Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Book spotlight & Giveaway
Welcome! Today I have with me author Katherine Grey, who's giving away a FREE copy of her book, The Muse.
Noted poet Blaine Hobson counts the Prince Regent among his patrons. But ever since the socialite he wished to marry took her life, he has been unable to compose a single line of poetry. With a sonnet commissioned by the Regent due in a few weeks, Blaine spends his time alternating between trying to write...and wishing he had the courage to join his beloved in the grave.
Raised in an orphanage with her sister, seamstress Emma Tompkins lives with the guilt of her sibling’s death. Accidently finding a suicide note penned by Blaine, she resolves to keep him alive at all costs. Vigilant, she returns each day, pushing her way into his home--and losing her heart.
Can Blaine forget his beloved and return the affections of the seamstress? Or once finished with his work, will he cast Emma out of his life forever?
“You’re alive.” The words burst forth with such a sense of relief, it was all Emma Tompkins could do not to reach out and touch the man in front of her just to be certain.
He scowled and stepped back.
“I’m so glad I’m not too late.”
“What are you talking about?” He glanced up and down her person and seemed to find her wanting, but Emma didn’t care in the slightest.
“Who the hell are you?”
Ordinarily, she would have been beyond insulted, but to know she wasn’t too late, not this time, she ignored his surly disposition. “Emma. Emma Tompkins.” She dropped into a quick curtsey, not certain of the proper protocol. Her social circle included servants, shopkeepers, and the like, not well-known poets favored by the Prince Regent.
She sidled by him into the foyer, afraid he would shut the door in her face. Now that she was here, she couldn’t let that happen. “I found the letter. I found your letter. I was afraid I was too late.”
“What letter?” he asked, his tone dripping with impatience.
“Oh!” She thrust the wrinkled piece of parchment hand toward him.
He took the missive, though he was careful not to touch her ungloved hand. Was it because he was being a gentleman or because he worried about a lack of hygiene?
For the first time since her arrival, she realized she must look like a bedlamite. She was without a bonnet and gloves, and her cloak was fraying at the sleeves and hem, certainly not one of her best. On her feet, were the oldest, but most comfortable, pair of shoes she owned. She curled her toes so they disappeared under the edge of her gown as embarrassment heated her cheeks.