Betrothed Snippet
The roses were waiting for her alongside the morning papers. Georgie went instead to the breakfast servery. Which Petroski brother had sent the flowers? No one else had cause to send them. Would it be a thank you for the dinner the night before from Demetri or an apology from Vladimir? Bacon, a poached egg, grilled tomatoes, wilted spinach and toast arranged on her plate, she sat, flower card in hand. Tea poured, she opened the envelope and drew out the card:
Good morning Miss Georgina,
The dinner was delightful and the company more so, a man couldn’t wish for a more accomplished and charming sister in-law.
Salute,
General Demetri
Foolish, how she warmed at the sentiment; how she felt only the smallest disappointment that Vladimir had not sent them. She was halfway through breakfast before she picked up the paper. As was her habit, she scanned the headlines as she made her way to the gossip column. She bet herself a crumpet with honey that her betrothed featured there again.
Finally, the moment arrived when there was nothing to do but turn the page, sight targeting on the evil little column, brace and read…read and re-read.
The Petroski Brothers reigned the night at Madam Debuverey’s salon. The writer was informed that the salon was introduced to a range of Russian salon games which, rumor has it, touched the lips of many a female salon member, especially the elusive and beautiful widow. Invites abound as the Petroski brothers spend their last few nights in the city.
Georgie, slapped butter and honey on her toasted crumpet, ripped it apart with her teeth and masticated it into oblivion….brothers. She picked up the nasty little column and read it again. And, sure as eggs, there it was again, the Petroski brothers.
Her father came into the dining room whistling, “Morning sweet-cheeks. Paper? Anything of note?” He piled his plate with kippers, sausage, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and pan-fried potatoes. Then stepped towards the table.
“Spinach!” Georgie growled.
“Yes, yes must have been an oversight.” He placed a few leaves on his plate.
“Don’t make me come over there, father.”
He enlarged the portion of spinach.
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Mythic Photography of Kirsty Mitchell
The amazing power of dreams, vision and a passion for beauty. Kirsty Mitchell! Her mother reader her stories everyday and in honor of her mother’s memory she made Wonderland a book of ethereal beauty.
Find out more about Kirsty: https://www.kirstymitchellphotography.com/
Buy her Wonderland book HERE
Delicious Snippet
From BETROTHED ~ A Russian Betrothal!
Scanning her attire, her chest tightened. The Russian embroidered blouse suddenly looked like an overeager mistake. The red jacket with the epaulets flashed in her mind, it would have looked so much smarter. She would change. He had made her wait; he could wait a further ten minutes.
Georgie walked briskly to the stairs and started up them as the parlor door opened.
“Ah, there you are Georgie,” her father called, and her fingers curled into her palms. This clearly was not going to be her best day.
Georgie turned to face the parlor door and in an instant, over her father’s shoulder, she locked gazes with her betrothed. Her father’s voice faded as a cacophony of sensations burst under her skin and her legs turned oddly weak. She gripped the railing tighter to steady herself, to stop from turning into a pool of aspic as she stared.
His return stare raced to fill every corner of her being. She was no longer in the overeager blouse. She was entirely exposed; heart, body and soul, in the most alarming and yet delicious way. There would be no defenses against this man. There would be no protecting her heart from him as he had, in a very instant, sucked it straight out of her too-tight chest and taken it captive.
Happy 2020 and an Update on the year to come
2018 and 2019 were very busy years for me in the other areas of my life. My plan to deliver The Fur Heart to you has slowed somewhat but the story is one I am sure you will love, hopefully making it worth the wait. It is making excellent progress, as is the second in The Painted Sisters series – Painted Strength. I will start to share more of these two stories with you in the coming months. They are neck for neck on word count so it will be whichever pips the other to the post which one you get to read first.
The upside is that I actually have quite a few things already in the works that are scheduled for 2020 and early 2021.
The 1st is a stand alone release early Feb of Betrothed, originally titled, The Russian Betrothal, in the Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Anthology that ran from Mid Oct 2019 to Mid January 2020. I am adding some delicious new content for those of you who loved Georgie and Demetri’s story and want to share a bit more of their journey (watch out some some wriggle in your seat snippets over the next couple of weeks before that goes live!). You can read the 1st chapter HERE
I am also madly working on a mid-year surprise!
The Alienist
Loved this Victorian serial killer drama and the seeds of modern profiling using an Alienist.
Snippet from THE FUR HEART
The Fur Heart is the 4th book in The Velvet Basement Series. The series can be read in any order. The Fur Heart is the story of Miss Phillippa Bancroft and Prince Alexi Ulyanov and their journey to claim and tame the beast within.
London, 1898. Following on from last week we are at a salon gathering of artists, poets, writers and philosophers along with the nobility that support them.
The Count’s hand came around her waist pivoting her around and next minute they were behind the bay window curtain and in the small space between it and the window bench.
His hand came immediately over her mouth. “Shhh,’ he whispered, “no-one will hear us if you keep your voice down.”
“How dare y..” His palm came over her mouth again and pressed against it silencing her.
He waited. Phillippa scowled, even as her skin started to prickle with warm awareness.
“If you make a noise, I may be forced to marry you and that might be unbearable.” His nose was pressed against her hair as he muttered in her ear. “For me . . .”
She growled under his palm.
“Oh sweetheart be very careful who you growl at.” He nuzzled her hair again. “It could be read as a lover crooning for her mate.”
She nipped his palm.
“Now that’s definitely a lovers act.” He hushed into her ear then nipped the top of it with his teeth. She muffled a yelp.
He drew his face back. Black eyes in a pale face, inky thick hair falling over his shoulders like some kind of libertine from Versailles.
She lifted his hand off her mouth.
“People would have seen us enter.” She hissed under her breath.
The corners of those all seeing eyes creased.
“Best we make it brief” and then his lips were pressed against hers.
Snippet from PAINTED STRENGTH
PAINTED STRENGTH, Lila and the Lion Tamer, is Book 2 in the Painted Sisters Series; a thriller romance series about girls who have been tattooed as living art and a ritualistic serial killer trained to track them down and kill them to return their skin to the men who bought them. It is set in late Victorian England and due out end of the year/early 2019.
This snippet is at the beginning of the book, Lila our heroine, almost fell off the high wire again and the circus manager, Mr Spencer has closed down her act and given her two choices, leave or work the back tent with the whores. Count Stephan, the Lion Tamer who has never said a word to her, has stepped in.
Bailey & Bailey Circus, Bath, 1899.
Spencer’s face was all screwed up as he looked at her. He was put out. The Count had a lot of sway, he handled the big cats but he was also a wealthy man who contributed a lot towards funding the Circus.
“You his ‘darling’ then?” the manager asked.
The Count looked down at her. It was hard to read him in the dim light. His skin was bronzed, jaw square, a masculine face with brown eyes, nothing pretty or soft. He had hair the color of the Sahara desert, of golden sand that shone like burnished satin tassels. His head tilted to the side in question at her silence. She could walk out right now and take her chances on the street. They weren’t good. Or she could take the chance the Count held out to her.
Lila lifted her chin and flipped back her head as she turned and faced Spencer.
“I thought you knew?”
His response was priceless, he hated not knowing everything that went on under the big top. His weasel eyes squinted into narrow slits then he turned to the Count.
“Well she’s your responsibility. She is housed with you and paid by you out of your share.”
The Count didn’t flinch. “Naturally.”
She on the other hand jerked. “I share with the tumblers.”
Spencer had already turned and was almost out of the space. “Not anymore….darling. Remember my warning you’re out or in the back tent if you muck this one up.”
That left just the two of them.
“What were you thinking with all that darling, darling, darling? Couldn’t you save me and not land me in your trailer? You’ll have to move out.”
Her hands were on her hips and her costume felt far too tight as her chest heaved.
The Count turned and walked away.
“Where are you going? We need to sort this out. Where will you be sleeping?”
“Grab your things. I lock the trailer at ten PM. After that you can work it out with the lines men.”
The lines men all slept under the stalls.
“This is not finished!” Lila called after him.
But he was gone.
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THE PAINTED HEART, a prequel
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Snippet from The Fur Heart
The Fur Heart is the 4th book in The Velvet Basement Series. The series can be read in any order. The Fur Heart is the story of Miss Phillippa Bancroft and Prince Alexi Ulyanov and their journey to claim and tame the beast within.
London, 1898. At a salon gathering of artists, poets, writers and philosophers along with the nobility that support them.
Phillippa glared across the salon at Prince Ulyanov. The gold epaulets on his military uniform caught the lamp light as he leaned against the sideboard, a glass of burgundy in hand as if he wasn’t depraved. As if she hadn’t been an unwitting and unwilling witness to his depraved acts. He should be slinking away at the sight of her not staring at her all night as if she were complicit in that act. As if she were stretched out on the buffet table available for consumption like the succulent venison they had all gobbled up at dinner.
Phillippa stood and excused herself from the surrounding discussion. In long, confident strides she walked towards him, the arrogant easterner who didn’t even look alarmed at her imminent confrontation. Well, he should be. He liked to feel the sting of pain . . . then she was going to show him her bite.
Stephen King and RR Martin
This is a great Interview and well worth listening to the whole lot. Two writing giants, two different approaches.
Historical Thriller Snippet
Snippet: from the thriller plot in Painted Trust
Great Britain 1898
Inspector Morrison and Master Brody return to London with the body of the first crime scene in Manchester. They are still feeling each other out.
The pup was intense and quiet as he sat opposite Morrison on a crate, alternating between scribbling and drawing in his notebook. There were no notable facts punctuating the train trip back to London, that jubilant boy was gone.
It had been impossible to get the kid into the passenger carriage, so here they were, sitting in the baggage carriage like a couple of stowaways, with the box that contained the girl’s body. The pup next to it like a guard dog.
The train lurched to a stop, steel screeching on steel as the driver engaged the brakes.
“Kid . . .”
The pup nodded and closed his book, slipping it into the leather satchel slung over his shoulder, then stood. He placed his hand on the box containing the girl’s remains, almost as a communication, a reassurance.
Steam puffed out onto the platform, covering the first alighting passengers in fog. The bobbies were waiting, and they jumped into the baggage carriage and unloaded the box with well-practiced efficiency headed, the kid following closely behind.
Morrison grabbed the kid’s arm and turned him around. “Listen kid, I get this might be your first big show, but you can’t take it personally. Whoever she is, God rest her soul, her body is crime scene evidence now. It’s going to be prodded, poked, exposed and sliced as the quacks try and find more answers for us.”
The pup tugged out of his grip.
“I want to be there!”
Hell, the pup was hit hard. The first horrendous injustice either riled you up or took the wind out of your sails. He should be thankful it was the former.
“You don’t have to be there, we’ll get a report.”
The pup’s face screwed up as if Morrison were mad. “A report where they pick and choose what to write down; only we can discern the facts we need for the investigation.”
Morrison stilled. He regularly went in while the coroner worked, listened as they talked. On more than one occasion, the facts he needed weren’t in the report but in the discussion during the examination.
Morrison poked the kid in the chest. “Who the fuck are you, kid?”
The kid recoiled at his touch and his face shuttered.
It could be a lucky guess the kid was already showing he had more than the average level of smarts and he was a fast learner, but Morrison’s gut said something more was going on. That was the second time the kid had closed down when asked about his background.
Morrison leaned down so close that they were almost nose to nose. “I will find out your secrets, boy, and I will expose them.”
The pup’s eyes flared wide before that innate internal barrier slammed down again. At least the pup knew where they stood.
Morrison stepped back. The kid straightened his shoulders and turned to follow the box, his usually lily-white cheeks pink and blotchy.
“We’ll attend the sessions with the coroner,” Morrison said as he laid his palm on the kid’s back and propelled him after the bobbies and the corpse filled box.
The kid flashed him a look of surprise. Surprise and caution.
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Painted Trust – Romantic Snippet
Snippet: from the romance in Painted Trust
Great Britain 1898
Miss Edith Appleby has commenced employment with the eminent forensic surgeon Dr. Anthony Vaughn, he has come home late from a day trip to Glasgow to assist the medical Coroner there with a case. Their unexpected and delicious exchange of the night before on his mind.
The sight of her wasn’t what Vaughn expected. He’d seen the light was on, but he’d imagined he’d see Thomas in the anatomical lab, not her, not his Apple. Vaughn moved through the room towards his newest household member, his chest oddly tightening.
Flashes of her had come at unexpected moments throughout the day, on the train, while he examined the microscope slides, passing through a darkened corridor; they were a staccato of unexamined reminiscences, of relived sensations and growing wants. Despite assuring himself that last night was an anomaly, most likely for both of them. He’d nearly lost his footing in his effort to catch the last train to make it home tonight. Not that he’d go to her room—that was the realm of fantasy—but he’d been disappointed to find the theater and its surrounds dark and empty.
As if God, who had consistently ignored him at the surgical table, now chose to listen, there at the end of the room, bent over a dissection table, was his Apple. So engrossed was she in her task that she didn’t turn at his steps, not even as he came to a stop close behind her. She had a black elastic strap around the top of her head, holding in place a magnifying glass and light for detailed dissection work. The focus he read in her body told him this work was not new to her. There was a sense of confidence in her that she didn’t have in the surgery. Her claimed familiarity with anatomy and dissection had not been a fabrication, not like the rest of her apparent history. It seemed women with secrets were to be his fate.
Vaughn coughed.
She jumped and turned, the scalpel she was using suddenly poised as a weapon.
The dramatic stance was somewhat surprising yet totally overshadowed by the picture she presented with the great big magnifier in front of her eyes. Vaughn raised his eyebrows and the odd tightness seeing her generated in his chest grew.
“I am frozen in fear,” he murmured.
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Historical Thriller Snippet
Snippet: from the thriller plot in Painted Trust
Great Britain 1898
There’s a fledgling killer, fostered and trained by men so deep in the echelons of power catching him could be more dangerous and letting him run loose. Inspector Morrison and Master Brody head to the first crime scene in Manchester.
Morrison stepped from the cab. Wind sent his black coat billowing and flapping behind him as he pressed down his hat and made his way to the front door of the three story soot encrusted boarding house. People, dressed in shades of dust and smoke milled about for word of the events within. Around them a chimney filled skyline purged black smoke into a sky that had no choice but to suck in the pungent fumes as all around them the city’s heartbeat filled the air with the ceaseless pounding of cotton looms. It was truly as Friedrich Engels, the socialist voice of the people described …‘hell on earth’.
“Inspector Morrison…Sargent Briggs.” The Sargent held out his hand. Morrison took it, and received a firm dry handed shake, the man was solid.
Sargent Briggs looked to be mid-thirties, tired eyes and a jacket that swan on thin shoulders. Briggs didn’t appear to eat his fair share of gods’ mighty bounty. He would be paid enough unless he had a dozen kids to feed at home or his wife, tired of too many nights alone had left him to his own devises. Some men might jump into that freedom and feed themselves with a hand wrapped around a tavern wench, however that was not Sargent Briggs. Did he dive into his work to feed a litter of kids or did he over work as he pined at their loss?
“Glad you could get here so quickly, Inspector.”
“Steam, is the master of distance, Sargent Briggs.” Morrison moved into the house as the Sargent filed in behind.
“The body is up on the top floor. It’s been near impossible to keep the lid on this one.” The Sargent said as they walked through the small entrance foyer towards the staircase against the far wall. A quick glance over his shoulder and Morrison made eye contact with the pup, the kid was right behind them, determination setting his pretty little jaw.
Morrison took the blackened stairs two at a time. Two, four, six, eight, landing. Boarders slouched in doorways or peered through doors held ajar, people saw everything and nothing in places like this.
“I assume you’ve questioned the residents?”
Two, four, six, eight, landing.
“Yes Inspector, only a few left who haven’t returned from shifts to follow up.”
“You interview them yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
Two, four, six, eight, landing.
“Married?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Wife, kids?”
Two, four, six, eight, landing.
“With her mother, sir. I will have the time to put into the case if that’s what you are asking.”
Two, four, six, eight, landing.
Morrison turned at the top landing. Behind him the Sargent diligently followed as did the pup.
“Its ‘bad’ sir,” came the Sargent’s puffed voice.
‘Bad’, bobbies thought any crime that had sliced up flesh was bad. Even here in Manchester most of ‘bad’ would be what a body looked like after it got pulled out of the river Ink, a bubbling admass of green crusted slime that changed the color of the body’s skin and ate away the hair if left in it. Morrison doubted anyone at the scene had seen ‘bad’. The Ripper was bad, he’d seen that. They hadn’t. Most men no matter how well trained couldn’t see past the blood of a crime like that to see the facts needed to track and catch a monster. He could, military service gave him that skill. You hold enough limbless and decapitated bodies and ‘normal’ moves to an entirely different benchmark.
For him humanity was a term used to express an aspiration, not a reality.
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The Painted Sisters Series Book 1 Available 27th Feb
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Historical Thriller Snippet
Snippet: from the thriller plot in Painted Trust
Great Britain 1898
There’s a fledgling killer, fostered and trained by men so deep in the echelons of power catching him could be more dangerous and letting him run loose. Inspector Morrison and Master Brody head to the first crime scene in Manchester.
“Angel Meadow,” the cabbie called out as the carriage drew to a halt.
“Angel Meadows has the highest mortality rate in the country,” Master Brody said as he peered out the window. “The looms are said to go all night.”
Inspector Morrison looked across the bench at the pup, his newly acquired and unwanted ‘go fetch boy’. He’d been regaled with facts throughout the train trip from London to Manchester, and now on the carriage ride to the crime scene. No doubt a nervous blathering the kid needed to get sorted. Well he’d been given pups before and he knew exactly how to get rid of them.
“Here’s a fact for you pup, poor Mancunians who can only afford sleeping space, sleep back to back on the floor in a room with strangers. The thing is they have to do it naked to avoided spreading lice from their clothes. Any guesses at the unwanted pregnancy rate?”
The pup went red and his pale fine fingers gripped the brown leather satchel strap that pressed across his young all too skinny chest.
Ha, it turned out making the kid go scarlet beat fact sharing hands down.
Morrison collected his hat from the bench beside him.
“Stay in the cab.” It would be the kid’s first crime scene and they wouldn’t have called him up from London if it wasn’t going to be serious. He may not have wanted a go-fetch-boy and was annoyed that he now had one underfoot but he would not traumatize the kid.
The pup straightened, “Absolutely not.”
Morrison barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “For fuck sake grow some balls ‘absolutely not’” he mimicked. The kid was going to be a laughing stock if he kept that up.
The pup went tense. “I resent your…”
Morrison held up his hand, “Just grow a pair. No one talks like that on the street and that is where we work. You want respect don’t dish out indignant little Molly statements. Now stay in the cab.”
“You don’t have to worry about me Inspector,” the boy said with all the earnestness those unsoiled by life seemed to have. “I’ve seen more than you might imagine.”
“As I might imagine?” Morrison swore under his breath. “What I can imagine you don’t want to know.”
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Snippet: Painted Trust
This snippet is part of the Weekend Writing Warriors 8 sentence snippet that is shared by a group of amazing writers every Sunday. I hope you enjoy it and click the link HERE to find other writers. This is the beginning of Painted Trust, a Historical Thriller Romance due for release 27th Feb 2018.
The heroine sees the hero for the first time. Edith has just entered the hero’s home for the first time, as a patient wails in the background from the surgery at the back of the house. She’s late and they want her to get started straight away.
The howls increased in volume taking up residence through the house as if the wild winds had slipped under the front door and joined them.
Double doors at the far right flung open hitting the walls on either side. Clap. Clap.
Edith jumped.
The two burst of syncopated thunder, echoed through the air as a stallion of a man strode into the foyer.
Cowardice legs took an involuntary step backwards .
That couldn’t be him.
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Artist in focus
I have been following Thomas Dodd and his work for many years now. His style is deeply romantic and his expression of the feminine embracing of all forms. He uses a painting technique that moves a photographic image closer to classical art. I am attracted to the mythological elements that subtly come into his work. People site his influences to include Gustav Klimt which I can see coming through with the use of golds, patterns and a strong focus on the feminine and sensuality in many of his pieces.
Here is a video where he has digitally animated some of his work.
Thomas Dodd Website HERE Facebook HERE
Victorian Era Mail service
I just came across a great New York Times piece on the mail service in the Victorian era. It’s full of trivia: for example, did you know that in 1889 London, mail was delivered TWELVE TIMES A DAY? Read this:
In Victorian London, though service wasn’t 24/7, it was close to 12/6. Home delivery routes would go by every house 12 times a day — yes, 12. In 1889, for example, the first delivery began about 7:30 a.m. and the last one at about 7:30 p.m. In major cities like Birmingham by the end of the century, home routes were run six times a day.
“In London, people complained if a letter didn’t arrive in a couple of hours,” said Catherine J. Golden, a professor of English at Skidmore College and author of “Posting It: The Victorian Revolution in Letter Writing” (2009).
And, not unlike us, most Victorian letter writers seemed more concerned about getting a rapid response than a long one. “Return of post” was an often-used phrase, requesting an immediate response, in time for the next scheduled delivery that day.
Snippet: Painted Trust
This snippet is part of the Weekend Writing Warriors 8 sentence snippet that is shared by a group of amazing writers every Sunday. I hope you enjoy it and click the link HERE to find other writers.
This is the beginning of Painted Trust, a Historical Thriller Romance due for release 27th Feb 2018.
The heroine, Edith Appleby, is in a desperate situation. A killer supported by unimaginably powerful men, is after her. Edith’s chances of surviving are very slim. But she has a plan and it starts with taking up a position with Edinburgh’s forensic surgeon’s, Dr. Anthony Vaughn.
Wind swept clouds smudged the sky and a relentless, tenacious wind pressed against her front. Edith leaned forward, her body weight helping to propel her onward. It was as if the wind sought to halt her progress, as if it desperately tried to encourage her to turn back, to forget her plans and flee as far and as fast as she could from a city that held certain death. She’d run once before and it hadn’t worked, this time she would make sure that when she ran, she would run off the edge of the earth.
At number forty-eight Surgeon’s Square Edith closed her eyes and took a slow breath, then another; steeled herself for the task ahead.
You can do this.
Edith opened her eyes and before doubt made her change her mind, lifted the icy door-knocker and hit it against the black, glossy wood. Three hard knocks vibrated through her hand and rang out down the street. It was a baton thumping on castle gates; it was an undeserving request for refuge or perhaps, much like her heart, it was the sound of hope beating frantically against the odds.
Weekend Writing Warriors blog link page: HERE
Amazing Costumes by Agnieszka Osipa
The myth, the archetypal is the invisible baton that gets passed along especially when we read/hear a story, watch a movie, experience imagery that strikes a deep chord within us.
You can feel when it is present because something powerful happens to you under the surface a communion with the imagery that can trigger insights, emotions, thoughts. Costume/fashion artist Agnieszka Osipa, creates imagery that has stepped out of the mythical, out of Slavic and Nordic folklore.
She generally doesn’t say what she has created but leaves it up to the viewer to place meaning on the images. She started working with photographers like: Marcin Nagraba & A.M Lorek as a way to get her work out into the world but now feels that working towards photoshoots is also an end in itself.
Her work has been in music videos, exhibitions and is sought after in niche Fetish communities.
I have pulled together some images from a somewhat darker series that remind me of the world of The Collectors.
New Release Available for pre-order
For those of you interested in my next book release, I have a spin off series coming your way, that’s ominously gothic; An Erotic Thriller Romance Series called The Painted Sisters. Be warned it really is very, very dark. 
Preorder available here:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2CHu1Na
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2Fjrjzk…
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2Eqqraz
A WOMAN RIPE WITH DARK, SENSUAL SECRETS FLEES FOR HER LIFE … A BRILLIANT MAN ENCASED IN THE MACARBE WORLD OF THE DEAD AND DYING WHO WANTS HER … A FLEDGLING KILLER TESTS HIS WINGS … AND AN INSPECTOR WITH HIS UNLIKELY ASSISTANT START TO HUNT THE KILLER DOWN.
It is a dark, macabre and Gothic world that Miss Edith Appleby flees as a man who no longer wants her alive hires a groomed killer to do the job. But Edith has a plan, it requires a forged medical degree, one she plans on stealthily acquiring from the dangerously alluring Dr. Anthony Vaughn, Edinburgh’s most eminent forensic surgeon.
Never had a woman climbed under his skin and burrowed so deep as his new staff member, Miss Edith Appleby. She carried a light that banished the darkness creeping into his soul. It had been a long time since he thought he could trust someone, since he let anyone close, she clearly had secrets but how bad could they really be?
Inspector Morrison and his newly acquired assistant, Master Brody, are assigned to a case officials fear is the Ripper returned or a copycat killer. Neither are surprised at the mode of killing, they have seen his tests and trials fished out of the Thames and know he’s just getting started. Moreover, bigger powers are at play behind the killings; men of power with networks in every branch of public office, every political party and every prominent family tree; men who may be impossible to find and impossible to stop.
‘Holland takes readers once again on a tantalizing tour through the darker side of Victorian England…’ ~ RTBookReviews 4 STARS HOT for The Painted Heart prequel to PAINTED TRUST
Images above part of Sarah Moon’s fashion photography, partial of book cover by Hang Le, gif old black and white movie…
FREE 19 Gothic reads
I thought you may be interested in 19 FREE Gothic reads, The Veiled Heart is featured it this great giveaway bundle: click HERE
Kilted Yoga
54 million views!
I’ll not confess to how many clicks are mine! Any appetite for a series of Elsa Holland Highlander novellas??
Stocktake at the end of release week for The Painted Heart
Well it’s a week since launching The Painted Heart and a few reviews have come in:
“Officially the best book yet!! – Best book by Elsa Holland so far! I love how she can create a world that sucks you in instantly and never lets you go. I found myself reading this at every opportunity, and thinking about it when I wasn’t.” Amazon Reviewer
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“Oh my! This book is so good that you just don’t want to leave the world that Elsa Holland creates. Its my favourite book so far, and I say so far because I think this author is going to keep surprising me and I can’t wait. Overall the book is a sublime mix of gothic, sensual and clandestine overtones – it’s a must read.” Amazon Reviewer
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“This is a marvelous addition to the Velvet Basement Series. Each story captures your attention and the sensual journey to a happy ending makes these books a pleasure to read again and again. Enjoy!” Amazon Reviewer
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“This is easily the best book of this series. The world of the Velvet Basement explores different areas of sexual interest. This book includes living canvases, living art – full body tattoos – that are owned and shown off to other wealthy collectors. The Painted Heart is the first book with a plot that extends outside the kink and the couple and the first book to include a mystery. Both are wonderful.” Amazon Reviewer
I have had a promotion for The Bound Heart running which is doing well and generating interest in both The Veiled Heart and The Painted Heart which is great. Best rankings so far have been:
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The Bound Heart:
Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #5 Free in Kindle Store
#1 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Gothic <3
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The Painted Heart:
#16 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Gothic
#17 in Books > Literature & Fiction > Genre Fiction > Gothic
#21 in Books > Romance > Gothic
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The Veiled Heart:
#17 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Gothic
#18 in Books > Literature & Fiction > Genre Fiction > Gothic
#22 in Books > Romance > Gothic
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I think many readers felt here was a big difference in story type and focus between The Veiled Heart and The Bound Heart, with the release of The Painted Heart I think that distance has been narrowed and the three come together as a more cohesive group as we re-visit The Velvet Basement, the world of The Collectors and re-meet characters again.
The Painted Heart also launches the world of The Painted Sisters and is a prequel for my second series The Painted Sisters. It will be 4 possibly 5 books to be read in order with a touch more thriller / mystery than The Velvet Basement. I am excited to already be a long way through Painted Trust, Edith’s story as she flees the dangers of a fledgling Skinner and places herself in danger in order to uncover the members of the resurrected outlawed sect of Collectors. I have Pinterest boards that give a mood and feel of what’s to come in that series.
For those of you who have read The Painted Heart. The leather wolf mask Blackburn and Evie are looking at in The Velvet Basement belongs to our hero in the next book in the series called The Fur Heart . The next three in The Velvet Basement series as sinking a little deeper and darker into the world of human needs and desires. The stories I think show that we are beautiful in our complexities and broken-ness, in our secret wants and needs. We are infinitely more beautiful and whole with them as a part of our lives than pretending they are not a part of us.
A big thank you to those of you who read my work and support me. The creative process demands that we release what we create into the world to have a life of its own, to have it witnessed. It is a very rewarding process to get reviews and emails about the books, thank you!