I'm Linda Banche, and I write sweet/sensual Regency romances. I like a funny story, so most of my stories contain humor. And because comedy leads to other quirks, some of my stories have fantasy and some a touch of the paranormal.
I read romances for years before I finally decided to write my own. I quickly found out it's harder than it looks. I live in New England and like aerobics and ducks.
LADY OF THE STARS BLURB:
A legend spanning time and the man and woman caught in it.
Caroline knows something is wrong the instant she steps from her holiday cottage into that unusual gazebo with two doors. But when a man she knows she will never see again appears outside the gazebo, she flings caution aside and plunges through the back door, crashing into the man--and 1817.
A voyage through time? Impossible. Richard refuses to believe the strange woman's outlandish tale. Still, the lady is lost and alone, and he helps the stranded wayfarer.
But as attraction flares between these two lonely people, Richard's family legend grinds to its ultimate fulfillment--will it bring them together, or tear them apart forever?
Caroline followed him into the room she knew was the kitchen and he stepped up to the banked fire.
Fire? Where were the stove and refrigerator? And all the chrome and stainless steel of the ultramodern kitchen she had seen only this morning? This kitchen contained a scarred wood trestle table with several chairs pushed under it. Pots and pans hung on wall racks and reflected the dim firelight. A cupboard stood against the far wall, next to a sink with a pump. A pump?
With shaking hands, she set the lantern on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. She was in trouble, very deep trouble.
As she sank into the chair, she turned her stunned attention to her host.
Unaware of her gaze, he busied himself at the fireplace. His back to her, he placed the candelabrum on the mantle above the hearth, then drew the fire screen to the side of the grate. Dropping onto his haunches, he pulled several logs from the nearby basket, then arranged the wood in a neat pile on the smoldering embers. Almost at once, the flames blazed to full roaring life.
Silhouetted against the light, he straightened, replaced the screen, then removed his hat and tossed it on the table.
Her jaw dropped. Good heavens, the aggravating man was gorgeous. Tall and slim, his broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips and long legs. But where had he found that outlandish outfit? He wore a top hat, out here in the middle of nowhere. His shirt collar was turned up and he wore a huge white tie. And his waist-length, double-breasted jacket had tails, like the one an orchestra conductor wore. Muddy black boots with the tops turned down came up to his knees. Skintight trousers, or were those breeches--of all things?--emphasized every well-formed muscle.
Now if his face matched his form...
What was she thinking? She hadn't felt anything for any man in a long time. Not since...
He turned, and for the first time that night she fully took in his face. She gasped. Had she seen a ghost through the gazebo's back door? "Richard?"
Puzzlement spread over those chiseled features she now saw only in her memories. "How do you know my name?"
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Pumpkin thieves, a youthful love rekindled and a jealous goose. Oh my.
Last night someone tried to steal the widowed Mrs. Emily Metcalfe's pumpkins. She's certain the culprit is her old childhood nemesis and the secret love of her youth, Henry, nicknamed Hank, whom she hasn't seen in ten years.
Henry, Baron Grey, who's never forgotten the girl he loved but couldn't pursue so long ago, decides to catch Emily's would-be thief. Even after she reveals his childhood nickname--the one he would rather forget. And even after her jealous pet goose bites him in an embarrassing place.
Oh, the things a man does for love.
"Emily, even with Henry, formidable as he is--" Hank glared at the goose. The goose glared back "--you need protection. I will send over some footmen to guard the place."
"No. Turnip Cottage belongs to Charlotte's husband. What will the townspeople think, with Lord Grey's servants about my house?"
Her refusal increased his fury. The sight of her hand on that damned goose's head didn't improve his mood, either. He balled his fists as his patience thinned and something else thickened. "I'll find you a guard dog. You must have some protection out here all alone."
"But I have Henry." She patted the goose's head and the bird snuggled into her hand. Again.
Heat flooded Hank, part desire for Emily's touch, and part desire to murder that damned goose, who was where he wanted to be. His insides groaned. "Very well, then, you leave me no choice. I will help you catch the culprits."
He changed his voice to the voice that either melted a woman or earned him a slap in the face. "Who knows, mayhap we would enjoy ourselves as I lie in wait with you." I would love to lie with you.
Her eyes widened. Had she understood the innuendo?
"I cannot stay alone with you, and you know it," she said,
her voice severe.
"You are a widow in your own home and no one will see. I will make sure of it."
"No." She marched back into her cottage and slammed the door. Henry smirked and waddled away.
Hank grinned. He would be back, whether she liked it or not.