BORN TO BLUSH

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Born to Blush 

by
Fran Connor 

Genre: Historical Romantic Adventure 

When she finds honest and paid employment far away from the Victorian Workhouse where she grew up, Mary leaves with hope and sadness in her heart. 

Her future looks secure; that is the hope but she must leave behind a childhood friend, the son of a wealthy local family with whom she managed to cross the social divide; that is the sadness. 

Not all employers in 1850s England are bad and young Mary works her way up the servants' ladder to become lady's maid to a kind aristocrat. She grows into an attractive young woman which does not go unnoticed by her employer's lascivious husband. 

When her Ladyship unexpectedly dies, the husband makes unwelcome advances towards Mary. 

Her defiance of his carnal desires sets in motion a series of adventures and catastrophes. 

This thrilling romantic adventure follows the plucky Mary on her journey into the depths of Dickensian England where she encounters a myriad of odd characters some of whom mean her harm while others strive to help her. 

When someone from her past reappears, her joy is tinged with fear. Much has happened to her since last they met. To cross the social divide as adults is far more difficult than in childhood and romance instead of friendship complicates it even further. 

Mary has a secret. Should it be discovered it will have her transported as a felon to Australia. 

If you love your historical romantic fiction to have a gutsy heroine, this is the novel for you. 

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Fran Connor, Author

Fran Connor now lives in SW France with his wife Viv after serving thirty three years in a UK police force retiring with the rank of Chief Inspector. He doesn’t do cop stories. He says he’s seen enough of the real thing. He enjoyed his time in the police during which he met many odd characters some of whom creep into his novels in very different circumstances. 

Without wandering into the political minefield of today’s policing issues, he’s saddened by the current events. 

He’s the author of nine novels and nine novellas published in his name and a host of others that he has ghostwritten. 

Although he doesn’t restrict himself to a particular genre, the two he likes to work on most are Historical Romance with a large dose of Adventure and Contemporary Thrillers. Most but not all of his protagonists are female. Women in his opinion make more interesting characters as they are more complex and often need to think their way out of jeopardy rather than bash their way out. 

He does do ‘steamy’ in some novels but not violence against women. It’s anathema to him after his service. If a woman is in a tight corner she gets out of it before anything serious happens to her. 

Born to Blush falls in the Historical Romance genre. 

When not writing, Fran keeps himself fit by walking Molly, a Griffon Nivernais dog who is the real boss of the house, tending his large garden and keeping his old farmhouse from falling down. Set in the French countryside surrounded by vineyards, orchards and ancient hilltop villages he finds it inspires his stories. 

If you enjoy Born to Blush you may like two of his other Historical Romance novels “Passarinho and the Highlander” and “Honourable Lies”. 

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PASSARINHO AND THE HIGHLANDER

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Passarinho and the Highlander 

Adventures in Love and War 

by
Fran Connor 

Genre: Historical Romantic Adventure

A privileged young woman in 1730s Boston sets out on an adventure to rescue her father from a debtor’s prison in Jamaica. A dashing Scottish soldier offers to help her in return for her help in exposing a traitor.

Shipwreck, spies, murder, war and a rival for the Highlander’s affections combine to thwart her mission.

She finds the darker side of life in the Caribbean is a far cry from her sheltered upbringing. To survive and succeed in her rescue she must adapt and, on the way, she discovers a secret about herself that could have disastrous consequences for her future.

She could see the ship better now as it cut through the surf towards her. Had they seen her? Pain shot through her legs as she lifted herself onto her knees. To stand up, she knew, would capsize her makeshift life raft. She did not care if they were pirates or if they were French, Spanish or British. All she wanted as she knelt looking at the ship was a drink of water to slake her desperate thirst.

Susannah may have grown up in a sheltered environment back in Boston, but she was no foolish or naive girl. A semi-naked woman appearing before men who may have been at sea for months may invite disaster. But water… she needed water.

Now the ship was close enough for her to see the people onboard, though she could not tell their nationality. A man stood on the poop deck with a telescope that she hoped was looking at her. She pulled up her chemise to try to cover her breasts.

An awful feeling swept through her body when she saw the ship turn away from her, and then elation.
They lowered a boat over the side, furled the sails and dropped anchor. Susannah looked up at the sky. “Thank you!”

Her eyes searched the boat party for an officer or gentleman as it approached. That was more of a hope than a likelihood as she checked them out. Her mind flitted through available options and found none.

Without a doubt the vision that the nearest sailor beheld must have been the strangest he’d ever seen. Had he read Robinson Crusoe published twenty years before? His tarred pigtail and scarred face did not suggest to Susannah a reader.

The boat pulled alongside Susannah’s raft. Still on her knees with one hand trying to hold up her chemise, she looked at the sailors. “Hello, could you help me? I’ve had rather a difficult problem. I would appreciate passage to civilisation.”

The men in the boat roared with laughter.

One of them seemed to have a slight resemblance to an English gentleman from the way he held himself. His clothes, though well-worn, did have signs of quality, and he wore a tartan sash.
“Glory be! And of whom do I have the pleasure?” said the man in a cultured Scottish accent, much to Susannah’s relief.

“Miss Susannah Fitzpatrick of the Boston Fitzpatricks, sir. I am a survivor of the Diana shipwreck.”

“Well, Miss Fitzpatrick, I do believe you will have a fascinating story to tell. It must wait until we are aboard. We cannot anchor off for long for reasons that will become clear to you. I am Donald Murray of the Auchterarder Murrays, Miss Fitzpatrick, at your service.” He gave a slight bow while still sitting down in the prow of the boat and then offered his hand to help her aboard.

Donald Murray, in Susannah’s brief assessment, was a man in his late twenties. Under his sunburn, red beard and long, unkempt hair that matched the colour of his beard, he may even have been handsome. His bearing, which she first mistook as that of an English gentleman, was that of a proud Highlander.

Buy or download now through Kindle Unlimited and enjoy this gripping Romantic Adventure with a flawed heroine. 

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Fran Connor, Author

I live in SW France for the lifestyle after a career in a UK Police Force. I have six published novels, three more in the pipeline and six plays that have been produced on stage. My screenplays portfolio contains seven feature length scripts with one about to go into production. 

I write mainly Historical Fiction but I do other genres too. I don't do cop stories, I had enough of the real thing. 

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ROGUE'S HOLIDAY!

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Rogue's Holiday 

Agents of the Crown Book 5 

by
Regan Walker 

Genre: Historical Romantic Adventure 

Publisher: Regan Walker Publishing 

Publication Date: November 7, 2019

Robert Powell’s work as a spy saves the Cabinet ministers from a gruesome death and wins him accolades from George IV. As a reward, the king grants him a baronetcy and a much-deserved holiday at the Royal Pavilion in Brighton where he thinks to indulge in brandy, cards, good horseflesh and women. 

But when Muriel, Dowager Countess of Claremont, learns of Sir Robert’s intended destination, she begs a favor…to watch over an “errant child” who is the grandniece of her good friend living in the resort town. Little does Robbie know that Miss Chastity Reynolds is no child but a beautiful hoyden who is seemingly immune to his charms. 

Chastity lives in the shadow of her mother and sisters, dark-haired beauties men admire. Her first Season was a failure but, as she will soon come into a family legacy, she has no need to wed. When she first encounters Sir Robert, she dubs him The Rogue, certain he indulges in a profligate lifestyle she wants no part in. 

In Brighton, Robbie discovers he is being followed by friends of the conspirators who had planned to murder the Cabinet. Worse, they know the location of Chastity's residence. 

Grillon’s Hotel, London, 1820

“I’ll return in a moment,” said Chastity as she rose from the table where she and Rose dined in their shared room.

Rose looked up, her fork paused in midair. “Are you going out…alone? You’re not dressed for town.”

Chastity considered her drab brown cotton gown that she had changed into thinking she would remain in their room. “No one will see me save the desk clerk to whom I will direct my inquiry.” The carriage ride to London had been plagued with muddy roads and much rain, and the drafty lobby had left her chilled. The fire kindled for them had begun to warm her but a glass of sherry would go far to completing the process.

“Do you wish me to accompany you?” Rose cast a look of longing at what remained of her braised veal.

“Nay finish your meal,” Chastity said, crossing the room to the door.

“Hurry back,” urged Rose. “I peeked under the silver dome that hides the sweetmeats. A most delectable selection.”

“They will go well with what I have in mind.” As she reached for the door handle, Crispin, who had been curled up before the fire, raised his head and opened his golden eyes briefly considering her before returning to his nap. The bumpy carriage ride to London had not been to his liking either.

Closing the door behind her, Chastity entered the corridor devoid of heat. She drew her shawl tightly around her and hurried downstairs to the lobby. She was dismayed to find no one at the front desk.

A single footman stood just inside the hotel’s entrance. She hastened toward him. As she did, she collided with a hard body, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. Stunned, she backed away, trying not to fall. With her eyes downcast, she placed her hand over her racing heart.

The first thing she noticed as she looked up from the tiled floor was a pair of black Hessian boots polished to a high gloss with a silver-white braid circling the top, ending in shimmering tassels. Boots that could only have been the creation of George Hoby, the first bootmaker in London, who had acquired a few of her father’s designs.

From the boots, her gaze traveled up long, muscular thighs encased in tight buckskin breeches. Hands fisted on narrow hips and an impatient sigh suggested he thought her in the wrong.

Impudent man! Oaf! He had run into her!

Her scrutiny continued up to the black claw-hammer coat he wore over a cinnamon suede waistcoat. His cravat was simply tied yet stylish.

“Well, Miss, have you had your fill of me?” he said in an amused tone.

Chastity met hazel eyes rimmed with green and pierced with shards of gold. A chiseled face with a strong jaw was framed by wavy dark brown hair and trim side-whiskers. Altogether an attractive man if she didn’t consider his smirk.

She could not abide men who thought themselves desired by all females, which he clearly did.
“What?” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Is there to be no apology, no begging my forgiveness for nearly knocking a lady off her feet?”

“A lady?” His gaze boldly traveled the length of her. “If you be a lady, you are a very pretty lady, indeed.”

She glared at him, dismissing his compliment as insincere, one he likely gave to all women to whom he liberally doled out his charm. She would not be diverted by such undeserved flattery. “Pretty or plain makes no difference, sir. A gentleman who causes distress to a lady will make amends.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss, but whatever were you thinking darting across the lobby without a care of where you were going?”

So, there was to be no apology. Worse, a scold. “I knew very well where I was going, sir. It was you who apparently did not.”

“Very well,” he inclined his head, “if you insist. Allow me to make amends.”

Without warning, he took her by the waist and forcibly drew her to his chest, pressing his lips to hers in a burning, invasive kiss that left her breathless and her lips throbbing.

When he finally released her, she backed away, stunned, and covered her pulsing lips with her fingertips. Never had she been kissed in such a manner. And in front of a footman!

Before she could say a word, the arrogant rogue turned on his heels, crossed the lobby and disappeared through the door to the coffee house. The scent of cigar smoke wafted to her nostrils, making her grateful she had no business there.

Pressing her lips together, she fisted her hands and glared daggers at the door, imagining it was his back.

A moment passed as she made an effort to restore her calm demeanor. She ignored the footman, who stood like a statue next to the door.

At the front desk, she was pleased to see the clerk returning to his post.

She had meant to ask for two glasses of sherry but her encounter with the cad made her choice clear. “Sherry, if you please, a full bottle, delivered to my room.”

She would need more than one glass to forget the man’s arrogant kiss.

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Reagan Walker, Author

Regan Walker is an award-winning, #1 Amazon bestselling author of Regency, Georgian and Medieval romances. She writes historically authentic novels with real historical figures along with her fictional characters. Among the awards she has won are the International Book Award for Romance Fiction, the San Diego Book Award for Best Historical Romance, the RONE Award for her medievals and the Gold Medal Illumination Award. 

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