Daring Damsels By Catherine Kean

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

What happens when four bestselling, award-winning medieval romance authors decide to bring together some of their bold lords and willful ladies? The Daring Damsels boxed set is born.

Priced at just $0.99 for a limited time, the set includes fast-paced, thrilling novels by Eliza Knight, Catherine Kean, Laurel O’Donnell, and Denise Domning. The set is available on Kindle and Nook.

A LADY'S CHARADE by Eliza Knight

A Scottish LADY, abandoned and in disguise.  A KNIGHT who wants her dead.  But he could be her only savior in England--as long as he never discovers her identity.

DANCE OF DESIRE by Catherine Kean

One veiled LADY dances to save her brother's life. One LORD sheriff tormented by barbaric secrets claims her as his bride. The more she learns of him the harder it is to deny his love. 

MIDNIGHT SHADOW by Laurel O'Donnell

A LADY dons a mask and cloak to right the wrongs and save her people from oppression.  A LORD, torn between the woman he longs to trust and the outlaw he has vowed to hang vows to find the truth.  Will a legendary hero find love in the arms of her enemy?

SPRING'S FURY  by Denise Domning

A WOMAN trained to wield a sword, plotting revenge against the man who killed her sire. A KNIGHT, claiming her land as his own.  If they are to survive the hungry season it will take every bit of his talent for taming wild creatures.

Here’s a taste of Dance of Desire. This scene takes place right after the heroine, Lady Rexana Villeaux, has just danced in disguise for the High Sheriff:

As though sensing his displeasure, the woman tipped up her chin. She started toward him, each step articulated by the chime of bells. Ah, but how she moved.

Torchlight skimmed over her slender shoulders and down the planes of her firm stomach. She glided toward him as though she approached King Richard himself. Head held high, she radiated the poise and elegance expected of the highest noble courts.

Who was this woman?

She paused before him. Almost in afterthought, with the barest hint of resentment, she lowered her gaze to stare at his tunic. He sensed the tumultuous emotions warring within her, threatening her self-control. The same fierce emotions had reverberated in her dance and touched a note deep inside him. Her heart had spoken. It had echoed the profound, primitive bellow of his own tormented heart. Before her dance had finished, before he could stop himself or consider the consequences, he’d walked around the table, stepped off the dais, and crossed to her.

Steeling his wayward concentration, Fane drew in a breath. She smelled of violets.

Sweet. Delicious.

“An interesting dance you performed this eve,” he said.

“I hope it pleased you, milord.” Her very English voice sounded slightly husky and breathless. The way a woman sounded after she had been kissed. Focus, fool!

Shoving aside the distracting thought, Fane muttered, “I never saw a dance quite like yours in all my years in the east.”

She stiffened. The bells at her wrists jingled as she clasped her hands over her stomach. “I was instructed in this fair country. I admit I have never danced before a sheriff of such . . . authority, milord. Your esteemed reputation—”

“Ah.” With a firm hand, he reached up and touched the edge of her veil. As his fingers tried to drag down the shimmering fabric, she jerked away. He frowned. “You fear me, little dancer?”

Beneath the sweep of her lashes, her eyes sparked. “I do not.”

“Yet, you turn your face away and refuse to look up at me. You are indeed frightened. Or you hide secrets from me.”

Her green eyes glittered in the torchlight. Lovely eyes, darkened with anger, confusion, and distrust. Eyes that revealed the passion within her.

“I am honored you wished to speak with me,” she said with the barest quaver, stepping back, “but I must leave now.”

His jaw hardened. “You cannot. I have not dismissed you.”

“I do not need—” Her sharp voice faltered.

Fane’s lip curled in anger. She didn’t need to finish. He heard her unspoken words: I do not need your wretched dismissal, barbarian. A treacherous thought for a peasant who fed herself through the coin she earned from her dancing.

As though sensing his displeasure, her gaze softened. So, she was wise enough to bite her tongue and try to pacify him. “I believe the jugglers are to perform next. I do not wish to delay the rest of the eve’s celebrations,” she said. Glancing at the musicians, who stood staring at her as though awaiting a superior’s orders, she added, “Your guests will grow restless.”

As I grow restless, woman, in your presence. As my blood stirs, and my pulse thickens, and my soul hungers for more of your dance. “You will stay.”

She gasped, a sound of utter indignation.

Before she could dart away, he caught her hands. Raising them to his lips, he kissed her fingers, feeling the tremor that coursed through her. As he released her, he drew the sapphire ring from his finger and pressed it into her palm.

“A token of my appreciation, and of my interest.” He trailed his thumb down over the veil to her lips. “You will stay, love, as I command. By the end of this eve, we will know each other very well. And I will know all of your secrets.”