Today, I am taking off my “Jane Austen hat” and putting on my “Regency” hat, for on June 18, the first book of my mystery series for Dragonblade Publishers will release. It is a five book series, of which I have finished four to date; they are in different stages of production. They will release three months apart beginning on June 18 (Lyon in the Way), September 17 (Lyon’s Obsession), December 17 (Lyon in Disguise), and then in 2026, March 18 (Lost in the Lyon’s Garden) and, finally, June 20 (Lyon on the Inside). If you do not know of Dragonblade Publishers, they are an author-owned group and specialize in historical romance (meaning pre 20th Century, meaning Viking, Regency, Georgian, Tudor, Highlander, Medieval, Victorian, Roman, Edwardian, etc.), so you will find not just Regencies.
The other thing you might note in the titles is the word “Lyon.” The Lyon’s Den is an infamous gaming hell (hall) run my Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, a widow, who still wears a black veil at all times, supposedly in memory of her late husband, but that has yet to be explained to the readers. Each book in the Lyon’s Den Connected World must have several chapters which take place in the Lyon’s Den and the “Den” should play a prominent place in the series.
My series are based in mystery/suspense, each book has more than a little romantic suspense to keep the reader and to attempt to solve, but there is also an overlying mystery connecting them all the stories. For example, they each start with the same scene in a prologue, but that scene is told from a different character’s point of view, and so the reader learns more of what should lead to the solution for the final mystery.
My main characters are the “adopted” sons of Lord Macdonald Duncan, a Scottish lord, who lost his wife with the birth of his second child. The “sons” are all earls, whose inheritance and lives were in danger when Lord Duncan takes them in. He saves their lives and their earldoms and trains them as good stewards of their estates, as well as agents for the Crown, a position he holds in the British government.
For Book One, Lyon in the Way, the title comes from the idea behind the phrase “Lion in the Way” which can be derived from Proverbs 22:13
The slothful man saith, “There is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets.”
An object or danger impeding a person’s progress might cause him immediately or prematurely to abandon his duties or ambitions. The “slothful man” above used “the lion” as an excuse not to leave his house and to perform his duty to his family and community. We all encounter difficulties, but we cannot avoid or fear them, as if they were a “lion in the way.”
The Hero is Lord Richard Orson, 9th Earl Orson (notes are from my “History of …” the book. I keep such a history on every book I have every written, numbering 76 at this time. The history contains a list of characters, their descriptions, place names [houses, towns, etc.], a calendar of events to match an actual calendar of the year in which the story is set, and a bulleted list of what happens in each chapter.
Lord Orson has grey-brown eyes, the color of a stormy sky; is an earl; an orphan; 26 years of age; “Orson” is a habitational name deriving from “Orston” in Nottinghamshire (where his estate can be found); medium brown hair; six feet tall; has an interest in studying the stars; owns a large telescope at his family estate in Lincolnshire; an agent of the Home Office in Whitehall; is very adept at sleight-of-hand in card games; was the first of the children Lord Duncan and his wife took in. Barely aged 9 at the time. Very resentful in the beginning, Richard did not understand his uncle’s desire to kill him and the need for someone’s protection. Both parents died within a year of each other. His mother and father both had taken lovers.
Richard has held a slight obsession for Lady Emma Donoghue for more than a year, but she is all that is wrong for a man in his position – a man with his own aspirations to rise in government.
The Heroine is Lady Emma Donoghue. Emma has lived alone for 10 years. Her parents are ambassadors in Europe; serving Northern Netherlands. She has chocolate brown hair and blue-green eyes. She is VERY independent and bold and often vocalizes support for the removal of female disenfranchisement. Emma is tall enough to kiss along Lord Orson neckline without going up on her toes, though her boldness will not permit her to do so, at least, not initially. She turns 21 in the first few chapters of this book. She is the oldest of the heroines in the first few books of the series. Her parents keep postponing their own return to England. With her governess having left her when Emma was 17, she has had no one to hold her accountable for 4 years. She began acting out when she learned her parents were considering an arranged marriage for her to a much older man.
Book Blurb: One man wants her dead. Another may love her forever.
For over a year, Lord Richard Orson has been quietly captivated by the unconventional Lady Emma Donoghue. Headstrong, brilliant, and unapologetically involved in causes that rattle Society’s comfort, Emma is nothing like the debutantes he’s expected to court.
But when he finds her bruised, confused, and alone in Covent Garden after midnight, Richard is thrust into a far more dangerous game.
Someone wants Emma silenced. And now, Richard has only moments to uncover the truth, protect her from harm, and keep her out of scandal’s reach. But staying focused is harder than he imagined—especially when every glance, every accidental touch, reminds him how perfectly she fits in his arms.
Tropes you’ll love:
✔ Protective hero / damsel in distress (with a twist)
✔ Bluestocking heroine
✔ Rescue & recovery romance
✔ Unlikely match / opposites attract
✔ Slow burn with rising suspense
✔ One bed (forced proximity)
✔ Hero falls first
As danger closes in and secrets are revealed, Richard must decide whether he’s willing to risk his life—and his heart—for a woman who’s always been worth the fight.
A suspenseful, slow-burn Regency romance where danger ignites desire, and love must outpace the clock.
Purchase Links:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F5XC33ZJ
Available to Read on Kindle Unlimited on June 18.
BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/books/lyon-in-the-way-the-lyon-s-den-connected-world-by-regina-jeffers
Enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One of Lyon in the Way. It begins with Lord Richard Orson leaves his friend Sir Hunter Wickhersham at a house of ill repute, as Hunt means to sow the last of his “wild oats” before his marriage. Richard chases one “unusual” character before Lady Emma Donoghue stumbles, quite literally, into his arms. But everything is not as one might assume. (drum beat) Da! Da! Duh! Dum!
Excerpt:
He stepped around two young men likely up from university and eager to prove themselves with one of Madame Ahrens’s “ladies.” The hackney they had hired to deliver them edged from the curb to expose the closed square surrounded by houses held together by lost hopes and a shared wall, and Richard’s attention shifted to a figure standing under a single street light that flickered on and off as if a candle had been gutted by melted wax. If there was truly such a creature as the “dark angel of death,” this figure could be thusly named.
Hanging back in the shadows, which was easy to do in this part of London, the figure’s clothes appeared the blackest shade of darkness Richard had ever viewed, though there was a hint of smoothness about the material. Silk, perhaps. If Richard had been drunk, he would have thought he had encountered the Devil himself. The man or demon, depending on who Richard might ask, stood hunched over, as if he carried the weight of the world, or perhaps he nursed a wound or a sour stomach, but, more likely, a great sin rested upon his shoulders. The man’s face was not readable, but, if Richard had been one who made serious bets, rather than a fanciful one about a woman who was a pain in society’s side, he would bet the figure’s interest rested as much on him as his did on the stranger.
A half dozen men and women exited another of the buildings in the close, and Richard’s attention was drawn to them for a matter of seconds, but when he again sought the dark figure, the man was nowhere to be found.
For some unknown reason, Richard’s curiosity had claimed his normal cautiousness, and so, he nodded to the group and picked up his pace. “I doubt I could describe the man,” he mumbled, and he realized the fellow was probably just a man searching for a woman, but fearing his “shortcomings,” whatever they may be, would not have one of the Covent Garden’s prioresses having their fun at his expense.
Richard finally caught a glimpse of the stranger walking quickly in the direction of Drury Lane and the Theatre Royal. The fellow looked back once before hailing a hack and jumping in quicker than Richard could reach the corner. But there was something unusual. Where Richard thought the man was all in black, when the man turned the fellow’s cape was lined with a blood red silk.
A frown marked Richard’s forehead, as he turned back to where Hunt’s coach would be waiting. “Just a man who wanted to be with a woman, but decided against it,” he told himself. “Mayhap someone who recognized me and did not wish me to name the day the fellow had fallen off his pedestal.” A smile crossed Richard’s lips. He could easily name a half dozen Bible-thumpers, as James Hogg described them in his periodical, The Spy, who fit that description. “More likely the man had been waiting for one of the women to leave her house of ill-repute and to walk these streets alone. Someone to rob for her coins or claim a free night in her bed. Perhaps the woman was his former love, who has been set upon by hard times. “Someone the man loved, once upon a time,” Richard said whimsically.
Satisfied the stranger had abandoned his plans, Richard was again in search of Hunt’s carriage, but he had somehow made a wrong turn in his pursuit of the unknown man in black. “Foolish,” he chastised himself. “I am no better than the other drunks peppering these streets.”
He made two more ill turns in quick succession and had to backtrack. “It would be nice to have a street light here and there,” he grumbled as he found himself in what he thought was the old market area. “I understand now why the Duke of Bedford wishes Parliament to regulate this area.” He paused to look around him to claim his bearings. Thinking himself assured of where to find Hunt’s carriage, Richard took a side street and a short alley, ignoring a man throwing up his oats and a woman chastising him in her best “fishwife” imitation for ducking under her line of clean laundry and knocking part of the rope down.
Richard had cleared the pair and stepped upon the wooden walkway when a woman staggered from the shadows and, quite literally, into his arms. At first, he thought another of the area’s many pickpockets thought to make him her mark, but somehow Richard recognized her. The woman was not inebriated, nor did she appear to be on some sort of black powder, she was injured.
Though she attempted to pull away from his embrace, he held her in place. There was blood seeping from a cut at her temple, as well as several defensive style wounds along her arm.
She swayed in place as he propped her against the side of a nearby building so he might determine how badly she was injured, while also searching the area for a sign of her attacker.
“Don’t!” she groaned as he braced her with one hand and turned as best he could to scan the area. “Don’t touch me, I must find the three . . .”
“I shan’t!” he declared, though he kept his hand on her shoulder. “Who was in your party?” he asked, though the idea of her being with any man who would do this to her was unsettling. “Find three what?”
Her dark chocolate hair hung loose on one side and what once must have been a string of pearls laced in her curls had fallen over her forehead, which sported what would likely be a large bruise. The skirt of her gown was ripped on one side and covered with “alley” filth, a mix of garbage and human waste and mud, as if she had been knocked to her knees, and she was missing her evening slippers.
He asked again. “With whom were you traveling? Are there others for whom I should be seeking? Three more, perhaps?” Richard was already wondering if the man he had been following earlier had committed this crime. He could not imagine even the daring Lady Emma Donoghue, though she pushed all boundaries of conformity, would venture to Covent Garden alone. She swayed in place and he tightened his hold on her shoulder. “How did this happen?”
She looked at him oddly, as if she suddenly realized he was there before her. “I . . . I . . . I do not know.”
“We will discover the truth,” he said. “Permit me to assist you to this building’s entrance steps. I would like to have a look around. To know assurances that someone else has not been harmed. Can you place your trust in me to do what I say? Afterwards, I will see you home.”
“Home?” she asked and frowned. “Do not wish to return home.”
“Do not worry. I will not desert you.” He guided her to the steps leading to the main door of the building, but he had quickly become aware of how his touch frightened her. She half sat and half collapsed onto the stained bricks of the entranceway. He permitted her to slump against the cold stone, claimed his Queen Anne pistol, and walked back the way she had come, but there was no one along the street and no signs of a struggle, not even one of her missing shoes. He was guessing whatever had happened to her, it had not happened nearby. Perhaps someone had dumped her in Covent Garden after assaulting her elsewhere.
Richard briefly wondered if she had been raped. He prayed not, for a woman of her “huzzah” should not be played foul.
Hurrying back to where he had left her, he roused her gently. If she had a head injury, he did not want her sleeping until a physician or a surgeon examined her. “Come now, my lady,” he said as he gently coaxed her to her feet. “Again, I ask, can you tell me who you were with earlier this evening?”
She looked around her. “I do not . . . recall,” she said with a frown.
“My lady . . .” he began, but she reached a bloody hand to him to prevent his question.
“How do you . . . know me . . . to be a lady?” she asked, and it was the first time she appeared truly frightened, rather than simply confused.
“You are Lady Emma Donoghue. Earlier today, you and some of your acquaintances prevented a number of gentlemen from entering White’s.” He would not tell her he had been asking the occasional question about her for coming up on two years. Like it or not, the woman fascinated him.
“And this was . . . my punishment?” she asked.
“I cannot say with any confidence,” he admitted. “As I was one of the men at White’s, I saw you there. You have been among those ‘protesting,’ shall we term your actions, at several venues for months. Yet, of course, you are well aware of those efforts.”
“Who are you?” she asked as she staggered away from him, fear obviously returning.
He reached a hand to her when she swayed in place. “I am Lord Richard Orson. I am a peer of the realm and often assist those in the government.” Customarily, he and the others among Lord Duncan’s men did not mention their connections to the government, but as Richard was planning to place this situation in the hands of his friends, keeping his position a complete secret would not be possible.
She shook her head in apparent denial, but the movement had sent her swaying in place again.
Richard caught her before she collapsed and scooped her up into his arms. Ironically, she curled into him as if she sought his warmth. “What does ‘three’ mean?” he asked.
Her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat. Obviously, she was afraid to release him. “I do not understand,” she murmured against the skin of his neck.
“You said you must find . . . Never mind. It is of no great importance at the moment. We must first discover someone to attend to you.” Her arms tightened about his neck. He asked, “Is there someone I should inform of this incident? I know your parents are away in Europe.”
“My parents are away?” she implored. “When? Where?” She snuggled closer. “Surely we are acquainted.” Her voice sounded as if she meant to fall asleep on his shoulder. “Are we betrothed?” She slurred the question.
He purposely jiggled her to keep her awake. “We are not betrothed,” he assured. He thought, Not even friends. “I told you earlier: I am Lord Orson.”
Leave a Reply to Amanda KaiCancel reply