Good news for all ye who love my badasses in bodices! ‘A Raven’s Heart’ (my #1 Amazon Regency bestseller) is ON SALE now for 99c across all vendors.

I have no idea how long this might last, so now’s your chance to get your hot little mitts on it!

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2rB9K5P 

Exciting news! I’m delighted to announce my new publishing contract with St Martin’s Press. Can’t wait for you all to read my Bow Street Bachelors Series! More wicked Regency bad boys and fab kick-ass heroines coming soon . . !

Here’s the Publisher’s Weekly announcement.

Meet me at the Historical Romance Retreat 2018!

I am delighted to announce that I will be an attending author at the Historical Romance Retreat 2018 in Riverside, California!

This weekend retreat is a book lover’s dream come true and takes place in the amazing and historical hotel setting of The Mission Inn in Riverside California. Join me and some of the world’s most celebrated authors of historical romance for an intimate gathering that gives every guest a chance to mingle and play.

Dress in your favorite era, enjoy historical foods, games, and music while surrounded by the glamour of a hotel that has played host to movie stars and royalty.

I’m even going to be giving a presentation talk on story and history, and I’ll be bringing a whole host of genuine antiques for a fabulous Regency / Victorian ‘show and tell’! I can’t wait!

See you there? Dates are September 12^th – 16^th 2018. For more information visit: www.historicalromanceretreat.com

The winner of my October Newsletter Subscriber GIVEAWAY was Michelle Cunliffe from the UK! Congratulations Michelle – this  fab bundle of books and swag is on its way to you now!

Want a chance to win more prizes? Subscribe to my monthly-ish mailing list for news and fun.

The Devil to Pay.

Central Italy, June 1492.

Cara Montessori was sick of people trying to kill her.

She’d become accustomed to it, of course; as a child she’d trailed her father on campaign through some of the most godforsaken places in Christendom. It had been a rare week that hadn’t included a scimitar-wielding Saracen or bloodthirsty Moor trying to send her to the afterlife.

Familiarity, however, didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable. And besides, those instances had been impersonal, whereas this attempt was personal in the extreme. ‘Uncle’ Lorenzo would not leave her alive to dispute his seizure of Castelleon.

His men were still behind her, annoyingly persistent; he must have offered an impressive ransom to keep them on her tail. Cara doubted her life was worth much, but everyone had their price. She was staking her life on that very premise, about to make a deal with the devil himself.

Cara shivered. She hated being cold. At least if she ended up in hell for bartering her soul she’d be warm.

Alessandro del Sarto, ‘Il Diavolo,’ was the last person in Italy she’d have chosen to ask for help. Unfortunately his dubious talents were the only thing that could keep her alive. Del Sarto was condottieri. A killer for hire.

Cara wrinkled her nose in distaste. Mercenary described both his profession and his nature. Il Diavolo sold himself to the highest bidder. He didn’t care whether the cause was worth fighting for, or which side won or lost. Only whether the victor could pay his exorbitant fees. Every monarch in Europe wanted him. And now she needed him, too.

‘Better to dance with the devil you know,’ her father used to say. Well, she hadn’t seen this particular devil in six long years, and the last time they’d met he’d kissed her and she’d threatened to kill him. He’d haunted her dreams ever since.

She willed her exhausted horse forward, and wished—for perhaps the hundredth time—that she’d stolen a mount with a better saddle. The urge to slump over the animal’s scrawny neck was strong. She hadn’t eaten for two days, hadn’t dared stop for more than an hour at most. Every jolt of the horse’s hooves reopened the wound at her ribs and brought a fresh wave of dizziness and pain. Perchance the quick slash of an assassin’s blade would be preferable to dying slowly of blood loss. . .

No. She was going to reach Il Diavolo. She had hundreds of things she wanted to do before leaving this world, and she’d hardly managed any of them. Quite apart from avenging her father’s death and regaining her home, she planned on dying a wrinkled old crone in a nice warm bed, surrounded by a huge and loving family. A young, heroic death was all very well in principle, but the reality looked distinctly unappealing.

Blood thrummed in her ears and whirling lights crowded her vision like fireflies. She shook her head to clear it. The horse crested a rise, and there it was; Torre di San Rocco, the fortified city strongold of Italy’s most famous son, outlined by the setting sun.

Thank you, Lord.

Cara kicked the horse’s flanks. She would reach Il Diavolo, or die trying.

Chapter 1.

“You’ve got to choose one of them. What about Lucrezia Borgia?”

Alessandro del Sarto drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and briefly considered strangling his second-in-command. Not enough to kill him, of course. Just enough to stop this infernal listing of prospective brides.

He’d spent all day scaring the wits out of people and his head ached as if he’d been hit with a battle-axe. First, he’d dealt with a line of petitioners who’d flocked to the castle to beg him to settle their petty disputes. He didn’t care who’d stolen whose goat. Then he’d spent a few hours thrashing the cockiness out of some raw recruits on the training field. That had been fun, admittedly, but now his injured shoulder hurt like the devil. Lastly, he’d overseen the flogging of a man convicted of assault; all that screaming and begging for mercy had made his ears ring.

Alessandro took a sip of wine and cast a simmering glance over the crowd milling before the dais. Even those brave enough to meet his eyes failed to hold his gaze for longer than a heartbeat. What had Machiavelli said the other day? ‘Better to be feared than loved.’ Absolutely right. Alessandro smiled at a servant, baring his teeth in the merest hint of a snarl—and chuckled as the poor boy paled in fright and dropped his tray.

Francesco Neroni shot him a disapproving glance. “Stop ignoring me. You haven’t lost your hearing as well as the use of your sword arm.”

Alessandro’s glower usually had the power to send brave men scurrying from the room. Sadly, it had no effect on the grizzled old soldier next to him.

“You look like a bulldog that’s swallowed a wasp,” Francesco said calmly. “You forget, my lord, that I’m immune to your scowls.” He pushed forward a small portrait. “What’s wrong with the Borgia girl? She’s pretty enough. And she buried her first husband a year ago, so you won’t have to contend with a simpering virgin.”

“I don’t care if she speaks seventeen languages and plays the lute like an angel. I’m not marrying anyone, least of all Rodrigo Borgia’s bastard.”

“He is the Pope. No harm in getting on God’s good side.”

Alesandro snorted. “It’s a sad outlook for Christians everywhere if the Almighty’s best representative on earth is that whoring, murdering tyrant. And you’ve conveniently forgotten her brother. Cesare’s a lunatic.”

“Hardly the perfect brother-in-law, I’ll admit. Rumour has it he’s already killed one brother.” Francesco drew a line through the name at the top of his list. “Pity. You need all the divine blessing you can get.”

“Your concern for my blackened soul is touching,” Alessandro said dryly. “But the answer is still no.”

“Fine. Forget an alliance with Rome. What about Naples? There’s the sister of the king of Navarre . . .” The next portrait showed a buxom girl with a huge ruby nestled in her mountainous cleavage. “Fantastic breasts,” Francesco coaxed. “It’s like she’s got two piglets wrestling in her bodice.”

Alessandro glanced over. “She looks like a horse.”

“You love horses.”

“That’s true. Find me a woman as brave and loyal as Saraceno and I’ll marry her on the spot, whatever she looks like.”

It was Francesco’s turn to snort. “Bollocks! You’ve an eye for beauty, whether it’s horseflesh or women.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know why you’re being so fussy. They’re all the same with the lights out. You don’t look at the fireplace when you’re poking the fire, do you?”

Alessandro rolled his eyes. “I bet the ladies just love that silver tongue of yours.”

“I do well enough, thank you.”

“Not with the only one you actually want. How is Renata?”

A flush reddened Francesco’s neck at the mention of his unrequited love. “She’s fine.”

Alessandro shrugged negligently. “You’re probably the only man in the entire keep who hasn’t had her. Just go to her room, slip her a few coins, and put yourself out of your misery.”

Francesco scowled. “I will not! She doesn’t do that sort of thing any more.”

Alessandro raised his hands in surrender. “Eh, I admire her. At least she and the other camp followers are honest in their dealings.” He nodded at Francesco’s paper. “Those high-born girls on your list are no different, though they pretend otherwise. They’re all willing to sell themselves. The only difference is the price.”

Francesco deleted another name. “No to Principessa d’Albret then.” He brushed the feathered end of his quill back and forth against his chin, where it caught against the bristles of his beard. “You’re not making this easy. How hard can it be to choose a wife from scores of rich, beautiful, pampered women?”

“Ah, yes, it is wonderful to be me.” Alessandro spread his arms in a mocking, theatrical gesture that made the nearest candles flicker. “Behold, Il Diavolo,” he lowered his voice so only Francesco could hear. “I couldn’t even fight an old woman at the moment. Who wouldn’t want me as a husband?”

“Stop being so dramatic. You’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

Alessandro growled. “We got back from Spain three months ago and I still can’t grip my sword properly. Those same princes begging me to marry their daughters would be outside the city walls challenging me to a fight if they knew I’d been injured.” He glared at the room in general. “God, I hate sitting around doing nothing. I’d give anything to be to be spurring Saraceno into battle.”

Francesco shrugged. “I’m not the only one who’s got used to a roof over my head and hot food in my belly. The men are glad to be taking a break, though they’d never admit it. Maybe it’s a sign you should think about settling down.”

Alessandro didn’t answer, so Francesco forged on. “How about one of the Chigi girls? He’s the Borgias’ financial man. They call him ‘God’s banker’ in Rome. He’s even richer than you. I heard at his feasts at his villa on the banks of the Tiber he serves his guests on solid gold plates. They throw them into the water when they’re finished.”

Alessandro snorted. “He sends divers into the river with nets as soon as everyone’s gone home.”

“Oh.” Francesco scratched out two more names. “Well, you’ve rejected Florence, Naples, Rome, Milan, and Venice. There’s hardly anywhere left.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t had a woman since we got back, Sandro. It’s doing nothing to improve your temper, let me tell you.”

Alessandro ignored him. “None of those girls would have me if they knew they were being bound to a cripple.”

“Ugh. Don’t exaggerate. It’s only temporary.” Francesco inhaled sharply as a new thought struck him. “God, you haven’t lost the use of that blade, have you?” He shot a meaningful glance at Alessandro’s crotch.

Alessandro chuckled at his horrified expression. “No.”

“Sure? Want me to send a girl up? Check everything’s in working order? We’ve just got a new kitchen maid from Bologna. She’s not a great looker, but she’s very enthusiastic.”

“Not tonight. I’m in no mood for company.”

Francesco shrugged. “Your loss.” He studied his list again. “You know, you’re going to have to choose one of these girls eventually, just to keep the peace.”

Alessandro suppressed a howl of frustration. The scheming and machinations of court life bored him to tears. He hated the endless plotting and posturing, gossiping and backstabbing that would accompany his guests when they arrived in a week’s time. All those overdressed, slyly manipulating ladies with their not-so-subtle innuendoes and flirtations. Offers to grace his bed in return for a glittering trinket or political favour.

It wasn’t in his nature to pander and fawn. Action was always better than diplomacy. Bad enough that he was even considering a pact of non-aggression with his neighbours so they could unite against the French. But to marry one of their spoilt, whining daughters as well, to sweeten the deal? That was too much.

“They’ll never leave you alone until you’re married,” Francesco murmured.

“Don’t you ever give up?”

The commander shook his head.

On the battlefield Francesco’s refusal to admit defeat was a quality Alessandro truly appreciated. In this instance, however, it was just bloody irritating. He stretched his hand forward with a resigned  sigh. “Give it here. I’ll look at it again, but not tonight. I’m going to bed.”

Real Historical ‘Manspiration’ – Criminal Escapologist Henri Latude.

One of the major plotlines for the first book in my Secrets & Spies series—To Steal A Heart—is a daring escape from one of Paris’s most heavily fortified prisons, the Chateau de Vincennes. And inspiration for the specifics of the prison break came from a real historical ‘manspiration’, an extremely dubious character called Henri Latude.

Jean Henri Latude (23 March 1725 – 1 January 1805), often called Danry or Masers de Latude, was a French writer famous for his lengthy confinement in the Bastille, at Vincennes, and for his repeated escapes from those prisons.

Latude tried to curry favor with the marquise de Pompadour by secretly sending her a box of poison and then informing her of the supposed plot against her life, hoping that he could earn a reward of cash for warning her. The ruse was discovered, and Mme de Pompadour, not appreciating the humor of the situation, had Latude put in the Bastille on 1 May 1749.

He was later transferred to Vincennes, from which he escaped in 1750. Captured and re-imprisoned in the Bastille, he made a second brief escape in 1756. He was again transferred to Vincennes in 1764, and the next year made a third escape and was a third time recaptured. He was put in a madhouse by Malesherbes in 1775, and discharged in 1777 on condition that he should retire to his native town.

He remained in Paris, however, and he was again imprisoned. A certain Madame Legros became interested in him through a chance reading of one of his memoirs, and, through vigorous agitation in his behalf, secured his release in 1784. His considerable ability for mimicry and intrigue were evidenced throughout his long captivity; he posed as a brave military officer, a son of the non-existent marquis de La Tude, and as a victim of Pompadour’s nefarious intrigues. He was lauded and pensioned during the Revolution, and, in 1793, the Convention compelled the heirs of Madame de Pompadour to pay him 60,000 francs in damages. He died famous and wealthy in Paris in 1805.

Of course, while I find the sneaky deviousness of the real-life Latude incredibly sexy, physically he was not a handsome man. But the great thing about writing romance is that I get to make my heroes clever AND drop-dead gorgeous.

Under the guise of ‘research’ I have a whole Pinterest page of HISTORICAL HOTTIES that I use as ‘Manspiration.’ Most of them have characteristics I want in my heroes. I love the sartorial elegance and burning desire for revenge of The Count of Monte Cristo. I love Indiana Jones’s swashbuckling sense of adventure. I love Han Solo’s confidence that borders on arrogance. I love the sleepy eyes and half-smile of Dunstan, Prince of Persia. I love the cocky teasing of Sawyer from Lost. I love Benedict’s quick, snarky wit from Much Ado About Nothing. I love pretty much any man in Regency costume. It’s the breeches! The coats! The brooding!

Admittedly, some of the pictures on there are just gratuitous and unapologetically hot. Sorry, not sorry. So check them out and see if you agree with me. Here’s the Pinterest link: bit.ly/2fYNIK4. And feel free to contact me with your own suggestions!

Love Kate

P.S: I feature a new ‘Historical Hottie’ each month in my Newsletter. Sign up for giveaways, news and fun.

GIVEAWAY RULES: *** Three other Historical Authors are taking part in this blog hop giveaway. I will be giving away one e-copy of ‘A Counterfeit Heart’ to a random commenter on this blog – so tell me YOUR favorite ‘manspiration’. For a chance to win ALL FOUR of these books, follow the four-blog stop and check out each author’s Manspiration Blogs. Leave a comment on each post for extra chances to win! (Each blog you comment on will get you an extra entry into the giveaway draw, so go for it!) Easy peesy. No purchase necessary.

Here’s the BLOG HOP link to Cecelia Mecca’s blog post: http://ceceliamecca.com/inspiration-for-alpha-male-heroes/

My giveaway prize will be an e-copy of my latest Secrets & Spies series release, A Counterfeit Heart. Good luck!

I’ll be taking part in a Historical Romance ‘Manspiration’ Blog Hop on Tuesday October 10th 2017. Join me and three other historical romance authors as we discuss the historical hotties who inspire our drop-dead heroes!

Saturday 7th October 2017, 10am- 12pm.

Calling all my Illinois romance reading friends! I’ll be participating in this author signing at Eureka Public Library, IL, with a whole bunch of other fun authors this weekend. I’ll be signing books, giving away swag, and sharing some fabulous Regency artifacts as well. If you’re in the area, we’d love to see you, so stop by!

I’ll be joining two of my favorite fellow romance authors, R.T. Wolfe and M. J. Schiller for a books signing and a glass of wine at Sunset Lake Vineyards, Carlock, IL between 5 and 7pm this Thursday evening 28th September 2017. We’d love for you to join us! There will be signed books, swag and giveaways from all three of us, plus food and wine. What more could you ask for? Hope to see you there!

September’s newsletter just went out folks. The winner of the August historical book and swag giveaway was Kathryn Pasron. Congratulations Kathryn and thanks for following me on Bookbub!