Historical Romance
Available at Amazon
Check out the book trailer HERE
Amidst murder and betrayal, destiny and hearts
collide when scandal forces a viscount and a
gypsy noblewoman to marry in this Regency romance, sprinkled with
suspense, humor, and inspiration.
Half
Romani, half English noblewoman, Evangeline Caruthers is the last woman in
England Ian Hamilton, the Viscount Warrick, could ever love—an immoral wanton
responsible for his brother’s and father’s deaths. She thinks he’s a
foul-tempered blackguard, who after setting out to cause her downfall, finds
himself forced to marry her—snared in the trap of his own making.
When Vangie learns the marriage ceremony
itself may have been a ruse, she flees to her gypsy relatives, declaring
herself divorced from Ian under Romani law. He pursues her to the gypsy
encampment, and when the handsome gypsy king offers to take Ian’s place in
Vangie’s bed, jealousy stirs hot and dangerous.
At
last, under a balmy starlit sky, Ian and Vangie breech the chasm separating
them. Peril
lurks though. Ian’s the last in his line, and his stepmother intends to dispose
of the newlyweds so her daughter can inherit his estate. Only by trusting each
other can they overcome scandal and murderous betrayal.
“A
brilliant tale combining Regency romance with exotic Romani culture.”
Goodreads Book Link - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18300575-the-viscount-s-vow?ac=1
Teaser Excerpt:
Why had Vangie hit him so hard? A welt, red and
raw like a fresh branding, was clearly visible on his angled face. Standing
before him, the intense, provocative glimmer in his eye sent a fresh dash of
color across her cheeks.
“Ian. . .”
No, she would not apologize. He deserved it,
the brute.
Faith, why is he grinning? Was her new husband
dicked in the nob? She frowned at him, inching her way backward. Perhaps he’s
mad. Mayhap it wasn’t bad temperament plaguing the man at all, but lunacy. She
sent a sidelong glance to the open wardrobe.
Where was
her blasted dagger?
Clasping her hands before her, she warily
watched him. A muscle flexed in his jaw. She gasped when he stole closer, his
gait purely predatory. She sucked in another wheezing lungful of air.
It was most difficult to breathe, or think, when
one was being stalked.
Ian crept onward, step-by-step.
For every step he took forward, Vangie retreated
until she was brought up short by the small bench she’d just vacated. She tried
to skirt around it, not daring to take her eyes from him. Her hip grazed the
dressing table, rattling the contents on top. Reaching beside her, her gaze
fixated on him, she grasped wildly. Her hand closed on the handle of the silver
hairbrush.
She sent it sailing at his head. He ducked, then
laughed, a deep resounding echo in his chest. He was enjoying this, the cretin.
She began tossing objects at him as fast as she could grab them.
Crystal perfume bottle. Engraved hand mirror.
Jar of face cream. Jewel encrusted comb. Her wedding wreath. They all went
careening past him.
He dodged each item, stealthy edging nearer. The
floor was littered with broken glass, petals and leaves, globs of cream, and a
puddle of perfume, which bathed the room with its citrusy scent.
In desperation, she tossed the last item, a
filmy lace-edged handkerchief. A feral grin on his lips, he watched it flutter
onto the rug, then raised mocking eyes to her.
The damned cur. He still laughed at her.
She frantically sought something else to throw
at him. Ah, there it was. The jeweled dagger had been beneath the handkerchief
the entire time. She snatched the blade, wielding it before her. He would gloat
no more.
Ian’s gaze dipped to the knife. The lines of
laughter on his face shifted into irritation. “Put down the blade.”
“No.”
“Vangie, give me the knife.”
She shook her head, daring to take a step
forward, the blade tilted at a dangerous angle. The metal glinted in the
candlelight. She knew how to use it. Puri Daj insisted upon it.
He retreated a cautious step, his dark gaze
narrowed and trained on the knife.
“I won’t be called a lóoverni.”
Emboldened, she took another step his direction.
No man, not even her husband, had the right to call her a whore.
His eyes slowly rose to meet hers, his
expression unreadable. “Give it to me.”
His lips thinned, and he extended his hand, palm
upward. “I won’t ask you again.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “Not likely, my
lord.” She angled the dagger in the direction of the adjoining door. “Now get
out.”
About the Author
Multi-published
historical romance author Collette Cameron has a BS in Liberal Studies and a
Master's in Teaching. She only teaches part-time so she has time for her
greatest passion: writing. Collette’s been married for 30 years, has 3 amazing
adult children, and 5 dachshunds. Collette loves a good joke, inspirational
quotes, flowers, the beach, trivia, birds, shabby chic, and Cadbury Chocolate.
You'll always find dogs, birds, quirky—sometimes naughty—humor, and a dash of
inspiration in her novels. Her motto for life? You can’t have too much
chocolate, too many hugs, or too many flowers. She’s thinking about adding
shoes to that list.
Collette would love hearing
from you.
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4 comments:
I like these blog hops since I get introduced to a lot of authors I have yet to read. Your books sound really good.
JWIsley(at)al(dot)com
Thanks so much for hosting me today. I'm trying to stay warm with our unusually frigid weather. Not complaining too much though. I've had two no school days because of it. More time to write!
Fun excerpt!! I love this book! Tweeted and shared on FB.
Love this book, love its cover! Happy touring, Collette.
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