Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors !

I know I’ve been MIA for a while now–life was too much with me, I’m afraid. But I’m back now with a brand new romance just released last week: Unmask Me My Love, book 3 of The Matchmaker’s Ball series! This was previously known as Heart of Delight, and with the addition of a little steam here and there, I think it’s still delightful. Hope you enjoy!

Unmask Me My Love

BLURB:

He’ll do anything for the woman he loves…except tell the truth.

Gabriella d’Aventure is a young woman on a mission. She has come to England as a lady’s maid in single-minded pursuit of the Duke of Rother. When she meets Horace Carpenter, valet to a marquess, she is delighted to enlist his aid in gaining her heart’s desire: a meeting with the duke. But will her growing feelings for the handsome valet interfere with her plans for Rother?

The eccentric Marquess of Halford, Hal to his friends, is fed up with the demands of Society, especially his father’s decree that he marry this Season. To that end, Hal hides out at Lady Hamilton’s ball, refusing to choose a bride. However, when a breathtaking young woman intrudes on his solitude, Hal is instantly captivated and rashly introduces himself as his valet and offers his help. Despite his growing fear about the true motive behind Gabriella’s quest to meet the duke, Hal devises a plan to gain her an audience with him, all the while praying his deception won’t ruin his chances of winning her love.

I’m starting my snippet at the end of Chapter 1. Hal, the Marquess of Halford, being bored at Lady Hamilton’s ball, has retreated to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. He’s just been speaking with his cousin, but she’s just left him and Hal, still disillusioned with the prospect of having to select a bride, is brooding as he watches the dancing. Enjoy!

EXCERPT:

Hal smiled, moved back to his spot in front of the balcony rail, and settled on the floor once more. Best steel himself to go down and do his duty by all the young ladies. When had his life become so filled with obligation?

“Ah.”

Hal shook his head. “What have you forgott—” He twisted his head toward the doorway and froze.

The young lady who stood before him was definitely not Lady Celinda Grantham. Medium height, with golden brown hair, a face fresh as cream, and perfectly bowed lips, she would’ve been exceptional even without the startling glass-green eyes. Attired in an unremarkable brown dress, she could not be one of Lady Hamilton’s guests, although, with her beauty, she certainly should’ve been.

And a little bit more…

“Oh, pardonnez-moi, monsieur.”

What was this woman doing here? “Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” Hal said, rising from the floor to bow. He hoped she would speak again. Her lilting, vibrant voice would haunt his dreams.

“Bonsoir, monsieur.” She wrinkled her petite nose. “You are English, oui?”

“I am. My French is abominable, but I hoped to impress you with what I remember of it.” Hal smiled. He’d never got the hang of languages other than his own.

The girl laughed, tossing her head. “You have a good accent for an Englishman.”

“Thank you.”

She glanced from the balcony rail to the doorway and bit her lip.

“Is there some way I may be of service to you, Mademoiselle…?” He must know the name of this beautiful creature.

“D’Aventure,” she said, with a small but graceful curtsy. “Gabriella Veronique Marie d’Aventure. Mais, non. I am fine, monsieur.” Again, she slid her gaze toward the balcony railing.

Well, he had a name, at least. Better than complete ignorance. “Have you come, perhaps, to watch the dancing?”

She nodded, keeping her attention on him. “Yes, my lady does not require me at the moment, so I thought it would be nice to see how the English dance.” Her smile quite took his breath away. “May I?”

“Please.” Hal stepped back and motioned her in front of him.

She moved like air on water, seeming to glide without touching the planked floor. When she reached the railing, she studied the dancers, now engaged in a country dance. “They are very beautiful, the English ladies, in their best gowns.” A glance at him, and her smile broadened. “Not as beautiful as the great French ladies of the royal court, of course, but their gowns are well made.” She giggled. “Perhaps they have a French modiste.”