Long and Short Reviews welcomes Shana Galen, who is celebrating the upcoming release of Affair with a Spare, the third book in her The Survivors series. Enter the Rafflcopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a Shana Galen prize pack.

Please see our review for this book here.

He’s turned seduction into an art form…
Rafe Beaumont, fifth son of an earl, uses his irresistible charm with the ladies to glean dangerous war secrets. Now he’s putting those skills to the ultimate test: capturing an elusive assassin by seducing his daughter. The problem? She’s entirely immune to Rafe’s flattery.

Never before has Collette Fortier met a man as attractive as Rafe. But her father’s life is at stake, and succumbing to Rafe would be disastrous. But when Rafe turns the tables on her, offering support and friendship instead of a fleeting affair, Collette finds herself tempted in ways she never could have imagined…

Enjoy an Excerpt

In this excerpt from An Affair With a Spare known seducer Rafe Beaumont must confide in his commanding officer that his latest assignment is proving difficult.

“What do you mean you have nothing to report?”

Draven asked that evening at the club that bore his name. Draven had found Rafe in the dining room and signaled to him for privacy. Rafe had gone reluctantly. He was not ready to see Draven yet. But he’d joined the lieutenant colonel in a room on the top floor of the club that no one used. From the looks of it, Porter, the Master of the House, stored linens and paintings here.

“Exactly what I said,” Rafe answered. “This assignment is…taking longer than I imagined.”

“Then perhaps you should do more than simply imagine.”

Rafe bit back the saucy retort on his lips out of respect for Draven. “Yes, sir.”

Draven paced, his wild, red hair jutting in several different directions. “What have you found out so far? Has she revealed anything to you?”

Rafe rubbed his temple. He’d had a headache all week. That was what came of being forced to converse about poetry and politics for hours on end. “She hasn’t exactly spoken to me, sir.” Unless one counted a litany of facts on hedgehogs. Rafe still wasn’t certain what to make of that exchange.

Draven stopped midstride. “I asked you to find out who she is working for and what she knows. That means you have to do more than take her to bed.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

“What do you have to say for yourself, Lieutenant?”

Rafe didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to say. He only wished the problem was too much time in bed and not enough teasing information from her. “I’ll do better, sir.”

Draven threw his hands up and paced away. “You will try harder. Is that what I’m to tell the Foreign Office? My man will try harder? What exactly is the problem? Is she that tight-lipped?”

Draven had no idea. And Rafe wasn’t about to tell him that he’d only managed to get a few sentences out of the chit. And most of those made little sense. He knew his progress wasn’t acceptable. He knew his commander expected more. But Rafe didn’t bloody well know what to do. He’d never met a woman like her.

Draven sat, attempting to appear patient. “If you don’t tell me the problem, I can’t help you.”

“There’s no problem, sir. I will have more to report soon.” And he would. This was his chance. He would not fail.

“Report now. I want details.”

Hell’s teeth, but the whole situation was humiliating. Rafe had never needed help with women before.

“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

Rafe blew out a long breath. “I haven’t bedded her, sir.” That was a detail. Perhaps it would be enough for Draven.

Draven shrugged. “Fine. That’s not part of it anyway.”

Rafe nodded, staring at his hands. He didn’t like what he had to say next. “I may not be able to…er, bed her, sir.”

Draven’s eyes narrowed. “You find her that repulsive? I saw nothing wrong with her.”

“It’s not that. It’s simply that she doesn’t appear interested in me, sir.”

“Are you saying I should get another man? Because I have already tapped you for this.”

“I’m not saying that at all.” Rafe blew out a breath and folded his hands together as though in prayer. “I mean, I’ve lost—” His voice caught in his throat. “I’ve lost my…charm.” That wasn’t exactly the word he wanted. But it was the easiest way to describe the effect he had on women. Or the effect he had on all women but Miss Fournay. “But I swear I will find it
again. There must be a way to reach her…”

Draven said nothing for so long that Rafe finally looked up at him. Draven stared at him, brows furrowed together. “I am no judge of these sorts of things, but you don’t look any different to me. You’re still as”—he cleared his throat—“handsome as you always were. Christ, I never thought I’d be saying that to one of my men.”

“Thank you, sir, but my”—he swallowed—“allure is more than looks.”

Draven stabbed his hands on his hips. “What? Am I to list all of your accomplishments? All the reasons the woman should fall, if not in love, in lust with you?”

“Please don’t. I’m merely saying that whatever my accomplishments might be and however pleasing my looks to other women, they do not seem to appeal to Miss Fournay.”

“Beaumont, are you telling me the woman is not interested in you?”

Rafe didn’t answer.

“Are you saying she rejected your advances?”

Rafe winced. “Not exactly.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Draven bellowed, losing his patience.

Rafe had lost his about three days ago. “I wish I knew, sir. She stares at me, blushes when I look at her, and is all but speechless and flustered when I speak to her. And yet she doesn’t try to catch my attention. She never even asked for an introduction! Finally, tonight I approached her and the woman all but swooned when I held her hand, but then she excused herself and walked away. She’s not like any other woman I have ever known.” Rafe gave Draven a bewildered look, hoping the man could understand the situation because Rafe sure as hell couldn’t. “But I will try another tactic. Perhaps it’s my approach…”

Draven stood, walked across the room, and then began to laugh. At first Rafe thought perhaps he hadn’t heard correctly, but no. Draven’s shoulders were shaking and the sounds he made sounded unmistakably like laughter. “You find this amusing, sir?”

“God help me, but I do,” Draven answered, laughter in his voice. He turned, and Rafe was annoyed to see tears all but streamed down his cheeks. “It’s about time you experienced what the rest of us mortals do.”

Rafe didn’t bother arguing that he too was mortal. “And what is that, sir?”

“Rejection by the female of the species.” Draven began to guffaw again, and Rafe had the urge to punch him.

About the Author:Shana Galen is the bestselling author of fast-paced adventurous Regency historicals, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Booklist says, “Galen expertly entwines espionage-flavored intrigue with sizzling passion,” and RT Bookreviews calls her “a grand mistress of the action/adventure subgenre.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time. She’s happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making. Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email or see what she’s up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

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It is a truth universally acknowledged

that a lady can do anything a man can do:

backwards and in high-heeled dancing slippers.

Lady Juliana, daughter of the Earl of St. Maur, needs all the help she can get. She’s running a ramshackle orphanage, London’s worst slumlord has illicit designs on her, and her father has suddenly become determined to marry her off.

Enter Major Neil Wraxall, bastard son of the Marquess of Kensington, sent to assist Lady Juliana in any way he can. Lucky for her, he’s handy with repairs, knows how to keep her and the orphans safe, and is a natural leader of men.

Unfortunately for both of them, the scandal that ensues from their mutual attraction is going to lead them a merry dance…

Enjoy an Excerpt

In this scene, Lady Juliana, who is attempting to save a boys’ orphanage must deal with the handsome man her father has sent to persuade her to return home.

She paused in her sweeping and cocked her head. It was too quiet, and she’d quickly learned when it was too quiet something was amiss. Laying the broom handle against the worktable, she left the kitchen and stuck her head in the hallway. The classroom was just up the stairs, in what had been a drawing room before the residence had been made into an orphanage. Shouldn’t she hear the drones of Mrs. Fleming as she recited numbers or read aloud?

Instead, Julia heard…nothing.

She crept down the hallway and would have started up the stairs except she spotted Mr. Wraxall in the vestibule. She’d wanted to forget about him. She knew who he was as soon as he introduced himself. She’d never met him, but as she’d said, her father and his father had been friends for a long time. She knew about Kensington’s bastard son. She’d only met the legitimate sons, of course, though the marquess claimed his bastard and had paid for him to be reared and educated.

Wraxall didn’t look at all like his father and brothers, who were pale and slightly plump and who had inherited the crooked front teeth that were the hallmarks of the marquesses of Kensington from time immemorial. Wraxall must have taken after his mother, for he was not pale, not plump, and his teeth were white and straight.

She’d looked just a little too long at his mouth to pretend she didn’t remember his teeth. Or his lips, which looked soft and yielding.

Except for his lips, everything about him was straight and proper and sober. He’d undoubtedly made a good soldier, because when he turned his gaze on her now, she almost felt as though she should stand at attention. She resisted the silly urge and then, because he made her nervous, she latched on to the first item she saw—other than his quite kissable lips. It was a small notebook and pencil he held in his hands. “What is that?”

He glanced down at the notebook as though just remembering he held it. “I’m taking notes, my lady.”

“Notes, Mr. Wraxall? About the front door?”

He turned back a page. “I’ve already finished my notes on the dormitories. I didn’t want to barge into unfamiliar rooms, and since I haven’t been given a tour of the premises yet, I thought the front door seemed a good place to continue.”

“Continue making notes?”

“As you see.”

“Is there very much to note about the door, other than it is rectangular, wooden, and sorely in need of paint?” Come to think of it, hadn’t she asked Mr. Goring to paint it last week?

“It is all of those things, my lady, but I am also noting that the lock does not work.”

“What?” She moved closer. “I lock it every night.”

“I have no doubt of that, but the mechanism has been rigged so the bolt does not slide into place fully.” He pushed the bolt into place, and then he tugged on the door and it came open easily.

“But how—”

“Here.” He showed her the way the wood had been smoothed down in the casement so that it took only a little pressure to free the bolt from its mooring.

“Oh dear. I shall have to have that repaired.” Once again she glanced about for the elusive Mr. Goring. She hadn’t seen him since he’d shown Wraxall in.

“Did I imagine you had a servant earlier?”

Ah, then she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen him.

“I do.”

“Just the one servant?”

“Could you show me the door again?” she said, hoping to distract him.

“What about a companion or a lady’s maid?”

Curses. If word reached her father that she was here without a chaperone, all her plans would go to waste. “So the lock on the door is not working?” She bent to peer at it.

He pushed it closed. “Forget the door. Is there a female servant in residence?”

She had never been a good liar, but she did know how to dance and how to sidestep. “By ‘in residence,’ do you mean on the premises?”

His eyes seemed to turn a darker shade of blue. “That is the usual meaning.”

“Mrs. Fleming is here.”

“The lady lives here?”

“She is in the classroom.” She ought to play chess. That was a narrow escape.

“Mrs. Fleming is an instructor?”

“Yes.” Distraction was the key, and Julia was already starting up the stairs, making her way around the boards that were weak and rotting.

“And where is this classroom?” He followed her, seeming not to have realized she hadn’t answered his question. He trailed her closely, stepping where she did as though he too had seen the rotted wood.

She gestured to the top of the stairs. “In what was formerly the drawing room.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. See for yourself.” She opened the drawing room doors and stared at the empty room. She looked right and then left.

No pupils. No teacher.

Wraxall leaned on the door beside her. “Impressive,” he drawled.

About the Author: Shana Galen is three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time. She’s happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.

Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email or see what she’s up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, or Kobo.

Rafflecopter:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Long and Short Reviews welcomes Shana Galen who is celebrating the upcoming release of Third Son’s a Charm on November 7. It’s the first book in her brand new The Survivors series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a special Shana Galen prize package with a wine charm.

Ewan Mostyn thinks a job as a duke’s daughter’s bodyguard will be easy—but Lady Lorraine has a few tricks up her sleeve that spark an undeniable passion

Fiercely loyal to his friends and comrades, Ewan Mostyn is the toughest in a group of younger sons of nobility who met as soldiers and are now trying desperately to settle back into peaceful Society. Ewan trusts his brawn more than his brains, but when he’s offered a job watching the Duke of Ridlington’s stubbornly independent daughter, he finds both are challenged.

Lady Lorraine wants none of her father’s high-handed ways, and she’ll do everything in her power to avoid her distressingly attractive bodyguard—until she lands herself in real trouble. Lorraine begins to see Ewan’s protectiveness in a new light, and she can only hope that her stoic guardian will do for her what he’s always done—fight for what he loves.

Enjoy an Excerpt

When Ewan Mostyn is waylaid by Prinny, Lady Loraine uses the distraction to escape from her bodyguard’s watchful eye.

The next time Ewan saw Rafe he would give him a black eye. Whatever had possessed Beaumont to tell the prince regent so many damned tales about the exploits of The Expendables? About half of them were mostly true and the other half were truly fiction. Each had a kernel of fact—a location where the men had encountered trouble or a strategy they had used to outwit the frogs—but Ewan could hardly spend all night untangling Rafe’s embellishments.

As it was, he was uninteresting enough that the regent finally sought other amusements, but it took a good half hour for the prince to tire of Ewan’s one word answers. In all that time, Ewan barely kept his tone or his manner civil. Where the hell had Lady Lorraine gone? With a victorious smile, she’d melted away into the fawning sycophants that comprised the regent’s entourage. Ewan had been powerless to stop her, and now he’d been separated from her quite long enough for any number of men, not the least of which was his cousin, to abduct, harass, or ruin her.

Ewan looked for her among the dancers first. That was where she should have been. She had promised dances to no less than a flock of men, and Ewan had anticipated standing about the entire night, watching her twirl and flutter her lashes.

He stood on the side of the dance floor and studied the dancers, looking for her. He’d barely been there a moment before a man stepped in front of him. With a growl, Ewan glared at him.

“You are Ewan Mostyn, are you not?” the man asked, his face breaking into a smile that showed his crooked teeth. He had dark hair, a long nose, and small eyes.

Ewan inclined his head.

“Lord Basil Dottinger.” The man bowed. “We were at school together.”

Ewan merely stared at him. He’d gone to school when he was seven. He’d been there only a year before he was sent home. The excuse had been fighting, but all the boys fought at school. Everyone knew the real reason Ewan was expelled: he was unteachable.

“Do you remember me? We sat at the same table for meals.”

Ewan shook his head.

“Well, you wouldn’t. You didn’t stay long. Did your parents enroll you in another school?”

“No,” Ewan said. Heat prickled the back of his neck. The old humiliation washed over him again. This was why he avoided social engagements. He would never measure up to what the son of an earl should be. He was a dolt and a failure at so many things that came easily to other boys. And now he must stand here and have it thrown in his face. And he couldn’t even punch the man because the bloody Prince Regent would scream and faint at the sight of blood.

“Why not?” Lord Basil asked, but Ewan did not miss the sly smile on his lips. He knew why not. They all did.

“Go away.” Ewan turned his attention back to the dance floor and ignored Lord Basil. After a few more seemingly innocent questions that received no response, the man did go away. He retreated to a spot within earshot of Ewan and made jests to his friends at Ewan’s expense.

“Was he as much a dolt as you remember?”

“He can barely string two words together.”

“Poor fellow. I heard his father disowned him.”

“He’s only here tonight because the Duke of Ridlington paid Prinny to receive him.”

Ewan stiffened. That wasn’t true, was it? He felt his breath grow short, and the heat that burned his neck washed over his face. He wanted to storm out or to turn and fling each man through one of the windows. As he could do neither, he took a deep breath and balled all the pain into a tight knot.

Control. Restraint. Those traits had kept him alive in the war. This was just a different sort of battle.

Ewan forced his attention back to the dance floor. He could not waste his time with these petty men and their small worlds. Who the devil cared if they whispered about him or if Ridlington paid the Regent to receive him? He was here for a purpose, and at the moment, he couldn’t find her.

Lady Lorraine was not on the dance floor, where she should have been, and he was obliged to seek her elsewhere. He tried the area set aside for supper room and that for cards with no luck. If she’d had any sort of compassion at all, she would have taken up residence in the supper room where all sorts of delicacies had been laid out to refresh famished guests before the actual meal commenced sometime in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning. But Ewan had only enough time to snatch a biscuit and a glass of champagne, which he downed like water, before he had to search elsewhere.

And the elsewhere was obviously to be one of three locations—the lawns, the house itself, or the ladies’ retiring room. Heaven help her if she had allowed Francis or any other man to take her to the back of the house. If the chit got herself ruined on his watch he would throttle her.

Ewan couldn’t search the ladies’ retiring room by himself, so he opted to begin searching the lawns. He stepped out onto the terrace where he’d last spoken with her, walked its length quickly and swore when he did not spot her. She was in the damn house, and now he would have to murder whichever man had led her there.

He’d turned to do just that when the breeze carried the sound of a light, tinkling laugh his way.

Ewan turned back and peered out into the dark shadows cast by trees whose branches blew gently in the wind. The night was cold, and the prince had obviously thought the guests would prefer to stay close to the warmth of the conservatory and the myriad entertainments therein because other than the sconces lining the building and the path back to the house, he had not ordered any other means of light for the lawn or park. Consequently, Ewan could see nothing but tree trunks, the stubby shadows of bushes, and the vague outline of topiaries a little further away. Surely, Lady Lorraine would not have ventured into the gloomy, cold night. She had been wearing a flimsy white dress that bared her neck and enough of her bosom to force him to look away before he looked closer. The sleeves had been little puffs and her gold wrap was so insubstantial that he wondered why she bothered with it at all.

The laughter he’d heard might have come from any woman who had sought privacy with her lover in the shadows, but Ewan had to be certain it was not his charge. He would rather apologize to the couple for interrupting their tryst than to the Duke of Ridlington for losing his daughter.

About the Author: Shana Galen is three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time. She’s happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.

Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email or see what she’s up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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