At last! The Master’s Mark–new from Lisabet Sarai

Book 3 in The Toymakers Guild. Available for pre-order now. Launch date January 13, 2023.

How do you train a steampunk sexbot?

Gillian Smith’s promotion to journeyman proves she’s ready to lead the Toymakers in producing astonishing new erotic artifacts. Creative, brilliant, and debauched, she’ll stretch her capabilities to the limit as she juggles a talent shortage and a pair of jealous rivals. Then there’s the challenge of their latest commission—a life-sized programmable sex doll intended to replace a client’s deceased paramour.

Normally she would consult the enigmatic Master Toymaker, but he seems preoccupied with his own concerns. Though her lusty crew of sexual renegades can offer technical and carnal assistance, Gillian is ultimately responsible for delivering the promised, near-impossible technology.

It’s fortunate she’s not one to give up—not even when events threaten the Guild’s very survival.

Buy Links
Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BRHGN35L
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BRHGN35L
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1306694
Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165993299
Kobo –  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-master-s-mark-the-toymaker-s-guild-book-3
Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6445290161
Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/75611538-the-master-s-mark

Contest!
Lisabet Sarai is running a contest to celebrate the release of The Master’s Mark. The prize is a $10 book store gift certificate, plus an ebook copy of the new novel in your choice of formats.

To enter, do the following:

  • Send an email at contest [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com
  • In the body of the email, list the names of two characters in The Master’s Mark. (You can discover this from various blog posts and excerpts.)

One entry per person, please. On the first of February, Lisabet will randomly draw a winner from among all the entries. Be sure to send your entry to the “contest” email address above.

PG Excerpt:

“Aha! I knew you were no schoolteacher, Miss!”

The familiar voice jerked her back to the present. She looked up, startled, and her eyes connected with those of Jeremiah Manley. Without thinking, she covered the drawings with her arm in an attempt to hide them from his curious gaze.

“Engineer Manley! How lovely to see you again.”

“Right you are, Miss – Gillian, wasn’t it?”

She nodded and flashed him a smile, flattered that he’d recalled her name. He looked every bit as attractive as he had upon their first meeting, taut and lean, brimming with life, seemingly ready to tumble into laughter at the slightest provocation. “My close friends call me Jill,” she volunteered.

“Well then, Jill!” He reached out to lay a dark hand upon her sleeve, pushing gently to expose the hidden designs. “And what have you here? Not some girl’s spelling homework, I’ll warrant.”

Warmth flowed from his palm, heating her own skin through the fabric of her dress. “That’s none of your affair, sir.”

“Sir – that hardly sounds like the response of a close friend! Come now, let me see. I already caught a glimpse. I know they’re blueprints, or something similar.”

“It’s a private commission,” she replied, gathering the papers and slipping them into her satchel. “We’ve promised the client complete confidentiality.”

“Ah!  So who is ‘we’, Jill-who-is-not-a-schoolteacher? Indeed, who are you?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” she replied primly.

“Really? Perhaps I can persuade you, Jill.” He swung himself into the chair close beside her, earning scandalised stares from the other inhabitants of the Ladies’ Lounge. She suddenly noticed that he was not wearing his uniform, though his grey tweed trousers and coat fit him equally well. Under the jacket he sported a blindingly white linen shirt without a cravat. The open neck exposed an enticing near-black triangle of bare skin.

“What happened to your uniform, Jeremiah? Are you not on duty?” He wasn’t touching her any more, but she still felt the heat, radiating from his all-too-close form. Her nipples beaded under her bodice.

“I resigned.” His normal smile fled. The scowl that replaced it made him look unexpectedly dangerous. “Couldn’t endure that jackass Thomas any longer.”

She nodded. “I’d hate to work under such a boor, I agree. But to throw away such a solid position – second engineer on a fine vessel like the Invicta – are you certain that was wise?”

He shrugged. “I’m more clever and nimble than wise. Otherwise I wouldn’t have survived this long.” His clouded expression broke once more into a sunny grin and he settled a hand on hers. He leaned closer, so close that she caught a hint of his spicy scent, and spoke more softly. “So, Jill-who-is-not-a-schoolteacher – would you like a tour of the engine room?”

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. “Oh, yes! Please!” She couldn’t have said whether the offer or Jeremiah’s proximity had more to do with her breathless excitement.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Wait just a few minutes, till we’re tied up at the dock. Then I’ll take you below. This is Invicta’s last crossing for the day. The crew’ll be busy filling her coal holds, so we won’t be disturbed.”

“But – I thought you were no longer employed—”

He held up a key. “You can never tell when you’ll need to check the engine.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper as he dropped it back into his coat pocket. “I had thoughts of doing some damage, actually. Thomas would be responsible and it would serve him right. But I decided a clean break would be best.”

“That was wise,” said Gillian with relief. He squeezed her hand, setting her pulse racing once again.

The boatswain’s shrill whistle announced their arrival at the dock. The lady passengers were already filing out of the lounge, casting disapproving glances in their direction. Jeremiah bounced to his feet and pulled her up after him. “We’d better get out of sight,” he urged. “The first mate does a sweep for stray passengers after every trip. Never know when you’ll find some gentleman who took excess advantage of the SS Invicta’s fine whisky.”

He stepped behind the bar into the small galley that served the lounge, then prised open a door on the left. “In here,” he murmured, pushing her in front of him into a dark, narrow space lined with shelves. When he pulled the closet shut, crowding against her, the blackness was nearly absolute. The storage area must have been located against an outside wall. She could hear footfalls upon the metal deck as the disembarking passengers headed for the gangway at the stern.

The space was redolent of tea, ginger marmalade and Jeremiah’s personal, peppery scent. They were crammed together, face to face, though he was a good deal taller. He rested a hand on her hip to stabilise her. She felt his breath stirring her hair and his heat penetrating her clothing.

Her own lungs seemed to have stopped working. She scarcely dared to move.

His hold on her was loose, their bodies still separated by a fraction of an inch. She imagined his chest pressed against her, mashing her breasts against his muscled torso. Her nipples ached for that missing stimulation. It was all too easy to conjure the sensation of his swollen prick prodding her belly, his pelvis grinding against her, his fingers tracing the line of her spine then cupping her buttocks to pull her closer…

A smooth palm caressed her cheek. Bold fingers tilted her chin up toward his unseen visage. “Jill…” he whispered, barely audible, before he pressed his lips to hers.

She melted into the kiss, flowing into his arms. The reality of his hard body was even better than her fantasies. A lush cloudburst of sensation drenched her as she opened to his brazen tongue and let him plunder her mouth. Tangy spice tickled her nostrils and a second heart beat between her thighs. She floated on the surface for a while, then sank gratefully into the passion of the moment, letting herself drown.

Introductory Essay:
Gillian Smith, the heroine of my Toymakers Guild series, is a scientific genius and a sexual adventurer. She’s only nineteen when she shows up at the door of Randerley Hall, successfully figures out the access code and demonstrates sufficient talent in both the technical and carnal realms to win a place for herself among the secretive and selective band of erotic artificers.

As the series continues, she becomes more mature, taming some of her impulsiveness and learning to understand the nuances of desire. She assumes increasing responsibility for the work of the Guild, providing design guidance and supervising the other engineers. Meanwhile, she remains open to the varied opportunities for sensual pleasure offered by Guild membership. She understands that lust is the lubricant for the Guild’s creativity and that despite the outrageous ways that it is sometimes expressed, the bonds among the Toymakers go far beyond the physical.

Authors often – perhaps even always – use aspects of themselves when creating their characters. Nevertheless, Gillian is not me. When I was nineteen, I was a dreamy bookworm, not an engineer. While she is bold and self-confident, I was painfully shy. Her appearance – tall, slender, with curly reddish hair – has little in common with my short, curvy build and mousy brown locks.

Still, at her age I was as fascinated by sex as she is, if nowhere near as active. As I grew older, that fascination deepened. I began to explore my kinks and cravings and live out my fantasies in a manner that she’d understand. I’ve had sexual adventures she’d find quite familiar. In the meantime, my view of sexuality ended up having quite a lot in common with hers – that even what seems like casual lust has emotional and spiritual dimensions.

I also must admit to basing some of Gillian’s emotions and behavior as a technical project leader on my own experience. I did end up as an engineer of sorts: a software engineer. Most of the technology in the Toymakers Guild series comes straight out of my imagination. I couldn’t wire a motor or machine a set of gears to save my life. But I do know what it’s like trying to deal with bugs in your programs when you’re facing a critical deadline. I understand the heavy burden of responsibility that comes with commitments that seem impossible to fulfill.

So, yes, Jill and I do share some traits and beliefs, though there’s more than a century between our worlds and half a century between our ages.  To me, though, she’s an independent individual – and after three novels, remarkably real. As an author, I’m amazed by the way characters develop over the course of writing a book. They begin as a sketch, perhaps borrowing from people we know (including ourselves), but before long they have lives of their own. Having followed her for more than three years and two hundred fifty thousand words, I know who Gillian Smith is. Honestly, though, I don’t know where she came from.

Praise for The Toymakers Guild:
The Pornographer’s Apprentice,The Toymakers Guild Book 1
There are many more plot points, but I don’t want to spoil your enjoyment of this book. It has varied and steamy sex scenes that will take your breath away, a plucky heroine who doesn’t always come out on top (ahem), but who always prevails in her quest to be accepted as a Toymaker.  ~ Fiona McGier, Goodreads

With thoughtfully written characters, hot sex scenes, and a well-paced and interesting plot, the Toymaker’s Apprentice leaves you asking only one question….when is the next book in the series coming out? ~ The Phantom Tollbooth, Amazon

[A] fast paced, hilarious, and thoroughly entertaining story as Gillian gets intimate with the staff and technology, only to find that there is a plot against the Guild that she takes on to save the day. I can’t wait to read what happens in the next book! ~ Arthur Royo, Amazon

The Journeyman’s Trial, The Toymakers Guild Book 2
Lisabet Sarai has taken on the challenge of following up The Pornographer’s Apprentice. I’m happy to say she’s exceeded her own lofty standards of writing. The dialogue in the story is unique, accurate to the era, and oftentimes features beautiful lines. You can look forward to a shocking mass of creativity from the ingenious mind of Miss Sarai. The erotic scenes are written beautifully and explosively. I found the pleasure of the characters hit me just as hard as it hit them. I’m looking forward to more from this world and the characters! ~ Amazon Customer, Verified Purchaser

About Lisabet
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

New! The Journeyman’s Trial. Part 2 in Lisabet Sarai’s Toymaker’s Guild series

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet SaraiLust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

Blurb:
If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

The Guild’s tribe of talented, uninhibited engineers has embraced Gillian as one of their own. Edward Thorne, the perverse genius who founded the Guild, undertakes to train her in the skills she’ll need as a journeyman, from practical mind-reading to transcendental orgasms.

As Gillian labours to impress the charismatic Master, her enigmatic fellow journeyman Rafe both entices and frustrates her. Their passion seems to go beyond mere appetite, but in Randerley’s promiscuous and permissive environment, does love make any sense?

When the Toymakers receive a commission to equip London’s most exclusive brothel with the latest sexual technology, Gillian has the chance to demonstrate her formidable abilities as well as to help Rafe exorcise the demons of his past. She doesn’t realize she’ll be forced to choose between Rafe and her future in the Guild.

If you like intelligent, lusty women and kinky steam punk sex toys, pick up a copy of The Journeyman’s Trial.

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet SaraiSeries blurb:
Defying the repressive morality of the Victorian era, the Toymakers Guild uses advanced technology to fabricate bespoke sexual artifacts for the discrete pleasure of select clients. Its members are not only brilliant engineers but also sexual renegades seeking freedom from the prudish society that surrounds them. These are their stories.

Buy links:
Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/618-the-journeymans-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2/
Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1118032

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-journeymans-trial-lisabet-sarai/1140567579?ean=2940165096259

Kobo –  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-journeyman-s-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59740783-the-journeyman-s-trial

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet SaraiOnline excerpts:
PG-rated:
https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/11/sneak-peek-journeymans-trial-out-next.html

X-Rated:
https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/12/a-message-of-paradoxical-pleasure.html

The Porographer's Apprentice by Lisabet SaraiSpecial deal! Get The Pornographer’s Apprentice, The Toymakers Guild Book 1, for only 99 cents during the tour!  Buy links here:
https://www.lisabetsarai.com/pornographersapprenticebook.html

Rave Reviews for The Toymakers Guild Book 1

There are many more plot points, but I don’t want to spoil your enjoyment of this book. It has varied and steamy sex scenes that will take your breath away, a plucky heroine who doesn’t always come out on top (ahem), but who always prevails in her quest to be accepted as a Toymaker.  ~ Fiona McGier, Goodreads

With thoughtfully written characters, hot sex scenes, and a well-paced and interesting plot, the Toymaker’s Apprentice leaves you asking only one question….when is the next book in the series coming out? ~ The Phantom Tollbooth, Amazon

[A] fast paced, hilarious, and thoroughly entertaining story as Gillian gets intimate with the staff and technology, only to find that there is a plot against the Guild that she takes on to save the day. I can’t wait to read what happens in the next book! ~ Arthur Royo, Amazon

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet Sarai

Victorian nerds:
Greetings. My name is Lisabet, and I’m an engineer.

In the so-called real world, I design and write computer software. I also manage development projects and mentor other engineers. I’m surrounded by smart people who enjoy the puzzles of technology and who like to make things work. It’s a challenging but exciting environment, an environment in which solving a tough problem can be as satisfying as… well, maybe even as satisfying as an orgasm. In a different way of course.

In The Journeyman’s Trial I’ve indulged myself by bringing some of that excitement into the story. The Toymakers Guild is basically a group of young Victorian nerds. Archie’s a genius with electricity. Rafe’s a chemist as well as a creative mechanical engineer. Jia excels at clockwork artifacts and optics. My heroine Gillian has skills in all these areas, but what fascinates her most is mathematics and computation. In a world where computers don’t really exist yet, she’s trying to create them and figure out how to make them work.

Then there’s the Master Toymaker, a genius who not only knows how to design and build physical devices, but who also has a deep understanding of human thought and emotions.

The novel includes pseudo-technical descriptions of the outrageous sexual artifacts the Guild produces. I suppose that some people might get impatient with my flights of engineering fancy, but for me, that has been part of the fun in writing this series. I love imagining how innovations that are commonplace today might have been realized in the Victorian era, given the technical limitations of the period.

Is the book realistic? Well, yes and no. I’ve taken a lot of technical liberties, but in fact the second half of the nineteenth century was a time of great progress and innovation.

And what about the sexual insatiability of my characters?

I’ve known, and loved, a lot of nerds in my life. Contrary to the stereotypes, really intelligent people are often very active sexually. They have a richer, more  elaborated understanding of desire and the many ways it can be fulfilled. None of the characters in The Journeyman’s Trial is based on a real person, but I’ve been involved with quite a few brilliant individuals who had similar attitudes – open-minded, experimental and focused on giving and receiving pleasure.

Just like Gillian and her uninhibited colleagues.

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet SaraiExcerpt:
At the foot of the stairs, she almost collided with a lean, dark figure. If he hadn’t grabbed her by both shoulders, they both might have tumbled to the floor.

“Why, hello, Jill!” A cocky smile lit the young man’s aquiline features. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.” He held on to her for considerably longer than was necessary to stabilise them. When he let go, she continued to feel his hands, heating her skin through the fabric of her garment.

“Good afternoon, Rafe.” She brushed some imaginary dust off her somewhat wrinkled lab coat. It was true that she’d barely spoken two words to her fellow journeyman since he’d rescued her on the moors two weeks before. Half the time he hadn’t even been at the dinner table. She’d wondered if he was travelling again. “I’ve been occupied with learning my new duties. The Master has been training me.”

His eyebrows arched. “Training, hmm? I’d like to know more about just what that entails!” He ran his fingers through his unkempt black locks. “I never got any sort of training from the Master. Of course, he hasn’t been around much. If I recall, he left Randerley only a few weeks after I joined the Guild.”

“When was that?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about the brash, forward young man who’d stolen a kiss within half an hour of her meeting him. Well, perhaps stolen wasn’t exactly the right term, but still, he seemed to have quite familiar manners.

“Two years ago last Christmas. Seems like a lifetime.”

“And before the Guild?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t really want to talk about that. Anyway, I’ve got an appointment with the Master in two minutes.”

Gillian stepped back to give him free access to the stairs. “You mustn’t keep him waiting, then.”

“But I’m really delighted to run into you.” He chuckled at his own jest. “Care to go riding with me tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ve got quite a lot of work—”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Even that slave driver Featherstone takes Saturday afternoon off! Come on, Jill. Say yes!” His hand was back on her shoulder, casual, warm, maddening.

“Well… I grew up in the city, so I’m not much of a horsewoman.” She had to admit to being curious about Rafe. With his loose-limbed grace and easy smile, he was definitely attractive. Shouldn’t she be focused on her training, though?

“We’ll put you on Dorothea. She’s a sweet, biddable mare who won’t give you any trouble. And Samson likes her.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ve got to go!” He squeezed her shoulder briefly and ran his fingers through her curls, then bounded up the stairs. “Meet you at the stables tomorrow at three,” he called out as he climbed out of sight.

“But…” There was no one to listen to Gillian’s excuses. In any case, why should she object? Rafe was a fellow member of the Guild. It was only fitting they should get to know one another – perhaps intimately.

The Journeyman's Trial by Lisabet SaraiAbout Lisabet:
Lisabet SaraiLisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

 

New! Steampunk, BDSM, Shifter: Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet Sarai

Rajasthani Moon  by Lisabet SaraiNeither kink nor curse can stop a woman on a mission.

Blurb:
A bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.

A brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.

A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.

She has never faced such a challenge. 

 When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler’s half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.

 Note: This book was previously published by Totally Bound. It has been re-edited, revised and updated for this release.

Buy links:
Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/363-rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance/

 Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1100493

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1140045684?ean=2940165000041

Kobohttps://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58835067-rajasthani-moon

Online Excerpt:
https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/08/celebrating-my-new-release-steampunk.html

Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet SaraiIs Rajasthani Moon erotic romance?
It would have been much faster to fly.

 Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

 Thus begins my most recent release, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it’s a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won’t tell you who ends up with whom!) 

Writing this book involved taking risks. I’ve observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I’m breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we’ll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Snippet:
“Wait a minute. ‘Cecily’, you said? Something’s tickling the back of my brain… Let me examine the Universal Electropaedia…” In the ensuing pause, Pratan glanced over his shoulder towards the bed. She assumed a demeanour of indifference. “Ah, yes…Dark complexion, you say, and blue eyes?”

“Correct.”

“Between twenty-five and thirty years of age? About eleven stone?”

“Ten stone four pounds!” Cecily interjected before she could help herself.

“Yes, and tall too, for a woman. And from the way she’s straining against the ropes, I’d say she understands every word we’re saying!”

Her spirits sank. Did the Electropaedia actually include an entry for her? Why hadn’t the Empire’s censors excised it? This unforgivable breach of security might well have sealed her fate, though she wasn’t about to give up yet.

“Brother, I believe that you’ve succeeded in capturing one of Queen Victoria’s most notorious agents—Miss Cecily Harrowsmith. According to reports, she is brave, brilliant, beautiful, and as dangerous as a king cobra.”

Pratan rubbed his bruised shin where she’d kicked him and grinned at her with genuine menace. “That sounds like her.”

Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet SaraiExcerpt:
It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

For England, of course, and the good of the Empire. Her Majesty could scarcely afford to have her vassal states simply refuse to pay their taxes. When the Rajah of Jaipur had expelled Her Majesty’s tax collectors and declared his kingdom independent, the Queen had imposed a viridium embargo. No society these days could function without the energy-rich mineral. At least this was the theory. Yet the Rajah and his half-brother had held out for the past three years, despite being completely cut off from the Empire’s supply lines.

Cecily’s job was to discover how the isolated principality had managed to survive. She’d also been instructed to convince the errant rulers to return to the bosom of the Empire, if at all possible. If persuasion failed, she was authorised to use force. However, she doubted this would be necessary. Persuasion was after all her forte.

Once more she extracted the portraits of the twin rulers of Rajasthan from her portmanteau to study their countenances. Both had skin the colour of nicely browned toast. Amir, the official Rajah, was clean-shaven, with deep-set eyes, a prominent nose and lips as full as a girl’s. He wore his hair in European style but the rainbow-hued turban perched on his head as well as the loops piercing his well-shaped ears were more than enough to dispel any notion that he’d been anglicised. Pratan looked far less civilised, with tangled black locks reaching to his shoulders and a drooping moustache that gave him a permanent sneer. He shared his brother’s regal nose but his features were more angular, less finished-looking than his aristocratic sibling’s. Both men were strikingly handsome, each in his own way. The paintings provided little information about their figures, but, given the stark, unforgiving nature of their country, Cecily thought it unlikely that they’d be stout. With luck, their bodies would have the same masculine appeal as their faces.

With a sigh, she tucked the images away and settled back against the cushions. Cecily was a woman of action. The two-day journey from Bombay had sorely tried her patience. Miserable roads—cart tracks, really—had limited the speed of her private motorised carriage. She could have travelled many times faster on Britain’s macadam highways.

Nevertheless, she’d been glad to escape the superficial, conservative society of London—the falseness and the gossip, back-stabbing and double-dealing. Not to mention the dank weather and the horribly uncomfortable clothing. She knew that a tightly-laced corset accentuated her ample curves, but she far preferred native dress, especially in this kind of heat. She shook out the voluminous skirt of her chaniya choli, admiring the little mirrors sewn into the blue and orange print. The Rajasthani women wore nothing underneath and she followed suit. It was far more practical when one had to answer the call of nature out here in the middle of nowhere.

The quilted fabric brushed against her unprotected pubis, engendering a pleasant tickling sensation. Now there was an idea for passing the time… When she glanced outside again, she noted that the sun was lower. The land had become rougher and greener as they approached the foothills of the Aravalli range. Jaipur was located on the other side of the mountains.

She tapped one of the buttons on the polished wood control panel to her right in order to signal the driver. “How much longer before we arrive?” she asked in fluent Hindi.

“At least three hours, ma’am,” came the disembodied voice. “Not until after dark, I should think.”

After dark. That wasn’t good at all. Bandits tended to flourish in this sort of wild landscape. “Well, do your best to get us there as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Three hours. She checked the dagger strapped to her upper arm, well-hidden under her sleeve. When she made a fist, the knife shot into her hand, ready for use. Her Majesty’s engineers truly had no equal. There was a miniature pistol tucked into her waist as well, a marvel of workmanship no less deadly for its tiny size. These weapons would have to do. If brigands struck, she’d have no time to access the cache of armaments hidden under the clothing in her trunk.

Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet SaraiSnippet:
“Stop there, Miss Harrowsmith. I doubt I should trust you to approach me more closely.” The voice was deep and mellow, with a lazy, smoky quality that reminded her of full moons and autumn bonfires. The man’s English was practically perfect. His lilting accent only added to the charm of his utterance.

She found herself almost eager to obey orders delivered in such a lush voice.

“Kneel up. Let me look at you.”

Cecily tried to keep her gaze averted as she complied, though she was desperately tempted to see if the ruler was as handsome in the flesh as in his portrait.

His chuckle sent a shimmer through her, something like shame but hotter and sweeter. “Very nice indeed. If all of Queen Victoria’s minions were as delectable, we might be more willing to return to her fold.”

Rajasthani Moon  by Lisabet SaraiAbout Lisabet:
Lisabet SaraiLisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

Pre-order your copy! The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife by Liese Sherwood-FabreThe Launch of a New Series! And pre-order starts today (April 1)!
No foolin’!

The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife is the first book in a new origin series on Sherlock Holmes (The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes).

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle provided few details on Holmes’ boyhood beyond noting that his ancestors were country squires, his grandmother was the sister of the French artist Vernet, and he had a brother Mycroft seven years his senior. With almost a blank slate to work with, I’ve had a great time inventing the young Sherlock and what his life would have been like as an adolescent in the mid-1800s. In particular, I invented a family almost eccentric as he that would influence his development: a mother with a brilliant mind restricted by Victorian conventions; an uncle who invents weapons and explosives; a loving, but remote, father; and genius and slightly bully of an older brother.

Blurb:

The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife introduces Sherlock having endured a miserable few weeks of his first year at Eton. Sherlock’s father calls him and his brother back to Underbyrne, the ancestral estate. The village midwife has been found with a pitchfork in her back in the estate’s garden, and Mrs. Holmes has been accused of the murder. She must depend on the family—but especially Sherlock—to solve the murder and save her from the gallows.

Excerpt:

They told me the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, and I knew I should have been honored to be at the institution; but at age thirteen, I hated it. The whole bloody place. I remained only because my parents’ disappointment would have been too great a disgrace to bear.

My aversion culminated about a month after my arrival when I was forced into a boxing match on the school’s verdant side lawn. I had just landed a blow to Charles Fitzsimmons’s nose, causing blood to pour from both nostrils, when the boys crowding around us parted. One of the six-form prefects joined us in the circle’s center.

After glancing first at Fitzsimmons, he said to me, “Sherlock Holmes, you’re wanted in the Head Master’s office. Come along.”

Even though I’d been at the school only a few weeks, I knew no one was called to the director’s office unless something was terribly wrong. I hesitated, blinking at the young man in his stiff collar and black suit. He flapped his arms to mark his impatience at my delay and spun about on his heel, marching toward the college’s main building. I gulped, gathered my things, and followed him at a pace that left me puffing to keep up.

I had no idea what caused such a summons. If it had been the fight, surely Charles would have accompanied me. I hadn’t experienced any controversies in any of my classes, even with my mathematics instructor. True, earlier in the day I’d corrected him, but surely it made sense to point out his mistake? For the most part, the masters seemed pleased with my answers when they called on me.

I did have problems, however, with most of my classmates—Charles Fitzsimmons was just one example. Except he was the one who’d called me out. Surely, that couldn’t be the basis of this summons?

Once inside, my sight adjusted slowly to the dark, cool interior, and I could distinguish the stern-faced portraits of past college administrators, masters, and students lining the hallway. As I passed them, I could feel their judgmental stares bearing down on me, and so I focused on the prefect’s back, glancing neither right nor left at these long-dead critics. A cold sweat beaded on my upper lip as I felt certain something very grave had occurred, with me at the center of the catastrophe. Reaching the Head Master’s office, I found myself unable to work the door’s latch, and with an exasperated sigh, the prefect opened it for me and left me to enter on a pair of rather shaky knees.

My agitation deepened when I entered and found the director examining a letter with my father’s seal clearly visible. He glanced up from the paper with the same severe expression I’d observed in his predecessors’ portraits. Dismissing his appraisal, I concentrated on the details I gathered from the missive in his hand.

Taking a position on an expansive oriental carpet in front of his massive wooden desk, I drew in my breath and asked, “What happened to my mother?”

“How did you know this involves your mother?” he asked, pulling back his chin.

“The letter. That’s my father’s seal.” My words gathered speed as I continued. “It doesn’t bear a black border, which means at least at this point no death is involved. My father’s hand is steady enough to write, so he must be well, that leaves only some problem with my mother.”

The man raised his eyebrows at my response, then glanced at the letter in his hand before tossing it onto the desk’s polished surface. “As you have surmised, a problem at home requires your return. Your father has requested that we arrange for you and your things to be sent to the rail station. Your brother will be arriving from Oxford to accompany you the rest of the way.”

My heart squeezed in my chest, dread rushing through my body. Home. Underbyrne, the family estate. And not just for a short visit. Packing all my things meant I was leaving for the remainder of the term. Something terribly wrong had happened. Grievous enough to pull Mycroft out of his third year of studies at Oxford. Blood whooshed in my ears, and I barely heard what followed.

“I’ve already requested Mrs. Whittlespoon to assist you in your packing.” Head Master turned his attention to the rest of the mail on his desk. He glanced up to add, “She’ll be in your room already.”

“Thank you, sir. Good day, sir.” I recovered enough to respond to his statement, but not to ask the reason behind Father’s directive.

With a wave of his hand, I was dismissed before I could inquire. As I closed the door behind me, I heard him mutter, “As much a prig as his brother.”

For a moment, I considered opening the door and requesting more information about his assessment as well as what else my father had provided in his letter, but social convention restrained me from questioning an elder—and the Head Master at that. I was left to ponder my unspoken concerns as I returned to my chamber.

By the time I arrived at my room, my trunk had already been brought down from storage, and Mrs. Whittlespoon, the house dame, was placing my belongings in it.

“There you are, dearie.” She pointed to a set of clothing on my bed. “You go change into your traveling clothes while I finish this up.”

I paused, considering for a moment to ask her what she knew of the events surrounding my departure, but she had turned her attention to the drawer with my undergarments. Having lost the opportunity for the moment, I retrieved the clothes and carried them to the bathing facilities.

Since the Head Master was not forthcoming, and Mrs. Whittlespoon might have only limited knowledge, my best hope for additional information as to what had occurred with Mother would be Mycroft—if he was in the mood to share. Knowing my brother, he might not be inclined to discuss this or any other matter on the journey home. He’d been overjoyed to return to university after the summer’s break and pulling him out would definitely sour his mood.

Mrs. Whittlespoon turned to me when I re-entered the room and placed both her hands on my shoulders for a moment to scrutinize my appearance.

“You look a right proper young gentleman.” She smoothed out the sleeves of my coat. “You go on down to the carriage, now. I’ll finish up here and have Jarvis take the trunk down to the carriage. I assume you’ll want to carry that yourself.”

She waved her hand at my violin case lying on the bed. A wave of guilt swept over me. At my mother’s insistence, I’d begun lessons two years before and developed some skill on the instrument. Since entering Eton I hadn’t found the time to practice as promised. How could I report such a failure to her? I swallowed as my next thought rose, unbidden. Assuming, of course, she was in a position to ask—or understand—my answer.

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About the Author:
Liese Sherwood-FabreLiese Sherwood-Fabre knew she was destined to write when she got an A+ in the second grade for her story about Dick, Jane, and Sally’s ruined picnic. After obtaining her PhD from Indiana University, she joined the federal government and had the opportunity to work and live internationally for more than fifteen years. After returning to the states, she seriously pursued her writing career.

Her writing has been recognized with a series of awards, including a Pushcart Prize nomination, a Golden Heart finalist, and a blue ribbon from Chanticleer Book Reviews. Steve Berry has called her work “Good old-fashioned, gimmick-free storytelling” and Gemma Halliday enthused her current novel is “a classic in the making.” A recognized Sherlockian scholar, her essays on Sherlock and Victorian England are published across the globe and have appeared in the Baker Street Journal, the premiere publication of the Baker Street Irregulars.

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