The Ruination of Ramona Stone - A Victorian Lesbian Romance - LGBTQ - Sapphic - Historical Romance - Erotic Romance - Arranged Marriage #VictorianLesbianRomance #LGBTQ #Sapphic #HistoricalEroticRomance #ArrangedMarriage

Lisabet Sarai is here to tell us about The Ruination of Ramona Stone, a Victorian lesbian romance. LGBTQ, Sapphic, historical erotic romance, arranged marriage.

Read on for details...

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The Ruination of Ramona Stone

By Lisabet Sarai

Victorian Lesbian Romance (Three flames)

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Blurb:

Should anyone discover their secret passion, they would both be ruined.

To Victorian London, they were childhood friends reunited by tragedy. Behind closed doors, they were each other’s undoing. 

Ramona Stone survived the bleak years at boarding school because of bright-eyed Juliet—her childhood anchor and her dearest confidante. While Juliet marries for love, Ramona accepts the husband her father has arranged, an ambitious barrister twice her age. 

When an accident leaves Juliet a penniless widow, Ramona persuades her husband to grant her friend shelter. Proximity kindles unexpected passion; sympathy turns to illicit desire. What begins as solace quickly transforms into a force that neither woman can resist or deny.

Trapped with a domineering husband, living in a society eager for scandal, Ramona understands that every touch is a gamble and every glance a betrayal. If their secret comes to light, she won't just lose her place in society—she will lose the only love that she’s ever known.

Born Again Victorian

Sometimes I think I lived a past life in the Victorian age. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been drawn to architecture and costumes from the period. My siblings used to tease me about how much I liked “gingerbread” houses. In my high school yearbook picture, I’m wearing a high-necked, 1880’s style blouse with an antique cameo brooch at my throat. I’ve been a huge fan of Gilbert and Sullivan – the consummate chroniclers of Victorian culture -  since I was introduced to their operettas at age five. I had devoured the complete Sherlock Holmes before I turned fifteen, not to mention other classics from the era by Wilkie Collins, H. Rider Haggard and of course Charles Dickens.

Possibly due to all the nineteenth century fiction I’ve consumed, I find it surprisingly easy to write dialogue and description that can pass as Victorian. I certainly can’t produce the same level of authenticity for any other historical era.

Over my two and a half decade career, I’ve written a number of tales that take place during Queen Victoria’s reign. My erotic romance Miranda’s Masks features a parallel plot that unfolds in late-nineteenth-century Boston. I’ve also penned a number of steam punk books, all set in an alternative Victorian world with more advanced technology than actually existed (although in fact the latter half of the eighteen hundreds was a hotbed of invention and entrepreneurship). If you like the steampunk genre, check out my Toymakers Guild series or my alt-Victorian novel set in British India, Rajasthani Moon. 

The Ruination of Ramona Stone is my first attempt at a realistic novel set in the period. My two heroines fall desperately in love, violating every rule of Victorian society. They understand the price they will pay, should anyone discover their secret passion, but they risk everything to stay together. 

It might seem strange that I’m so attracted to things Victorian. Given my interest in sexuality (both literary and personal), I probably would have had difficulty adapting to the prudish societal norms of the time. Of course, perennially popular Victorian erotica like The Pearl and My Secret Life suggest that there was a quite a gap between what people professed in public and what they did in private (or in the company of like-minded libertines). 

That’s my theory, anyway: that the Victorians were a far lustier group than they pretended. That’s certainly true of the characters in my Victorian-themed stories.

Excerpt:

“Bloody hell,” she muttered. “This is impossible.”

“Never mind, Juliet.” I half-pulled her back onto the seat. “We will be back home before long.”

“With all the servants, plus your son. Not to mention your husband.” She turned to face me, her eyes gleaming in the light from the side lamps. “I need you, Ro. I need to touch you, to taste you. If I cannot make love to you again, I swear I shall go mad.”

Love? Was that what this was? Last night I’d thought it sheer depravity. Now I began to wonder whether the force drawing us together might be more than mere animal lust. Juliet sounded as though she was on the verge of tears.

“Hush, my dear,” I murmured, drawing her into my arms. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to be together.”

I pressed my lips to her cool forehead, then tilted her chin up. Our eyes met, and then our mouths. Her lips were hot despite the damp and the chill weather. They moulded to mine as though we were fused. We drank deep of each other’s essence, sampling the flavours, savouring the textures. Juliet poured her desire into that kiss. I drank in every ounce, filling my body and spirit.

Kissing was all we could manage, but for the moment, kissing was enough. It went on and on, as the carriage made its way through the London streets. We simply could not let each other go. We would take brief pauses for breath, then dive back into the ecstatic mouth-to-mouth connection. In the shadowed privacy of the coach, we lost ourselves in a glorious fantasy of togetherness and freedom, forgetting that what we desired was forbidden.

We broke apart like sleepers roused from a dream when the brougham halted at my townhouse. Gas lights shone in through the window glass to illumine Juliet’s exquisite countenance. I realised that her cheeks were wet with tears.

With my thumb, I wiped them away. “Don’t cry, my darling,” I whispered. “I’ll come to you, to your room. Tonight, when everyone is asleep. Tonight we can be together.”

I wanted so much to heal her sorrow, I completely forgot my own shame.

About Lisabet:

Lisabet Sarai writes in many genres, but F/F fiction is one of her favorites. In addition to her single-author lesbian romance and erotica titles, her Sapphic credits include contributions to Lambda Award winner Where the Girls Are, Ippie-winning Carnal Machines, Best Lesbian Romance 2012, Best Lesbian Erotica 2015, Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian  Desire, and Lammy-nominated Coming Together: Girl on Girl.

Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her explicit literary endeavors. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her writing. 

Connect with Lisabet!

Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (website): http://www.lisabetsarai.com

Beyond Romance (blog): http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lisabet-Sarai/e/B001K8PADS

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Hearth or Heart - The Bowman Girls #1 - Historical Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway

Emily Lane is here to tell us about Hearth or Heart, The Bowman Girls #1, an historical romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

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Hearth or Heart

Emily Lane

(The Bowman Girls, #1)

Publication date: July 13th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance

After her father dies, Effie Bowman and her eight sisters are left penniless, homeless, and alone. Salvation comes in the form of the new custodian of the estate, Mr Thornaby. But the more she learns of Mr Thornaby, the more she realises he needs her discretion as much as she needs his security.

In her efforts to moderate the wild Mr Thornaby, she recruits the unlikely aid of ton society’s most determined widower, Sir John Callander.

As the season progresses and Effie pulls Sir John deeper into her desperate schemes to moderate Mr Thornaby, both are forced to wonder if Effie is attempting to tame the wrong gentleman.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Of all the consequences to befall a clutch of daughters belonging to an entailed estate, this one was quite outside the common.

‘£20 a month in pin money?!’ cried Effie.

‘Each.’

Mrs Thornaby, ensconced in a cream morning gown of twilled French silk that seemed to defy her age, smiled most becomingly upon her niece.

‘That is just for your frills and affects and whatever other small accoutrements you young girls require these days,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘Your dresses, gowns, and hats, of course, can be drawn against my son’s account.’

‘Ma’am, I could never.’

‘Oh, yes, you could,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘That boy has too much money.’

Effie’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her gaze down.

Grimacing, Mrs Thornaby said, ‘So, your mother has told you a little of it, I collect.’

‘She has, ma’am,’ Effie admitted.

Mrs Thornaby looked her up and down.

‘Your mother tells me you are an exceptionally good manager.’

Now the talk of money had faded, Effie’s calm, dark eyes levelled upon Mrs Thornaby once more.

‘Yes, ma’am, it’s true.’

‘I suppose with eight sisters, borne of a mother of my sister’s temperament, you, as the eldest, should rather be forced into such a role, even if it was not of your disposition.’

A smirk crossed Effie’s features as she declared, ‘That much is true, to be sure.’

‘But men and boys are a different matter indeed.’

Effie’s hands, trying to thread a needle, paused. She set her embroidery box down and took up her cup of tea.

‘I have no brothers.’

‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘And husbands? What thoughts have you on them?’

‘Not so many, ma’am. I can scarcely imagine having one, never mind plural!’

Mrs Thornaby did not laugh. Instead she set down her teacup with a clatter.

‘As you may have heard, my son returned last night from Brighton.’ She paused. ‘My son is… a particular kind of fellow.’

Effie’s brow arched. Having heard—during the small hours of the morning—this particular kind of fellow stumble through the upstairs hallway singing about the roast beef of Great Britain, she was inclined to agree with a great many insinuations that issued from that vague sobriquet.

‘Indeed?’

‘He is now, of course, the custodian of your late father’s estate—by some contortion of family lines.’

Society in the northeast of England was sparse. Somehow, Mrs Thornaby’s son had ended up taking title to the entail of her sister’s late husband’s estate.

‘Yes.’

‘It is all that is natural, then,’ Mrs Thornaby went on. ‘That my son should marry you, to maintain my sister’s place at Barraton.’

What little of the sisterly rivalry that had been passed on to Effie permitted her to regard this piece of charity with deep suspicion. Her eyes cinched a touch.

‘With respect, ma’am, I fail to see why Mr Thornaby should want to marry me.’

‘I do not.’

Blushing, Effie picked up her embroidery box again. ‘I mean, ma’am, that Mr Thornaby must have a great many… um, admirers. I cannot see that he will mark me with any distinction.’

‘He will not, but I shall tell him he is to marry you. Likely, the novelty of it will tickle him, and he will entertain it for a while. Thereafter, it is your duty to… charm him.’

Effie touched her nose. She looked around the cavernous room.

It was an early, grey morning, but the shiny mahogany and silk furniture, glossy wallpapered walls, and great sash windows shone under the blaze of three gilded hearths.

‘Oh. I see.’

Mrs Thornaby’s eyes followed Effie’s, and she grimaced.

‘We are family, Miss Bowman. Now more than we ever were. My son represents Barraton. He is Barraton.’

Effie’s jaw quirked.

‘To put things plainly, my dear, it has lately come to my attention that my son is very much in need of the companionship, temperance, and governance that a wife must, to some unions, bring.’

Mrs Thornaby paused.

‘Now, am I saying that my son is bereft of the faculties required in choosing or acquiring a wife? I am not. But one cannot but put more faith in one’s own family, especially a family so interconnected.’

Effie bowed her head. ‘It would be in my best interests, indeed, to… govern Mr Thornaby—as a wife or no.’

‘But as a wife especially,’ Mrs Thornaby reiterated.

Author Bio:

Emily Lane writes sweet, clean Regency Romance perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer, Sophia Holloway, and Sophie Irwin. Hearth or Heart, her debut, launches July 13th. By day, Emily is a Management Consultant in the Lifesciences industry - she hopes her novels have just as much chemistry as her job! She lives in Thailand, which would be inconvenient but for the hot weather.

The Bowman Girls is Emily's first Regency romance series, with 3 books currently planned:

Hearth or Heart (out now)

Past or Promise (Late 2026)

Duty or Devotion (Late 2026)

Website / Instagram / Facebook / Newsletter

GIVEAWAY!

Hearth or Heart Blitz

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For Liberty and Love - Petticoats & Patriots #1 - Historical Romance and a Giveaway #Romance #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway

Shanna Hatfield is here to tell us about For Liberty & Love, Petticoats & Patriots #1, historical romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

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For Liberty and Love

Shanna Hatfield

(Petticoats & Patriots, #1)

Publication date: June 16th 2026

Genres: Adult, Historical Romance

Courage built a nation. Love made it worth fighting for.

Throughout 250 years of American history, a well-loved locket finds its way into the hands of eight spirited heroines—each standing at the crossroads of love and destiny, and each inspired by a true patriot. As it journeys from one heart to the next, these stories unfold with sweet romance, unwavering hope, and a deep love of country, proving that even in uncertain times, love is always worth the risk. Start reading the Petticoats & Patriots series today!

She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.

Philadelphia, 1776

As whispers of revolution turn swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.

Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.

Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.

But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.

In a war where even allies can become enemies, Lucy and Branch must navigate a world of hidden truths and guarded hearts. With the fate of the colonies—and their hearts—hanging in the balance as Lucy delivers a message in enemy territory, will they find the courage to trust each other and choose love?

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.

When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.

“Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.

Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she’d stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.

“May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.

“I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”

Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but she didn’t. Surely, he had to know she’d seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.

Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?

Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”

“I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she’d misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”

“And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.

“Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”

“Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.

As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”

“My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”

“Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she’d planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome with those sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.

Passionate kisses? Heavens above! What was she thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.

Author Bio:

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.

Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.

To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield

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Unmasking the Marquess - Historical Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway

Pamela Gibson is here to tell us about Unmasking the Marquess, her historical romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Pamela Gibson will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

He was a licentious rogue, or was he?

Aubrey St. Clair, Marquess of Leisterbridge, a notorious rake and society fribble, abandons his bride on their wedding night to spite his father, the man who coerced him into the marriage. When his intrepid bride turns up at his personal estate to quash the scandal, they call a truce and finally get to know each other.

Lady Catherine Sturbridge considered ending her betrothal. But a threatening letter sent to her by a convicted criminal whom she chanced upon in London, changed her mind. Marrying the powerful Duke of Gresham’s heir would keep her loved ones safe, even if she must tie herself to a frivolous rogue.

When, despite her silence, her enemy abducts her godchild, Catherine is forced to confide in her husband who agrees to help her. But can she trust him to know what to do when a child’s life is at stake and they’ve been warned not to go to go the authorities?

As they work closely together, they succumb to the passionate side of their marriage. But Catherine is wary, despite finding a different man under the guise of a society dandy, and when Aubrey reveals a long-held secret, she must protect her heart because betrayal is the enemy of trust and their fragile, new-found love is about to shatter.

Read an Excerpt

“A bit solemn, are you not, my dear? If you keep biting your lower lip, I shall have to offer you my handkerchief to staunch the blood, and I would hate to soil it. Smile. This is, after all, your wedding day.”

“And yours, as you now have access to a considerable dowry to fund all of your bad habits.”

The rogue put his hand on her chin and turned her face toward him. A broad grin lit up his face as if taunting her brought him the greatest of pleasures. “Now, now, Catherine. I am not as bad as all that. You might be pleasantly surprised once you get to know me. Gossip would have me sporting horns and a forked tail.”

“I remember seeing a poster with you seated on a bed surrounded by well-endowed, unclad ladies in various positions. Your face, horns, and tail were well-drawn. The only thing missing being signs of the pox.”

The laughter did not leave his face when he clutched his heart. “You wound me, wife. I do not now, nor have I ever, had the pox, if that is the cause of your sour expression.”

“I am relieved to hear it. However, this conversation must be put off. We are nearing my father’s house.”

Horses were drawn to a halt, and the marquess alighted first then turned and grabbed Catherine around the waist, swinging her in a circle before setting her on her feet.

“Milord, are you mad?” she squealed.

He tilted his head and grinned. “Perhaps. Shall we make our grand entrance through the stately front doors?”

Oh lord, what have I done?

About the Author:

Author of eight books on California history and twenty-three romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in Southern Nevada. Having spent several years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of her latest rescue cat, Lady Diana, a dignified senior. She loves red wine, all kinds of chocolate, old Jimmy Buffet sailing songs, and curling up with a good book.

Thank you for reading. If you are so inclined, we would love for you to leave a review or rating.

Website: https://pamelagibsonwrites.com/

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Threads: https://www.threads.net/@authorpamelagibson

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/pamgibsonwrites

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Gibson/e/B00MKVB4XE

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The Last Perfect Summer - Historical Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway

Karla Stover is here to tell us about her historical romance The Last Perfect Summer.

There's also a great giveaway.

____________________

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Karla Stover will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

“I bought home dinner from Chong Wa’s restaurant,” Nell said. “Lordy, what a day. Get the dishes out, will you.” She filled a coffee pot with water, added grounds, and put it on stove. Turning around she gave a start. “What’s a dog doing here?”

“The poor thing came to the studio door absolutely drenched from the rain and I had to let her in. Her name is Queenie.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I named her.”

“And you plan to keep her?”

“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t put her out now.”

“What does Princess think about this?”

Louise grinned “She’s already let Queenie know she’s the boss. Cats always do, don’t they.”

Nell sighed, but she remembered bringing a dog home when she was about Louise’s age, one that lived to a ripe old age, and broke her heart when he died. She sat at the table saying, “Mrs. Altamont was in. She was telling me about a party she and the doctor gave to introduce their nephew, Matthew, to society.”

“Society.” Louise made a rude noise which Nell ignored.

“She said you’re a friend of her nephew.”

Louise put down plates and silverware. “Where’s Annie?”

“She grabbed something to eat from a street vendor and went with some friends to see The Immigrant.”

They began spooning rice and chicken on their plates and Louise said, “Yes, I met Matthew on the streetcar. He wanted to know if it was the right car to get to the Tabernacle. Then today I helped him with a couple of sick boys. He’s a doctor, too.”

“Yes, Mrs. Altamont said he’s joining her husband’s practice.”

“That’s what he said. Umm, this is yummy.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Nell put her fork down. “We should be using chopsticks.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I think I’ll have my eyes checked.”

“Can I get you a cold compress. Would you like a BC Powder.”

“No to the powder but yes to the compress. I’ll build a fire in the parlor and sit there, and it would be lovely if you could bring me a cold compress.” She smiled at Louise. “You mentioned helping the young doctor with some boys and I want to hear about it.”

“I’ll just clean this up and be right with you.” Louise began clearing the uneaten food away, feeding some to her pets. When the kitchen was clean, she filled a basin with water, found a scrap of towel and joined Nell. Soon all four were sitting in the dimly lit room, Nell with a small glass of whiskey in one hand, a purring cat on her lap, and a cold compress over her eyes. A madrona wood fire burned quietly, sending out heat and a pleasant aroma reminiscent of honey. “The Murrays were arrested for selling alcohol,” she said, breaking the silence, then added, “again.”

Louise laughed and cuddled Queenie. “Pete Marinoff and the Murrays will figure out a way to keep the city fathers supplied.”

Nell sighed. “You’re too young to know about these things.” She sipped her drink. “Tell me about your day.” Listening to Louise’s voice, which was a particularly pleasing contralto, and knowing how the girl’s dark eyes sparkle as she talked helped her relax.

“Well, you had quite a day,” Nell said when Louise wound down, “and Matthew sounds like a nice young man.”

“I think he is, and probably all the women he meets through his aunt and uncle will, too.” She pulled the tie off her hair and re-tied it. “I think I should get my hair cut. It’s so fine I just can’t control it.”

Nell moved the cat off her lap, put her empty glass on an end table, and stood up. “I’m too tired to talk about that now. We can discuss it later.” She kissed Louise on the cheek. “’night, love. Don’t forget the fire screen.”

About the Author:

Karla Stover graduated from the University of Washington with honors in history. She has been writing for more than twenty-five years and is well-versed in Puget Sound history. Locally, her credits include The [Tacoma} News Tribune, the Tacoma Weekly, the Tacoma Reporter and the Puget Sound Business Journal. Nationally, she has published in Birds and Blooms and the Ruralite, Internationally, she was a regular contributor to the European Crown and the Imperial Russian Journal. For fifteen years she hosted a radio program in her hometown, Tacoma (Washington). She won the Chistell Prize for a short story called, “One Day at Appomattox.” She is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Tacoma Historical Society, and is an avid but unsuccessful gardener. Seven of her 10 published books are either fiction or non-fiction set in Tacoma. Her entire working career was at Merrill Lynch.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Last-Perfect-Summer-Karla-Stover-ebook/dp/B0G6X6C3X7/ref=sr_1_1

 

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By Chance - Historical Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #HistoricalRomance #Giveaway

D. Taylor is here to tell us about By Chance, a historical romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. D. Taylor will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Charlotte Douglas has spent far too long trying to stitch her life back together after a single betrayal shattered her place in the community that once adored her. With every polite nod and measured smile, she shoulders the same whispered story: she is not the young lady she ought to be — and certainly not the kind any respectable man would escort into a ballroom.

Then a flat tire on a warm afternoon brings Elias Navarro to her gate.

A hardworking mechanic with steady hands and a restless heart, Elias has lived safely, sensibly, and without surprise. Until Charlotte. With her quiet fire, careful poise, and eyes that dare him to look closer, she becomes the first woman in years to make him want more than the life he knows.

What begins as a returned plate and a shared cup of coffee becomes something neither expected: late-afternoon walks, borrowed laughter, the charge of almost-kisses, and the slow, undeniable pull toward something tender.

But Charlotte’s past is a room full of watching eyes—and the Winter Soirée is coming.

When Charlotte hesitates to invite Elias, terrified he will judge the truth she’s never said aloud, he mistakes her quiet fear for rejection. And when cruel words at the ball turn her reputation into spectacle, Elias steps into the fray without hesitation—proving himself steady, fierce, and nothing like the man who once broke her heart.

What follows is a reckoning of truths:

her fear of being unworthy,

his fear of not belonging in her world,

and the choice they must face—

whether love found by chance can become love fought for on purpose.

Read an Excerpt

Charlotte shouldn’t have taken the car—not with the sun already dipping low behind the rooftops, not with rush hour thickening, and certainly not in that dress.

By morning, the dread had rotted into something uglier. Louder. She couldn’t sit with it anymore.

So she took her father’s automobile keys and drove—south past the quiet boulevards and polished shopfronts her mother preferred, into a stretch of narrow blocks where everyone knew your name and no one asked questions. An hour later, she left with her long curls on the floor and tight ringlets pinned close to her scalp, neck bare, shame and freedom crawling the same path down her spine. The gold flapper dress shimmered when she moved—too beaded, too clingy, and entirely deliberate.

If they were going to whisper, let them whisper for something new.

The light shifted—amber, then rose-gold. She should have turned back.

She didn’t.

A delivery truck pulled too wide at the corner. She swerved—too fast, too sharp—and the front tire struck something jagged. The pop split the air, sharp and final. The car shuddered, then sagged, boneless as a broken doll.

Charlotte’s hands clung to the wheel. Her chest cinched. Heat pressed behind her eyes.

“Oh, isn’t this the bee’s knees,” she said thinly. “Just grand.”

She stumbled out, skirt snagging, heel catching, dignity unraveling by degrees. One look at the tire and the world tipped.

Then a voice—low, steady.

“You alright, miss?”

She startled, spine lifting as if she could will herself composed. A man stood nearby—tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled, eyes warm and unguarded. He looked at her like the street had gone quiet.

And she didn’t look away.

About the Author:

D. Taylor is a passionate storyteller with a love for multicultural romance, adventure, and historical fiction. She independently wrote and toured with her novel Allied Hearts, a compelling romance that explores love, identity, and the strength of human connection.

Beyond writing, D. Taylor is a devoted wife of 18 years and a loving mother who cherishes time with her children. She finds joy in cooking, creating delicious meals that bring her family together. When she’s not writing or in the kitchen, she enjoys researching history, discovering new cultures, and embracing the ever-changing world of storytelling.

D. Taylor believes that every story has the power to transport, transform, and inspire. Her work celebrates strong heroines, captivating heroes, and the resilience of love in all its forms.

Find out more and get bonus book material or join her mailing list.

Website: https://dtaylorwrites.com
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/D.-Taylor/author/B0DXDLMHJJ
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PerfectFairytales/

By Chance: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GHY48M3T
Reckless: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FGY69THC
Allied Hearts: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWQTVJD6
Rescued: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B008NOY9UC

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