A Romantic Proposal...With Maggie Robinson (+Giveaway)


A Romantic Proposal  
on Christmas Eve with Maggie Robinson

About the Author:
Maggie Robinson is a former teacher, library clerk and mother of four who woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely compelled to create the perfect man and use as many adverbs as possible doing so. A transplanted New Yorker, she lives with her not-quite perfect husband in Maine, where the cold winters are ideal for staying inside and writing hot historical romances. 

Find Maggie OnlineWebsite | Blog | Facebook | Twitter

My November book, Lord Gray’s List, revolves around a Regency newspaper that serves as a clearinghouse for gossip, employment and matchmaking. Who better than Lord and Lady Gray to help another couple become as happy as they are? -Maggie

A Romantic Proposal on Christmas Eve
by Maggie Robinson

December 24, 1821

“I don’t like it, Evie,” Lord Benton Gray said to his wife.
“You never like anything if I’ve thought of it first,” Lady Gray replied, spreading letters out on her desk. Well, their desk. Ben had bought a huge new partners desk for the London List’s office since he now owned the newspaper.
But he didn’t own her. Maybe her heart, perhaps, but she had a perfectly good mind of her own. And right now it was whirring with the intricacies of bringing the young Marquess of Portland up to scratch.
He and Miss Fernanda Abernathy would be married by the New Year, or her name was not Evangeline Ramsey Gray.
“Give the poor boy a few more years of freedom,” Ben begged.
“What good did your freedom do you? Courtesan races. Dancing in the nude in graveyards. I ask you,” Evie sniffed with disdain. “No, when Fernanda and Portland arrive, I shall lock them in the storage room. That should do it.”
“Those methods seem awfully crude for a woman of your intellect, Evie.”
“Well, Portland has been awfully slow. He’s known Fernanda since they were in leading strings. She’s turned down sixteen perfectly decent proposals in the past three years. It’s past time, even if a bit of compromise is involved. You’re on your way to pick up her aunt?”
Ben shuddered. As much as Evie would like to take all the credit, the idea for this ruse came from Augusta Abernathy, Fernanda’s indomitable aunt.
“All right then. Give me a kiss. The happy couple should be here any minute, and one look at you will convince Portland we’re up to something.”
Evie was always up to something.
***
Robert Humphrey, Marquess of Portland, threw his body up against the locked door. Nothing happened except a jolting pain from his shoulder to his pinky finger.
“Devil take it! Where is that newspaperwoman? I thought we were here to deliver Christmas baskets to orphans.”
“Well, at least we won’t starve to death. Cook made quite a lot of figgy puddings,” Fernanda replied. It was rather dark in the closet, but she was sure Robert rolled his eyes.
“You seem unnaturally calm, Fern. Did you plan this?” Robert asked. “Saying your aunt had the grippe and your maid the ague and your footman a toothache, and you had nobody to take you to the poor orphans’ party. A plague on you if you did!”
“Why would I do that? I don’t want to spend Christmas Eve in a closet with the likes of you!” True, Fernanda had been a bit suspicious at the sudden illnesses and her aunt’s suggestion she ask Robert to escort her. This entire affair smacked of Aunt Augusta’s manipulation. In a little while the woman herself would probably be pounding on the door and accusing Robert of compromising her favorite niece.
Robert had not compromised her. Robert was all the way over in the far corner. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
He hadn’t kissed her in two years. But when he had, he had ruined her completely.
She would never forget the look on his face afterward—the glazed eyes, the slack jaw, the sudden flush of color on his chiseled cheekbones. Yes, she had had a certain effect on him, and he’d been running from her ever since.
“I suppose you think I’ll have to marry you now that we’ve been trapped together.” Robert didn’t sound quite so belligerent.
“Is that a proposal?” Fernanda asked. “If it is, I’ve had better.”
“Why haven’t you married any of your dozen swains?”
“Sixteen,” Fernanda corrected. “I guess I’m hard to please.”
“You’ve always seemed perfectly agreeable to me.”
It was time for her to roll her eyes. “How you flatter me, my lord.”
“If I was ever in the mood to marry, I might not do any better than you. We’ve known each other all our lives.”
“Familiarity breeds contempt.”
“You hold me in contempt?” Robert took a step toward her.
Fernanda’s heart raced just a little. “I didn’t say that.”
“Do you like me, then?”
“You’re all right, I suppose. For a boy.”
“A boy? I’m four and twenty! I’m man enough for any woman.”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
She enjoyed the crack in his voice. “Kiss me. See if you can improve on the last one you gave me. Let’s see—I think it was the occasion of my thirteenth birthday party.”
“It was two years ago, you witch, and I’ve dreamed about it every night since then. I’m not only going to kiss you now, Fern, but kiss you every night from now on. You’re going to marry me.”
Fernanda smiled in the dark. “I am?”
“You are.”
Neither one of them much cared when the closet door opened some time later and Aunt Augusta gave a practiced, ear-splitting shriek.
~*~*~*~

*Don't forget to stop by Ramblings From This Chick for Elise Rome's Scene*
Available Now:

From duchesses to chamber maids, everybody's reading it. Each Tuesday, The London List appears, filled with gossip and scandal, offering job postings and matches fro the loverlorn-and most enticing of all, telling the tales and selling the wares a more modest publication wouldn't touch.

The creation of Evangeline Ramsey, the London List saved her and her ailing father from destitution. But the paper has given Evie more than financial relief. As its publisher, she lives as a man, dressed in masculine garb, free to pursue and report whatever she likes-especially the latest disgraces besmirching Lord Benton Gray. It's only fair she hang his dirty laundry, given that it was his youthful ardor that put her off marriage for good. 

Lord Gray-Ben-isn't about to stand by while all of London laughs at his peccadilloes week after week. But once he discovers that the publisher is none other than pretty Evie Ramsey with her curls lopped shorty, his worries turn to desires-and not one of them fit to print.

Get Your Copy Today:

Maggie is giving away a copy of her anthology, Lords Of Passion, to one lucky commenter (Open Internationally)! Make sure to leave a meaningful comment below AND fill out the rafflecopter.


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Sealed With a Kiss: Maggie Robinson + Giveaway

Maggie Robinson


Maggie Robinson is a former teacher, library clerk and mother of four who woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely compelled to create the perfect man and use as many adverbs as possible doing so. A transplanted New Yorker, she lives with her not-quite perfect husband in Maine, where the cold winters are ideal for staying inside and writing hot historical romances.

Maggie Robinson also writes under the name Margaret Rowe. Margaret is an RT Reviewers Choice nominee in the best erotic fiction category for Any Wicked Thing and will be going to the RT convention in Chicago in April.

Maggie's Master of Sin comes out March 27, 2012 and hope's to be signing both books. Margaret has a short story in Agony/Ecstasy that releases this month.

Find Maggie/Margret Online:  Website |  Blogging @ Vauxhall Vixens |
Facebook | Twitter |

Love letters have definitely gone out of fashion. Somehow love emails just don’t have the same zing. In Regency times, people spent hours writing letters. Several of my couples communicated by letter with each other in my books, but I decided to pick a couple that didn’t write to each other. Couldn’t. For the hero Desmond Ryland, Marquess of Conover was married to someone else and wandering the globe to escape from his miserable marriage. His true love Laurette was attempting to live a virtuous life without him. Here’s what they might have written when their hearts were full of longing.

The Love Letter:

Dearest Laurie,

Do you know I write to you every week? Of course you don’t, because I never send the letters. Sometimes I tell you what I’ve seen; sometimes I tell you what is in my heart, This letter is both.

Tonight our group was crowded into the room reserved for travelers in Atleek. There was barely room to turn around, so I wandered down to the waterfront. The men stayed and prayed that the drought that has so devastated Syria would end, making a vow not to return to their homes and harems until it was so. We saw a solemn procession in Jerusalem dedicated to this fervent hope as well led by the Aga himself. The conditions here are unbearable.

I could not help but compare the crop failure and hunger of the local people to the summer of 1808. Our summer. What seemed such a calamity to me at nineteen is revealed now to be not half so dire as what has befallen the population here. I have seen children’s bodies on the streets and heard the wailing of their mothers from behind the walls.

I know I am doing to my own son what my grandfather did to me. I believe I have mastered the fury I felt towards my uncle and the Berrymans some years ago. My pride had been nicked, my love for you thwarted. And I have seen too much of the world now to imagine myself at the center of the universe.

I listen to the wash of the waves. An obligatory crescent moon hangs from the purple sky. I’ve had seen the remains of ancient cities, roofless ruins scattered in the desert sand. Nothing lasts, save the indecipherable inscriptions that excites William so, and my feelings for you. The world here is in turmoil, as it had been for thousands of years. And here I stand, removed from my own life, my bones baked by day by the relentless sun, my nights chilled by loneliness.

The evening call to prayer echoes in the town. I will drop to my knees, my head touching the sand. My prayers are always the same and have yet to be answered.

All my love,

Con

###

Check out Con and Laurette's love story in: 
MISTRESS BY MIDNIGHT

First comes seduction. . .
As children, Desmond Ryland, Marquess of Conover, and Laurette Vincent were inseparable. As young adults, their friendship blossomed into love. But then fate intervened, sending them down different paths. Years later, Con still can't forget his beautiful Laurette. Now he's determined to make her his forever. There's just one problem. Laurette keeps refusing his marriage proposals. Throwing honor to the wind, Con decides that the only way Laurette will wed him is if he thoroughly seduces her. . .

Then comes marriage. . .
Laurette's pulse still quickens every time she thinks of Con and the scorching passion they once shared. She aches to taste the pleasure Con offers her. But she knows she can't. For so much has happened since they were last lovers. But how long can she resist the consuming desire that demands to be obeyed. . .?

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**Giveaway**
Maggie is giving away a copy of MISTRESS BY MIDNIGHT, to 1 lucky commenter (Open Internationally) So make sure you leave a comment on this post AND fill out the rafflecopter for your chance to win!

And don't forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick blog, check out Laurette's letter to Con, and comment/enter that giveaway as well! 


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