H.C. Brown – A Tryst of Fate

I’m happy to say I have H.C. Brown back visiting today to give us another glimpse into the woman behind the words, and to talk about her newest release A Tryst of Fate. Welcome back H.C., it’s great to have you here today!

Click here to see her previous visit and another great work, Lord & Master

You answered a few questions on your last visit, but a dynamic individual such as yourself has so much to share. So, to start this off, could you tell us what attracted you to writing Erotic Romance and what is your favorite sub-genre?

H.C.- Wow! This is difficult because I love writing all my genres, the more the merrier. I love fantasy because there are no restrictions and I can write them fast. Historical, I love ‘living’ in the era searching court documents and other historical documents to enhance my stories. The same goes with BDSM, I can wallow in each flavor of my stories in complete contentment.

What has been your biggest joy in your professional life as an author?

H.C. The first contract was crazy but I must say the nomination in three categories of the 2011 TRS CAPA awards blew my mind. To think the reviewers considered my work worthy of being on a nominees list beside some of the famous bestselling authors made me feel very humble indeed.

Wow, that’s a huge accomplishment! To be nominated for awards to doing what your passionate about must be an exhilarating honor!  

Out of the publication process, what have you found to be your biggest challenge?

H.C. This will sound strange but after my first published book, I decided a backlist was a priority. I write very fast and I write every day. My biggest challenge was to slow down to a writing schedule before I burnt myself out. I want to weave long and interesting tales and stretch my writing deeper into more genres—have more adventure with some comic relief.  So, I stepped back a little and now take the time to make sure every word sings. I want my readers to be with me every step of the story and to experience every emotion of my characters.

Outside of the Romance genre, what is your favorite type of story to write?

My Muse is pushing a fantasy adventure at the moment—perhaps a series, there will be a touch of romance but I see battles and new worlds to conquer. I’m looking at 80 + K.

In your latest release, which character would you most want to take out for a drink and why?

Colt Daniels, millionaire art dealer six-five built like a linebacker and gorgeous – why * coughs discretely* to chat about art of course

Thanks for answering those long question, now how about some fun shorties?

Quick fire questions:

Favorite ice cream:  chocolate chip

Garters and silk stalkings or Nude:  Nude

Perfect clothes for man? (suite/tie, nude, etc):  Naked, hair ruffled, breathing heavily, smooth flesh with a slight sheen of sweat.

Super hero or bad boy:   Bad boy— I married a bad boy and he is VERY bad.

Favorite quote: 

“If I die before I say ‘I love you’ it’s because I didn’t have the time.”

What a great quote! Thank you for giving us another little peek into your writerly world. Would you care to share a little something about your newest book now?

A Tryst of Fate.

 Blurb

After inheriting a Georgian house in Berkley Square, London, Colt Daniels, millionaire art dealer, finds himself obsessed by a portrait of the home’s former owner, Lord Alexander Swift.

During a conversation with author, Jake Williams, Colt discovers Lord Swift and his cousin had mysteriously disappeared from the cellar one evening, shortly after Alexander’s illicit affair with the rogue, David Fitzhugh. Jake reveals Colt bears a remarkable resemblance to Fitzhugh.

Colt decides to investigate Alexander’s strange disappearance and ventures into his cellar late one night to look for a secret passageway. When his flashlight fails, Colt finds himself transported back in time to 1775 and there he comes face to face with the man of his dreams— Lord Alexander Swift.

Watch the book trailer here:

http://youtu.be/mXBJiwPw-dE

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Colt Daniels lifted his bidder’s card. “Thirty thousand.”

“The bid is thirty thousand pounds. Come now, ladies and gentlemen, this portrait of Lord Alexander Swift by Benjamin West is dated 1775 and is in extraordinarily fine condition.” The auctioneer at Sotheby’s surveyed the silent crowd with a critical gaze.

Taking a casual pose, Colt flicked his gaze to the opposing bidder. The man in the slick Italian business suit met his gaze with a slow smile. Colt lifted his chin and stared at the painting. From the moment he had laid eyes on the portrait of the handsome young man in the Sotheby’s catalogue, he had wanted to buy the painting. Lord Alexander Swift’s troubled gaze held a distant loneliness, as if reaching out to Colt across the centuries.

A strange twist of fate had brought him to London in the form of an inheritance on his thirtieth birthday… A distant relative had bequeathed him the townhouse once owned by Lord Swift in Berkeley Square. Over the past year, he had restored the house to its former glory and now he required this painting to complete the task. During the years Lord Swift had owned the property, the painting had hung at the top of the stairs, facing the front door. For some unexplained reason, Colt had a compelling desire to finish the house by restoring the painting to its original position, in time for the anniversary of Alexander’s death on June fourth.

“Forty thousand.” The man in the suit lifted his bidder’s card.

Colt sighed. With his fortune to back him and the prestige of being the owner of some of the most famous galleries around the world, he rarely had people bid against him for very long. They should know better. If Colt Daniels wanted a painting, Colt Daniels would go to any price to secure a purchase. He cleared his throat. “Seventy thousand pounds.” He shot the opposing bidder a cold stare.

After the usual pause, the hammer came down and Colt moved to the clerk to settle the account. “Have it shipped to 42 Berkeley Square, Mayfair.” He turned and strolled back to the painting to gaze at Alexander.

Warmth pooled around Colt’s heart. He reached out to touch the man’s pale cheeks, tracing a finger over the long blond curls, tied back in a queue. The young man appeared to be about eighteen in the portrait, slight of build with delicate features, yet Colt’s research revealed West had completed the portrait on Swift’s twenty-fifth birthday, the day he had inherited great wealth and lands from his father. Colt rubbed his chin. One would think His Lordship should be overjoyed on such an occasion, and yet Alexander’s blue gaze followed him with heart-wrenching sadness.

“West has captured the essence of his subject, don’t you think?”

Colt turned to see Business Suit gazing at him with a friendly smile. “Essence?”

“My name is Jake Williams. You may have heard of me?” replied Business Suit in a cultured Boston accent.

“Can’t say that I have, sorry.”

“Ah—so you don’t know about the letters.” Jake Williams inclined his head toward the portrait. “The love letters between Alexander and the Honorable David Fitzhugh. In a time when the crime of sodomy held the death penalty, to write love letters to a man… my God, can you imagine the implications?”

Colt straightened his shoulders. “You have these letters?”

“I most certainly do! Copies of the original documents are in my book, The Gay Lords.” Jake took a card from his jacket and gave it to Colt. “I know you’re restoring Alexander’s house; perhaps we could meet over lunch and I’ll give you the details I didn’t put into print.”

In truth, Colt craved information about Alexander. Living in the young lord’s house and seeing each room as if through Alexander’s eyes, Swift had become his obsession. With a laugh, he met Jake’s hazel eyes. “I’m free now.”

“Great, how about having lunch at The Square? It’s a great restaurant.” Jake smiled. “We can walk from here.”

“Sure.” Colt followed him out of the foyer into the busy street and they turned in the direction of Bruton Street. “So how did you come by the letters?”

“I bought them, along with a few other sundry items, at an auction—in Boston, of all places!” Jake fell into step beside Colt. “At first I thought they were written by a woman until I researched the names. Most of them begin with ‘my love’ or ‘my dearest’, so until I took note of the addressee… well, what a bombshell.”

“How did the letters end up in the States?”

“I believe, due to the anti-sodomite movement at the time, Fitzhugh took flight to America.” Jake sighed. “Of course, there is no proof he fled England under suspicion of sodomy. Nothing I researched points to him having a gay lover during his life. I do know he joined the colonists in the War of Independence and died in Boston in 1790.” He stopped outside a bookstore. “Look, I’ll grab a copy of my book. You must see the portrait of David Fitzhugh.”

Colt stared into the shop window, his gaze not focusing on any item. His mind reeled. Even in this enlightened world, homophobia caused misery and distrust. He reflected on his own youth. Sure, he had taken his share of beatings from the local thugs, but now at six-five and built like a linebacker, no one crossed him. On the contrary, the beatings and the snide remarks, had made him more resolute to succeed in everything he did. He respected love in all forms. Gay, straight—who the fuck cared as long as that wonderful connection happened between two consenting adults? He almost felt sorry for people who could not see love if it hit them smack in the face. So many refused to recognize or understand that the sweet love between two men, or women for that matter, held the same deep emotion as straight love. Anger welled from deep inside fueled by the oppression he knew Alexander would have endured during his life. Those twisted sons-of-bitches would not have understood how cruel they were to deny the freedom to express love without prejudice.

In Alexander’s time, for a gentleman to touch a man’s arm or cast a suggestive look could lead to prosecution for sodomy, a hanging offense. God knows, in those days they used the sodomy accusation to destroy many people’s lives.

“You gotta see this.” Jake thrust a book into Colt’s hand. “Kinda spooky, don’t you think?”

Colt gazed down at the glossy illustration. A trickle of ice slid down his spine. The portrait of the Honorable David Fitzhugh depicted a tall, muscular man with dark flowing hair—and the royal blue eyes that stared back at him were his own.

Buy link: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/coming-soon-c-2/a-tryst-of-fate-ebook-p-744

 

Find H.C. Brown on the web.

Web: www.hcbrown-author.com

Blog: http://www.hcbrownauthoroferoticromance.blogspot.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/hcbrownauthor

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/HCBrown-Author/292331631137

Noble Romance Author’s page: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/40/H-C-Brown

Ellora’s Cave Author’s page: http://www.jasminejade.com/m-709-hc-brown.aspx

Manic Readers: http://www.manicreaders.com/HCBrown/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/hcbrown

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/H.-C.-Brown/e/B003P0BCZE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

 

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• H.C. Brown – Lord & Master (museampoule.wordpress.com)

H.C. Brown – Lord & Master

Thank you all for coming by. My guest today is the fabulous H.C. Brown who is both one of my fellow Noble Romance authors and the newest member of the ERAuthors critique group. I admire her for both her talent and her immensely positive and generous attitude, so it’s my great pleasure to have her hanging out with us.

H.C Brown is a multi published, bestselling author of, Historical, Paranormal, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, BDSM, Time Travel, Action Adventure and Contemporary Romance.” I write tender erotic romance, always with a happy ending.”

H.C writes under the pen name Pia Moonglow for YA Fantasy. Living in Australia with her own alpha male, HC enjoys walking hand in hand along the beautiful Gold Coast beaches.

Welcome to my pages, H.C.! Could you tell us when and why you started writing?

HC. I’ve always told stories but never had the time to write them down. My published writing career started in 2006. Writing is an addiction or an insanity, it must be due the misery we authors endure from critics and rejections. Then again. I don’t suffer from this insanity I enjoy every minute of it.

Any favorite authors? Who inspires you?

HC. My all time favorite author is Diana Gabaldon because I love reading Georgian era Historical.

Author David Kentner AKA KevaD’s way with words, is a great inspiration, he has a unique voice and a wonderful sense of humor. I believe he inspires most authors who read his work. I wish he would write a historical, civil war perhaps, story. He would bring the era to life.

People inspire me, their stories. I’m a listener.

I have to admit, I’m a pretty big fan of David’s also, and I can’t help but to agree, I find his style is really inspiring.

Do you ever get stalled in the middle of a story? If so how do you get past it?

HC. No, never stalled. Things going on in my life stall my writing, I would write 24 hours a day if I had my way.

Who has been your favorite character to write to date and why? 

HC. Nox King of the Fae— a stunningly handsome bisexual 7 feet tall alpha-male Fae, compassionate yet strong.

If you had the opportunity to meet one of your characters from your books, who would it be and what would you say to them?

HC. Nox-for all the reasons above . . . oh yeah.

” Make me young again, gorgeous, and your slave.”

Quick fire questions:

Favorite color:  Purple

Satin or Lace:  Satin

Most attractive part of the body:  Soul

Pantser or Plotter:  Pantser

Favorite place to write:  Anywhere quiet.

It’s so nice finding out more about you H.C. I especially like your answer to favorite body part.  :)  Soul, the greatest appendage. So, now that we have a good sense of who you are, would you care to share some of your work?

Lord & Master

Blurb:

Lord Reynold Wilton, fearing exposure after a public argument with his sex slave, Lord David Litchfield, leaves England for the Americas. On his return, he finds his delicious man in the hands of a brutal sadist. In a time when homosexuality is a hanging offense, Reynold must use every trick in the book to regain the possession and trust of his young lover.

 Excerpt:

Prologue

London 1769

A rush of pain radiated from Lord Reynold’s clenched teeth and into his temples. The burn from over exertion raged across his shoulders. His sweaty grip slipped on the leather handle of the cane, a narrow strip of birch he had commissioned especially for discipline. With lust, he gazed down at his slave, savoring the crisscrossed, red welts marking the porcelain flesh, the raised prints of his hand on each tender buttock. He bent over the slim figure tied so deliciously on the bench, and licked each crimson cut, using his mouth to soothe and caress. Reynold lapped, enjoying the taste of sweet skin, the rise of gooseflesh under his tongue. The man’s scent of soap mingled with the warm aroma of male sex filled his nostrils.

With the man tied this way, stretched out with both arms and legs secured, Reynold had complete control. The power of dominance surged through him. In truth, he could easily draw blood with his cane if he chose to, yet he loved this man and gave his slave what he craved. This session had been different from those long nights of bliss they’d enjoyed so often before. He needed to conquer his slave, to take back his role as master in a relationship teetering on the brink of disaster. With slow, deliberate moves, he stalked around the bench, running the cane over the sub’s quivering body. He stopped at the head of the young man. “Why do you question my loyalty? I will not tolerate such behavior.” He grasped a lock of the man’s long, blond curls. “Speak.”

“I am jealous, Master.”

Reynold brought the birch down in two swift cuts across the slave’s pristine back. The prone man’s cry sent blood rushing to his cock. Christ, he loved to hear his submissive moan. He threw down the cane. “Of whom are you jealous this time?”

“Lord John, Master.” The slave drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t want you to continue your friendship him.”

“When you are tied to my bed, I am the master.” Reynold met the man’s cornflower blue gaze. “I will not tolerate such demands from my slave. If you continue in this manner, I will have no option but to take my leave.” He ground his teeth. “I warn you, do not think to use my devotion as a weapon to manipulate me to your will. If needs be, I will take a commission abroad to be rid of you.”

“Reynold . . . I beg you—think of my feelings.”

“You would have me weak?” Reynold dropped his breeches. “I think not.”

“No, Master, not weak—never weak.” David’s gaze fell on Reynold’s shaft. “I do not care to share you with Lord John.” He licked his lips. “When you are in his company, I fear I will lose you.”

Reynold growled. “I regret now confiding my relationship with Lord John Henley to you before we became involved. The man is a dear friend but you are my lover. If you don’t believe this to be true, the trust you claim to have in me does not exist.” He sighed. “Perhaps it is you who wants to end our relationship.”

“Christ, I would have no other touch me in this way, and you know this to be true.” David poked out his tongue, and swiped it across the head of Reynold’s cock. He moaned. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“You have my forgiveness, but I cannot allow you to dictate which friends I have. You know I have no desire to fuck any of them. Arguing with me in public has already put us both under scrutiny. Christ, David we can’t be seen together. The risk is too high. What reason would I have to be in your company?” Reynold stroked David’s cheek. “If you cannot trust me, this time we have together—our relationship as master and slave, as lovers, will not survive.” Reynold groaned. “I care for you deeply but I won’t allow you to risk the hangman’s noose because of youthful foolishness. I will not offer you another chance, do you understand?” Reynold tugged David’s hair. “Do you?”

“Yes.” David smiled. “Master, will you allow me to pleasure you? I crave the taste of your seed.”

Palming his shaft, he guided it toward his slave’s rosy lips. He sighed as the man’s hot, wet mouth surrounded him with absolute bliss. He loved the way David’s flushed cheeks pulled tight with every withdrawn thrust. Later, he would take the man’s tight arse, and hear his intoxicating screams of delight. He could never have enough of his luscious young submissive. Reynold rolled his hips, his hands cradling David’s, sweat soaked cheeks. Lord, this man knew how to take him to heaven. Tipping back his head, he plunged deeper, fucking the man’s delightful throat.

This session with David had been brutal. Reynold wanted to stamp his authority over the young man. Of late, the possessive nature of his delicious sex-slave had become out of hand. David had grown too demanding. Reynold had no option but to take a stand. The submissive’s teeth raked a path up his aching cock, the man’s agile tongue flicking over the sensitive tip. Reynold bit back a groan and fell into the darkness of forbidden bliss. His slave’s mouth became a whirlpool of ecstasy spinning him into an uncontrollable, shattering conclusion. Christ, David, for once, do as I say. Your jealousy is leading us down a path of damnation.

Chapter One

Three years later—London 1772

 

 

Chapter One

Lord Reynold Wilton opened his pocketbook and paid the tailor’s account, grateful to be finally out of uniform. He met the gaze of Mr. Joseph Brown. The man had produced every inch of clothing he had worn since a boy. “Have everything else sent over to Spencer Street. There’s a good man.”

Donning the new hat he’d purchased from Locks in Bond Street, Lord Reynold pulled on his gloves and turned to look in the mirror. The new, delightfully comfortable, clothes fit well. Soft and fresh against his skin, the linen provided a welcome change from his stagnant, uniform shirt and stiff smalls. At last, after three despicable years, he resembled a gentleman again. The new clothes, ordered by letter some three months prior, had surprised him with their elegance. Mr. Brown had tailored each garment in the height of fashion, right down to the fine, lawn ruffles and silver buttons. White silk stockings and a cloak of the finest, black wool lined in silk completed his dress. He rubbed his chin and smiled ruefully at his reflection. The breeches stretched tight about his thighs and bottom, and Mr. Brown had pinched the jacket in at the waist to enhance the width of Reynold’s shoulders. The cravat lay in exquisite folds. Dressed as such, in blue velvet, with his hair tied in a neat queue, he knew how men of his predilection would react to his appearance. Christ, I look like a peacock. In truth, his body had changed from soft to hard and muscular, but a commission in the Americas did that to a man. His face had altered too, but not in a bad way. He had not suffered any serious injury during his time abroad, but the man with haunting eyes in his reflection had replaced the innocent expression of youth.

Although, relieved by the sale of his commission and consequent arrival in England, his thoughts were not on returning immediately to his country estate in Surrey. Rather, he had spent the last two days in his townhouse close to Hyde Park, not wanting to endure the immediate duties of lord of the manor.

Lord Reynold stepped from the shop and glanced down Oxford Street. Nothing of note had changed in London during his time abroad with exception of women’s fashion and the volume of carriages barreling along the dusty roads. He drew a deep breath to enjoy the scents of normality after enduring an eternity of stinking jacks and sweat. The smell of gunpowder and the unforgettable stench of a military camp had combined with horrors a man could never forget.

For three long years, Reynold had remained abroad. Christ, he had little choice. His role as master had become impossible after another very-public argument with David had threatened to expose them both. To avoid the scandalmongers and the chance of prosecution for the act of sodomy, he made the heart-wrenching decision to leave his lover.

Reynold stood for a few seconds to enjoy his surroundings. There had been a meager amount of birds brave enough to negotiate the noisy camps, and his heart lifted to see an abundance of sparrows feasting on a discarded crust of bread on the footpath. Above a blue sky peeked briefly through a profusion of white fluffy clouds. A stream of sunlight bathed a rose bush sitting in a large, yellow glazed pot beside the milliners next door. The rich perfume from the red blooms mixed with the pungent odor of horse dung squashed on the road. The hay infused clumps thrown in all directions by the constant stream of carriage wheels. Everything is so normal, as if no one knows a war of great proportions is looming.

Moving toward the curb, Reynold called out to his driver to take him to Charters, a gentlemen’s club in Vauxhall, and climbed into the carriage. He sighed, rested his head on the back of the seat, and closed his eyes. A familiar memory flooded his consciousness. The vision of a young man, exceptionally featured, with a soft gaze the color of a summer sky, hooded with long, tawny lashes. He groaned, recalling his sweet slave’s sated expression from hours of glorious sex. The young body so deliciously secured his skin damp and flushed from his master’s cane. David.

Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/40/H-C-Brown

My web: www.hcbrown-author.com

Blog: www.hcbrownauthoroferoticromance.bligspot.com

Thank you H.C., having you here has been fun! Please feel free to come and hang out any time.