Hi all!
Please help me welcome Author Barbara Monajem to my blog today!
Lady
of the Flames
A
Most Peculiar Season
Multi
Author Series
Book
Three
Barbara
Monajem
Genre: Regency Paranormal
Date of Publication: March 23, 2015
ISBN: 978-1508426240
ASIN: B00T0JAWLO
Word Count: 61,800
Cover Artist: Jane Dixon-Smith
Book Description:
Magic is fraught with peril—but so is
love.
Lord Fenimore Trent’s uncanny
affinity for knives and other sharp blades led to duels and murderous brawls
until he found a safe, peaceful outlet by opening a furniture shop—an
unacceptable occupation for a man of noble birth. Now Fen’s business partner
has been accused of treason. In order to root out the real traitor, he may have
to resort to the violent use of his blades once again.
Once upon a time, Andromeda Gibbons
believed in magic. That belief faded after her mother’s death and vanished
completely when Lord Fenimore, the man she loved, spurned her. Five years
later, Andromeda has molded herself into a perfect—and perfectly unhappy—lady.
When she overhears her haughty
betrothed plotting treason, she flees into the London night—to Fen, the one man
she knows she can trust. But taking refuge with him leads to far more than
preventing treason.
Can she learn to believe in love,
magic, and the real Andromeda once again?
Excerpt #1:
Setup: After learning of
a treasonous plot, Andromeda fled into the London night to get help from Lord
Fen, the man she once loved.
There was a woman
outside his window, and as Fen pushed it full open, he realized who she was.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he said.
Andromeda burst into
tears. Oh, hell. Fen climbed out onto the roof.
Diggs, the beggar who
habitually slept in the yard, called from below. “You want I should fetch the
Watch, my lord?”
“Unnecessary.” Fen
pulled the sobbing Andromeda to her feet. She gasped as if in pain, and tears
streamed down her face. Her hair lay in a tangle on her shoulders, and her
slippers were torn to ribbons. Had she walked all the way here in footwear
suited only for dancing at a ball? What was going on?
His mind raced through
the possibilities of what her arrival just before dawn, exhausted and
distraught, might mean. She wasn’t wearing the same gown as before--probably
because she’d spilled her wine on it.
A knife on the roof
beside her was making its presence known. Be still, he told it. Was that
blood on the blade? “Damn.” Confound it, he’d cursed again, but he couldn’t
afford to have a woman on the premises. It just wouldn’t do, and especially not
this woman, and especially not now.
“Don’t usually see
visitors of the female persuasion here, my lord.” Diggs sounded amused.
Everyone knew about Fen’s past reputation, even though he’d been discreet for
five years.
“That’s not about to
change. She’s just a friend who’s gotten herself into a spot of trouble.”
Diggs snorted, and
Andromeda gaped at Fen with wide, tear-drenched eyes. What if she really were
with child? He hoped she wasn’t such a fool, but he didn’t intend to let it
become his problem.
He pushed her gently
toward the window. “Go inside and wait for me. I’ll take you straight home.”
“No!” squeaked
Andromeda. “Please, you mustn’t. It’s—it’s life or death, Fen.”
“Go inside,” Fen said
through gritted teeth. “Now.”
Andromeda hiccupped on a
sob and got a hold of herself. She hiked her skirts, hobbled to the window, and
hitched one leg over the sill. Her gown rode up, revealing shapely legs. She
sagged inward, raised the other leg, and would have toppled inside if Fen
hadn’t grabbed her by the arm and bum and let her down slowly.
He made a point of not
noticing the soft plumpness of that bum.
He padded across the
roof of the bump-out, got down on his haunches, and spoke quietly to Diggs. “Go
back to sleep, and keep your mouth shut about this. There’ll be a shilling for
you in the morning.”
“Right you are, my
lord.”
Fen watched the beggar
amble back to his pile of rags. What had happened to Andromeda between an hour
ago and now? Why had she come to him? Why didn’t she want to go home? And what
the devil was he going to do with her?
He pulled himself
together; he would get the story from her soon enough.
The knife came eagerly
to his reaching hand. He climbed in the window, shut it, and closed the
curtains. Andromeda was huddled on the hearthrug, eyes closed, her knees drawn
up to her chest, racked by great, convulsive shudders.
He set the knife on the
dressing table, examining in the candlelight the dark stains on the blade. He
put one fingertip to the sticky blade, then sniffed it. Blood indeed.
Something terrible must
have happened to drive Andromeda here, and she was clearly in a state of shock.
He knew an urge to take her in his arms, to hold and comfort her, but dismissed
that as insanity. He had almost ruined his life once for Andromeda; never
again.
He lit the branch of
candles on the dresser. “I’ll start a fire, shall I?” he said briskly. “Get you
warmed up.”
She opened her eyes and
stared at him, teeth chattering. “Y-y-you’re stark naked, Fen.”
Excerpt #2:
Setup: After learning of a treasonous plot, Andromeda
fled into the London night to get help from Lord Fen, the man she once loved.
They’re now having breakfast the next morning.
Years ago, Andromeda had
felt no need to talk when with Fen, but now it was uncomfortable, like
conversing with a stranger. Then, they’d had more in common; now they lived in
different worlds. She took a sip of coffee and ate a sausage roll. She sipped
some more coffee. She gazed around the room and finally found something to say.
“Did you carve the
figures on your looking-glass frame?” she said. As a boy, he had whittled
constantly. “They seem so…familiar somehow.”
“They should,” he said
with a sudden smile. “I carved it from my memories of the fairies and
hobgoblins back home.”
“Fairies and hobgoblins?”
“At your father’s
estate,” he said. “Surely you remember Cuff the bedchamber hob, and Heck the
buttery spirit, and all the rest.”
“My mother told stories
about them,” Andromeda said, nostalgia filling her again. “I must say, I like
the way you’ve imagined them.”
Fen frowned at her, his
smile fading, his eyes perplexed. “I didn’t imagine them,” he said. “I saw them.”
Andromeda rolled her
eyes. “That sounds like something my mother would have said.”
“Because she saw them,
too.”
Andromeda began to be
annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fen. She made up stories based on tales she’d
been told as a child.”
Fen shook his head. “You
saw them when you were small. You saw Cuff and Heck and the others. We both
did.”
“No,” Andromeda said. “We
saw movement out of the corners of our eyes and said they were fairies, but we
were just playing games.”
Fen’s expression was
pained. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
“There’s nothing to remember,” she insisted, wolfing down
another cream puff. “As a matter of fact, that happened to me this morning. I
had the impression that one of the creatures on the looking-glass winked at me,
but of course it didn’t really do so.”
“What a pity,” Fen said.
“What’s that supposed to
mean?”
“That you’ve forgotten.
That wink was Cuff’s way of saying good-day to you. He’s somewhere hereabouts.
He’s the only one I didn’t have to carve from memory, because he came with me
when I left home.” He glanced toward the tin cup and plate by the wall. “He ate
the bread and milk I put out, and I gave him the rest of your brandy, too.”
She couldn’t stand any
more of this. “Fen, stop this nonsense! We’re in danger from traitors and spies
who murder people, and all you can
talk about is hobgoblins.”
He went on as if she
hadn’t spoken. “I wondered why he came with me when I left, but it’s because he
enjoys human company.” He grimaced. “Your father and aunt aren’t his sort of
humans. I thought you were, and so did your mother, but evidently you’re not.”
That struck her like a
blow. “What do you mean, my mother thought I was. Was what?”
“She had a sizeable
amount of fairy blood, so she thought you must have some, too—but perhaps she
was wrong.” He paused. “I know I have some. It’s not uncommon for children to
see fairies, but I didn’t lose that when I grew up. Not only that, it’s their
magic that guides my knives and tools, and inspires me when it comes to
furniture design.”
She couldn’t bear it.
“Stop it! You’re as—as mad as my mother was.”
“She wasn’t mad,
Andromeda.” He sighed. “And whether or not you see the fairies, they’re still
here.”
She put her hands to her
ears and shut her eyes. After all the chaos of yesterday, this was too much.
When he said and did nothing, she opened her eyes again. “Why did she discuss
me with you?”
“Who else was there to
speak to? Your father and aunt, although worthy people, wouldn’t have
understood. They already found her far too strange.”
This was true—but it was
because Mama’s mind was unbalanced.
“She knew I cared for
you,” Fen said.
His eyes were kind but dispassionate;
his use of the past tense meant that he didn’t care anymore, except perhaps as
an old friend. Why couldn’t she become accustomed? Every single reminder hurt.
“You believed in them at
the time your mother died,” he said. “She gave you that heart-shaped locket,
didn’t she?” It still hung at her breast, but she resisted the urge to clasp it
in her hand.
“I was nine years old. I
believed in many foolish things then,” she retorted. Such as magic, but a
household run by her aunt was no longer vibrant with promise or belief in
anything much at all. And then, when she was seventeen, Fen had destroyed what
little belief remained. She didn’t try to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I learned soon enough what utter nonsense it all was.”
He watched her, head
cocked to one side, as if she were some strange, incomprehensible creature. “As
a matter of interest, when did you stop believing?”
How dare he ask such a
personal question? “What business is that of yours?”
“None, I suppose.” He
shrugged and stood. “Stay away from the windows. I’ll see if my valet has found
you something to wear.” He took the last of the beignets, set it on a saucer,
and left it on the floor by the wall.
As if prying into her
business wasn’t enough, now he was mocking her. Did he seriously expect her to
believe that a hobgoblin would eat the beignet? Anger stirred and grew within
her. “If you must know, it was at the same time I gave up other foolishness,
such as believing in love!”
Fen
stared at her, his expression incredulous. He left the room, slamming the door
behind him.
By
what right was he upset? Not content with playing stupid games with her, did he
really not remember what he’d done to her five years ago?
Available at
About
the Author:
Award-winning author Barbara
Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She
published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young, then moved on to
paranormal mysteries and Regency romances with intrepid heroines and
long-suffering heroes.
Barbara loves to cook, especially
soups, and is an avid reader. There are only two items on her bucket list: to
make asparagus pudding and succeed at knitting socks. She knows she can manage
the first but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second.
This is not a bid for immortality
but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.
Author Interview:
What inspired you to become an author?
Reading, of course! From the first day of first grade, I
loved reading. Then, when I was eight years old, I started writing a story at
school about apple tree gnomes. The teacher loved what I’d written so far. I
was very shy, and her comment freaked me out so much that I wrote a bad ending
so she wouldn’t compliment me again—that was safer than doing my best and
coming up with something mediocre. But that was when I knew I wanted to write.
Do you have a specific writing style?
You’ll have to ask my readers. I write in deep 3rd
person point of view most of the time (with the occasional foray into 1st
person), but apart from that I can’t describe my style except in very general
terms. There’s lots of dialogue and action and not much description. I don’t
know how to write comedy, but if humor just happens to nose its way in, I’m
delighted and keep it there.
Do you write in different genres?
Yes, unfortunately, because this makes it difficult
for me to establish an author ‘brand’, which they say matters a lot. I write
two kinds of Regencies – with and without magic – and also wrote the Bayou
Gavotte series, which are paranormal romance/mystery. And then there’s that
first person mystery I’m working on. I don’t seem to be able to stick to one
thing at a time.
If yes, which is your favorite genre to write?
How can I possibly choose? I love them all.
How did you come up with the title for your latest
book?
With a great deal of pain and much help from others.
I’m terrible at titles.
Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s
complete?
See the above answer. My placeholder titles are
usually pretty blah, such as the hero or heroine’s name (which sometimes
changes in the course of the book, but the placeholder may stay the same. No
point exchanging one dumb title for another).
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers
to grasp?
I don’t plan around a message, but so far they all say
something like “Love conquers all” or “Love is the greatest magic” or “Be yourself
and love will follow.” Sappy stuff, but that’s romance for you.
When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have
any hobbies or guilty pleasures?
Read, cook, eat, sleep… I used to do a lot of knitting
and crocheting, but since I started writing seriously, I never seem to have the
time. Succeeding at making socks is on my bucket list, but at this rate I’ll
never manage it.
What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled
upcoming releases or works in progress?
Coming up next is a Regency (without magic) called To
Kiss a Rake, which will be out on July 29th. It’s a marriage of
extreme inconvenience for both hero and heroine. Here’s the blurb:
WHEN
A LADY IS ABDUCTED BY MISTAKE…
Melinda
Starling doesn’t let ladylike behavior get in the way of true love. She’s
secretly helping with an elopement, when she’s tossed into the waiting coach
and driven away by a notorious rake.
REVENGE
REALLY DOESN’T PAY.
Miles
Warren, Lord Garrison, comes from a family of libertines, and he’s the worst of
them all—or so society believes. When Miles helps a friend to run away with an
heiress, it’s an entertaining way to revenge himself on one of the gossips who
slandered him.
Except
that he drives off with the wrong woman…and as if that wasn’t scandalous
enough, he can’t resist stealing a kiss.
“Every time a child says, ‘I don’t believe in fairies,’
another fairy dies.”
That’s a paraphrase of a quote from Peter Pan, and as a
child, I found it so upsetting that it has stuck with me all my life. It’s a
horrible thought and so unfair to the fairies. It is my personal policy to never,
ever say I don’t believe in this paranormal being or that: fairies, vampires,
shape shifters, whatever (although I have to say I would prefer to know for
sure that there are no zombies—shudder). As Lord Fen in Lady of the Flames
tells Andromeda, “Whether or not you see the fairies, they’re still here.”
I don’t see the point in denying something I can’t see. I
mean, what’s the fun of visiting Ireland and not sensing the Little People
hovering just out of sight? Why not feel the presence of a friendly brownie in
an old English country house, or a buttery spirit (a gluttonous fairy) who
dwells in a pretentious mansion? To me, these creatures just add to the magic
of life, and there’s always the lingering hope that I *will* see one, one of
these days.
Sometimes I wonder if I have
seen one. Several years ago while visiting relatives in Germany, their elusive
white cat told me he was the King of the Fairies in disguise. OK, not in so
many words, but I’ve never been able to get him out of my mind, and it was
after that encounter that I began to seriously research folklore.
Now, I bring these creatures to life in my books whenever
the spirit/muse/King of the Fairies moves me. Lady of the Flames is one of my
magical Regencies, and one of the secondary characters is a hobgoblin named
Cuff. I hope you enjoy reading about him as much as I did writing him.
I won’t ask if you believe in fairies, because if you don’t,
I’d rather not know. But I will ask: which kind of paranormal being would you
like to meet?
By the way, I asked the same question in another blog post.
Guess what was the most popular answer!
Tour
giveaway
$25 gift certificate, winner’s
choice Amazon or Barnes and Noble.
Please thank Barbara for joining us today! Please check out her links and her books!
Keep Writing!
Jodie Pierce
