“I am?” she asked, arching a brow at him.
“You wouldn’t want me to break two promises to your father, would you?” he asked, that devilish little smile she loved so much tickling at his lips.
To my agent, Jessica Faust, for always being there on the other end of the email and supporting me wholeheartedly, no matter what.
My heartfelt thanks to Leah Hultenschmidt for acquiring the series and setting my feet on this path; and to my wonderful new editor, Mary Altman, for putting her time and energy into this book. My project editor, Megan, for catching all of the glitches and making me think. Thank you also to the entire team at Sourcebooks who do all of the behind-the-scenes work and helped whip this book into shape!
Special thanks to my amazing support crew, the ELE girls: Nicky Strickland, Dakota Harrison, Kylie Griffin, and Jennie Brumley! Wonderful writers all, who are always there to share the journey and helped me with the beta read. For all of my readers, Facebook fans, and Twitter followers: you make this all truly worth it. I love getting to “ooh” over covers and share book recommendations with you all—it keeps me sane!
To my family and friends, who understand my hermit-like ways and are always pushing me to chase my dreams. To Beryl Raselli, Sarah Holland, Evelyn and the local library ladies, and Chris Day-Plush for helping to spread word of the books in town.
And last, but certainly not least, to my boyfriend, Byron, for getting excited over the little things with me, understanding why I have to work so many hours, being the first to tell me to quit my job so I can write full time, and generally for being my best friend, always. This book is a special one, written just for you.
In case you missed it, here’s an excerpt from the groundbreaking first novel in Bec McMaster’s London Steampunk series
If only she’d been born a man…
A man in Whitechapel had choices. He could take up a trade, or theft, or even join some of the rookery gangs. A woman had opportunities too, but they were far more limited and nothing that a gently bred young lady would ever aspire to.
A mere six months ago Honoria Todd had owned other options. They hadn’t included the grim tenement that she lived in, hovering on the edges of Whitechapel. Or the nearly overwhelming burden of seeing her brother and sister fed. Six months ago she’d been a respectable young woman with a promising job as her father’s research assistant, hovering on the edge of the biggest breakthrough since Darwin’s hypotheses. It had taken less than a week for everything she had to be torn away from her. Sometimes she thought the most painful loss had been her naïveté.
Scurrying along Church Street, Honoria tugged the edge of her cloak up to shield herself from the intermittent drizzle, but it did no good. Water gathered on the brim of her black top hat, and each step sent an icy droplet down the back of her neck. Gritting her teeth, she hurried on. She was late. Mr. Macy had kept her back an hour at work to discuss the progress of her latest pupil, Miss Austin. Scion of a merchant dynasty, Miss Austin was intended to be launched upon the Echelon, where she just might be fortunate enough to be taken in as a thrall. The girl was certainly pretty enough to catch the eye of one of the seven dukes who ruled the council, or perhaps one of the numerous lesser Houses. Her family would be gifted with exclusive trade agreements and possibly sponsorship, and Miss Austin would live out the terms of her contract in the extravagant style the Echelon was acclimatized to. The type of style Honoria had once lived on the edges of. Before her father was murdered.
Church Street opened into Butcher Square. On a kinder day the square would be packed with vendors and thronging with people. Today only the grim metal lions that guarded the entrance to the Museum of Bio-Mechanic History kept watch. The city wall loomed ahead, with the gaping maw of Ratcatcher Gate offering a glimpse of Whitechapel beyond. Fifty years ago the residents of Whitechapel had built the wall with whatever they could lay their hands on. It stood nearly twenty feet high, but its symbolism towered over the cold, misty square. Whitechapel had its own rules, its own rulers. The aristocratic Echelon could own London city, but they’d best steer clear of the rookeries.
If Mr. Macy found out Honoria’s address, he’d fire her on the spot. Her only source of a respectable livelihood would vanish, and she’d be facing those damned
options
again. She’d wasted a shilling tonight on a steam cab, just to keep the illusion of her circumstances intact. Mr. Macy had walked her out before locking up the studio where he taught young ladies to improve themselves. Usually he stayed behind and she could slip into the masses of foot traffic in Clerkenwell, turn a corner, and then double back for the long walk home. Tonight his chivalry had cost her a loaf of bread.
She’d disembarked two streets away, prompting the cab driver to shake his head and mutter something beneath his breath. She felt like shaking her head too. A shilling for the sleight-of-hand that kept her employed. It didn’t matter that that shilling would keep her with a roof over her head and food on the table for months to come. She still felt its loss keenly. Her stockings needed darning again and they hadn’t the thread for it; her younger sister, Lena, had put her fingers through her gloves; and fourteen-year-old Charlie…Her breath caught. Charlie needed more than the pair of them combined.
“’Ey!” a voice called. “’Ey, you!”
Honoria’s hand strayed to the pistol in her pocket and she glanced over her shoulder. A few months ago she might have jumped skittishly at the cry, but she’d spotted the ragged urchin out of the corner of her eye as soon as she started toward Ratcatcher Gate. The pistol was a heavy, welcoming weight in her grip. Her father’s pistol was one of the few things she had left of him and probably the most precious for its sheer practicality. She’d long ago given up on sentimentality.
“Yes?” she asked. The square was abandoned, but she knew there’d be eyes watching them from the heavily boarded windows that lined it.
The urchin peered at her from flat, muddy-brown eyes. It could have been any age or sex with the amount of dirt it wore. She decided the square jaw was strong enough to name it a boy. Not even the constant rain could wash away the dirt on his face, as though it were as deeply ingrained in the child’s pores as it was in the cobblestones beneath their feet.
“Spare a shillin’, m’um?” he asked, glancing around as though prepared to flee.
Honoria’s eyes narrowed and she gave the urchin another steady look. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was a rather fine herringbone stitch riddled with grime at the edge of the child’s coat. The clothing fit altogether too well for it to have been stolen, and it was draped in such a manner that it made the child look rather more malnourished than she suspected he was.
She took her time drawing her slim change purse out and opening it. A handful of grimy shillings bounced pitifully in the bottom of it. Plucking one out with reluctance, she offered it to the little street rogue.
The urchin reached for the coin and Honoria grabbed his hand. A quick twist revealed the inside of the child’s wrist—and the crossed daggers tattooed there.
His wary mud-brown eyes widened and he tried to yank his hand away. “Leggo!”
Honoria snatched her shilling back and released him. The boy staggered, landing with a splash in a puddle. He swore under his breath and rolled to his feet.
“I’ve more need of it than you,” she told him, then swept her cloak to the side to reveal the butt of the pistol in her skirt pocket. “Run back to your master and tell
him
to give you a coin.”
The boy’s lip curled and he glanced over his shoulder. “Worf a try. Already bin paid for this.” He flipped a shilling out of nowhere and then pocketed it just as swiftly. A stealthy smile flashed over his face, gone just as quickly as the coin. “’Imself wants a word with you.”
“Himself?” For a moment she was blank. Then her gaze shot to the child’s wrist and that damning tattoo of ownership. She tucked her change purse away and tugged her cloak about her chin. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty this evening.” Somehow she forced the words out, cool and clipped. Her fingers started to shake. She thrust them into fists. “My brother is not well. And I’m late. I must see to him.”
She took a step, then shied away as a hand caught at her cloak. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
The boy shrugged. “I’m jus’ the messenger, luv. And trust me, you ain’t wantin’ ’im to send one o’ the others.”
Her mouth went dry. In the ensuing silence, she felt as though her heartbeat had suddenly erupted into a tribal rhythm. Six months scratching a living on the edges of the rookery, trying to stay beneath the notice of the master. All for nothing. He’d been aware of her, probably all along.
She had to see what he wanted. She’d caught a glimpse of the
others
who were part of his gang. Everybody in the streets gave them a large berth, like rats fleeing from a pack of prowling toms. Either she could go of her own volition, or she could be dragged there.
“Let me tell my sister where I’m going,” she finally said. “She’ll be worried.”
“Your neck,” the urchin said with a shrug. “Not mine.”
Honoria stared at him for a moment, then turned toward Ratcatcher Gate. Its heavy stone arch cast a shadow of cold over her that seemed to run down her spine. Himself. Blade. The man who ruled the rookeries.
Or
creature
, she thought with a nervous shiver. There was nothing human about him.
Of Silk and Steam
by Bec McMaster
Enemies. Allies. Lovers. How far will they go to protect their hearts?
When her father was assassinated, Lady Aramina swore revenge against the Duke of Caine. Leo Barrons, the duke’s heir, has long been her nemesis, and when she discovers he’s illegitimate, she finally has leverage against the one man who troubles her heart and tempts her body.
Sentenced to death for his duplicity, Leo escapes by holding Lady Aramina captive. A woman of mystery, she’s long driven him crazy with glimpses of a fiery passion that lurks beneath her icy veneer. He knows she’s hiding something; he doesn’t know it’s the key to saving his life.
Praise for Bec McMaster:
“McMaster continues to demonstrate a flair for wildly imaginative, richly textured world-building.” —
Booklist
“Bec McMaster brilliantly weaves a world that engulfs your senses and takes you on a fantastical journey.”
—
Tome Tender
For more Bec McMaster, visit:
My Lady Quicksilver
by Bec McMaster
I will come for you…
He will find her no matter what. As a blueblooded captain of the Nighthawk Guard, his senses are keener than most. Some think he’s indestructible. But once he finds the elusive Mercury, what will he do with her?
It’s his duty to turn her in—she’s a notorious spy and traitor. But after one stolen moment, he can’t forget the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her, or the sharp sting of betrayal as she slipped off into the night. Little does Mercury know, no one hunts better than the Nighthawk. And his greatest revenge will be to leave her begging for his touch…
“Set in an alternate version of London ruled by vampires…the perfect choice for readers who like their historical romances sexy, action-packed, and just a tad different.”—
Booklist
“One of my top books of 2013…just amazing.”
—
Royal Reviews
For more Bec McMaster, visit:
Heart of Iron
by Bec McMaster
No one to Trust
Dangerous. Unpredictable. That’s how people know the hulking Will Carver. And those who don’t like pretty words just call him The Beast. No matter how hard Will works to suppress his werewulfen side, certain things drive him beyond all control. And saucy Miss Lena Todd tops the list.
Lena makes the perfect spy against the ruling Echelon blue bloods. No one suspects that under the appearance of a flirtatious debutante lies a heart of iron. Not even the ruthless Will Carver, the one man she can’t wrap around her finger and the one man whose kiss she can never forget. He’s supposed to be protecting her, but he might just be her biggest threat yet…
“Edgy, dark, and shot through with a grim, gritty intensity, McMaster’s latest title adds to her mesmerizing steampunk series with another gripping, inventive stunner.”—
Library Journal
Starred Review
“McMaster’s second London steampunk book dazzles and seduces…will leave readers breathless.”
—RT Book Reviews
Top Pick of the Month, 4.5 Stars
For more Bec McMaster visit:
The Highland Dragon’s Lady
by Isabel Cooper
He’s out of the Highlands and on the prowl…
Regina Talbot-Jones has always known her rambling family home was haunted. She also knows her brother has invited one of his friends to attend an ill-conceived séance. She didn’t count on that friend being so handsome…and she certainly didn’t expect him to be a dragon.
Scottish Highlander Colin MacAlasdair has hidden his true nature for his entire life, but the moment he sets eyes on Regina, he knows he has to have her. In his hundreds of years, he’s never met a woman who could understand him so thoroughly…or touch him so deeply. Bound by their mutual loneliness, Colin and Regina must work together to defeat a vengeful spirit—and discover whether their growing love is powerful enough to defy convention.
Praise for Isabel Cooper:
“Cooper’s world-building is solid and believable.” —
RT Book Reviews
“Isabel Cooper is an author to watch!”
—
All About Romance
For more Isabel Cooper, visit: