Surprise! I have another new book releasing soon and you can beat the crowds by pre-ordering it now. By ordering now, the book will automatically appear on your ereader when it goes on sale on September 20. Whew! No more setting your alarm clock to be the first in line for my newest book!
Corrected By The Colonel
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Miss Cassandra Sheridan is desperate to get married.
Not because she is deeply in love, but because her family is deeply in debt.
She leaves behind her two younger sisters to care for their ailing father while
she heads out to do the only thing she can to secure the future for herself and
her family—marry a rich man.
She sets her sights on Lord Owen Tyndall,
attractive, rich and gullible. Just when Cassandra is sure a proposal is
imminent, Lord Tyndall's cousin, the annoying and attractive Colonel Blaise
Sinclair, arrives.
The Colonel is not nearly so easily fooled as his
cousin and he is determined to find out the real story behind Miss Cassandra
Sheridan's presence at Hadley Hall. If he must employ over the knee discipline
to ferret out her plans, then so much the better.
Corrected By The Colonel is an erotic Regency romance that
includes explicit sex, rapid fire dialogue, anal play and anal sex all within
the confines of proper Regency society. If such topics offend you, please do
not buy this book.
Special thanks to Anthony Walsh, The Cover Artisan, for his work on this beautiful cover. I love the richness of the colors.
Here's a sample to whet your appetite:
Miss
Cassandra Sheridan perched daintily upon a settee in the drawing room of Hadley
Hall embroidering an elaborate pattern. Whether it would be made into a
tablecloth or wall decoration she cared not. Performing the feminine arts was
expected of her and while a guest at Hadley Hall, she would make no missteps,
regardless of how much she disliked country activities and most ladies’ endeavors
in general.
She stitched on. She loathed needlework.
All those hours spent making tiny sews, the finer the better. As though the
mark of a woman’s worth came from the number of stitches she could cram into an
inch of fabric.
But she had an imperative mission and
if success required a few hours sedately pushing a needle into a piece of cotton
cloth in order to complete her goal, then so be it. What was an afternoon or
two of drudgery compared to a lifetime of grandeur as the mistress of Hadley
Hall?
While feigning interest in the
discussion of the other ladies she took a visual tour of the room. Large
paintings adorned the walls, mostly likenesses of generations of Tyndalls. A
few were reputed to be by famous artists and allegedly worth thousands of
pounds.
One large portrait depicted the
current mistress of Hadley Hall, Lady Blanche Tyndall. In addition to the
rapturously luxurious gown she wore in the portrait, diamonds and sapphires
adorned Lady Tyndall in such abundance Cassandra wondered how the diminutive
woman had been able to bear the weight.
Cassandra envisioned herself sitting
for a portrait bedecked by the same jewels; the weight of history and family
money around her neck and dangling from her ears. A most heady thought, indeed.
But first, she had to secure a
proposal from the son of the widowed Lady Tyndall. It had been her singular
goal since making the acquaintance of Lord Owen Tyndall in London and when she
learned that dear, rich, and available Lord Tyndall had a younger sister,
Cassandra had made it her business to befriend the sweet girl.
Lady Jane Tyndall, a delicate, harmless,
and trusting girl, found the attentions of the lively Miss Cassandra Sheridan
flattering and amusing. Upon the basis of that friendship Cassandra managed to
get herself invited to a house party at Hadley Hall. She had even dropped
sufficient hints to Lady Jane to secure an invitation to travel with Lady Jane,
her mother and brother from London in advance of the other guests, like she was
already a member of the family.
Oh, the idea of it made her heart
flutter.
She dutifully stitched on.
***
Cassandra lay upon the bed of her
guest room in her undergarments ostensibly resting before dinner.
Cassandra did not need rest. She
needed a husband and she needed one now.
Not that she was some lovesick girl
mooning over Owen Tyndall, though his looks were more than tolerable. What he
lacked in charisma he made up for with wealth, social standing, and more
wealth.
Why the rush to wedded bliss?
Cassandra had it on good authority from his
sister, Lady Jane, that another party of guests was expected which would
include Miss Eliza Collins, a reputed favorite of Owen’s. If Cassandra was
going to secure his affections and a marriage proposal, she needed to do it
before the arrival of her adversary.
A potential husband such as Lord
Tyndall was too valuable and important to allow to slip through her fingers and
into the waiting arms of Miss Collins.
The Collins' family wealth rivaled
that of the Tyndalls. Why should all that money be hoarded by two families not
in need when it could be spread out to Cassandra, and more importantly her
younger sisters, who required decent clothing and respectable dowries if they were
going to avoid a life of drudgery as governesses or widows' companions.
She shuddered at the thought. The
only thing between the Sheridan sisters and abject poverty was Cassandra’s
sheer determination to keep them from it.
Cassandra’s father suffered a grave
illness and with his estate entailed upon the male line, once he died,
Cassandra and her sisters would be at the mercy of a distant uncle who had no
interest in his nieces’ futures other than how long it would take them to vacate
the household.
Not only was her beloved father’s
time limited, but so was Cassandra’s. According to Lady Jane, Miss Collins
would arrive the following week. Cassandra had a mere seven days to convince
Lord Tyndall he loved only her.
She dressed carefully for dinner,
strategically planning out her wardrobe choices for the next few days with an
eye to allurement. She examined her gowns and wondered if she might be able to
ask one of the maids to perform a few repairs. Limited funds had forced
Cassandra to give up her personal maid. Fortunately, no one questioned her
story when she explained her maid had been called away on a family emergency.
There was no shortage of staff at Hadley Hall, though how she would explain why
her dresses needed repair when she only just arrived might be a bit tricky. She
could hardly tell them she had been so busy caring for her ill father and
directing the management of his meager estate she had neither the time nor
funds for proper clothing.
Of course, they were servants, so why
did she feel a need to explain anything to them at all?
At dinner time she left her room
intent on securing Owen's affections. A footman at the end of the hall caught
her attention. “You there,” she called out. “I need your assistance.”
The man turned in response to her
directive, but did not move with sufficient speed to suit her. By the time he
arrived at her door, he appeared insolent indeed. “Yes?” he asked, his eyes
scanning her up and down in a most inappropriate way.
She added his immediate termination
to the list of changes she would make as soon as she became Lady Tyndall. For
now, she did not wish to tip her hand too readily, so she simply gave him a
withering glare before turning back into her room and returning with one of her
shoes which she handed to him saying “There is a small hole in the sole of this
shoe. Please see to its repair.”
The man, who she noticed had
penetrating dark eyes and possibly a haughty smirk which she did her best to
ignore, glanced down at the shoe in his hand, appeared to wish to say
something, thought better of it, bowed and said “As you wish, my lady,” then
turned and walked away.
Cassandra watched his retreat and
hated herself for noting the way his jacket hugged the broad expanse of his
shoulders. She gave herself a mental shake. She was on a mission to land a
lord, not ogle the hired help.
She straightened her skirt, gave one
last glance to the mirror, then made her way to the drawing room for pre-dinner
socializing.
It pleased her when the object of her
visit, Lord Owen Tyndall, glanced in her direction as she entered the room. She
would never be so forward as to approach him, but she did make her way to a conversation
area where Lady Jane sat which also happened to be very near Lord Tyndall’s
location. As expected, he joined them and enquired after their well-being and
asked how they had spent the afternoon.
“We had the most enjoyable time
visiting in the drawing room and working on our embroidery,” Lady Jane said,
with as much enthusiasm as a placid girl could. Presumably in hopes of aiding
her friend’s cause, she added, “Miss Sheridan stitches beautifully.”
Lord Tyndall looked suitably
impressed. “The fine handiwork ladies perform always amazes me. How can you
stitch so delicately?”
Cassandra smiled demurely and peeped
up at Lord Tyndall through her lashes. “You flatter me, my lord,” she said in
her most humble voice. ‘Amazes’ was a strong word to use for the act of pushing
a needle through a piece of cloth, but she assumed Lord Tyndall intended to
express the ardor of his feelings for her in all things.
“Miss Eliza Collins is an exemplary
stitcher,” Lord Tyndall said, a faraway look in his eye. Cassandra’s demure
countenance disappeared and she snapped her gaze up to look at him before she realized
the suddenness of her movements.
“I have heard she is quite
accomplished,” Lady Jane said and Cassandra wondered how on earth a woman miles
away and not expected for days, had invaded the drawing room. This was her
night, not some stupid woman with money and extraordinary needle skills.
From behind her, Cassandra heard a
cough which might have been a stifled laugh. She tilted her head and unobtrusively
scanned the room.
The impudent footman stood near the
mantle. Had he overheard their conversation? Had he snickered at her expense?
A footman making fun of her, Miss
Cassandra Sheridan, a woman who would soon be mistress of this household? The
cheek.
She gave him her most imperious stare
from the top of his thick dark hair to the tips of his well shined boots. She
pretended most intensely she had not noticed his piercing eyes or broad chest.
To her satisfaction, the servant
turned and left the room.
Clearly she would make a most
excellent lady of the manor.
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“It is meant to hurt, my sweet. That
is why it is called punishment.” His hand came down on her bum and she wiggled
in an attempt to get away. “Oh no, you will not be getting away from me until I
am good and ready to let you go.” He scissored his leg over hers and held her
in place. 
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