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“The late 1800’s were a testament to hedonism, especially for my kind. Oscar Wilde created Dorian Gray, and on the black and white pages, much of the age can be learned. It was a good time to be alive. Beauty was a valuable coin, intellect and wit keys to society and success. The attitude of the era reminded me of the mid-sixteen hundreds when I was a young mortal man.”
The strata between the aristocracy and the common man was, to us today, unbelievable. For example, the staff had to stay out of sight. They had their own staircases, quarters and dining halls. In the dining halls was a series of 50 or so bells, and it was the responsibility of the serving person to learn the sound of his/her bells. They could be interrupted at any leisure or even at dinner to answer that bell. The hierarchy of the servants was almost as the rigid separation of the classes. At the top of the ladder was the Housekeeper and from there down the descent was steep, except for the footmen. The footmen often wore uniforms that cost more than their annual salary!
Lavish parties, grouse shoots, fox hunts, and horse races entertained the aristocracy. The titleholder’s prized racehorses were housed in mansion-like stables while the staff had their own quarters out of sight in the manor and ate according to rank at large tables in a room adjoining the kitchen. The chefs were usually French, as French chefs were in vogue.
It was, as Morgan says, a testament to hedonism.
March Morgan still believes in true love, but her faith in finding her soul mate is slowly vanishing. She’s been married but never in love. So, it is a miracle to find that fantasy exists on the last page of a glossy women’s journal. Mayfair Electronics, Ltd., in black and white, offers Love for Sale. The London firm has engineered sentient androids indistinguishable from humans. She flies to England and meets the man she has been searching for her entire life.
Christian requires no programming to love March at first sight. He’s handsome, cultured…absolutely perfect…and a little different from the other androids. He has an unexpected independent streak. March signs on the dotted line, buying her dream man. They return to Houston, but soon her past and his future threaten their Happily Ever After—indeed their lives.
The greatest enemy of a vampire is boredom. Four centuries of existence have taught Lord Morgan Gabriel D’Arcy to fear nothing and no one. Humans and their weapons have little chance against his preternatural speed and arcane powers. Vampires are viral mutations of human DNA. Still, the Vampyre code requires secrecy, and he has learned to hide his nature from the world. The lure of mortality, of a life in the sun, puts Morgan again and again at the mercy of calculating human women though they fail to consider his charm and determination into the equation. However, even grooming a future bride from infancy proves to be fraught with heartbreak. And second chances are not always what they seem unless… you are Morgan. Immortality and beauty, aren’t they grand?
Enjoy an Excerpt from Morgan D’Arcy: A Vampyre Rhapsody:
Art is passion.
Each of us, at some time, wishes to stand naked in passion’s temple and face deepest, darkest desire—to be an innocent victim to lust. I knew all about lust. Lust. Bloodlust. In the ecstasy of the Kiss and the rapture of the kill, the two fused.
I glided to the sofa, perching on the arm. Mischief whispered in my ear.
My friend Lucien, head of the Council that governed the Vampyre, would be livid if I endangered our secret. I might even be punished. So what? For a long time now, I’d faithfully toed the line, giving the powers that be no reason to slap my hand. No one was likely to nominate me for sainthood, and I was tired of being a good man. Envisioning an outraged Lucien crumpling the newspaper, I laughed aloud. For days, I hadn’t laughed. I was still chuckling when I dashed off a Men Seeking Women romance ad.
Vampires were no longer monsters, but fine seducers, purveyors of passion. Victims abounded. As I sampled the replies, I was disappointed and left fifty beautiful women disappointed as well, thinking me another nut not a vampire.
I failed to find the thrilling vintage I sought and forgot about the ad.
**
“Hello, darlin’.” Her voice was lazy, honey-sweet and sensual. “You look like you could use some company.”
I took a deep breath of the vintage I had sought. “I could.”
“You got it.” Manicured red nails dug into my shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”
A first-class, round-trip ticket to the Turks and Caicos Islands dropped on the keyboard. Another fell beside it. One of the tickets was issued to Morgan Gabriel D’Arcy, the other to Fiona Allman. I had to admire her style, but she couldn’t have come from the ad. Names and addresses weren’t given.
Fiona was the given.
“What you waiting for? Your bags are packed. We’re leaving on a jet plane.” The enticing voice grew darker, duskier. “To sunshine. No more of this fricking rain.”
“Fiona, I presume.”
“It’s me, darlin’, the one you’ve been waiting for.” Soft, warm lips caressed my cheek, her fingers working magic on the tense muscles in my neck.
The scents of rain-perfumed skin, Italian leather, and blood laced with single malt whiskey teased my six senses. I hadn’t fed in nights. The craving wrenched my stomach. Saliva broke beneath my tongue. Her fingers stroking my neck awoke another, totally sexual desire. I threw back my head and laughed. I was in trouble. At last!
She smoothed the hair back from my forehead. “Come on, pretty baby, get up. We don’t have much time. Heathrow’s a good hour’s drive from here.”
“I can’t go,” I said, not believing my own lie. I always did exactly as I pleased. “CD to cut.”
The throaty laugh was as sensual as her touch. “I’ve checked your schedule. No personal appearances. These dickheads will wait until Lord D’Arcy returns. They have to. You are the show.”
“How did you find me?” I liked the way she stroked my libido. An image of taking her on the piano heated my blood. “How did you know my name? And my schedule.”
“Does it matter?” She tucked my hair behind my ear and sucked the lobe into her mouth. “I wanna [screw] your brains out.”
“Anytime.” I was ready. Desire throbbed, hot, taut in my belly and in my [shaft].
It didn’t matter how, only that she had found me.
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About the Author:
Born in South Carolina, Linda has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta and Houston. She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for many years.
Linda has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award and the SARA Merritt. She retired from a career as a retired legal assistant, just joined the Houston BMW Club, and the stars in her crown—two wonderful sons. In a former life, she must have had to walk everywhere because today she is into transportation with fine taste in expensive horses and hot cars! She likes to dress up and host formal dinner parties.
Listen to an excerpt from Love For Sale: Embed Music Files – Podcast Hosting –
