanical tossed its head in close approximation of a real horse. It neighed, the gentle sound echoing a bit too loudly back from the trees. Somewhere, an animal crashed off though the underbrush, startled by the noise. “There is no need to be concerned, Corporal. Thalaker’s Mounts are the original all-terrain vehicles.” Daniels smiled at his own humor. He sat a bit straighter in the saddle and brushed a bit of dust from his left sleeve. Although following the same general pattern, the material in Daniels’s uniform was of higher quality than Jackson’s own—a creation from a tailor that serviced the families in the Aerie. It wouldn’t do to have an aristocrat wearing something that was standard issue, after all. Jackson favored his superior’s outfit with a bitter glance. The cloth and tooled leather were probably worth more than his annual salary. “And we’ve barely put the mounts to the test,” Daniels continued. “I’m sure the clockwork will hold until tonight.” “The test, sir?” Jackson asked. He didn’t like the sound of his superior officer’s comment. “Need to Know, Corporal, but I can guarantee you won’t see the inside of St. Louis tonight. We have other duties.” He spurred his horse down the path. “Quickly, now, before the light deserts us completely.” Jackson glared at his superior officer’s back, suppressed anger in his eyes. He didn’t believe the “Need to Know” explanation one bit; the commander of the Southwatch Army unit, Lt. Colonel Randall Fitzgerald, wasn’t the sort to send out men on a mission with so little information, or even normally to send them this far outside the borders of Southwatch. Fitzgerald might be a bit lax when it came to some things, but he was not one to put his soldiers’ lives at risk unnecessarily. And this was beginning to feel dangerous. He suspected Daniels was making some sort of a power play and dragging him along for the ride. This was typical behavior of aristocrats who joined the military, and Daniels came from a family that lived in the Aerie, albeit in one of the lower airships without the best view of the sky. Still, it was a lot higher in the city than a low rank solider like Jackson could ever hope to attain. He doubted if he and his family would ever live above the Dark Cloud, the toxic stew of chemicals, pollution, and dust bisecting the city. But there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor bound him to obey. Ten minutes more of hard riding found them approaching a small, overgrown side road, now no more than ancient double ruts cut into the ground. Daniels swung them onto it, slowing their pace to accommodate the new terrain. The road carried them up and across a rising series of fields like steps. There were many deep breaks of evergreens on the rising slopes at either hand. They finally topped a long ridge where the path split; to the east, the road descended into a dark wood, finding its way among trees that were centuries old. To the west, the fields had been cleared and gradually sloped even higher. A building stood on the apex. The upper reaches still held the sunset and glowed with a delicate cool pink. Daniels dismounted. He checked the position of the sun. “Just enough light left, I think, for a quick reconnaissance. We will continue on by foot from here, Corporal,” he said. “You take point. We are heading for the Temple of Dione at the top of the hill.” The ground was damp and muddy, pulling at their boots when they lifted their feet to take a step. There was no sound except the chirping of small insects in the grass. The old cobblestones from the path were scattered, making footing even more hazardous, and Jackson threaded his way through. He could just make out the outline of a burned wall and spire, all that was left of the Temple. Jackson felt a momentary sadness seeing the Temple in ruins. Like many others in Southwatch, he was a follower of Dione and a member of the Caelimane Temple. He may have been a bit careless of late in attending services, but that was more about his distrust of the clergy rather than his faith in the Goddess. He still believed in Dione; he believed in her light as a shining salvation. To see one of her Temples reduced to this burned state didn’t fit into his concept of divinity. He considered what it must look like inside—the stone altar scorched, the pews overturned, broken, and blackened—and he wondered if anyone had been inside when it burned. Had this happened during the night when the Temple was deserted or during a full service? Had the people been able to evacuate in time, or had they been trapped inside? “Do you know what happened here, sir?” he couldn’t help asking. Daniels paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. “This is what we need to determine, Corporal.” Jackson scanned the area as they approached the ruins. The shadows of the evening were beginning to stretch outward and obscure the small details of the landscape. The ground here was dry and level. The smell of the fire, a mix of charred oak and a sickly sweet odor he couldn’t identify, still lingered in the air. Even their footsteps seemed to fall like stones dropped into water, muffled and dying away in ripples. Then the wind picked up, flattening the grass in the courtyard. A few of the ornamental trees in the yard of the Temple creaked and groaned in chorus, the movement of the leaves and branches making shadows jump and dance across the ground. A thin trail of blackened grass started about ten yards away from the building and led toward it in a straight line. Daniels knelt next to it and scooped up a handful of earth and ashes. He examined them, lifted them to his face to smell, and then sifted the ashes and dirt through his fingers as the wind bore it away in a puff of dust. “Definitely some sort of an accelerant was used here. Probably splashed over the building and then the arsonist used this as a safety zone to start the blaze.” “Were there people inside, sir? When it burned?” Jackson didn’t know why he asked; he didn’t think Daniels would even know, and indeed his commanding officer appeared to be ignoring the question. It was just a desire for comfort, perhaps, so he wouldn’t have to envision the worshipers caught in the flames, crying and shrieking to the Goddess for mercy. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the images, and found he was sweating. You have to stop being so spooked,  Jackson told himself.  It’s only an empty shell of a building. Even if people died in there…you have to go up there and investigate. That’s all. Don’t give Daniels a reason to write you up when you get back. Don’t give him the satisfaction. A huge white owl circled above the crumbling Temple spire, unhurried, powerful, and silent. Daniels dusted off his hand against the leg of his trouser. “Take a look around the perimeter.” They had almost crossed the courtyard when the wind shifted, blowing in from the dark forest. The stench was horrific. Jackson covered his mouth, and Daniels was struggling not to gag. It was the fetid reek of carrion. “Respirator!” Daniels barked, pulling on his own. Jackson fumbled with his protective breathing apparatus, managing to snap it into place after a few frantic seconds. He took a deep breath, grateful for the clear air that flowed into his lungs. A shadow arose from the dark of the wood. It came at them with startling speed, almost seeming to sprint up the hill. As it drew closer, the last gleams of light fell upon its maggoty-white, glistening skin. Black, gelatinous fluids seeped from pustules that covered its face and arms. It bared its teeth and spat specks of ichor with a burbling growl. It was the shambling wreck of a human being. It was one of many. They emerged from the shadow of the forest and charged up the hill en masse, ten…fifteen…twenty… Jackson stopped counting and drew his weapon a scant moment after Daniels barked a command to attack. They fired their pistols into the advancing horde with no effect. “Rapiers!” Daniels yelled, throwing his pistol to the ground and drawing his secondary weapon. He activated the electrical field, and sparks flew. Jackson followed suit. They fought with their backs to each other. Their electro-rapiers flashed in the dim light. Fluids gushed from the undead creatures, the flesh taking on a creamy consistency and turning black where their blades sliced and burned. Pieces of the creatures fell in all directions. Limbs were everywhere, crawling on the ground, unattached fingers squirming. Howling with harsh tones, thrashing in agony, the undead fell at their feet, the bodies still flaying with wild movements. Daniels fell to his knees, shrieking and covered in blood, overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies charging him. Cold, fish-white hands rent his limbs. Some were more decomposed than others, bones visible in places as they staggered forward, mouths gaping. The eyes were as dark as the pavement on the lower streets of Southwatch; there was no human thought or feeling in them. Jackson was panting from the effort, now. His respirator could barely keep up with the increased breaths. He took one hit, then another. He felt the sting of torn flesh as the undead carved away chunks of his body. He cried out in pain. The sharp white teeth, behind the full lips of blood dripping mouths, clamped together like those of wild beasts. A flash of anger filled him that his body would be taken in bits and pieces by these things to feed them—it was not acceptable. That his living flesh was no more than so much meat to be torn and slashed by their ravenous maws spurred him into a frenzy of unthinking attack. He thrust his rapier forward, overbalanced, and fell to the ground screaming as a dozen maggoty-white bodies swarmed over his fallen frame. The men’s cries of agony silenced. Soon, only the wet sounds of flesh being torn and dragged could be heard.  

You can purchase a copy of The Caelimane Operation here.  

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 Blurb:
Charles Woodridge is a man pursuing a vision. His advancements in hydroponics promise both to relieve the hunger plaguing the poorest citizens of Southwatch and to propel his ambitions for career, fortune, and family. But when an act of sabotage destroys his lab and his records are stolen, all his dreams are put in jeopardy.

Against a backdrop of riots, class conflict, and criminal intrigue, Charles must decide who to trust: his long-time mentor, Professor Cyril Wainwright; the methodical police detective, Jack Montgomery; or Mira Trevarias, his brilliant, mysterious botanist, a woman with a connection to Charles he does not fully understand. The choice he makes will have far-reaching consequences for both himself and the city. The wrong choice could destroy them all.

You can purchase a copy of Applied Natural Magic here. 

 Giveaway 

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 Blurb:
Alysse has just been cast in the role of a lifetime―the lead in a famous opera. But when her sister Leonie dies, Alysse believes her sister was murdered, and vows revenge.

Kyria is an Angel of Steel, who works with Alysse to find the killer. They soon realize that Leonie's death was the opening gambit in a plan that reaches from the industrial districts to the palatial airships of the Aerie, and they need to find its source from the clues left behind. 

But what do a dead courtesan, a Fae spy , a hidden cache of jewels, and a cadre of conniving conspirators have in common? Nothing less than a plot to control not only the political power of Southwatch, but that of the Caelimane Temple as well. Alysse and Kyria must find a way to stop them, even in the eye of the storm.
 
  Storm Angel can be purchased here. ,  

Giveaway 

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 And don't forget to check out Chris Pavesic's release party for more opportunities to win!

 Blurb:
An experimental operation by a shady scientist left Mellia immune to most electrical currents, but addicted to high voltage that pushes her to the edge of death. When she isn't chasing a fix in the factories and tunnels of Southwatch, she is an expert at fixing the wiring in broken gas masks.

A job offer from a professor offers what she needs most: money. As she fixes masks, though, she grows curious about his work. Can he really breed plants that will survive beneath the Dark Cloud of the city? The only way to test his theories is to travel into a region of the Cloud so foul that every mask fails. Running an electric current through the filters might be the last chance to keep their masks working, but that means Mellia has to go along with the professor and his students. Playing with electricity inside the abandoned levels of the city may be the last thing her addicted body needs.
 
You can purchase your copy of The Electro-Addictive Moth Flame here. 

Giveaway 

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 Blurb:                                                                  

Hot-shot engineer Arthur Singleton is on the verge of achieving all his dreams when they are snatched away from him. His sympathies for the plight of mistreated workers lead him to speak up in their support, but for doing so he is made a scapegoat by the heads of industry, falsely accused of inciting a riot which they orchestrated to keep the people in their place. With his reputation ruined and his career in tatters, Singleton vanishes into the squalid streets of Southwatch, determined to make a difference where it really counts: in the lives of ordinary men and women, forgotten or ignored by those who live in comfort and luxury above the Dark Cloud.

Years later Singleton emerges from obscurity again as a secret leader in the Workers' Movement, an underground protest organisation dedicated to challenging the status quo--but no change comes easy, especially when it threatens the profits of the wealthy. Looking down on their activities is Jocelyn Duville, heiress to a unique airborne transportation empire, who once considered Singleton more than a colleague and was an unwitting player in his wrongful disgrace. Now a darling of high society, Jocelyn is far from a conventional figure herself, refusing to simply marry and give up her independence. She has big plans for Southwatch, a proposal that will change the face of the city and write her name in the history books in the process. But her goals epitomise everything the Workers' Movement struggles against, and they will not stand by and watch without a fight.

However, these are not the only forces at play. Street gangs, the city government, and the strange, inhuman beings that live in Southwatch's deep shadows all have vested interests in the outcome of the building conflict. Arthur Singleton and Jocelyn Duville will face off across a chasm of class, each wielding very different kinds of power--unaware that they are pitted against each other, and of the terrible consequences their actions will have on the city they both love.


You can purchase a copy of The Glass Sealing here.

~~Musa Mondays--Brita Addams~~

Welcome to For Whom The Books Toll. Today is the first post of a new feature on my blog. The wonderfully talented Brita Addams is my very first guest.

Thanks for being here today Brita!


I’m Brita Addams, writer of historical romance, in various sub-genres. I’m thrilled to be an author on Musa Publishing’s roster. 

To kick off Musa Days at For Whom the Books Toll, I’d like to say I am so excited to share with Julianne’s readers a book series that I have had published by Musa Publishing. 
Musa is a small, but efficient press, run by people who understand that authors are what keeps a press vibrant. Musa presents a diverse, expansive catalog, under several different imprints. They offer well-edited stories written by some of your favorite authors. 
Over the coming months, you’ll meet many of them. I’m honored to be but the first. 

This year, Musa has published my best-selling Sapphire Club series, in its expanded form. I’ve added considerable word count to each of the books as well as additional stories and meatier characters. Since writing the books five years ago, I’ve learned much and I’ve applied all that knowledge to better this series.


Below is an excerpt from the new released third book, Thornhill’s Dilemma. This story is my favorite of the three, and features my favorite character, Phillip Allard, the Duke of Thornhill. Phillip and Alexander Chilton’s story isn’t a simple story of boy meets boy, boy falls in love with boy and they live happier ever after. Now, would I do that to you?

The excerpt is actually the third chapter, the one where Phillip’s life, and consequently Alex’s, changes forever. 
Life isn’t always simple, where we get what we want and keep it. For Phillip, he has struggled with who he is and desires he is only coming to understand. At thirty-five, he is sure he’s traveling a path he wants more than life itself, until the night of Lord and Lady Estbury’s magnificent society ball.    

Thornhill’s Dilemma  London, Autumn, 1817


In a room full of people, Phillip meandered along the periphery of the ballroom, drink in hand and profound loneliness lodged in his bones.
Alex and their unbearable but necessary separation took precedence, even while Phillip engaged in lively discussions with his fellows from Lords.
Over the strains of Dibdin’s “A Soldier’s Adieu” from the gallery above, Lady Waldeley shouted from a short distance. “Your Grace. How lovely to see you.”
Phillip inclined his head while casting his gaze across the floor at the circles of dancers.
“Are you here to find a wife, Your Grace?”
“Merely fulfilling a social obligation, madam.”
The woman’s face blanched. “A younger wife, Your Grace, would fill your nursery.”
Weary of the conversation, Phillip excused himself and proceeded with his amble. He missed Alex beyond reason. After their return from a six-month tour of the continent, business dictated he and Alex spend a great deal of time apart. Alex attended to his beloved estate in Kent, and Phillip endured interminable sessions in the House of Lords, unable to find time to get to Thornhill Hall or to visit Alex at Chilton Manor.
Earlier in the day, and none too soon, Alex had sent word of his return to London. The coded missive promised untold pleasures at eleven at the Sapphire Club. Phillip pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. A quarter past nine.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
Phillip cringed at Lady Plimmswood’s progression across the expanse of gleaming wood. She tugged a poor young woman by the hand. He lounged Thornhill's Dilemma against a Corinthian column on the far side of Lord and Lady Estbury’s marble and crystal ballroom, conjuring insults he’d never use.
“Your Grace, good evening. I wondered where you’d taken yourself.”
The ostrich feathers on her bandeau bobbed as she attempted a lumbering curtsy, a feat hampered considerably by her rather stubby legs. “Of course, you remember my daughter, Hope.”
Phillip pushed off the column and bowed stiffly. “Indeed, I remember. Lady Hope, you are lovely this evening.”
With her auburn hair and large dark brown eyes, Lady Hope Linden possessed an exotic countenance that no doubt turned many a man’s head.
“My Lady Plimmswood, a surprise to see you as this glorious fete.”
The woman tittered behind her fan, his sarcasm lost somewhere between her bouncy side curls and fluttering plume.
“Hope has reserved space for you on her dance card.” She waved a gloved hand. “Oh, Hope, dear, do come over and greet His Grace.”
Phillip winced at the shrill tone of the marchioness’s voice.
Dutifully, Lady Hope Linden joined them, her eyes narrowed in a glare directed toward her mother. With a discernible hesitancy, she sketched him a flawless curtsy.
He bowed as she rose. “I am pleased to see you again, Lady Hope. Will you honor me with a dance?”
“My greatest honor, Your Grace.”
“I have an appointment later this evening, so if I might request our dance sooner rather than later?”
“Of course. I’m free two dances hence, if that suits.”
“Very good. I shall fetch you at the appropriate time.”
Phillip excused himself, much in need of a change of scenery. The cloistered atmosphere of the ballroom produced an overheated miasma of perfumes, beeswax, and the body odors of some of the less than fastidious personages in London society.
He took to the airy terrace, where he breathed in the cool night air and wished he hadn’t contracted the dance. Perhaps Alex awaited his arrival, though the hour early.
The year since their meeting had convinced him that he’d met the man he loved. Their evenings held a comfort and untold pleasure, even if they merely read in each other’s company. Their travel had excited a passion for history in Phillip, and Alex confessed to the same. Phillip held the fond thought of settling in the country with Alex, taking long rides on horseback and retiring from London life.
Were such a thing possible, he’d relinquish the title to his closest relative, a cousin he rarely saw but admired. He’d make an admirable Duke of Thornhill, as would his sons after him.
Anymore, ducal formality existed only on occasions such as the Estbury Ball or his frequent speeches in Lords. When alone, he and Alex spoke like the sailors at the docks, drank too much, spent endless hours in bed, and created interesting sexual scenarios with which to enthrall each other.
The Sapphire Club was a diamond among rocks for them and many others. He and Alex spent no less than three nights a week at the club, or had, before their extended sojourn to the continent. This night marked a resumption of those visits.
As the music waned, Phillip prepared to collect his partner. He sighed as he dragged himself away from the white stone balustrade and back into the brightly lit ballroom. Lady Hope stood awkwardly but ten feet away. No doubt her mother had placed her thusly, lest he decide to renege on the obligation.
“Lady Hope, I believe the next dance is mine.” He bowed and took the lady’s hand.
“Yes, Your Grace, I believe it is.” She curtsied yet again.
The couples positioned themselves for the country-dance. With little opportunity to converse, Phillip performed the rote steps he’d learned as a boy. Feet scraped the floor, dancers breathed heavily, and silks and satins swished loudly enough to drown out the music.
As Lady Hope adeptly executed the figures of the dance, her tentative smile charmed him.
When he again took her in his arms, the scent of gardenias enveloped him. Fresh faced and no more than twenty, the poor girl had fallen victim to her overzealous mother’s ambition.
The music once again waned, and Phillip’s heart buoyed. He’d fulfilled his final obligation, freeing him to leave in good conscience.
“I thank you, Lady Hope. Shall I escort you back to your mother?”
“That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. Mother is in the card room, playing whist with her friends.”
“Well then, I will leave your fine company.” He bowed and strode, with purpose, to the door.
“Your Grace, good to see you.”
Phillip halted his progress as Viscount Harbison, a man impeccably dressed and insufferably self-absorbed, stepped into his path. “Harbison, what brings you out on this fine evening?”
“In search of a bride, as I am sure you are as well.”
“Not in the least.” He dismissed the notion with a blatant flick of his wrist.
“Well, I am getting on, and should I die, there isn’t a decent heir amongst my brothers, you know.”
“Indeed. I’m afraid I am not familiar with your lineage.” Phillip removed his watch, a blatantly rude gesture, in an attempt to shorten the empty conversation.
Harbison raised an eyebrow, almost to his hairline, if he’d had hair.
“Am I keeping you, Your Grace?”
“I do have an appointment, and I am quite late.”
“Indeed.”
“If you will excuse me. With the season just ended, I am confident you will find a young lady anxious to become Lady Harbison.”
“I thank you, Your Grace. Your endorsement gives me hope.”
Harbison bowed and Phillip went in search of his hosts to make his excuses, another formality his honor forbade him to disregard.
“Lovely gathering, Lord Estbury. Though I must depart, I thank you for your invitation.”
The elderly Estbury bowed, an effort that brought on a cough. “Your Grace, as always, you honor us with your presence.” He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. “Perhaps dinner Friday a week?”
“I will check my schedule. Thank you, and please convey my regards to your lovely wife.”
“That I will, yes, thank you. Enjoy your evening.”
Phillip had the butler call for his carriage. With a footman’s help, he donned his cloak and retrieved his walking stick and tall beaver. Well timed, the coachman pulled up in front of the Mayfair mansion as Phillip reached the bottom step.
“St. John’s Wood.” The footman opened the crested door, and Phillip climbed into the dark carriage. Though he preferred the carriage lamps lit, he tossed his annoyance aside and tapped the roof with his walking stick to signal the driver that he’d settled.
The sudden jolt of the carriage induced a squeal from the seat opposite him. He drew back at the smell of gardenias.
“What are you doing here?”
A startled gasp.
Faint wisps of moonlight shone upon a cloaked figure in the corner of the opposite seat. He reached across and pulled down the cape’s hood.
“Lady Hope. My God, child, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I-I wish to speak to you, alone, Your Grace. Try as I might, I thought of no other way.”
He lifted his walking stick to tap on the ceiling, but she grabbed it before it struck. “Please don’t.”
“Does Lady Plimmswood know you are here?” His suspicious nature told him her ambitious mother placed her in the compromising position.
“No, of course not. She thinks I am spending the night with a friend.”
“Where does your friend think you are now?”
“Well, t-there is no friend. I mean, I made up the story.”
Phillip crossed his arms. “I see. Are you in the habit of fabricating stories?”
“No. Please allow me to explain.”
“I advise you to do so quickly.”
“I wish to go with you.”
“With me where? Have you any idea what discovery of your presence in my carriage will do to your reputation?”
“I understand, but I cannot escape Mama and her matchmaking. I have no one to ask questions of a more personal nature, you know, about men and women. Mama speaks of duty and, well, she frightens me. I felt we, you and I, made a connection this evening.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “You spout rubbish, madam. We have no connection, nor do I wish to speak to you about the intimacies of men and women. This is highly inappropriate, young lady.”

“Please listen to me, Your Grace. I wish to slip into the Sapphire Club, but you must help me. I’ve heard very exciting things about what goes on there. My hope is to observe and learn, to better prepare myself for the future. You are going to the club, are you not? I heard you tell the driver to take you to St. John’s Wood.”

A flush of embarrassment suffused him. “What does a properly raised young woman know of the Sapphire Club?”

“People talk. My friends and I dream of one day being members and participating in all the wonderful decadence.”

“Enough! I will not take you to the Sapphire Club, nor will I be a party to your further education.” He again raised his walking stick and she again deterred him.

Lady Hope leaned forward, her hands folded as though in prayer.

“Please, Your Grace. I will go alone, if forced, but I will go.”

“I will see to it you are not admitted. Your refinements are not suited for the goings on at the club.”

“Are they not? For what are they suited? A boring life such as my mother lives, or do you suggest something else?”

“You must abide by your mother’s wishes, and that, my dear, does not include me corrupting you with a visit to the Sapphire Club or allowing you to remain in my carriage another moment.”

“I have not a care for what my mother wants. I intend to live a life filled with adventures. I want to travel, to see things I’ve only read about.”

“You might wish all sorts of things, but I will not, in any way, aid and abet your quest.”

Lady Hope sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know more about sexual affairs than you think I do.”

Phillip laughed hoarsely. “Is that so? Rest assured, you will not learn more with my help. I intend to take you home, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

“I mustn’t go home. I’ve told my mother of my intention to spend the night at the home of a friend.”

“Please, Lady Hope. I am late for an appointment, and you, madam, are in a precarious position.”

“I mean no harm to you, Your Grace. I simply wish an experience the like of which my parents would never allow.”

“You are too young to speak of such things.”

“I am of marriageable age, and as I said, I know more about such matters than you or anyone suspect.”

“I insist you stop this now. What you know or don’t know is none of my business. I am finished with this conversation.” He tapped on the ceiling and the driver opened the hatch. “Take me back to the ball. Don’t pull up to the front door.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will see you safely back to the ball, young lady, and we will never speak of this again. Is that clear?”

“I didn’t mean to anger you. I just thought perhaps—”

“Sit back and be quiet. Your thoughts hold no interest for me.”

Thornhill’s Dilemma will take you on a journey that for me, as the author, was gut-wrenching and rewarding. 

I invite you to dive in, get to know Phillip, Alex, and Hope. There are many surprises and I guarantee you will fall in love with these characters.

Phillip appears only as the Duke of Thornhill in the USA Today Recommended Read, Lucien and Serenity, book one in the series, and Prentice and Desiree, book two. 

I intended the third book to be Haynes’ story, a young man who appears in both the other books, particularly in Lucien and Serenity, where his story effectively plays out, one of the new storylines I added. But, something about the Duke of Thornhill spoke to me and sure enough, he had a story to tell.

I am now writing the fourth book, the story of one of the secondary characters you’ll meet in Thornhill’s Dilemma.

Get Thornhill’s Dilemma at 20% off through November 14th, but don’t forget to pick up the other two books at the Musa Publishing site. They will immerse you in the world that is the Sapphire Club.

Born in a small town in upstate New York, Brita Addams has made her home in the sultry south for many years. In the Frog Capital of the World, Brita shares her home with her real-life hero—her husband, and a fat cat named Stormee. All their children are grown.

Given her love of history, Brita writes both het and gay historical romance. Many of her historicals have appeared on category bestseller lists at various online retailers. 

Musa Publishing has contracted many of Brita’s historical romances, including the rewritten and expanded, best-selling Sapphire Club series.  

Tarnished Gold, the first in her gay romance Tarnished series for Dreamspinner Press, was a winner in the 2013 Rainbow Awards, Historical Romance category. The book also received nominations for Best Historical and Best Book of 2013 from the readers of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group.

 

A bit of trivia—Brita pronounces her name, Bree-ta, and not Brit-a, like the famous water filter. Brita Addams is a mash-up of her real middle name and her husband's middle name, with an additional d and s. 

 Readers can find more information about Brita Addams at any of the following places:

Website/Blog  

Twitter 

Facebook 

Like my Fan page  

Pinterest

Booklikes 

Monthly column at The Novel Approach

And the Rest is History WON Radio/Blog Talk Radio shows

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And now is everyone ready for the giveaway?

Brita is giving one lucky commenter an ecopy of Lucien and Serenity. Leave a comment in the comment section below about if you've read The Sapphire Club series and what you liked about the series. If you haven't read the books, leave a comment about why you'd like to read it. Make sure to include an email address so you can be contacted if you're the winner.  Good luck to all!!

~~Musa Mondays~~

Hello! I have a special announcement to make! Starting in November For Whom The Books Toll will be starting a new feature. Musa Mondays will be every second Monday of the month. Every Musa Monday will feature a different Musa Publishing Author and their books. I'm so looking forward to this new endeavor with Musa Publishing and I hope everyone will  visit my blog and enjoy the monthly posts. I can't wait to get started.

Thank you Musa Publishing for this great opportunity.