RELEASE DAY IS HERE!! Wicked Designs is Out! GIVEAWAY OPP!

After five long years of writing, editing, submissions, contracting, more editing...

AT LAST! My first novel Wicked Designs is out in the world for you wonderful readers to enjoy! I'm so excited to share it with you and I hope the story and the characters will move you!

Today is a day for Celebrations!  I want to share so much about my book with all of you! 

So what's Wicked Designs all about?

Here's the scoop:

The League of Rogues takes what they want—but have they taken on too much?

For too long Miss Emily Parr has been subject to the whims of her indebted uncle and the lecherous advances of his repulsive business partner. Her plan to be done with dominating men forever is simple—find herself a kind husband who will leave her to her books.

It seems an easy enough plan, until she is unexpectedly abducted by an incorrigible duke who hides a wounded spirit behind flashing green eyes.

Godric St. Laurent, Duke of Essex, spends countless nights at the club with his four best friends, and relishes the rakish reputation society has branded him with. He has no plans to marry anytime soon—if ever. But when he kidnaps an embezzler’s niece, the difficult debutante’s blend of sweetness and sharp tongue make him desperate for the one thing he swears he never wanted: love.

Yet as they surrender to passion, danger lurks in Godric’s shadowed past, waiting for him to drop his guard—and rob him of the woman he can’t live without.

Warning: This novel includes a lady who refuses to stay kidnapped, a devilish duke with a dark past, and an assortment of charming rogues who have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into.

  

Here's a little taste of the story...

Godric St. Laurent, the twelfth Duke of Essex, leaned back in his saddle watching the abduction he’d orchestrated unfold. Covering his mouth with a gloved hand, he stifled a yawn. Things were going smoothly. In fact, this entire kidnapping bordered on the point of tedious. They’d intercepted the coach ten minutes before it reached Chessley House. No one witnessed the escort of riders or the driver changing his route. Oddly enough, the young woman hadn’t shown any signs of resistance or concern from inside the coach. Wouldn’t she have made some protestations when she realized what was happening? A thought stopped him dead. Had she somehow slipped out of the coach when they’d slowed on a corner before they’d left town? Surely not, they would have seen her. Most likely she was too terrified to do anything, hence the silence from inside. Not that she had anything to fear, she would not be harmed.

He nodded to his friend Charles who was perched next to the driver. A bag of coins jingled as Charles dropped it into the jarvey’s waiting hands.

They had reached halfway point between London and Godric’s ancestral estate. They would go the rest of the way on horseback, with the girl sharing a horse with either him or one of his friends. The driver would return to London with a message for Albert Parr and a wild story that exonerated himself from blame.

“Ashton, stay here with me.” Godric waved his friend over while the others rode the horses a good distance away to wait for his signal. Abductions were tricky things, and having only himself and one other man take hold of the girl would be better. She might have a fit of hysterics if she saw the other three men too close.

He rode up to the coach, curious to see whether the woman inside matched his memory. He’d seen her once before from a window overlooking the gardens when he’d visited her uncle. She’d been kneeling in the flowerbeds, her dress soiled as she weeded. A job more suited to a servant than a lady of quality. He’d been ready to dismiss her from his mind when she’d turned and glanced about the garden, a smudge of dirt on the tip of her upturned nose. A butterfly from a nearby flower had fluttered above her head. She hadn’t noticed it, even as it settled on her long, coiling auburn hair. Something in his chest gave a funny little flip, and his body had stirred with desire. Any other woman so innocent would not have caught his interest, but he’d glimpsed a keenness in her eyes, a hidden intelligence as she dug into the soil. Miss Emily Parr was different. And different was intriguing.

Ashton handed the driver the ransom letter for Parr and took up a position near the front of the coach. Taking hold of the door, Godric opened it up, waiting for the screaming to start.

None came.

“My deepest apologies, Miss Parr—” Still no screaming. “Miss Parr?” Godric thrust his head into the coach.

It was empty. Not even a fire-breathing dragon of a chaperone, not that he’d expected one. His sources had assured him she would be alone tonight.

Godric looked over his shoulder. “Ash? You’re sure this is Parr’s coach?”

“Of course. Why?” Ashton jumped off his horse, marched over and thrust his head into the empty coach. He was silent a long moment before he withdrew. Ashton put his finger against his lips and motioned to the inside. A tuft of pink muslin peeped out from the wooden seat. He gestured for Godric to step away from the coach.

Ashton lowered his voice. “It seems that our little rabbit chase has turned into a fox hunt. She’s hidden in the hollow space of the seat, clever girl.”

“Hiding under the seat?” Godric shook his head, bewildered. He didn’t know one woman of his acquaintance who would do something so clever. Perhaps Evangeline, but then if anything could be said of that woman, it was that she was far from ordinary. A prickling of excitement coursed through his veins, into his chest. He loved a challenge.

“Let’s wait a few minutes and see if she emerges.”

Godric looked back at the coach, impatience prickling inside him. “I don’t want to wait here all night.”

“She’ll come out soon enough. Allow me.” Ashton walked back to the coach and called out to Godric in a carrying voice. “Blast and damnation! She must have slipped out before we took charge of the coach. Just leave it. We’ll take the driver back to London tomorrow.” Ashton shut the door with a loud slam and motioned for Godric to join him.

“Now we wait,” Ashton whispered. He indicated that he would guard the left coach door while Godric stationed himself at the right.

Emily listened to the drum of retreating hooves and silently counted to one hundred. Her heart jolted in her chest as she considered what the men would do if they caught her. Highwaymen could be cruel and murderous, especially if their quarry offered little. She had no access to her father’s fortune, which left only her body.

Icy dread gripped Emily’s spine, paralyzing her limbs. She drew a breath as anxiety spiraled through her.

I must be brave. Fight them until I can fight no more. With trembling hands, she pushed at the roof of the seat, wincing as it popped open. Once she climbed out, she brushed dirt from her gown, noticing some tears from the rough wood on the inside of the seat. But the tears held no importance. All that mattered was survival.

Emily looked out the coach window. Nothing stood out in the darkness. Only the faint glimmer of moonlight touched the road with milky tendrils. Stars winked and flickered overhead, pale lights, distant and cold. A shudder wracked her frame, and Emily hugged herself, wanting so much to be at home. She missed her warm bed and her parents’ murmurs from down the hall. It was a comfort she’d taken for granted. But she couldn’t afford to think about them, not when she was in danger.

Were the men truly gone? Could it really be this easy?

She opened the coach door, and stepped down onto the dirt road. Strong arms locked about her waist and yanked her backward. The collision with a hard body knocked the breath from her lungs. Terror spiked her blood as she struggled against the arms that held her.

“Good evening, my darling,” a low voice murmured.

Emily screamed once, before she bit down on the hand that covered her mouth. She tasted the smooth leather of fine riding gloves.

The man roared and nearly dropped her. “Damn!”

Emily rammed an elbow backwards into her attacker’s stomach and began to wrestle free until he grabbed her arm. She swung about, striking him across the face with a balled fist. The man staggered back, leaving her free to dive inside the coach.

If she could get to the other side and run, she might stand a chance. She scrabbled towards the door, but never made it. The devil surged into the coach after her. Turning to face him, she was knocked flat onto her back.

She screamed again as his body settled over hers.

The dim moonlight revealed his bright eyes and strong features.

He caught her flailing wrists, pinning them above her head. “Quiet!”

Emily wanted to rake his eyes out, but the man was relentless. His hips ground against hers and panic drove her to a new level of terror. Her fears of being forcibly taken surfaced as his warm breath fanned over her face and neck. She shrieked, and he reared back away from her, as though the sound confused him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice vibrated with a low growl, ruining any promise his words might carry.

“You’re hurting me now!” She yanked her arms uselessly against his hold.

The man eased off her somewhat, and Emily took her chance. She tucked her knees up, and with all the power she could summon, she kicked. Her attacker stumbled out the open door and fell onto his back. Emily barely registered that he was winded before she turned and exited the other side of the coach.

The moment she emerged, another man lunged for her. To escape him, Emily fell back against the side of the coach. Rather than grab her, he held his arms wide to keep her from slipping by him, like he was corralling livestock.

“Easy, easy,” he purred.

Emily whipped her head to the left and pleaded with her mind to think, but the man she’d bitten rounded the corner and pounced, pinning her against the coach, his arms caging her in. His solid muscular body towered over her. His jaw clenched as though one move from her would trigger something dark and wild. Emily’s breath caught, and her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

The man was panting and angry. The intensity of his eyes mesmerized her, but the second he blinked, the spell broke and she fought with every bit of strength she could muster.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt! If you want to know what happens, then get your copy today at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Itunes.  

GIVEAWAY OPPORTUNITY!! I'm so excited about Wicked Designs coming out that I'm offering three free books to three lucky people who subscribe to my newsletter!  Go to my website http://www.laurensmithbooks.com  and sign up for my newsletter. You'll be instantly entered for the drawing to win one of the three copies of Wicked Designs! 

  

12 Days of Christmas- My Regency Short Story Free

Hey Readers!

I'm happy to announce I'm participating in my local RWA's chapter of the 12 Days of Christmas.

Each day one author from our chapter will be posting a short story. All of the stories take place at the same ball on Christmas Day at Pemberton Hall in England in 1814. 

I wrote the second story "Two Turtle Doves."  


When Nathan, the Duke of Hastings, discovers that his long lost love, Theodosia Swann is attending the ball at Pemberton, he can't believe his luck. After breaking off their love affair ten years before when his father hadn't approved of the match, Nathan has regretted letting his one great love get away.

Now, with snow on the ground, mistletoe hanging above doorways, and Christmas magic in the air, Nathan hopes to find Thia and make her fall in love with him all over again. 

Will he find a way to make her forgive him for breaking her heart and will she still love him?  Come by and see!

Here's a brief teaser of Two Turtle Doves:

His mouth dried, and he struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. His body froze at the sight of her, stiff and taut with indecision. Should he go to her? What would she want? Would she be happy to see him? Perhaps she hated him? Or had she dreamt of him every night, as she lay alone in her bed, as he did her?

 Lady Theodosia Swann stood out in the midst of her six younger sisters like a northern star in the winter skies, shimmering, glittering, all alone in the dark expanse of the inky universe. Yet, she was none the weaker for it. She was brighter, more enchanting.

Thia. My Thia.

As tiny as she was—he towered over her by a head and a half—she captured his full attention. He was enraptured by her as he watched her whisper something to one of her sisters. Her amber hair caught the light of the candles nearest her, a beacon shining for him. Her eyes, jade pools frosted with silver, glanced about the room, unaware of the steady heat of his own gaze.

Nathan sucked in a harsh breath as his body stirred to life with a level of arousal he’d thought he’d never feel again. Ten years had wrought great changes in her. In them both. The lithe-bodied girl of nineteen he’d swept across ballrooms in her first season was gone. In her place was a woman infinitely more alluring, with luscious curves his hands itched to shape, and pale pink lips he longed to explore with his own. Were they as soft as he remembered?

She smoothed her hands over her dark green gown and tugged at the puffed sleeves trimmed with lace. Her full breasts were accented by a square cut neckline and a bodice embroidered with holly leaves. When she shifted, he caught a glimpse of the shape of her legs as the silk, drawn up in festoons with more holly leaves, rustled and clung to her. Most men preferred younger women, barely out of their first Season, but Nathan couldn’t think of anything more lovely, more sensual, than a full-grown woman, who had a body worth holding, worth making love to endlessly into the night.

Her gaze swept the room and his gut clenched a second before her eyes hit him with the force of a physical blow. He swallowed hard as he watched as her cheeks turned from pink to ash. The look on her face robbed him of breath. Sadness haunted her, and he hated seeing it, seeing her so wounded. She looked as destroyed on the outside at seeing him, as he was on the inside since the day he’d broken both their hearts.

His heart cried out for her. Things are different now. I’m not the fool I once was, and I’m not under my father’s control.

       Thia stared at him for a moment longer, and then turned and moved swiftly away, running from him. He had to speak to her, apologize for everything he’d done to ruin their happiness ten years ago. He prayed he wasn’t too late.


Dying to know what happens next?

Go here to read the rest of the story and stayed tuned to the Wild Okies Blog for the rest of the stories!

http://www.wildokies.blogspot.com/2012/12/my-true-love-gave-to-metwo-turtle-doves.html

Mistletoe Mischief winner and thoughts on a new year!

CONGRATULATIONS to Aileen, the winner of my Mistletoe Mischief Giveaway!  I'll be contacting you regarding your prize.

As the new year starts off, everyone is asking that age old question: What are your resolutions?  In past years I've laughed and said I have none, that there is little I feel I need to change about how I'm living my life.
Strangely this year I feel perhaps I do have some resolutions, or goals rather. 
1) Getting back to the gym- never before has this been an issue. But it definitely is now. 
2) Getting a short story published as an ebook.  This has really become a focus for me within the last few months of 2011.  I want to have my name out there, see it on a ebook shelf  and be able to pat myself on the back after three years of doggedly pursuing bigger projects.
3) Getting my first regency manuscript in top shape for two editors who are interested in its revisions.
4) Studying the craft of writing.

It is perhaps this last goal that will require my diligence.  I am not someone who buys a ton of "how to" books, but I do find that I want to read some on occasion, especially if its an area that I feel I need help on.  I tend to steer clear of books that teach me how to make a hook or interest the reader from the first page.  I've been told I don't need help with that, which is a relief.  But there are smaller things I know are weaknesses.  An agent told me that emotion is key, and my characters weren't quite there yet.  This is the sort of subsection of craft I need to be studying.

So with this in mind, I plan to make 2012 all about my craft, learning it, honing it and polishing it so that 2012 becomes the year where dreams come true.

I hope everyone else out there has a great set of goals and the inspiration and time to follow through with them.  It's important to know yourself and the goals you set in order to maximize your dreams.  I wish everyone a fantastic new year.

Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you're hoping to achieve this year!

Mistletoe Mischief and Prize Giveaway

Another excerpt from No One Mourns the Wicked. 

The bright winter sun had chased away the gray clouds from an hour previous and was now warming the windows of the library.  Lysandra Russell was perched on a window seat, cheek pressed to the glass enjoying the pane’s chill and the sun’s warmth as they offered a strange contrast.  Her red hair, not so bright as her brothers, was closer to auburn.  She’d collected it loosely in a tail at the nape of her neck and fastened it with an emerald ribbon to match her green gown.

            Lysandra often ignored the most current fashion trends, but she had a particular talent for buying gowns with simplistic designs that offered no real opportunity for criticism of her fashion sense.  She rarely dressed lavishly and yet she managed to achieve an elegance that even her mother could not find fault with.  But Lysandra was not thinking of such trivial things now.  She was a great reader, loving to improve her mind by reading any and everything she came across.  To her mother’s dismay Lysandra had a knack for predicting the arrival of guests and promptly vanishing deep into the nooks and crannies of Russell Hall to hide and read.  It was inevitable that she would be found in time for dinner but until then she wished to savor this solitary moment.

            Closing her chosen book with a sigh, she counted herself lucky that she had not suffered one prank at Linus’s hands all day.  He must have been busy with Audrey and Horatia.  Poor Horatia, she and Lysandra were the same age and often they hid together in this very library to avoid Linus’s tricks.  Lysandra was disturbed from her thoughts by the sound of booted footsteps in the hall, which paused near the door to the library.  She leapt to her feet, knowing Linus had come to torture her with his pranks.  Skidding to a halt just as she came to within inches of the door; she had no time to move back as the heavy oak door swung open and struck her fully.  With a cry of pain, Lysandra fell back to the floor, and held her throbbing head with a hand.

            “Oh my god!  Miss Russell!”  A voice, with a rich timbre broke out as the door swung shut closing her in with the man who’d hit her.  Lysandra blinked in a daze as strong warm hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her up.  But the masculine invasion did not stop there.  She was cradled against a strong firm chest.  Her eyes focused intently on the navy blue waistcoat embroidered with green leaves.  If was a festive design and very fetching on its wearer.  The movement stopped and Lysandra realized she was once more nestled against the window seat but this time her body was boxed in by a man, and not just any man. 

Mr. Gregory Cavendish, with his blond hair like a loosely spun halo about his face.  The winter sun cast a loving glow about his skin and his blue eyes were angelic in their concern for her.  The position of their bodies, however, was highly improper.  She was sitting crossways on his lap, trapped by the embrace of his arms in a tight cradle.  Sudden flashes in her mind of twining limbs and lips pressed together made her flush with heat. 

            “Are you alright Miss Russell?  I daresay with that bump on your head, you must be rattled.  Forgive me for hurting you; I opened that door too quickly.”  Gregory swept the pads of his fingers over her cheek and then up to her forehead over the bruised spot.  Lysandra winced in as pain shot through her and ducked her head instinctively in embarrassment.  Unfortunately that only brought her closer to Gregory’s chest.  Her face brushed against the top of his immaculately white styled neckcloth and the underside of his chin.  The feel of his skin was slightly rough with the hint of stubble and it made her shiver.  She’d never felt such a thing like that before, the sensation was exotic, enticing.  She moved closer, rubbing her check against his jaw, like a cat seeking affection. 

Surprisingly, he did not pull away.  Gregory’s breath quickened and the arm about her waist banded tighter as though to say “Escape from me is impossible.”  He was twenty six years old and the age difference had always felt like a lifetime to her, especially in past years when she’d felt so much younger, a mere child.  But now she was older, and had had two years on the Marriage Mart and she’d changed so much.  He’d always attracted her attention, Gregory Cavendish.  He had visited often over the years to see Avery, but it had been four years since the Cavendishes and Russells had met.  The move to Brighton had come as a sad blow to the future Lysandra had often day dreamed about.

            “Miss Russell?”  Gregory was speaking to her again.

            “Call me Lysa,” she managed at last.

            “Lysa,” he tried her nickname out, letting it roll of his tongue.  He’d always been one for observing propriety and obeying the dictates of polite behavior.  It had often amused Lysandra that Gregory, so honorable and upright would pair up with Avery, an infamous Russell rakehell.  Lady Russell had never been more thankful for the developing friendship, hoping that Gregory would have a tempering effect on her wild son.

            “I apologize Lysa, for hitting you with a door.”  The statement was so completely absurd that Lysandra laughed, but the action made her wince again.  Gregory shifted beneath her, reminding her that she was snuggled against his lap.

            “I thought you were Linus,” she said, looking up at him, her hazel eyes softening as she focused on his lips.

            “Beg pardon?”  Gregory’s face was inches from hers, his chiseled jaw and aristocratic nose a perfect match for his gold hair and fine eyes.  Lysandra realized if anyone were to come upon them, in this position she’d be in trouble.

            “He often plays pranks.  I’d been free all day, but when I heard your steps, I thought it was him.  I wanted to cut him off before he could do something dreadful to me.”

            “Why would anyone wish to do you harm?”  Gregory asked in polite amusement.

            “Not anyone, just Linus.  I suppose you’ve never tortured your sister?”

            “Not really, no.” 

Lysandra was distracted from his response as she looked up. 

            “What is it?”  Gregory asked as he noticed a rising blush in her cheeks.

            “It seems he’s already been here and left his mark, the devil.”  Lysandra raised a finger and pointed to the mistletoe above their heads.  Gregory eyed it curiously and laughed softly, the rumble of his chest against her made her body shiver.

            “Your brother seems to have left that bit of botany everywhere.  I suppose you would disapprove if I made my intentions known?”

            “Your intentions?”

            “To kiss you.  Befuddled and helpless that you are, I would still very much like to kiss you under the mistletoe.”  Gregory’s blue eyes were bright, like late summer skies.  Lysandra found her breath shortening and the devil rose up in her as she replied.

            “If those are your intentions, then I my only disapproval lies in the fact that you’ve not acted upon them yet.”  Where she found her bravery, she didn’t know.

            Gregory hesitated only a second, there was a flash in his eyes of something dark and primitive before he buried it beneath his gentlemanly demeanor.  He caught her chin and raised it with his hand, so her lips were offered up for the taking.  A soft brush, a more firm press and then a tongue tracing the seam of her lips, entreated her to open to him.  Lysandra melted with a little purr of pleasure as she enjoyed Gregory’s tender ravishment of her mouth.  His taste was dark and intoxicating like the brandy he’d had before coming to the library. 

Lysandra needed to be closer to him, needed more contact with his body.  He shifted, growling in warning against her lips as she brushed a naïve hand over the aching bulge in his breeches.  His reaction fascinated her and she succumbed to the urge to stroke him again.  Gregory reacted almost violently, his mouth slanting over hers harder, his lips forcing hers to open wider, his tongue thrusting in deep slow patterns.  Her body infused with a dizzying heat.  

 Happy Holidays to all my readers!  Comment by sharing a mischievous moment under the mistletoe and you'll be entered to a win a present from me!