Jenna Jaxon Romance–because passion is timeless.

For any of my readers who haven’t picked up my House of Pleasure books, I thought I’d spotlight them this week, one each day. Today I’m continuing with the fifth and final book of the series, Only Pleasure Will Do.

BLURB:

The pleasure is all hers…

Amorina Vestry, madam of the House of Pleasure for six long years, has wrested a living out the establishment by devising a variety of ways to give men pleasure. But behind the persona of the ruthless businesswoman, schooled in the erotic arts, lurks another woman with a secret she dares tell no one. Now, in vengeance for thwarting a dastardly plan, Amorina is kidnapped and forced to commit murder to save the one person she loves unconditionally…unless the man she secretly yearns for can rescue her before it’s too late.

When Amorina Vestry goes missing, Sir Reginald Matthews, former Runner now magistrate at Bow Street, agrees to search for the very provocative woman he met a year ago and cannot seem to forget. He manages to track her down, only to be captured by the same madman who took her. Their close proximity in a make-shift prison leads inexorably to a night of passion in which Amorina lowers her guard to reveal a shocking truth. Spurred by his growing attraction to her, Reginald is determined to free them before she commits the most heinous crime imaginable.

As Reginald races to save Amorina, he comes to fear another foe as well. He may very well save his love only to find he must give her up or risk the censure of a society that will condemn her.

EXCERPT:

So now, with an intruder in the basement, she was defenseless, though not helpless.

Easing to the doorway, she stopped, took a deep breath, and poked her head around the door jamb. More movement at the top of the stairs.

The angle of the small windows let in less moonlight here than the other room, but her eyes had adjusted to the minimal light. A man’s figure, clad in a light gray cloak, had just set foot on the first step. The wooden riser creaked softly, and the man drew back.

Cautious. Unfamiliar with the room? Or unwilling to give her notice he was here?

Again, the figure moved forward, treading lighter than before for the board remained silent.

Amorina slipped into the room, her back to the wall near the fireplace. Pity the thin streak of moonlight streaming through the window didn’t fall across the staircase. She would’ve paid dearly to see the face of the man who’d done this to her; however, she would exact her vengeance nonetheless.

The man had descended another two of the twelve steps. He’d not heard her yet. Surprise was still on her side, if she could just wait a little longer.

Five steps remaining.

Four.

The dimly moving figure took his time with each riser. His eyes must’ve adjusted to the gloom by now. Did he think her a gray patch on the wall, perhaps? Over the past week, her snowy linen chemise, which she was currently using as a night gown, had grown dingy. She remained rooted to the spot she’d taken once she’d slipped into the room, scarcely daring to breathe.

Three more steps and he’d reach the ground.

She held her breath and prayed.

Two. One.

The man set his feet on the dirt floor and paused, cocked his head.

Willing him to move toward the back of the stairs, Amorina gathered every scrap of courage she possessed.

Shaking his head, the man turned back toward the staircase.

Amorina launched herself at the table, grabbed the ancient chair, swung it up over her head, and crashed it onto the man’s head.

At the last moment he must’ve heard her, for he threw up an arm in defense, but too late. The edge of the chair crashed into the back of his head with a sickening crack before disintegrating in a shower of wooden bits. She’d apparently underestimated efficacy of the old chair as a weapon, for the man dropped neatly at her feet.

Sobbing as relief poured through her, Amorina stood over him, part of a chair leg—the only piece of the weapon still intact—raised once more. But the figure sprawled on the ground didn’t move, and her frenzied breathing calmed. Tossing the mangled stick onto the body, she then leaped over it and nimbly flew up the stairs to the door. Slow and silent, she grasped the handle and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

She tried to rattle the door, but it refused to move at all, as though someone had nailed it shut. Leaning her head against the stubborn wood, she swallowed tears. She was still a prisoner, although no longer alone. Heart racing, she turned to peer over the rail at the still figure below. Who was he? Why was he here? And what did he have to do with her?

Keeping a cautious eye on the man, she crept down the steps. A patch of moonlight fell on the floor not far from where he lay. She could at least satisfy her curiosity about one thing. Grasping him under his armpits, Amorina lifted him and rocked back on her heels, an effective way for a woman to move dead-drunk patrons if the need arose. This man was solidly built, to be sure, but she’d moved heavier bodies.

Four steps and the back of his head popped into the light. She laid him down then tossed the bit of chair leg on the floor. Her hand met the good quality of the pale gray cloak, the material smooth and rich beneath her fingers. A man of some means, then. Likely a former customer, though his form rang no bell of recognition. No need to speculate. She bent and hooked her hands beneath one shoulder and heaved him over. He fell out of the light.

She tugged him back then gasped and dropped his shoulder as though her fingers had been singed. “Reginald Matthews!”

Has Amorina killed her captor or her savior?

Only Pleasure Will Do is available in ebook and print formats from Amazon, and in ebook format also from B & N, Kobo, and Apple.

The House of Pleasure Series

For any of my readers who haven’t picked up my House of Pleasure books, I thought I’d spotlight them this week, one each day. Today I’m continuing with the fourth book of the series, Only Seduction Will Do.

BLURB:

Alethea Forsythe has been desperately in love with the Earl of Manning since they first met last summer and although the earl has made it clear he doesn’t return her regard, Alethea fights to keep her dreams of him alive. However, in a moment of despair, she is seduced by a married man and, when she discovers she is with child, fears she is now undone. With her reputation about to be ruined, she has the choice of accepting an arranged marriage to a stranger or taking matters into her own capable hands.

Jack Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Manning, is out enjoying a little Christmas revelry with friends—which ends in a visit to The House of Pleasure. After an unusual encounter there, he winds his way home to discover a late night summons to Miss Forsythe’s home. His evening becomes even more bizarre when the lady in question throws herself on his mercy and begs he take her to wife. At twenty-three, Jack has many more wild oats to sow, but his innate sense of honor will not allow him to shirk the duty of a gentleman.

Radiantly happy, Alethea vows to be an exemplary wife to Jack, however, his acceptance of her proposal comes with its own set of unexpected conditions. In exchange for the protection of his name, Jack vows his marriage to Alethea will be in name only. Desperate to touch her husband’s heart, Alethea battles to win his trust and love. When a trial by fire tests her love and Jack’s honor, will the passion that suddenly blazes between them temper their love or consume them?

EXCERPT:

“I want to say straight out, Manning, this was not my idea. I gave the girl several options, but she insisted on this course of action.”

The girl? Not his wife, surely. Did Braeton then mean Miss Forsythe? The hairs on the back of his neck snapped to attention and a chill inched its way down his spine. “Do you refer to Miss Forsythe by any chance, my lord?”

“He certainly does, Lord Manning.” A vision of flames swirled around a lovely face as the tall, copper-haired siren marched into the room. Instead of a modest dress of some dull, suitable color, she’d decked herself out in an evening gown of deep maroon that caught the varying shades of red in her hair, complimenting them and emphasizing the pale skin of her breasts and neck. Her breasts, in fact, swelled alarmingly over the top of her gown, disconcertingly like his sister used to wear her gowns until her husband put a stop to it.

Trouble with a capital T.

“Miss Forsythe.” Jack bowed, as perplexed as ever. What was the woman doing here at this time of night, and dressed most inappropriately?

“Lord Manning, I must apologize for this cryptic summons, but I importuned my cousin to send to you upon a matter of utmost importance.” Miss Forsythe twisted her fingers together brutally, until Jack felt tied in knots.

“Utmost importance to your cousin, Miss Forsythe?”

“To me, Lord Manning. Although it will likely touch on both my cousin and her husband as well.” The woman avoided his eyes by moving swiftly toward Braeton. She grasped his arm and leaned toward him, her lips at his ear.

Braeton kept his voice low, though his face acted as an open book. At her first words, he scowled like a vengeful god.

Jack waited for the thunderbolt.

Shaking his head vigorously, the earl drew his brows down almost to his nose. “You will not—”

“My lord, you promised me earlier.” Miss Forsythe’s face had drawn into determined lines. Her voice lowered, power in her indomitable tone. “Do not renege on this, I beg of you.”

Dark brows still lowered, Braeton threw up his hands, paused to collect himself, then turned to Jack. “Miss Forsythe wishes a word with you, Lord Manning.” He shot an angry glance at the lady. “Alone.”

All Jack’s instincts for self-preservation leaped into high alert. Something ill was afoot and he doubted it would be to his liking one whit when it finally came out.

Miss Forsythe stood, demure for possibly the first time in her life, her gaze lowered, her hands clasped primly in front of her. The picture of an obedient woman. And as false as a Newgate penny, he’d be bound.

“I am certain anything Miss Forsythe has to say to me could be spoken in your presence, Braeton.” He shot a look of desperation at the earl. Had the girl conceived some sort of trap to spring on him, compromise him into marrying her? Jack stiffened, then for the first time since he had arrived, he relaxed. Even though unannounced, he was already betrothed. Miss Carlton had now saved him, it seemed. Quid pro quo.

“I believe my cousin wishes to ask a boon of you, Manning.” Braeton’s mouth twisted as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “I am aware of the nature of the request and agree she would want privacy to ask it. I won’t be far if you should need me.” Braeton bowed curtly and left.

More confused than ever, Jack turned his attention back to Miss Forsythe, who swayed slightly from side to side, fidgeting with a lace handkerchief she’d produced from somewhere. Did she expect their conversation to lead to tears?

“Won’t you please have seat, Lord Manning?” Miss Forsythe indicated the chair nearest the fire. She seated herself opposite him. Perched seemed a better word, on the edge of the brown leather chair. “I do thank you so much for attending me at such an inconvenient time.”

“No inconvenience in the least, Miss Forsythe,” Jack said waving a hand of dismissal. He settled back into the chair. “How may I be of service to you?”

She gripped her lace-edged handkerchief in one hand, the other clenched on the chair’s arm. Raising her chin, her deep blue eyes boring into his, she swallowed hard. “Would you marry me, Lord Manning?”

Will this unexpected proposal lead to something more than a marriage of convenience?

Only Seduction Will Do is available in ebook and print formats from Amazon, and in ebook format also from B & N, Kobo, and Apple.

The House of Pleasure Series