Tag Archives: Elizabeth Boyle

The Knave of Hearts (Rhymes With Love #5) – Elizabeth Boyle


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Rhymes With Love #5

Elizabeth Boyle

Releasing on January 26, 2016


In the fifth novel of the captivating Rhymes with Love series from New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Boyle, a young woman’s hopes of a match encounter a wickedly handsome complication…

Lavinia Tempest has been eagerly anticipating a spectacular Season. But one disastrous pile-up on the Almack’s dance floor derails all her plans. Add to that, the very stunning revelations about her mother’s scandalous past have become the ton’s latest on dits. Lavinia’s future has gone from shining bright to blackest night in one misstep.

Alaster “Tuck” Rowland admits he’s partly to blame for Lavinia’s disastrous debut. But it’s not guilt that compels him to restore her reputation. Rather, he’s placed a wager that he can make Lavinia into of the most sought-after ladies in London. Who better than an unrepentant rake to set

Society astir?

Tuck’s motives are hardly noble. But in teaching the lovely Lavinia how to win any man she wants, he suddenly finds himself tangled in the last place he ever imagined: in love.


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For a young lady who had made a study of all things proper, Miss Lavinia Tempest always seemed to find her fair share of mishaps.

The small fire at Foxgrove. The bunting incident of ’08. And the rather infamous trampling at the Midsummer’s Eve ball two years earlier.

Sir Roger still claimed he didn’t miss those toes.

Of course, he was joking. He’d been very fond of those toes.

And worse, every time Lavinia attended a ball, soiree, or even just the weekly meetings of the Society for the Temperance and Improvement of Kempton, someone (usually Mrs. Bagley-Butterton) had to remind one and all of one of her more recent follies.

So when Lavinia entered the hallowed halls of Almack’s, it was with, she vowed, a fresh start.

A clean slate.

And so it seemed she was right. No one pulled their hem out of the way as she drew near for fear of it being trod upon or worse, the lace being completely ripped away. No one whispered behind their fan, or laid wagers as to who or what would be broken by the end of the evening.

She was, for the first time in her life, merely Miss Tempest, the daughter of the respected scholar, Sir Ambrose Tempest.

“It is just as I imagined,” she said in awe as she and her sister Louisa handed over their vouchers. The perfect place to launch herself into the lofty reaches of London Society.

After all, she’d spent most of the afternoon planning out her evening (when she hadn’t been reading her favorite Miss Darby novel).

First and foremost, she was wearing her new gown—a demure and respectable dress done in the latest stare of modest fashion. And while she had longed for brilliant sapphire silk that had been on the shelf at the modiste’s shop, that color would never do for a debut such as this.

After all, the very rule was on her list:

Proper Rule No. 3. An unmarried lady always wears demure and respectable colors. Such as white. Or a pale yellow. Or an apple green, but only if the occasion permits.

So the blue silk could only be eyed from a distance, and she’d consigned herself to the muslin, for propriety was the order of the evening.

That is if she was to gain the highest obligation of every young lady making her debut Season in London:

Proper Rule No. 1. Marriage to a respectable, sensible, well-ordered gentleman is the order of business for every proper lady.

So she had the gown, entrance into the very heart of the Marriage Mart, and now all she had to do was finish the evening without incident.

But this was Lavinia Tempest, and that was easier said than done.

“No dancing,” Louisa whispered to her as their chaperone, Lady Aveley, led them into the Wednesday evening crush. Her sister held out her hand, pinky extended, and Lavinia wrapped her own finger around it and the two sisters bound their promise together.

No dancing.

In Lavinia’s defense, she had made her promise most faithfully with every intention of remaining safely at the side of the dance floor.

She had demurred when Lord Ardmore had asked. Begging off in a charming fashion that she was “too nervous to dance,” this being her first visit to Almack’s.

She’d even refused the very handsome and dashing Baron Rimswell—though she had been sorely tested for it was only a simple reel, but then one glance at Lord Rimswell’s glossy boots and she’d thought better of it and remained firm to her promise.

No dancing.

But apparently no one had told Mr. Alaster Rowland. Now in his favor, Mr. Rowland’s boots hadn’t a fine gloss and he was rather squiffy from an indeterminate amount of brandy, so even if she had stepped on him, he was drunk enough that it would most likely dull the pain.


ELIZABETH BOYLE has always loved romance and now lives it each and every day by writing adventurous and passionate stories that readers from all around the world have described as “page-turners.” Since her first book was published, she’s seen her romances become New York Times and USA Today bestsellers and win the RWA RITA Award and the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice awards. She resides in Seattle with her family, her garden and always growing collection of yarn. Readers can visit her on the Web at www.elizabethboyle.com.


Mad About the Major (Bachelor Chronicles #8.5) – Elizabeth Boyle


The pampered daughter of a Duke . . .

Lady Arabella Tremont has spent her entire life protected and overshadowed by her restrictive father. But she is a Tremont, after all, and the morning after she is nearly ruined at a ball by a handsome stranger, Arabella’s father demands she make an arranged match with an heir to a dukedom. In desperation, Arabella takes matters into her own hands.

Takes a London holiday with the most unsuitable of chaperones . . .

Major Kingsley is in London to avoid to his parents’ dreadful house party. To his surprise he runs into the enticing – and unforgettable — minx he met at a ball the previous night. Arabella, or Birdie, as he knows her, insists he owes her three favors-for he’s put her in a terrible pinch; Kingsley agrees, if only to delay his trip home and because the notion of spending the day with this enchanting bit of muslin is too tempting to resist. But all too quickly he discovers Arabella’s requests are hardly what he expected…

Mad About the Major

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“Ah, fair milkmaid,” came a rich, deep voice off to Lady Arabella Tremont’s right.

Fair milkmaid. How original. She nearly sighed. For she knew what would come next. The comparisons of her eyes to sapphires. How her hair was a river of honeyed chestnut. Her form that of a …

With this being her fourth Season out, she’d heard every compliment, every greeting men seemed capable of offering. Was there a single man in London who didn’t steal his lines of besotted admiration from the same tired book of poetry?

When she turned around she knew what she would find—some costumed blade who might be mildly handsome. He’d have come this way to claim her hand because he was “madly in love with her,” but what he was madly in love with was the prospect of her dowry, that and being married to the Duke of Parkerton’s only daughter.

So it was each time she attended a ball, a soiree, some costumed fête. There was nothing about tonight that hinted that this encounter would be any different.

Yet when she did turn, her dull, predictable world tilted. Before her stood a tall, plainly dressed gentleman—wearing what could hardly be called a costume, just an unassuming black jacket, breeches, and a simple half mask—yet there was nothing simple about this man.

His bearing came with a sense of power, strength, as if he expected his every wish, his every command to be answered. From the breadth of his shoulders, to the way they tapered down to a narrow waist, to his long limbs and the set of his solid jaw, everything about him drew her eye—such raw masculinity couldn’t have been hidden by any costume.

Certainly his plain drapings only accentuated the wide expanse between him and his preening counterparts. Set him on a commanding pedestal all his own.

A height that left him able to let his gaze rake over her with an intimacy, a claiming that had her wishing for her wrap.

Good heavens, it was as if the man was imagining her naked.

Naked, indeed! Now she was the one being ridiculous. For next he’d offer some well-practiced endearments, a bit of poetry, some offer to guess who she was, when the fellow knew very well who she was.

Everyone did. Oh, to be an anonymous miss with a world of possibilities before her.

“Lovely milkmaid,” he continued as he bowed slightly, and with daring presumption caught her hand in his steely grasp and pulled her close, so he might whisper in her ear. A smooth, quick sally that left her unable to protest.

For he was doing what no other man had ever dared—breaching the high, proper walls that were her due as an heiress and the pampered daughter of a duke. Why, the rogue was peeling her glove off with a slow deliberateness, as if it was common practice to remove a lady’s glove.

In full view of the entire ballroom.

That, and his breath was teasing over the shell of her ear in a most delicious way, leaving her feeling a bit light-headed.

Her! Lady Arabella Tremont. The girl who’d been thrown out of Miss Emery’s School for being too bold.

Not to be undone by his brazen manners, she straightened and did her best to appear unruffled and uninterested in what this rake had to say.

Or do.

Save his touch was sending the most dangerous and teasing tendrils of desire through her.

This was desire, wasn’t it? Was this what it was like to be seduced?


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Author Info

AuthorElizabethBoyleElizabeth Boyle was an anti-piracy paralegal for Microsoft before settling down to write full-time. Her first novel, Brazen Angel, which won Dell’s Diamond Debut Award in 1996, also won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award for Best First Book, and was a finalist for Best Long Historical Romance. She lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. She is also the author of Brazen Heiress.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads