So excited to see Kryssie’s new release, and she’s stopped by for an interview, as well!
Give us an insight into your main character. What does he/she do that is so special?
My heroine, Lady Elizabeth Blayneton is an heiress, but she can’t inherit until she marries or turns thirty. Her uncle and guardian is determined she will marry his slack-mouthed son, but she’d rather not marry at all than wed him. Only she doesn’t want to die a virgin.
Tell us about your hero.
Brigade Major Lord Rothbury carries the wounds his first love inflicted when she threw him over for his father. To silence the gossip, his father packed him off to fight in the Peninsula war and squandered the family fortune on his new bride. When the current Lord Rothbury inherited, there was nothing but mortgages and debts. He’s been trying to put things right and provide for his sisters ever since. Waterloo looms, and he’s recalled to Wellington’s staff. Then there’s this serving girl who keeps ending up in his bed, only wedding her would cause another scandal and ruin his sisters’ future.
What genre are your books?
I write romance. Any sort. Paranormal or contemporary. Wickedly Used is my first Regency Romance, although it’s darker than many.
What draws you to this genre?
I write the books I like to read. There’s always a strong plot, with lots of adventure. Then there’s the sex. My pet hate is cliff hangers. Each book in either of my series can be read as stand-alone romance. Add in that I’m a sucker for a happy-ever-after, and you’ve got my writing style.
What is your favorite motivational phrase.
It’s one of Mohamed Ali’s catchphrases. “If my head can conceive it and my heart can believe it, then I can achieve it.”
How do you select the names of your characters?
I try to pick a name that fits the world they live in. My paranormal heroines are often named for herbs and flowers. For my contemporary characters, I look at popular names in the year they were born. Sometimes they shout at me that I’ve named them wrongly, but that doesn’t happen often. The heroine in my book Claimed by Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf went through three name changes before I got her name right.
Release date – 17th February.
Publisher – Stormy Night Publications
While he is no stranger to pleasurable company from ladies of the night, Major Richard Rothbury of the royal dragoons is not the kind of man who will stand idly by as a woman is taken against her will, and when he witnesses a disreputable cad attempting to force himself on a girl in a back alley, he does not hesitate to intervene.
But after the grateful young woman offers herself to Rothbury, he is shocked to discover that not only was she no harlot, she was a maiden and he has deflowered her. Furious at the girl’s scandalous behavior and her carelessness with her own safety, Rothbury chastises her soundly.
Though she is due to inherit one of the largest fortunes in England, the fact that she cannot touch the money until she marries or turns thirty has kept Elizabeth completely at the mercy of her cruel uncle, and for years she has been treated as if she were a servant. Her encounter with Lord Rothbury is by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her, but while he shows great concern for her safety, he refuses to believe that she is anything more than a serving girl.
Despite having made it clear that he doesn’t consider a match between them to be possible, when Elizabeth disobeys him Rothbury proves more than ready to strip her bare, punish her harshly, and then enjoy her beautiful body in the most shameful of ways. But can she dare to hope that he will one day make her his wife, or is she destined to spend her life being wickedly used?
Publisher’s Note: Wickedly Used: A Dark Regency Romance includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
The dragoon bristled when he glowered at Dawlish. Catching both her wrists in one hand, her rescuer held her at arms’ length. The breadth of his chest fascinated her, and she could sense his inner strength. She shuddered then stilled, but her heart still beat overtime in her chest.
Dawlish was older, with a thickset body and a mouth as mean as her uncle’s. Her dragoon’s good looks and protective manner delighted her. He had stepped in and saved her, sort of, but his gaze condemned her as Dawlish’s whore. He felt more friend than foe, but he looked ready to march away when she needed him to stay.
Lifting her head, she tried to sound brave. “Please, sir, let me pass.”
When he didn’t move, she tugged one hand free of his hold and shoved at his chest. He recaptured it in an instant. “Damn it, girl. Stand still for a minute.”
His touch sent a series of lightning strikes down her spine. Her nipples pearled and poked at the thin fabric of her gown. With him, she could fulfill her wickedest dream. The one where she gave her virginity to a handsome stranger. Memories of a stolen moment of passion would sustain her until she turned thirty—she hoped.
Dawlish snarled like a mongrel ready to fight over a bone. He still fumbled to lace up his breeches. “I saw her first. Come here, girl. I’ll pay whatever price you demand once you’ve spread your thighs for me.”
Self-conscious and horrified, Elizabeth stared at the ground. After six years of her cousins’ insults, she felt like the nonentity they called her. She hated that. Back before her parents died, she’d felt pretty. Her mother had told her that her hair shone like moonlight and her eyes gleamed like the palest topaz.
Washed out, her cousins called them.
For her dragoon, she wanted to be beautiful. She took a step closer to him. “I’m not here by choice, sir. I swear it.”
He spoke softly as if soothing a spooked mare. “Easy, girl. Allow me to escort you back to the Grand Walk.”
Dawlish yanked her wrist free of the dragoon’s grip and dragged her toward him. His touch felt like a million spiders scuttling over her skin. Does the wretched man ever bathe? Solid, square, and sweaty, he leered at her through piggy eyes. “Come on, Blondie, name your price.”
Just when she thought the dragoon’s gaze couldn’t be any colder, it turned into an arctic blast. Mouth set in a straight line, he pried Dawlish’s fingers from her wrist. “She’s not willing. Leave her be.”
The vein in Dawlish’s forehead bulged. His cheeks turned mottled scarlet. He shoved at the dragoon’s chest like a schoolboy spoiling for a fight. Her rescuer curled his lip and brushed him aside.
Once Dawlish realized he couldn’t move her dragoon, he shoved Elizabeth behind him. “Rothbury? Playing the hero? After the way you screwed your family? I don’t think so. Lavinia will laugh when I tell her you’ve taken to defending whores. Back off, and mind your own business. This little pigeon’s mine.”
The look the dragoon—Rothbury—gave Dawlish would have curdled milk. The atmosphere felt thick with menace. Elizabeth felt sure there were undercurrents at play here that she didn’t understand.
Rothbury’s jaw clenched with carefully suppressed anger. “The lady’s changed her mind.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. Dawlish made her feel dirty and cheap. She pulled her free of his grip and shoved at his back. When he stared at her over his shoulder, his gaze held a degrading mix of menace and desire. “She’ll be willing once we’ve agreed on the price. Besides, you can have her when I’ve finished.”
About Kryssie Fortune.
Kryssie reads everything and anything, from literary fiction to sizzling romance. Her earliest memory is going to the library with her mother. She can’t have been more than two at the time. Reading, especially when a book’s hot and explicit, is more than a guilty pleasure. It’s an obsession.
Kryssie loves to visit historic sites, from Hadrian’s wall to Regency Bath. The first book she fell in love with was Georgette Heyer’s The Unkown Ajax. After that, she devoured every regency book she could. After a while, they went out of fashion, but part of Kryssie’s psyche lives in in in Regency London. She longs to dance quadrilles and flirt behind fans. Of course, Kryssie’s heroines do far more than flirt.
Kryssie lives in Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast –about thirty miles from Whitby, where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. She enjoys gardening, travel, and socializing with her author friends. You’d be surprised how many erotic romance authors live in the North of England.
Social Media Links
Amazon Author Page http://amzn.to/2hA0ZVO